Transcriber's Note: Some printer's errors, such as missing periods, commas printed as periods and other minor punctuation errors havebeen corrected. Variations in spelling and capitalisation have beenretained as they appear in the original. 

 EYEBRIGHT. 

 _A STORY. _

 By SUSAN COOLIDGE, AUTHOR OF "THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN, " "WHAT KATY DID, " "WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOL, " "MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING, " "NINE LITTLE GOSLINGS. "

 With Illustrations. 

 BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1894. 

 _Copyright_, By Roberts Brothers. 1879. 

 UNIVERSITY PRESS: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 

 CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. LADY JANE AND LORD GUILDFORD 1

 II. AFTER SCHOOL 18

 III. MR. JOYCE 43

 IV. A DAY WITH THE SHAKERS 66

 V. HOW THE BLACK DOG HAD HIS DAY 85

 VI. CHANGES 104

 VII. BETWEEN THE OLD HOME AND THE NEW 122

 VIII. CAUSEY ISLAND 143

 IX. SHUT UP IN THE OVEN 166

 X. A LONG YEAR IN A SHORT CHAPTER 188

 XI. A STORM ON THE COAST 204

 XII. TRANSPLANTED 226

EYEBRIGHT. 

CHAPTER I. 

LADY JANE AND LORD GUILDFORD. 

[Illustration: "THE FALCON'S NEST. "]

It wanted but five minutes to twelve in Miss Fitch's schoolroom, and ageneral restlessness showed that her scholars were aware of the fact. Some of the girls had closed their books, and were putting their desksto rights, with a good deal of unnecessary fuss, keeping an eye on theclock meanwhile. The boys wore the air of dogs who see their mastercoming to untie them; they jumped and quivered, making the benchessqueak and rattle, and shifted their feet about on the uncarpetedfloor, producing sounds of the kind most trying to a nervous teacher. A general expectation prevailed. Luckily, Miss Fitch was not nervous. She had that best of all gifts for teaching, --calmness; and sheunderstood her pupils and their ways, and had sympathy with them. Sheknew how hard it is for feet with the dance of youth in them to keepstill for three long hours on a June morning; and there was apleasant, roguish look in her face as she laid her hand on the bell, and, meeting the twenty-two pairs of expectant eyes which were fixedon hers, rang it--dear Miss Fitch--actually a minute and a half beforethe time. 

At the first tinkle, like arrows dismissed from the bow-string, twogirls belonging to the older class jumped from their seats and flew, ahead of all the rest, into the entry, where hung the hats and caps ofthe school, and their dinner-baskets. One seized a pink sun-bonnetfrom its nail, the other a Shaker-scoop with a deep green cape; eachpossessed herself of a small tin pail, and just as the little crowdswarmed into the passage, they hurried out on the green, in the middleof which the schoolhouse stood. It was a very small green, shaped likea triangle, with half a dozen trees growing upon it; but

 "Little things are great to little men, "

you know, and to Miss Fitch's little men and women "the Green" had allthe importance and excitement of a park. Each one of the trees whichstood upon it possessed a name of its own. Every crotch and branch inthem was known to the boys and the most daring among the girls; eachhad been the scene of games and adventures without number. "TheCastle, " a low spreading oak with wide, horizontal branches, had beenthe favorite tree for fights. Half the boys would garrison the boughs, the other half, scrambling from below and clutching and tugging, wouldtake the part of besiegers, and it had been great fun all round. Butalas, for that "had been!" Ever since one unlucky day, when LutherBradley, as King Charles, had been captured five boughs up by Cromwelland his soldiers, and his ankle badly sprained in the process, MissFitch had ruled that "The Castle" should be used for fighting purposesno longer. The boys might climb it, but they must not call themselvesa garrison, nor pull nor struggle with each other. So the poor oak wasshorn of its military glories, and forced to comfort itself by bearinga larger crop of acorns than had been possible during the stirring andwarlike times, now for ever ended. 

Then there was "The Dove-cote, " an easily climbed beech, on which rowsof girls might be seen at noon-times roosting like fowls in the sun. And there was "The Falcon's Nest, " which produced every year a fewsmall, sour apples, and which Isabella Bright had adopted for hertree. She knew every inch of the way to the top; to climb it was likegoing up a well-known staircase, and the sensation of sitting therealoft, high in air, on a bough which curved and swung, with anotherbough exactly fitting her back to lean against, was full of delightand fascination. It was like moving and being at rest all at once;like flying, like escape. The wind seemed to smell differently andmore sweetly up there than in lower places. Two or three times lost infancies as deep as sleep, Isabella had forgotten all about recess andbell, and remained on her perch, swinging and dreaming, till some onewas sent to tell her that the arithmetic class had begun. And once, direful day! marked with everlasting black in the calendar of herconscience, being possessed suddenly, as it were, by some idle andtricksy demon, she stayed on after she was called, and, called again, she still stayed; and when, at last, Miss Fitch herself came out andstood beneath the tree, and in her pleasant, mild voice told her tocome down, still the naughty girl, secure in her fastness, stayed. Andwhen, at last, Miss Fitch, growing angry, spoke severely and orderedher to descend, Isabella shook the boughs, and sent a shower of hardlittle apples down on her kind teacher's head. That was dreadful, indeed, and dreadfully did she repent it afterward, for she loved MissFitch dearly, and, except for being under the influence of the demon, could never have treated her so. Miss Fitch did not kiss her for awhole month afterward, --that was Isabella's punishment, --and it wasmany months before she could speak of the affair without feeling hereyes fill swiftly with tears, for Isabella's conscience was tender, and her feelings very quick in those days. 

This, however, was eighteen months ago, when she was only ten and ahalf. She was nearly twelve now, and a good deal taller and wiser. Ihave introduced her as Isabella, because that was her real name, butthe children and everybody always called her Eyebright. "I. Bright" ithad been written in the report of her first week at Miss Fitch'sschool, when she was a little thing not more than six years old. Thedroll name struck some one's fancy and from that day she was alwayscalled Eyebright because of that, and because her eyes were bright. They were gray eyes, large and clear, set in a wide, low forehead, from which a thick mop of hazel-brown hair, with a wavy kink allthrough it, was combed back, and tied behind with a brown ribbon. Hernose turned up a little; her mouth was rather wide, but it was asmiling, good-tempered mouth; the cheeks were pink and wholesome, andaltogether, though not particularly pretty, Eyebright was apleasant-looking little girl in the eyes of the people who loved her, and they were a good many. 

[Illustration: To her there was a great charm in all that goes to themaking of pictures. --PAGE 7. ]

The companion with whom she was walking was Bessie Mather, her mostintimate friend just then. Bessie was the daughter of aportrait-painter, who didn't have many portraits to paint, so he wasapt to be discouraged, and his family to feel rather poor. Eyebrightwas not old enough to perceive the inconveniences of being poor. Toher there was a great charm in all that goes to the making ofpictures. She loved the shining paint-tubes, the palette set with itsring of many-colored dots, and the white canvases; even the smell ofoil was pleasant to her, and she often wished that her father, too, had been a painter. When, as once in a great while happened, Bessieasked her to tea, she went with a sort of awe over her mind, andreturned in a rapture, to tell her mother that they had had biscuitsand apple-sauce for supper, and hadn't done any thing in particular;but she had enjoyed it so much, and it had been so interesting! Mrs. Bright never could understand why biscuits and apple-sauce, whichnever created any enthusiasm in Eyebright at home, should be sodelightful at Bessie Mather's, neither could Eyebright explain it, butso it was. This portrait-painting father was one of Bessie's chiefattractions in Eyebright's eyes, but apart from that, she wassweet-tempered, pliable, and affectionate, and--a strong bond infriendship sometimes--she liked to follow and Eyebright to lead; shepreferred to listen and Eyebright to talk; so they suited each otherexactly. Bessie's hair was dark; she was not quite so tall asEyebright; but their heights matched very well, as, with arms roundeach other's waist, they paced up and down "the green, " stopping nowand then to take a cookie, or a bit of bread and butter, from thedinner-pails which they had set under one of the trees. 

Not the least attention did they pay to the rest of the scholars, butEyebright began at once, as if reading from some book which had beenlaid aside only a moment before:

"At that moment Lady Jane heard a tap at the door. 

"'See who it is, Margaret, ' she said. 

"Margaret opened the door, and there stood before her astonished eyesa knight clad in shining armor. 

"'Who are you, Sir Knight, and wherefore do you come?' she cried, inamaze. 

"'I am come to see the Lady Jane Grey, ' he replied; 'I have a messagefor her from Lord Guildford Dudley. '

"'From my noble Guildford, ' shrieked Lady Jane, rushing forward. 

"'Even so, madam, ' replied the knight, bowing profoundly. "

Here Eyebright paused for a large bite of bread and butter. 

"Go on--please go on, " pleaded Bessie, whose mouth happened to beempty just then. 

Mumble, mumble, --"the Lady Jane sank back on her couch"--resumedEyebright, speaking rather thickly by reason of the bread and butter. "She was very pale, and one tear ran slowly down her pearly cheek. 

"'What says my lord?' she faintly uttered. 

"'He bids me to tell you to hope on, hope ever, ' cried the knight;'the jailer's daughter has promised to steal her father's keysto-night, unbar his door, and let him escape. '

"'Can this be true?' cried Margaret--that's you, you know, Bessie--beready to catch me. 'Help! my lady is about to faint with joy. '"

Here Eyebright sank on the grass, while Bessie made a dash, and raisedher head. 

"'Is it? Can it be--true?' murmured the Lady Jane, "--her languid handmeanwhile stealing into the dinner-pail, and producing therefrom a bigred apple. 

"'It is true--the blessed news is indeed true, ' cried the true-heartedMargaret. 

"'I feel new life in my veins;' and the Lady Jane sprang to her feet. "Here Eyebright scrambled to hers. 

"'Come, Margaret, ' she cried, 'we most decide in what garb we shallgreet my dearest lord when he comes from prison. Don't you think thecram--cram--cramberry velvet, with a net-work of pearls, and, '--whatelse did they wear, Bessie?"

"Girdles?" ventured Bessie. 

"'And a girdle of gems, '" went on Eyebright, easily, and quiteregardless of expense. "'Don't you think that will be best, girl?'"

"Oh, Eyebright, would she say 'girl?'" broke in Bessie; "it doesn'tsound polite enough for the Lady Jane. "

"They all do, --I assure you they do. I can show you the place inShakespeare. It don't sound so nice, because when people say 'girl, 'now, it always means servant-girl, you know; but it was differentthen; and Lady Jane did say 'my girl. ' And you mustn't interrupt so, Bessie, or we shan't get to the execution this recess, and afterschool I want to play the little Princes in the Tower. "

"I won't interrupt any more, " said Bessie; "go on. "

"'Yes, the cramberry velvet is my choice, '" resumed Eyebright. "'SirKnight, accept my grateful thanks. '

"He bent low and kissed her fair hand. 

"'May naught but good tidings await you ever-more!' he murmured. 'Sorrow should never light on so fair a being. '

"'Ah, ' she said, 'sorrow seems my portion. What is rank or riches orducality to a happy heart!'"

"What did you say? What was that word, Eyebright?"

"Ducality. Lady Jane's father was a duke, you know. "

"The knight sighed deeply, and withdrew. 

"'Ah, Guildford, ' murmured the Lady Jane, laying her head on theshoulder of her beloved Margaret, 'shall I indeed see you once more?It seems too good to be true. '"

Eyebright paused, and bit into her apple with an absorbed expression. She was meditating the next scene in her romance. 

"So the next day and the next went by, and still the Lady Jane prayedand waited. Night came at last, and now Lord Guildford might appear atany moment. Margaret dressed her lovely mistress in the velvet robe, twined the pearls in her golden hair, and clasped the jewelled girdleround her slender waist. One snow-white rose was pinned in her bosom. Never had she looked so wildly beautiful. But still Lord Guildfordcame not. At last a tap at the door was heard. 

"'It is he!' cried the Lady Jane, and flew to meet him. 

"But alas! it was not he. A stern and gigantic form filled thedoor-way, and, entering, looked at her with fiery eyes. No, his helmetwas shut tight. Wouldn't that be better, Bessie?"

"Oh yes, much better. Do have it shut, " said the obliging Bessie. 

"His lineaments were hidden by his helmet, " resumed Eyebright, correcting herself; "but there was something in his aspect which madeher heart thrill with terror. 

"'You are looking to see if I am one who will never cross your pathagain, ' he said, in a harsh tone. 'Lady Jane Grey--no! GuildfordDudley has this day expiated his crimes on Tower Hill. His headlesstrunk is already buried beneath the pavement where traitors lie. '

"'Oh no, no; in mercy unsay the word!' shrieked the Lady Jane, andwith one quick sob she sank lifeless to the earth, while Margaret sankbeside her. We won't really sink, I think, Bessie, because the grassstains our clothes so, and they get so mussed up. Wealthy says shecan't imagine what I do to my things; there was so much grass-green inthem that it greened all the water in the tub last wash, she toldmother; that was when we played the Coramantic Captive, you know, andI had to keep fainting all the time. We'll just make believe we sank, I guess. 

"'Rouse yourself, Lady, ' went on the stern warrior 'I have more tocommunicate. You are my prisoner. Here is the warrant to arrest you, and the soldiers wait outside. '

"One dizzy moment, and Lady Jane rallied the spirit of her race. Herface was deadly pale, but she never looked more lovely. 

"'I am ready, ' she said, with calm dignity; 'only give me time tobreathe one prayer, ' and, sinking at the foot of her crucifix, shebreathed an Ave Maria in such melodious tones that all presentrefrained from tears. 

"'Lead on, ' she murmured. 

"We now pass to the scene of execution, " proceeded Eyebright, whosegreatest gift as a storyteller was her power of getting over difficultparts of the narrative in a sort of inspired, rapid way. "I guess wewon't have any trial, Bessie, because trials are so hard, and I don'tknow exactly how to do them. It was a chill morning in early spring. The sun had hid his face from the awful spectacle. The bell wastolling, the crowd assembled, and the executioner stood leaning on thehandle of his dreadful axe. The block was ready!--"

"Oh, Eyebright, it is awful!" interposed Bessie, on the point oftears. 

"At last the door of the Tower opened, " went on the relentlessEyebright, "and the slender form of the Lady Jane appeared, led by thecaptain of the guard, and followed by a long procession of monks andsoldiers. Her faithful Margaret was by her side, drowned in tears. Shewas so young, so fair and so sweet that all hearts pitied her, andwhen she turned to the priest and said, 'Fa-ther, do not we-ep'--"

Eyebright here broke down and began to cry. As for Bessie, she hadbeen sobbing hard, with her handkerchief over her eyes for nearly twominutes. 

"'I am go-ing to hea-ven, '" faltered Eyebright, overcome with emotion. "'Thank my cousin, Bloody Mary, for sending me th-ere. '"

"Can you tell me the way to Mr. Bright's house?" said a voice justbehind them. 

The girls jumped and looked round. In the excitement of the execution, they had wandered, without knowing it, to the far edge of the green, which bordered on the public road. A gentleman on horseback hadstopped close beside them, and was looking at them with an amusedexpression, which changed to one of pity, as the two tear-stainedfaces met his eye. 

"Is any thing the matter? Are you in any trouble?" he asked, anxiously. 

"Oh no, sir; not a bit. We are only playing; we are having a splendidtime, " explained Eyebright. 

And then, anxious to change the subject, and also to get back to LadyJane and her woes, she made haste with the direction for which thestranger had asked. 

"Just down there, sir; turn the first street, and it's the fourthhouse from the corner. No, the fifth, --which is it, Bessie?"

"Let me see, " replied Bessie, counting on her fingers. "Mrs. Clapp's, Mr. Potter's, Mr. Wheelwright's, --it's the fourth, Eyebright. "

The gentleman thanked them and rode away. As he did so, the belltinkled at the schoolhouse door. 

"Oh, there's that old bell. I don't believe it's time one bit. MissFitch must have set the clock forward, " declared Eyebright. 

Alas, no; Miss Fitch had done nothing of the sort, for at that momentclang went the town-clock, which, as every one knew, kept the best oftime, and by which all the clocks and watches in the neighborhood wereset. 

"Pshaw, it really is!" cried Eyebright. "How short recess seems! Notlonger than a minute. "

"Not more than half a minute, " chimed in Bessie. "Oh, Eyebright, itwas too lovely! I hate to go in. "

The cheeks and eyelids of the almost executed Lady Jane and her bowermaiden were in a sad state of redness when they entered theschoolroom, but nobody took any particular notice of them. Miss Fitchwas used to such appearances, and so were the other boys and girls, when Eyebright and Bessie Mather had spent their recess, as theyalmost always did, in playing the game which they called "actingstories. "

CHAPTER II. 

AFTER SCHOOL. 

Four o'clock seemed slow in coming; but it struck at last, as hoursalways will if we wait long enough; and Miss Fitch dismissed school, after a little bit of Bible-reading and a short prayer. Peoplenowadays are trying to do away with Bibles and prayers in schools, butI think the few words which Miss Fitch said in the Lord's ear everynight--and they were very few and simple--sent the little ones awaywith a sense of the Father's love and nearness which it was good forthem to feel. All the girls and some of the boys waited to kiss MissFitch for good-night. It had been a pleasant day. Nobody, for awonder, had received a fault-mark of any kind; nothing had gone wrong, and the children departed with a general bright sense that such daysdo not often come, and that what remained of this ought to be made themost of. 

There were still three hours and a half of precious daylight. Whatshould be done with them?

Eyebright and a knot of girls, whose homes lay in the same directionwith hers, walked slowly down the street together. It was a beautifulafternoon, with sunshine of that delicious sort which only June knowshow to brew, --warm, but not burning; bright, but not dazzling. It layover the walk in broad golden patches, broken by soft, purple-blueshadows from the elms, which had just put out their light leaves andlooked like fountains of green spray tossed high in air. There was asweet smell of hyacinths and growing grass and cherry-blossoms;altogether it was not an afternoon to spend in the house, and thechildren felt the fact. 

"I don't want to go home yet, " said Molly Prime. "Let's do somethingpleasant all together instead. "

"I wish my swing were ready, and we'd all have a swing in it, " saidLaura Wheelwright. "Tom said he would put it up to-day, but motherbegged him not, because she said I had a cold and would be sure to runin the damp grass and wet my feet. What shall we do? We might go for awalk to Round Pond; will you?"

"No; I'll tell you, " burst in Eyebright. "Don't let's do that, becauseif we do, the big boys will see us and want to come too, and then wesha'n't have any fun. Let's all go into our barn; there's lots of hayup in the loft, and we'll open the big window and make thrones of hayto sit on and tell stories. It'll be just as good as out-doors, and noone will know where we are or come to interrupt us. Don't you think itwould be nice? Do come, Laura. "

"Delicious! Come along, girls, " answered Laura, crumpling her softsun-bonnet into a heap, and throwing it up into the air, as if it hadbeen a ball. 

"Oh, may we come too?" pleaded little Tom and Rosy Bury. 

"No, you can't, " answered their sister, Kitty, sharply. "You'd betumbling down and getting frightened, and all sorts of things. You'dbetter run right home by yourselves. "

The little ones were silent, but they looked anxiously at Eyebright. 

"I think they might come, Kitty, " she said. "They're almost alwaysgood, and there's nothing in the loft to hurt them. Yes; they cancome. "

"Oh, very well, if you want the bother of them. I'm sure I don'tmind, " replied Kitty. 

Then they all ran into the barn. The eight pairs of double-soled bootsclattered on the stairs like a sudden hail-storm on a roof. Brindle, old Charley, and a strange horse who seemed to be visiting them, whowere munching their evening hay, raised their heads, astonished; whilea furtive rustle from some dim corner in the loft showed that Mrs. Top-knot or Mrs. Cochin-China, hidden away there, heard too, and didnot like the sound at all. 

"Oh, isn't this lovely!" cried Kitty Bury, kicking the fine hay beforeher till it rose in clouds. "Barns are so nice, I think. "

"Yes, but don't kick that way, " said Romaine Smith, choking andsneezing. "Oh dear, I shall smother. Eyebright, please open thewindow. Quick, I am strangling. "

Eyebright, who was sneezing too, made haste to undo the rusty hook, and swing the big wooden shutter back against the outside wall of thebarn. It made an enormous square opening, which seemed to let in allout-doors at once. Dark places grew light, the soft pure air, glad ofthe chance, flew in to mix with the sweet, heavy smell of the driedgrasses; it was as good as being out-doors, as Eyebright had said. 

The girls pulled little heaps of hay together for seats, and rangedthemselves in a half-circle round the window, with Mr. Bright'sorchard, pink and white with fruit blossoms, underneath them; andbeyond that, between Mr. Bury's house and barn, a glimpse of valleyand blue river, and the long range of wooded hills on the oppositebank. It was a charming out-look, and though the children could nothave put into words what pleased them, they all liked it, and were thehappier for its being there. 

"Now we're ready. Who will tell the first story?" asked Molly Prime, briskly. 

"I'll tell the first, " said Eyebright, always ready to take the lead. "It's a splendid story. I read it in a book. Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a little tailor, who was very good, and his namewas Hans. He lived all alone in his little house, and had to work veryhard because he was poor. One day as he sat sewing away, some oneknocked at the door. 

"'Come in, ' said Hans, and an old, old man came in. He was wrapped upin a cloak, and looked very cold and tired. 

"'Please may I warm myself by your fire?' he said. 

"'Why of course you may, '--said good little Hans. 'A warm at the firecosts nothing, and you are welcome. '

"So the old man sat down and warmed himself. 

"'Have you come a long way to-day?' Hans said. 

"'Yes, ' said the old man, --'a long, long way. And I'm ever so cold andhungry. '

"'Poor old fellow, ' thought Hans. 'I wish I had something for him toeat; but I haven't, because there is nothing for my own dinner excepta piece of bread and a cup of milk. ' But then he thought, 'I can dowith a little less for once. I'll give the old man half of that. ' Sohe broke the bread in two, and poured half the milk into another cup, and gave them to the old man, who thanked him, and ate it up. But hestill looked so hungry, that Hans thought, 'Poor fellow, he is a greatdeal older than I. I can go without a dinner for once, and I'll givehim the rest. ' Wasn't that good of Hans?"

"Yes, very good, " replied the children, beginning to get interested. 

"When the old man had eaten up all the bread and milk, he looked muchbetter. And he got up to go, and said, 'You have been very good, andgiven me all your own dinner. I wish I had something to give you inreturn, but I have only got this, ' and he took from under his cloak ashabby, old coffee-mill--the shabbiest old thing you ever saw, all cutup with jack-knives, you know, and scratched with pins, with ink-spotson it, "--Eyebright, drawing on her imagination for shabby particulars, was thinking, you see, of her desk at school, which certainly _was_shabby. 

"Hans could hardly keep from laughing; but the old man said severely, 'Don't smile. This mill is better than it looks. It is a _magic mill_. Whenever you want any thing, you have only to give the handle oneturn, and say, "Little mill, grind so and so, open sesame, " and, nomatter what it is, the mill will begin of itself and grind it for you. Then when you have enough, you must say, "Little mill, stop grinding, Abracadabra, " and it will stop. Good-by, ' and before Hans could say aword, the old man hurried out of the door and was gone, leaving thequeer old mill behind him. 

"Of course Hans thought he must be crazy. "

"I should have thought so, " said Bessie Mather, who was cuddled in thehay close to Eyebright. 

"Well, he wasn't! Hans at first thought he would throw the mill away, it looked so dirty and horrid, but then he thought, 'I might as welltry it. Let me see, what do I want most at this moment? why, my dinnerto be sure. I gave mine to the old man. I'll ask for a goose--roastgoose, with hot buttered rolls and coffee. That's a dinner for aprince, let alone a tailor like me. '

"So he gave the handle a turn, and said to the mill, 'Little mill, grind a fat roast goose, open sesame, '--not believing a bit that itwould, you know. And, just think! all of a sudden, the handle began tofly round as fast as the wind, and, in one second, out of the top camea beautiful roast goose, all covered with stuffing and gravy. It cameso fast that Hans had to catch hold of its drumsticks and take it inhis hand, there wasn't time to fetch a dish. He was so surprised thathe stood stock-still, staring at the mill with his mouth open, and thehandle went on turning, and another goose began to come out of thetop. Then Hans was frightened, for he thought, 'What shall I do withtwo roast geese at once?' and he shouted loudly, 'Little mill, stopgrinding, Abracadabra, ' and the mill stopped, and the other goose, which had only began to come out, you see, doubled itself up, and wentback again into the inside of the mill as fast as it came. 

"Then Hans fetched a pitcher, and he said, 'Little mill, grind hotcoffee with cream and sugar, ' and immediately a stream of coffee camepouring out, till the pitcher was full. Then he ground some_delicious_ rolls and butter, and then he set the mill on his shelf, and danced about the shop for joy. 

"'Hans, ' he said, 'your fortune is made. '

"And so it was. Because, you know, if people came and asked, 'How sooncould you make me a coat?' Hans just had to answer, 'Why, to-morrow ofcourse;' and then, when they were gone, he would go to the mill, andsay, 'Little mill, grind a coat to fit Mr. Jones, ' and there it wouldbe. The coats all fitted splendidly and wore twice as long as othercoats, and all the town said that Hans was the best tailor that everwas, and they all came to him for things, and he got very rich andtook a big shop. But he was just as kind to poor people as ever, andthe mill did every thing he wanted. Wasn't it nice?"

"I wish there really was a mill like that; I know what I would grind, "said Romaine. 

"Well, what would you, Romy?"

"A guitar with a blue ribbon, like my cousin Clara Cunningham's. Sheputs the ribbon round her neck and sings, and it's just lovely. "

"But you don't know how to play, do you?" inquired Molly. 

"No, but afterwards I'd grind a big music-box, and just as I began toplay--no, to pretend to play--I'd set it off, and it would sound as ifI was playing. "

"Pshaw, I'd grind something a great deal better than that, " criedKitty. "I'd grind a real piano, and I'd learn to play on it my ownself. I wouldn't have any old make-believe music-boxes to play forme. "

"You never saw a guitar, I guess, " rejoined Romaine, pouting, "or youwouldn't think so. "

"I'd grind a kitten, " put in Rosy, "a white one, just like mySnowdrop. Snowdrop has runned away. I don't know where she is. "

"How funny she'd look, coming out of the coffee-mill, mewing andpurring, " said Eyebright. "Now stop telling what you'd grind, and letme go on. Hans had a neighbor, a very bad man, whose name was Carl. When he saw how rich Hans was getting to be, he became very enverous. "

"Very what?"

"Enverous. He didn't like it, you know. "

"Don't you mean envious?" said Molly Prime. 

"Yes, didn't I say so? Mother says I mispronounce awfully, and it'sbecause I read so much to myself. I meant enver--envious, of course. Well, --Carl noticed that every day when people had gone home to theirdinners, Hans shut his door, and stayed alone for an hour, and didn'tlet anybody come in. This made him suspect something. So one day hebored a little round hole in the back door of Hans' house, and he satdown and put his eye to it, and thought, 'Here I stay, if it is amonth, till I find out what that little rascal does when he is alone. '

"So he watched and watched, and for a long time he didn't see anything but Hans sewing away and waiting on his customers. But at lastthe clock struck twelve, and then Hans shut his door and locked ittight, and Carl said to himself, 'Ha, ha, now I have him!'

"Hans brought out the coffee-mill, and set it on the table, and Carlheard him say, 'Little mill, grind roast veal, open sesame, ' and anice piece of veal came out of the mill, and fell into a platter whichHans held to catch it, and then Carl snapped his fingers and jumpedfor joy, and ran off to the wharf, where there was a pirate ship whosecaptain was a friend of his, and he said to the pirate captain, 'Ourfortunes are made. '

"'What do you mean?" asked the pirate. 

"'I mean, ' said Carl, 'that that little villain, Hans the tailor, hasgot a fairy mill which grinds every thing he asks for, and I knowwhere he keeps it, and what he says to make it grind, and if you willgo shares, I'll steal it this very night, and we'll sail off to adesert island, and there we'll grind gold and grind gold till we areas rich as all the people in the world put together. What do you sayto that?'

"So the pirate captain was delighted, of course, because you knowthat's all that pirates want, just to get gold, and he said 'Yes, ' andthat very night, when Hans was asleep, Carl crept in, stole the mill, ran to the wharf, and he and the pirate captain sailed away, and Hansnever saw his mill again. "

"Oh, what a shame! Poor little Hans, " cried the children. 

"Well, it didn't make so much matter, " explained Eyebright, comfortingthem, "because Hans by this time had got to be so well known, andpeople liked him so much, that he kept on getting richer and richer, and was always kind to the poor, and happy, so he didn't miss his millmuch. The pirate ship sailed and sailed, and by and by, when they were'way out at sea, the captain said to Carl, 'Suppose we try the mill, and see if it is really as good as you think. '

"'Very well, ' said Carl, 'what shall we grind?'

"'We won't grind any gold yet, ' said the captain, 'because gold isheavy, and we can do it better on the desert island. We'll just grindsome little thing now for fun. ' Then he called out to the cook, andsaid, 'Hollo, cook, is there any thing wanting there in your kitchen?'

"'Yes, sir, please, ' said the cook, 'we're out of salt; we sailed soquick that I couldn't get any. '

"So Carl fetched the mill, and set it on the cabin table, and said, 'Little mill, grind salt, open sesame. '

"And immediately a stream of beautiful white salt came pouring out, till two bags which the cook had brought were quite full, and then thecaptain said, 'That's enough, now stop it. '

"_Just at that moment Carl recollected that he didn't know how to stopthe Mill. _"

Here Eyebright made a dramatic pause. 

"Oh, what next? What did he do?" cried the others. 

"He said all the words he could think of, " continued Eyebright;"'Shut, sesame!' and 'Stop!' and 'Please stop!' and 'Don't!' and everso many others; but he couldn't say the right one, because he didn'tknow it, you see! So the salt kept pouring on, and it filled all thebags, and boxes, and barrels, and--and--all the--salt-cellars, in theship, and it ran on to the table, and it ran on to the floor; and thepirate captain caught hold of the handle and tried to keep it fromturning; and it gave him such a pinch that he put his fingers into hismouth, and danced with pain. Then he was so mad that he got an axe andchopped the mill in two, to punish it for knocking him. Butimmediately another handle sprouted out on the half which hadn't any, and that made two mills, and the salt came faster than ever. At last, when it was up to their knees, Carl and the pirate captain ran to thedeck to consult what they should do; and, while they were consulting, the mills went on grinding. And the ship got so full, and the salt wasso heavy, that, all of a sudden, down they all sank, ship and Carl andthe pirates and the mills and all, to the bottom of the sea. "

Eyebright came to a full stop. The children drew long breaths. 

"Didn't anybody ever get the mill again?" asked Bessie. 

"No, never. There they both are at the bottom, grinding away as hardas they can; and that's the reason why the sea is so salt!"

"Is it salt?" asked little Rosy, who never had seen the sea. 

"Why, Rosy, of course. Didn't you ever eat codfish? They come out ofthe sea, and they're just as salt as salt can be, " said Tom, who wasabout a year older than Rosy. 

"Now, Molly, you tell one, " said Eyebright. "Tell us that one whichyour grandma told you, --the story about the Indian. Don't yourecollect?"

"Oh, yes; the one I told you that day in the pasture. It's a truestory, too, every bit of it. My grandma knew the lady it happened to. It was ever and ever so long ago, when the country was all over woodsand Indians, you know, and this lady went to the West to live with herhusband. He was a pio-nary, --no, pioneer, --no, missionary, --that waswhat he was. Missionaries teach poor people and preach, and this onewas awfully poor himself, for all the money he had was just a littlebit which a church in the East gave him. 

"Well, after they had lived at the West for a year, the missionary hadto come back, because some of the people said he wasn't orthodox. Idon't know what that means. I asked father once, and he said it meantso many things that he didn't think he could explain them all; but ma, she said, it means 'agreeing with the neighbors. ' Anyhow, themissionary had to come back to tell the folks that he was orthodox, and his wife and children had to stay behind, in the woods, withwolves and bears and Indians close by. 

"The very day after he started, his wife was sitting by the fire withher baby in her lap, when the door opened, and a great, enormousIndian walked in and straight up to her. 

"I guess she was frightened; don't you?

"'He gone?' asked the Indian in broken English. 

"'Yes, ' she said. 

"Then the Indian held out his hands and said, --'Pappoose. Give. '"

"Oh, my!" cried Romaine. "I'd have screamed right out. "

"Well, the lady didn't, " continued Molly. "What was the use? Therewasn't any one to scream to, you know. Beside, she thought perhaps theIndian was trying her to see if she trusted him. So she let him takethe child, and he marched away with it, not saying another word. 

"All that night, and all next day, she watched and waited, but he didnot come back. She began to think all sorts of dreadful things, --thatperhaps he had killed the child. But just at sunset he came with thebaby in his arms, and the little fellow was dressed like a chief, in asuit of doe-skins which the squaws had made, with cunning littlemoccasins on his feet and a feather stuck in his hair. The Indian puthim in his mother's lap, and said, --

"'Now red man know white squaw friend, for she not afraid give child. '

"And after that, all the time her husband was gone, the Indiansbrought venison and game, and were real kind to the lady. Wasn't itnice?"

The children drew long breaths of relief. 

"I don't think I could have been so brave, " declared Kitty. 

"Now I'll tell you a story which I made up myself, " said Romaine, whowas of a sentimental turn. "It's called the Lady and the BarberryBush. 

"Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a lady who loved abarberry bush, because its berries were so pretty, and tasted so niceand sour. She used to water it, and come at evening to lay hersnow-white hand upon its leaves. "

"Didn't they prick?" inquired Molly, who was as practical as Romainewas sentimental. 

"No, of course they didn't prick, because the barberry bush wasenchanted, you know. Nobody else cared for barberry bushes except thelady. All the rest liked roses and honeysuckles best, and the poorbarberry was very glad when it saw the lady coming. At last, onenight, when she was watering it, it spoke, and it said, --'The hour ofdeliverance has arrived. Lady, behold in me a Prince and your lover!'and it changed into a beautiful knight with barberries in his helmet, and knelt at her feet, and they were very happy for ever after. "

"Oh, how short!" complained the rest. "Eyebright's was a great deallonger. "

"Yes, but she read hers in a book, you know. I made mine up, allmyself. "

"I'll tell you a 'tory now, " broke in little Rosy. "It's a nice'tory, --a real nice one. Once there was a little girl, and she wantedsome pie. She wanted some weal wich pie. And her mother whipped herbecause she wanted the weal wich pie. Then she kied. And her motherwhipped her. Then she kied again. And her mother whipped her again. And the wich pie made her sick. And she died. She couldn't det well, 'cause the dottor he didn't come. He couldn't come. There wasn't anydottor. He was eated up by tigers. Isn't that a nice 'tory?"

The girls laughed so hard over Rosy's story that, much abashed, shehid her face in Kitty's lap, and wouldn't raise it for a long time. Eyebright tried to comfort her. 

"It's a real nice story, " she said. "The nicest of all. I'm so gladyou came, Rosy, else you wouldn't have told it to us. "

"Did you hear me tell how the dottor was eated up by tigers?" askedRosy, peeping with one eye from out of the protection of Kitty'sapron. 

"Yes, indeed. That was splendid. "

"I made that up!" said Rosy, triumphantly revealing her whole face, joyful again, and bright as a full moon. 

"Who'll be next?" asked Eyebright. 

"I will, " said Laura. "Listen now, for it's going to be perfectlyawful, I can tell you. It's about robbers. "

As she spoke these words, Laura lowered her voice, into a sort ofhalf-groan, half-whisper. 

"There was once a girl who lived all alone by herself, with just oneNewfoundland dog for company. He wasn't a big Newfoundland, --he waspretty small. One night, when it was all dark and she was just goingto sleep, she heard a rustle underneath her bed. "

The children had drawn closer together since Laura began, and at thispoint Romaine gave a loud shriek. 

"What was that?" she asked. 

All held their breaths. The loft was getting a little dusky now, andsure enough, an unmistakable rustle was heard among the hay in adistant corner!

"This loft would be a very bad place for a robber, " said Eyebright, ina voice which trembled considerably, though she tried to keep itsteady. "A robber wouldn't have much chance with all our men downbelow. James, you know, girls, and Samuel and John. "

"Yes, --and Benjamin and Charles, " chimed in the quick-witted Molly;"and your father, Eyebright, and Henry, --all down there in the barn. "

While they recited this formidable list, the little geese were staringwith wide-open, affrighted eyes into the corner where the rustle hadbeen heard. 

"And, --" continued Eyebright, her voice trembling more than ever, "they have all got pitchforks, you know, and guns, and--oh, mercy!what was that? The hay moved, girls, it did move, I saw it!"

All scrambled to their feet prepared to fly, but before any one couldstart, the hay in the corner parted, and, cackling and screaming, outflew Mrs. Top-knot, tired of her hidden nest, or of the story-telling, and resolved on escape. Eyebright ran after, and shoo-ed herdownstairs. Then she came back laughing, and said, --

"How silly we were! Go on, Laura. "

But the nerves of the party were too shaky still to enjoyrobber-stories, and Eyebright, perceiving this, made a diversion. 

"I know what we all want, " she said; "some apples. Stay here all ofyou, and I'll run in and get them. I won't be but a minute. "

"Mayn't I come too?" asked the inseparable Bessie. 

"Yes, do, and you can help me carry 'em. Don't tell any stories whilewe're gone, girls. Come along, Bess. "

Wealthy happened to be in the buttery, skimming cream, so no one spiedthem as they ran through the kitchen and down the cellar stairs. Thecellar was a very large one. In fact, there were half a dozen cellarsopening one into the other, like the rooms of a house. Wood and coalwere kept in some of them, in others vegetables, and there was aswinging shelf where stood Wealthy's cold meat, and odds and ends offood. All the cellars were dark at this hour of the afternoon, verydark, and Bessie held Eyebright's hand tight, as, with the ease of onewho knew the way perfectly, she sped toward the apple-room. 

In the blackest corner of all, Eyebright paused, fumbled a little onan almost invisible shelf with a jar which had a lid and clattered, and then handed to her friend a dark something whose smell and tasteshowed it to be a pickled butternut. 

"Wealthy keeps her pickles here, " she said, "and she lets me take onenow and then, because I helped to prick the butternuts when she made'em. I got my fingers awfully stained too. It didn't come off foralmost a month. Aren't they good?"

"Perfectly splendid!" replied Bessie, as her teeth met in the spicyacid oval. "I do think butternut pickles are just too lovely!"

The apple-room had a small window in it, so it was not so dark as theother cellars. Eyebright went straight to a particular barrel. 

"These are the best ones that are left, " she said. "They are thosespotty russets which you said you liked, Bessie. Now, you take fourand I'll take four. That'll make just one apiece for each of us. "

"How horrid it would be, " said Bessie, as the two went upstairs againwith the apples in their aprons, --"how horrid it would be if a handshould suddenly come through the steps and catch hold of our ankles. "

"Good gracious, Bessie Mather!" cried Eyebright, whose vividimagination represented to her at once precisely how the hand on herankle would feel, "I wish you wouldn't say such things, --at least tillwe're safely up, " she added. 

Another moment, and they were safely up and in the kitchen. Alas, Wealthy caught sight of them. 

"Eyebright, " she called after them, "tea will be ready in ten minutes. Come in and have your hair brushed and your face washed. "

"Why, Wealthy Judson, what an idea! It's only twenty minutes pastfive. "

"There's a gentleman to tea to-night, and your pa wants it early, so'she can get off by six, " replied Wealthy. "I'm just wetting the teanow. Don't argue, Eyebright, but come at once. "

"I've got to go out to the barn for one minute, anyhow, " criedEyebright, impatiently, and she and Bessie flashed out of the door andacross the yard before Wealthy could say another word. 

"It's too bad, " she said, rushing upstairs into the loft and beginningto distribute the apples. "That old tea of ours is early to-night, andWealthy says I must come in. I'm so sorry now that I went for theapples at all, because if I hadn't I shouldn't have known that tea wasearly, and then I needn't have gone! We were having such a nice time!Can't you all stay till I've done tea? I'll hurry!"

But the loft, with its rustles and dark corners, was not to be thoughtof for a moment without Eyebright's presence and protection. 

"Oh, no, we couldn't possibly; we must go home, " the children said, and down the stairs they all rushed. 

Brindle and old Charley and the strange horse raised their heads andstared as the little cavalcade trooped by their stalls. Perhaps theywere wondering that there was so much less laughing and talking thanwhen it went up. They did not know, you see, about the "perfectlyawful" robber story, or the mysterious rustle, or how dreadfully Mrs. Top-knot in the dark corner had frightened the merry little crowd. 

CHAPTER III. 

MR. JOYCE. 

Wealthy was waiting at the kitchen-door, and pounced on Eyebright themoment she appeared. I want you to know Wealthy, so I must tell youabout her. She was very tall and very bony. Her hair, which was blackstreaked with gray, was combed straight, and twisted round a hair-pin, so as to make a tight, solid knot, about the size of a half-dollar, onthe back of her head. Her face was kind, but such a very queer facethat persons who were not used to it were a good while in finding outthe kindness. It was square and wrinkled, with small eyes, a widemouth, and a nose that was almost flat, as if some one had given it aknock when Wealthy was a baby, and driven it in. She always wore darkcotton gowns and aprons, as clean as clean could be, but made afterthe pattern of Mrs. Japhet's in the Noah's arks, --straight up andstraight down, with almost no folds, so as to use as little materialas possible. She had lived in the house ever since Eyebright was ababy, and looked upon her almost as her own child, --to be scolded, petted, ordered about, and generally taken care of. 

Eyebright could not remember any time in her life when her mother wasnot ill. She found it hard to believe that mamma ever had been youngand active, and able to go about and walk and do the things whichother people did. Eyebright's very first recollections of her were ofa pale, ailing person always in bed or on the sofa, complaining ofheadache and backache, and general misery, --coming downstairs once ortwice in a year perhaps, and even then being the worse for it. Theroom in which she spent her life had a close, dull smell of medicinesabout it, and Eyebright went past its door and down the entry ontiptoe, hushing her footsteps without being aware that she did so, sofixed was the habit. She was so well and strong herself that it wasnot easy for her to understand what sickness is, or what it needs; buther sympathies were quick, and though it was not hard to forget hermother and be happy when she was rioting out-of-doors with the otherchildren, she never saw her without feeling pity and affection, and awish that she could do something to please or to make her feel better. 

Tea was so nearly ready that Wealthy would not let Eyebright goupstairs, but carried her instead into a small bedroom, opening fromthe kitchen, where she herself slept. It was a little place, bareenough, but very neat and clean, as all things belonging to Wealthywere sure to be. Then, she washed Eyebright's face and hands, andbrushed her hair, retying the brown bow, crimping with her fingers theruffle round Eyebright's neck, and putting on a fresh white apron toconceal the ravages of play in the school frock. Eyebright was quiteable to wash her own face, but Wealthy was not willing yet to thinkso; she liked to do it herself, and Eyebright cared too little aboutthe matter, and was too fond of Wealthy beside, to make anyresistance. 

When the little girl was quite neat and tidy, --"Go into thesitting-room, " said Wealthy, with a final pat. "Tea will be ready in afew minutes. Your pa is in a hurry for it. "

So Eyebright went slowly through the kitchen, which looked very brightand attractive with its crackling fire and the sunlight streamingthrough its open door, and which smelt delightfully of ham and eggsand new biscuit, --and down the narrow, dark passage, on one side ofwhich was the sitting-room, and on the other a parlor, which washardly ever used by anybody. Wealthy dusted it now and then, and kepther cake in a closet which opened out of it, and there were a mahoganysofa and some chairs in it, upon which nobody ever sat, and some bookswhich nobody ever read, and a small Franklin stove, with brass knobson top, in which a fire was never lighted, and an odor of mice andvarnish, and that was all. The sitting-room on the other side of theentry was much pleasanter. It was a large, square room, wainscotedhigh with green-painted wood, and had a south window and two westerlyones, so that the sun lay on it all day long. Here and there in thewalls, and upon either side of the chimney-piece, were odd, unexpectedlittle cupboards, with small green wooden handles in their doors. Thedoors fitted so closely that it was hard to tell which was cupboardand which wall; anybody who did not know the room was always a longtime in finding out just how many cupboards there were. The one on theleft-hand side of the chimney-piece was Eyebright's special cupboard. It had been called hers ever since she was three years old, and had toclimb on a chair to open the door. There she kept her treasures of allkinds, --paper dolls and garden seeds, and books, and scraps of silkfor patchwork; and the top shelf of all was a sort of hospital forbroken toys, too far gone to be played with any longer, but too dear, for old friendship's sake, to be quite thrown away. The furniture ofthe sitting-room was cherry-wood, dark with age; and between the westwindows stood a cherry-wood desk, with shelves above and drawersbelow, where Mr. Bright kept his papers and did his writing. 

He was sitting there now as Eyebright came in, busy over something, and in the rocking-chair beside the fire-place was a gentleman whomshe did not recognize at first, but who seemed to know her, for in aminute he smiled and said:--

"Oho! here is my friend of this morning. Is this your little girl, Mr. Bright?"

"Yes, " replied papa, from his desk; "she is mine--my only one. That isMr. Joyce, Eyebright. Go and shake hands with him, my dear. "

Eyebright shook hands, blushing and laughing, for now she saw that Mr. Joyce was the gentleman who had interrupted their play at recess. Hekept hold of her hand when the shake was over, and began to talk in avery pleasant, kind voice, Eyebright thought. 

"I didn't know that you were Mr. Bright's little daughter when I askedthe way to his house, " he said "Why didn't you tell me? And what wasthe game you were playing, which you said was so splendid, but whichmade you cry so hard? I couldn't imagine, and it made me verycurious. "

"It was only about Lady Jane Grey, " answered Eyebright. "I was LadyJane, and Bessie, she was Margaret; and I was just going to bebeheaded when you spoke to us. I always cry when we get to theexecutions; they are so dreadful. "

"Why do you have them, then? I think that's a very sad sort of playfor two happy little girls like you. Why not have a nice merry gameabout men and women who never were executed? Wouldn't it bepleasanter?"

"Oh, no! It isn't half as much fun playing about people who don't havethings happen to them, " said Eyebright, eagerly. "Once we did, Bessieand I. We played at George and Martha Washington, and it wasn't amusinga bit, --just commanding armies, and standing on platforms to receivecompany, and cutting down one cherry-tree! We didn't like it at all. Lady Jane Grey is much nicer than that. And I'll tell you anothersplendid one, 'The Children of the Abbey. ' We played it all throughfrom the very beginning chapter, and it took us all our recesses forfour weeks. I like long plays so much better than short ones which aredone right off. "

Mr. Joyce's eyes twinkled a little, and his lips twitched; but hewould not smile, because Eyebright was looking straight into his face. 

"I don't believe you are too big to sit on my knee, " he said; andEyebright, nothing loth, perched herself on his lap at once. She wassuch a fearless little thing, so ready to talk and to make friends, that he was mightily taken with her, and she seemed equally attractedby him, and chattered freely as to an old friend. 

She told him all about her school, and the girls, and what they did insummer, and what they did in winter, and about Top-knot, and the otherchickens, and her dolls, --for Eyebright still played with dolls byfits and starts, and her grand plan for making "a cave" in the garden, in which to keep label-sticks and bits of string and her cherishedtrowel. 

"Won't it be lovely?" she demanded. "Whenever I want any thing, youknow, I shall just have to dig a little bit, and take up the shinglewhich goes over the top of the cave, and put my hand in. Nobody willknow that it's there but me. Unless I tell Bessie--, " she added, remembering that almost always she did tell Bessie. 

Mr. Joyce privately feared that the trowel would become very rusty, and Eyebright's cave be apt to fill with water when the weather waswet; but he would not spoil her pleasure by making these objections. Instead, he talked to her about his home, which was in Vermont, amongthe Green Mountains, and his wife, whom he called "mother, " and hisson, Charley, who was a year or two older than Eyebright, and a greatpet with his father, evidently. 

"I wish you could know Charley, " he said; "you are just the sort ofgirl he would like, and he and you would have great fun together. Perhaps some day your father'll bring you up to make us a visit. "

"That would be very nice, " said Eyebright. "But"--shaking herhead--"I don't believe it'll ever happen, because papa never does takeme away. We can't leave poor mamma, you know. She'd miss us so much. "

Here Wealthy brought in supper, --a hearty one, in honor of Mr. Joyce, with ham and eggs, cold beef, warm biscuit, stewed rhubarb, marmalade, and, by way of a second course, flannel cakes, for making whichWealthy had a special gift. Mr. Joyce enjoyed every thing, and made anexcellent meal. He was amused to hear Eyebright say, "Do take somemore rhubarb, papa. I stewed it my own self, and it's better than itwas last time, " and to see her arranging her mother's tea neatly on atray. 

"What a droll little pussy that is of yours!" he said to her father, when Eyebright had gone upstairs with the tray. "She seems allimagination, and yet she has a practical turn, too. It's an oddmixture. We don't often get the two things combined in one child. "

"No, you don't, " replied Mr. Bright. "Sometimes I think she has toomuch imagination. Her head is stuffed with all sorts of notions pickedup out of books, and you'd think, to hear her talk, that she hadn't anidea beyond a fairy-tale. But she has plenty of common sense, too, andis more helpful and considerate than most children of her age. Wealthysays she is really useful to her, and has quite an idea of cooking andhousekeeping. I'm puzzled at her myself sometimes. She seems twodifferent children rolled into one. "

"Well, if that is the case, I see no need to regret her vividimagination, " replied his friend. "A quick fancy helps people alongwonderfully. Imagination is like a big sail. When there's nothingunderneath it's risky; but with plenty of ballast to hold the vesselsteady, it's an immense advantage and not a danger. "

Eyebright came in just then, and as a matter of course went back toher perch upon her new friend's knee. 

"Do you know a great many stories?" she asked suggestively. 

"I know a good many. I make them up for Charley sometimes. "

"I wish you'd tell me one. "

"It will have to be a short one then, " said Mr. Joyce, glancing at hiswatch. "Bright, will you see about having my horse brought round? Imust be off in ten minutes or so. " Then, turning to Eyebright, --"I'lltell you about Peter and the Wolves, if you like. That's the shorteststory I know. "

"Oh, do! I like stories about wolves so much, " said Eyebright, settling herself comfortably to listen. 

"Little Peter lived with his grandmother in a wood, " began Mr. Joycein a prompt way, as of one who has a good deal of business to getthrough in brief time. 

"They lived all alone. He hadn't any other boys to play with, but oncein a great while his grandmother let him go to the other side of thewood, where some boys lived, and play with them. Peter was glad whenhis grandmother said he might go. 

"One day in the autumn, he said: 'Grandmother, may I go and seeWilliam and Jack?' Those were the names of the other boys. 

"'Yes, ' she said, 'you can go, if you will promise to come home atfour o'clock. It gets dark early, and I am afraid to have you in thewood later than that. '

"So Peter promised. He had a nice time with William and Jack, and atfour o'clock he started to go home; for he was a boy of his word. 

"As he went along, suddenly, on the path before him, he saw a mostbeautiful gray squirrel, with a long bushy tail. 

"'Oh, you beauty!' cried Peter. 'I must catch you and carry you hometo grandmother. '

"Now, this was humbug in Peter, because grandmother did not care a bitabout gray squirrels. But Peter did. 

"So Peter ran to catch the squirrel, and the squirrel ran, too. He didnot go very fast, but kept just out of reach. More than once, Peterthought he had laid hold of him, but the cunning squirrel alwaysslipped through his fingers. 

"At last the squirrel darted up into a thick tree, where Peter couldnot see him any more. Then Peter began to think of going home. To hissurprise it was almost dark. He had been running so hard that he hadnot noticed this before, nor which way he had come, and when he lookedabout him, he saw that he had lost his way. 

"This was bad enough, but worse happened; for, pretty soon, as heplodded on, trying to guess which way he ought to go, he heard a long, low howl far away in the wood, --the howl of a wolf. Peter had heardwolves howl before, and he knew perfectly well what the sound was. Hebegan to run, and he ran and ran, but the howl grew louder, and wasjoined by more howls, and they sounded nearer every minute, and Peterknew that a whole pack of wolves was after him. Wolves can run muchfaster than little boys, you know. They had almost caught Peter, whenhe saw--"

Mr. Joyce paused to enjoy Eyebright's eyes, which had grown as roundas saucers in her excitement. 

"Oh, go on!" she cried, breathlessly. 

"--when he saw a big hollow tree with a hole in one side. There wasnot a moment to spare; the hole was just big enough for him to getinto; and in one second he had scrambled through and was inside thetree. There were some large pieces of bark lying inside, and he pickedone up and nailed it over the hole with a hammer which he happened tohave in his pocket. So there he was, in a safe little house of hisown, and the wolves could not get at him at all. "

"That was splendid, " sighed Eyebright, relieved. 

"All night the wolves stayed by the tree, and scratched and howled andtried to get in, " continued Mr. Joyce. "By and by the moon rose, andPeter could see them putting their noses through the knotholes in thebark, and smelling at him. But the knotholes were too small, and, smell as they might, they could not get at him. At last, watching hischance he whipped out his jack-knife and cut off the tip of thebiggest wolf's nose. Then the wolves howled awfully and ran away, andPeter put the nose-tip in his pocket, and lay down and went to sleep. "

"Oh, how funny!" cried Eyebright, delighted. "What came next?"

"Morning came next, and he got out of the tree and ran home. His poorgrandmother had been frightened almost to death, and had not slept awink all night long; she hugged and kissed Peter for half an hour andthen hurried to cook him a hot breakfast. That's all the story, --only, when Peter grew to be a man, he had the tip of the wolf's nose set asa breast pin, and he always wore it. "

Here Mr. Joyce set Eyebright down, and rose from his chair, for heheard his horse's hoofs under the window. 

"Oh, do tell me about the breast-pin before you go!" cried Eyebright. "Did he really wear it? How funny! Was it set in gold, or how?"

"I shall have to keep the description of the breast-pin till we meetagain, " replied Mr. Joyce. "My dear, " and he stooped and kissed her, "I wish I had a little girl at home just like you. Charley would likeit too. I shall tell him about you. And if you ever meet, you will befriends, I am sure. "

Eyebright sat on the door-steps and watched him ride down the street. The sun was just setting, and all the western sky was flushed withpink, the very color of a rosy sea-shell. 

"Mr. Joyce is the nicest man that ever came here, I think, " she saidto Wealthy, who passed through the hall with her hands full oftea-things. "He told me a lovely story about wolves. I'll tell it toyou when you put me to bed, if you like. He's the nicest man I eversaw. "

"Nicer than Mr. Porter?" asked Wealthy, grimly, walking down the hall. 

Eyebright blushed and made no answer. Mr. Porter was a sore subject, though she was only six years old when she knew him, and had neverseen him since. 

He was a young man who for one summer had rented a vacant room in MissFitch's school building. He took a great fancy to Eyebright, who was alittle girl then, and he used to play with her, and carry her aboutthe green in his arms. Several times he promised her a doll, which hesaid he would fetch when he went home. At last, he went home and cameback, but no doll appeared and whenever Eyebright asked after it, hereplied that it was "in his trunk. "

One day, he carelessly left open the door of his room and Eyebright, peeping in, spied it, and saw that his trunk was unlocked. Now was herchance, she thought, and, without consulting anybody, she went in, resolved to find the doll for herself. 

Into the trunk she dived. It was full of things, all of which shepulled out and threw upon the floor, which had no carpet, and waspretty dusty. Boots, and shirts, and books, and blacking-bottles, andpapers, --all were dumped one on top of the other; but though she wentto the very bottom, no doll was to be found, and she trotted away, almost crying with disappointment, and leaving the things just as theylay, on the floor. 

Mr. Porter did not like it at all, when he found his property in thiscondition, and Miss Fitch punished Eyebright, and Wealthy scoldedhard; but Eyebright never could be made to see that she had done anything naughty. 

"He's a wicked man, and he didn't tell the trufe, " was all she wouldsay. Wealthy was deeply shocked at the affair, and never let Eyebrightforget it, so that even now, after six years had passed, the mentionof Mr. Porter's name made her feel uncomfortable. She left thedoor-step presently, and went upstairs to her mother's room, where sheusually spent the last half-hour before going to bed. 

It was one of Mrs. Bright's better days, and she was lying on thesofa. She was a pretty little woman still, though thin and faded, andhad a gentle, helpless manner, which made people want to pet her, asthey might a child. The room seemed very warm and close after thefresh door-step, and Eyebright thought, as she had thought many timesbefore, "How I wish that mother liked to have her window open!" Butshe did not say so. "Was your tea nice, mamma?" she asked, a littledoubtfully, for Mrs. Bright was hard to please with food, probablybecause her appetite was so fickle. 

"Pretty good, " her mother answered; "my egg was too hard, and I don'tlike quite so much sugar in rhubarb, but it did very well. What haveyou been about all day, Eyebright?"

"Nothing particular, mamma. School, you know; and after school, someof the girls came into our hayloft and told stories, and we had such anice time. Then Mr. Joyce was here to tea. He's a real nice man, mamma. I wish you had seen him. "

"How was he nice? It seems to me you didn't see enough of him tojudge, " said her mother. 

"Why, mamma, I can always tell right away if people are nice or not. Can't you? Couldn't you, when you were well, I mean?"

"I don't think much of that sort of judging, " said Mrs. Bright, languidly. "It takes a long time to find out what people reallyare, --years. "

"Why, mamma!" cried Eyebright, with wide-open eyes. "I couldn't knowbut just two or three people in my whole life if I had to take suchlots of time to find out! I'd a great deal rather be quick, even if Ichanged my mind afterward. "

"You'll be wiser when you're older, " said her mother. "It's time formy medicine now. Will you bring it, Eyebright? It's the third bottlefrom the corner of the mantel, and there's a tea-cup and spoon on thetable. "

[Illustration: Eyebright fetched the medicine and the cup, and hermother measured out the dose. --PAGE 61. ]

Poor Mrs. Bright! Her medicine had grown to be the chief interest ofher life! The doctor who visited her was one of the old-fashioned kindwho believed in big doses and three pills at a time, and something newevery week or two; but, in addition to his prescriptions, Mrs. Brighttried all sorts of queer patent physics which people told her of, orwhich she read about in the newspapers. She also took a great deal ofherb tea of different sorts. There was always a little porringer ofsomething steaming away on her stove, --camomile, or boneset, orwormwood, or snakeroot, or tansy, and always a long row of fat bottleswith labels on the chimney-piece above it. 

Eyebright fetched the medicine and the cup, and her mother measuredout the dose. 

"I can't help hoping that this is going to do me good, " she said. "It's something new which I read about in the 'Evening Chronicle, '--Dr. Bright's Cosmopolitan Febrifuge. It seems to work the most wonderfulcures. Mrs. Mulravy, a lady in Pike's Gulch, Idaho, got entirely wellof consumptive cancer by taking only two bottles; and a gentleman fromAlaska writes that his wife and three children, who were almost dead ofcholera collapse and heart-disease, recovered entirely after taking theFebrifuge one month. It's very wonderful. "

"I've noticed that those folks who get well in the advertisementsalways live in Idaho and Alaska and such like places, where peopleain't very likely to go a-hunting after them, " said Wealthy, who camein just then with a candle. 

"Now, Wealthy, how can you say so! Both these cures are certified toby regular doctors. Let me see, --yes, --Dr. Ingham and Dr. H. B. Peters. Here are their names on the bottle!"

"It's easy enough to make up a name or two if you want 'em, " mutteredWealthy. Then, seeing that Mrs. Bright looked troubled, she was sorryshe had spoken, and made haste to add, "However, the medicine may befirst-rate medicine, and if it does you good, Mrs. Bright, we'll crackit up everywhere, --that we will. "

Eyebright's bedtime was come. She kissed her mother for good-nightwith the feeling which she always had, that she must kiss very gently, or some dreadful thing might happen, --her mother break in two, perhaps, or something. Wealthy, who was in rather a severe mood forsome reason, undressed her in a sharp, summary way, declined to listento the wolf story, and went away, taking the candle with her. Butthere was little need of a candle in Eyebright's room that night, forthe shutters stood open, and a bright full moon shone in, making everything as distinct, almost, as it was in the daytime. She was not a bitsleepy, but she didn't mind being sent to bed, at all, for bedtimeoften meant to her only a second playtime which she had all toherself. Getting up very softly, so as to make no noise, she crept tothe closet, and brought out a big pasteboard box which was full of oldribbons and odds and ends of lace and silk. With these she proceededto make herself fine; a pink ribbon went round her head, a blue oneround her neck, a yellow and a purple round either ankle, and roundher waist, over her night-gown a broad red one, very dirty, to serveas a sash. Each wrist was adorned with a bit of cotton edging, and, with a broken fan in her hand, Eyebright climbed into bed again, andputting one pillow on top of the other to make a seat, began to play, telling herself the story in a low, whispering tone. 

"I am a Princess, " she said; "the most beautiful Princess that everwas. But I didn't know that I was a Princess at all, because a wickedfairy stole me when I was little, and put me in a lonely cottage, andI thought I wasn't any thing but a shepherdess. But one day, as I wasfeeding my sheep, a ne-cro-answer he came by and he said:--

"'Princess, why don't you have any crown?'

"Then I stared, and said, 'I'm not a Princess. '

"'Oh, but you are, ' he said; 'a real Princess. '

"Then I was so surprised you can't think, Bessie. --Oh, I forgot thatBessie wasn't here. And I said, 'I cannot believe such nonsense asthat, sir. '

"Then the necroanswer laughed, and he said:--

"'Mount this winged steed, and I will show you your kingdom which youwere stolen away from. '

"So I mounted. "

Here Eyebright put a pillow over the foot-board of the bed, andclimbed upon it, in the attitude of a lady on a side-saddle. 

"Oh, how beautiful it is!" she murmured. "How fast we go! I do lovehorseback. "

Dear silly little Eyebright! Riding there in the moonlight, with herscraps of ribbon and her bare feet and her night-gown, she was afantastic figure, and looked absurd enough to make any one laugh. Ilaugh, too, and yet I love the little thing, and find it delightfulthat she should be so easily amused and made happy with small fancies. Imagination is like a sail, as Mr. Joyce had said that evening; butsails are good and useful things sometimes, and carry their ownersover deep waters and dark waves, which else might dampen, and drench, and drown. 

[Illustration: EYEBRIGHT MAKING HERSELF FINE. ]

CHAPTER IV. 

A DAY WITH THE SHAKERS. 

Three weeks after Mr. Joyce's visit, the long summer vacationbegan. The children liked school, but none the less did theyrejoice over the coming of vacation. It brought a sense ofliberty, of long-days-all-their-own-to-do-as-they-liked-with, which it was worth going to school the rest of the year to feel. Each new morning was like a separate beautiful gift, brought andlaid in their hands by an invisible somebody, who must be kindand a friend, since he continually did this delightful thing forthem. 

One hot August afternoon, Eyebright and two or three of her specialcronies had gone for coolness to the ice-house, a place which they hadused as a playroom before on especially sultry days. It was a large, square underground cave, with a shingled roof set over it, whose eavesrested on the ground. The ice when first put in, filled all the spaceunder the roof, and it was necessary to climb up to reach the toplayer; later, ice and ground were on a level, but by August so muchice had been used or had melted away, that a ladder was wanted to helppeople down to the surface. The girls had left the door a little open, but still the place was dark, and they could only dimly see the tinchest in the corner where Wealthy kept her marketing, and the shapesof two or three yellow crocks which lay half buried, their round lidslooking like the caps of droll little drowning Chinamen. 

It was so hot outside, that the dullness of the ice was as refreshingas very cold water is to people who have been walking in the sun. Thegirls drew long breaths of relief as they entered. Such a sharp changefrom heat to cold is not quite safe, and I imagine Wealthy wouldprobably have had a word to say on the subject, had she spied themgoing into the ice-house; but Wealthy happened to be looking anotherway that afternoon, so she did not interfere; and as, strange to say, it harmed nobody that time, we need not discuss the wisdom of theproceeding, only don't any of you who read this go and sit in anice-house without getting leave from someone wiser than yourselves. 

"Oh, this is delightful, " said Romaine. "It's just like the North Poleand the Arctic regions which Pa read about in the book. Don't you comehere sometimes and play shipwreck and polar bears, Eyebright? I shouldthink you would. "

"We did once, but Harry Prime broke a butter-jar, and Wealthy was asmad as hops, and said we must never play here again, and I must neverlet another boy come into the ice-house. She didn't say we girlsmustn't come, though, and I'm glad she didn't; for it's lovely in hotweather, I think. "

"I wish _we_ had an ice-house, " sighed Kitty Bury, "you do have suchlots of nice things, Eyebright, ice-houses and hay-lofts and a greatbig garret, and a room to yourself; I wish I was an only child. "

"I'd rather have some brothers and sisters than all the ice-houses increation, " said Eyebright, who never had agreed with Kitty as to theadvantages of being 'only. ' "It's a great deal nicer. "

"That's because you don't know any thing about it. Brothers andsisters are nice enough sometimes, but other times they're nothing buta plague, " snapped Kitty, who seemed out of sorts for some reason orother; "you can't imagine what a bother Sarah Jane is to me. She'salways taking my things, and turning my drawers over, and tagginground after me when I don't want her; and if I bolt the door, and tryto get a little peace and quiet, she comes and bangs, and says it'sher room too, and I've no business to lock her out; and then mothertakes her part, and it isn't nice a bit. I would a great deal ratherbe an only child than have Sarah Jane. "

"But don't you have splendid times at night and in the morning? Ialways thought it must be so nice to wake up and find another girlthere ready to play and talk. " Eyebright's tone was a little wistful. 

"Well, it's nice _sometimes_, " admitted Kitty. 

Just then the door at the top of the ladder opened, and a fresh facepeeped in. 

"Oh, it's Molly Prime, " they all cried. "Here we are, Molly, comealong. "

Molly scrambled down the ladder. 

"I guessed where you were, " she said. "Wealthy didn't know, so I tookcare not to say a word to her, but just crept round and looked in. Oh, girls! what do you think is going to happen?--something nice. "

"What?"

"Miss Fitch is going to have a picnic and take us to the Shakers. "

The Shaker settlement was about ten miles from Tunxet. I am not surethat I have remembered to tell you that Tunxet was the name of theplace where Eyebright and the other children lived, but it was, TunxetVillage. They were used to see the stout, sober-looking brethren intheir broad-brimmed hats, driving about the place in wagons andselling vegetables, cheese, and apple-butter. But, as it happened, none of the children had ever visited the home of the community, andMolly's news produced a great excitement. 

"Goody! goody!" they all cried, "when are we going, Molly, and how didyou know?"

"Miss Fitch told father. She came to borrow our big wagon, and Ben todrive, and Pa said she could have it and welcome, because he thinksever so much of Miss Fitch, and so does mother. We are going onFriday, and we are not to carry any thing to eat, because we're sureto get a splendid dinner over there. Mother says nobody makes suchgood things as the Shakers do. Won't it be lovely? All the school isgoing, little ones and all, except Washington Wheeler, and he can't, because he's got the measles. "

"Oh, poor little Washington, that's too bad, " said Eyebright, "but I'mtoo glad for any thing that we're going. I always did want to see theShakers. Wealthy went once, and she told me about it. She says they'rethe cleanest people in the world, and that you might eat off theirkitchen floor. "

"Well, if Wealthy says that, you may be sure it is true, " put in LauraWheelwright. "Ma declares _she's_ the cleanest person she ever saw. "

"Oh, Wealthy says the Shakers wouldn't call her clean a bit, " repliedEyebright. "They'd never eat off _her_ floor, she says. "

"Shall we really have to eat off a floor?" inquired Bessie, anxiously. 

"Oh, no. That's only a way of saying very clean indeed!" explainedEyebright. 

All was expectation from that time onward till Friday came. Thechildren were afraid it might rain, and watched the clouds anxiously. Thursday evening brought a thunder-storm, and many were the groans andsighs; but next morning dawned fresh and fair, with clear sunshine, and dust thoroughly laid on the roads, so that every thing seemed tosmile on the excursion. There was but one discord in the general joy, which was that poor little Washington Wheeler must be left behind, with his measles and his disappointment. Eyebright felt so sorry forhim that she told Wealthy she was afraid she shouldn't enjoy herself;but bless her! no sooner were they fairly off, than she forgotWashington and every thing else, except the nice time they werehaving; and neither she nor any one beside noticed the very red andvery tear-stained little face, pressed against the pane of the upperwindow of Mr. Wheeler's house, to watch the big wagon roll through thevillage. 

Such a big wagon, and packed so very full! There were twenty-three ofthem, including Miss Fitch, and Ben, the driver, and how they all gotin is a mystery to this day. The big girls held the little ones intheir laps, the boys were squeezed into the bottom, which was madesoft with straw, and somehow every body did have a place, though how, I can't explain. The road was new to them after the first two or threemiles, and a new road is always exciting, especially when, as thisdid, it winds and turns, now in the woods, and now out, now sunshiny, and now shady, and does not give you many chances to look ahead andsee what you are coming to. They passed several farmhouses, where boyswhom they had never seen before ran out and raised a shout at thesight of the wagon and its merry load. A horse in a field, who lookedlike a very tame, good-natured horse indeed, took a fancy to them, andtrotted alongside till stopped by a fence. Then he flung up his headand whinnied, as if calling them to come back, which made the childrenlaugh. Soon after that they reached a bit of woodland, where treesarched over the road and made it cool and shady, and there they saw asquirrel, running just ahead of the wagon over the pine needles. Hedid not seem to notice them at first, but the boys whooped andhurrahed, and _then_ he was off in a minute, flashing up a tree-trunklike a streak of striped lightning. This was delightful; and no lessso a flight of crows which passed overhead, cawing, and flying so lowthat the children could see every feather in their bodies, which shonein the sun like burnished green-black jet, and the glancing of theirthievish eyes. 

"Going to steal from some farmer's wheat-crop, " said Miss Fitch, andshe repeated these verses about a crow, which amused the childrengreatly. 

 "Where are you bound to, you sooty-black crow? What is that noise which you make as you go? You are a sad wicked thief, as I know, Held by no honesty, keeping no law-- What do you say, sir?" The crow he said-- "Caw. "

 "Corn is still green, oh, you naughty, bad crow, Wheat is not ripe in the meadow below. What is your errand? I think it is low Thus to be stuffing and cramming your maw, Robbing the farmers!--" The crow he said-- "Caw. "

 "Bring me my gun. Now you sinful old crow, Right at your back I take aim as you go. You are a thief and the honest man's foe! Therefore I shoot you. " Click! Bang!--but, oh pshaw! Off flew the crow, and he laughed and said-- "Caw. "

By the time that the children had done giggling over the crow-rhymes, the Shaker village was in sight, looking, against its back-ground ofgreen trees, like a group of nice yellow cheeses, --only the cheeseswere not round. All the buildings were cream-colored, and seemedfreshly painted, they were so very clean. The windows had no shutters, but inside some of them hung blue paper shades to keep out the sun. Every thing looked thrifty and in excellent order. The orchard treeswere heavy with half-grown apples and pears; the grass fields had beennewly cut, and nothing could be imagined neater than the vegetablegardens which lay on one side of the houses. All the green thingsstood in precise straight rows, --every beet, and carrot, and cucumberwith his hands in his own pocket, so to speak; none of that reachingabout and intruding on neighboring premises which most vegetablesindulge in; but every one at home, with a sedate air, and minding hisown business. Not a single squash-vine could be detected ticklinganother squash-vine; each watermelon lay in the middle of his hillwith a solemn expression on his large face; the tomatoes lookedashamed of being red; and only a suit of drab apiece seemed wanting, to make the pumpkins as respectably grave as the other members of thecommunity. Two small boys, in wide-brimmed hats and legs of discreettint, were weeding these decorous vegetables. They raised their headsand took one good stare as the big wagon rattled past, then theylowered them again, and went on with their work, laying the pig-weeds, which they pulled out of the ground, in neat little piles along thegarden walk. 

At the door of the principal building, a stout, butternut-coloredElder stood waiting, as if to learn their business. 

"We have driven over to see your village, " said Miss Fitch, in herpleasant voice, "and we should like dinner, if you can give it to us. "

"Yea, " said the Elder. He pronounced the word as if it were spelled"ye. " That was all he said; but he helped the children to get downfrom the wagon, and led the way through a very clean, bare passage toa room equally clean and bare, where four women in drab gowns withwide collars and stiff white caps were sitting, each on a littleplatform by herself, darning stockings, with a basket of mendingbeside her. 

One of these introduced herself to Miss Fitch as Sister Samantha. Shehad a round, comfortable face, and the boys and girls, who had felt anawe of the grave Elder, recovered courage as they looked at her. Shesaid they could "go round" if they wanted to, and called a youngersister named Dorcas to show them the way. 

Sister Dorcas had a pale, rather dissatisfied face. She did not seemso happy as Sister Samantha. She showed the children all that therewas to see, but she said very little and took no pains to explain anything, or to make the visit pleasant. They saw the bedrooms where thesisters slept, and the bedrooms where the brothers slept, all exactlyalike, comfortable, plain, and unadorned, except for wonderfulpatchwork quilts on the beds, and the gay "pulled" rugs on the floors. They were shown the kitchen where the food for all the community wascooked, a kitchen as clean and shining as the waxen cell of a bee, andthe storerooms, full of dried fruits and preserved fruits, honey, cheeses, beeswax, wooden ware, brooms, herbs, and soap. There was an"office" also, where these things were for sale to any one who shouldchoose to buy, and great consultations took place among the children, who had almost all brought a little shopping money. Some chosemaple-sugar, some, silk-winders, some, little cakes of white wax foruse in work-baskets. Molly Prime had a sudden bright thought, whichshe whispered about, and after much giggling and mysteriousexplanations in corners, they clubbed together and got a work-basketfor Miss Fitch. It cost a dollar and a quarter, and was a greatbeauty, the children thought. Miss Fitch was very much pleased withit, and that added to their pleasure, so that the purchase of thework-basket was one of the pleasantest events of the day. Eyebrightspent what was left of her money in buying a new mop-handle as apresent for Wealthy, who wanted one, she knew. She was a good deallaughed at by the other boys and girls, but she didn't mind that abit, and shouldering her mop-handle as if it had been a flag-staff, followed with the rest wherever Sister Dorcas chose to lead them. 

Sister Dorcas took them to see the big barns, sweet with freshly madehay, and to the dairy and cheese-house, with white shelves laden withpans of rich milk and curds, the very sight of which made the childrenhungry. Next they peeped into the meeting-house for Sundays, and thenthey were taken to the room where fruit was packed and sorted. Herethey found half-a-dozen young Shakeresses, busy in filling basketswith blackberries for next day's market. 

These Shaker girls pleased the children very much; they looked sofresh and prim and pretty in their sober costume, and so cheerful andsmiling. Eyebright fell in love at once with the youngest andprettiest, a girl only two or three years older than herself. Shemanaged to get close to her, and, under pretence of helping with theblackberries, drew her a little to one side, where they could talkwithout being overheard. 

"Do you like to live here?" she asked confidentially, as their fingersmet in the blackberry basket. 

"Yea, " said the little Shakeress, glancing round shyly. Then as shesaw that nobody was noticing them, she became more communicative. 

"I like it--pretty well, " she said. "But I guess I shan't stay herealways. "

"Won't you? What will you do then? Where will you go?"

"I don't know yet; but Ruth Berguin--she is my sister in theflesh--was once of this family, and she left, and went back to theworld's people and got married. She lives up in Canada now, and hasgot two babies. She came for a visit once, and fetched one of them. Sister Samantha felt real badly when Ruth went, but she liked the babyever so much. I mean to go back to the world's people too, some day. "

"Oh my! perhaps _you_ will get married, " suggested Eyebright, greatlyexcited at the idea. 

"Perhaps I shall, " answered the small Shakeress with unmoved gravity. 

Then she told Eyebright that her name was Jane, and she was an orphan, and that she and sister Orphah, whom she pointed out, slept togetherin one of the bedrooms which the children had seen upstairs, and hadvery "good times" after the lights were out, whispering to each otherand planning what they would do when they were old enough to do anything. Sister Orphah, too, had a scheme for returning to the world'speople--perhaps they might go together. The idea of these "good times"rather tickled Eyebright's imagination. For a few minutes shereflected that perhaps it might be a pleasant thing to come and jointhe Shakers. She and sister Jane grew intimate so fast, and chatteredso merrily, that Bessie became jealous and drew near to hear what theywere saying, and presently one of the elder Shakeresses joined them, and gently sent Jane away on an errand. Eyebright's chance forconfidences was over: but she had made the most of it while it lasted, and that is always a comfort. 

By the time that they had finished the round of the premises dinnerwas ready, --welcome news; for the children were all very hungry. Itwas spread in an enormous dining-room on two long tables. The menShakers sat at one table, and the women Shakers at the other. MissFitch and her scholars were placed with the latter, and some of theyoung sisters waited on them very neatly and quietly. Sister Jane wasone of these and she took especial care of Eyebright whom she seemedto regard as a friend of her own. No one spoke at either table exceptto ask for something or to say "thank you"; but to make up for thissilence, a prodigious amount of eating was done. No wonder, for thedinner was excellent, the very best dinner, the children thought, thatthey had ever tasted. There was no fresh meat, but capital pork andbeans, vegetables of all kinds, delicious Indian pudding, flooded withthick, yellow cream, brown bread and white, rusk, graham gems, oat-meal and grits, with the best of butter, apple-sauce, maple-molasses, and plenty of the richest milk. Every thing was of thenicest material, and as daintily clean as if intended for a queen. Miss Fitch praised the food, and Sister Samantha, who looked pleased, said they tried to do things thoroughly, "as to the Lord. " Miss Fitchsaid afterward that she thought this was an admirable idea, and shewished more people would try it, because then there would be less badcooking in the world, and less saleratus and dyspepsia. She said thatto be faithful and thorough in every thing, even in getting dinnerready, was a real way of serving God, and pleased Him too, because Helooks beyond things, and sees the spirit in which we do them. 

At three o'clock the wagon came to the door, and they said good-by tothe kind Shakers. Miss Fitch paid for the dinner; but the elder wasnot willing to take much. They entertained the poor for nothing, hesaid. A small compensation from those who were able and willing topay, did not come amiss, but a dinner for boys and girls like those, he guessed, didn't amount to much. Miss Fitch privately doubted this. It seemed to her that a regiment of grown men could hardly havedevoured more in the same space of time than her hungry twenty-one;but she was grateful to the elder for his kindness, and told him so. Eyebright parted from Sister Jane with a kiss, and gave her, by way ofkeepsake, the only thing she had, --a china doll about two inches long, which chanced to be at the bottom of her pocket. It was a droll giftto make to a solemn little Shakeress in drab; but Jane was pleased, and said she should always keep it. Then they were packed into thewagon again, and with many good-bys they drove away, kissing theirhands to the sisters at the door, and carrying with them a sense ofcleanliness, hospitality, and quiet peace, which would make them forever friendly to the name of Shaker. 

The drive home was as pleasant as that of the morning had been. Thechildren were not at all tired, and in the most riotous spirits. Theyhurrahed every five minutes. They made jokes and guessed riddles, andsang choruses, --"_Tranquidillo_" was one; "We'll bear the storm, itwon't be long, " another; and "Ubidee, " which Herman Bury had picked upfrom a cousin in college, and which they all thought grand. Past thefarmhouses they went, past the tree where the squirrel had curledhimself to sleep, and the fields from which the thievish crows hadflown. They stopped a minute at Mr. Wheeler's to leave somemaple-sugar for Washington, --not the best diet for measles, perhaps, but pleasant as a proof of kind feeling, and then, one by one, theywere dropped at the doors of their own homes. 

"Well!" said Wealthy, eying her mop-handle with great satisfaction. "That's what I call sensible. I expected you'd spend your money onsome pesky gimcrack or other. I never thought 't would be a handything like this, and I am obliged to you for it, Eyebright. Now run upand see your ma. She was asking after you a while ago. "

CHAPTER V. 

HOW THE BLACK DOG HAD HIS DAY. 

"You've got the black dog on your shoulder, this morning; that'swhat's the matter with you, " said Wealthy. 

This metaphorical black dog meant a bad humor. Eyebright had waked upcross and irritable. What made her wake up cross I am not wise enoughto explain. The old-fashioned doctors would probably have ascribed itto indigestion, the new-fashioned ones to nerves or malaria or a"febrile tendency"; Deacon Bury, I think, would have called it"Original Sin, " and Wealthy, who did not mince matters, dubbed it anattack of the Old Scratch, which nothing but a sound shaking couldcure. Very likely all these guesses were partly right and all partlywrong. When our bodies get out of order, our souls are apt to becomedisordered too, and at such times there always seem to be little impsof evil lurking near, ready to seize the chance, rush in, fan thesmall embers of discontent to a flame, make cross days crosser, andturn bad beginnings into worse endings. 

The morning's mischances had begun with Eyebright's being late tobreakfast;--a thing which always annoyed her father very much. Knowingthis, she made as much haste as possible, and ran downstairs with herboots half buttoned, fastening her apron as she went. She was in toogreat a hurry to look where she was going, and the result was thatpresently she tripped and fell, bumping her head and tearing the skirtof her frock half across. This was bad luck indeed, for Wealthy, sheknew, would make her darn it as a punishment, and that meant at leastan hour's hard work indoors on one of the loveliest days that evershone. She picked herself up and went into the sitting-room, pouting, and by no means disposed to enjoy the lecture on punctuality, whichpapa made haste to give, and which was rather longer and sharper thanit would otherwise have been, because Eyebright looked so very sulkyand obstinate while listening to it. 

You will all be shocked at this account, but I am not sorry to showEyebright to you on one of her naughty days. All of us have such dayssometimes, and to represent her as possessing no faults would be toput her at a distance from all of you; in fact, I should not like herso well myself. She has been pretty good, so far, in this story; butshe was by no means perfect, for which let us be thankful; because aperfect child would be an unnatural thing, whom none of us could quitebelieve in or understand! Eyebright was a dear little girl, and forall her occasional naughtiness, had plenty of lovable qualities abouther; and I am glad to say she was not often so naughty as on this day. 

When a morning begins in this way, every thing seems to go wrong withus, as if on purpose. It was so with Eyebright. Her mother, who wasvery poorly, found fault with her breakfast. She wanted some hottertea, and a slice of toast a little browner and cut very thin. Thesewere simple requests, and on any other day Eyebright would have dancedoff gleefully to fulfil them. To-day she was annoyed at having to go, and moved slowly and reluctantly. She did not say that she feltwaiting on her mother to be a trouble, but her face, and theexpression of her shoulders, and her dull, dawdling movements said itfor her; and poor Mrs. Bright, who was not used to such unwillingnesson the part of her little daughter, felt it so much that she shed afew tears over the second cup of tea after it was brought. Thisdismayed Eyebright, but it also exasperated her. She would not takeany notice, but stood by in silence till her mother had finished, andthen, without a word, carried the tray downstairs. A sort of doublemood was upon her. Down below the anger was a feeling of keen remorsefor what she had done, and a voice inside seemed to say: "Oh dear, howsorry I am going to be for this by and by!" But she would not letherself be sorry then, and stifled the voice by saying, half aloud, asshe went along: "I don't care. It's too bad of mother. I wish shewouldn't. "

Wealthy met her at the stair-foot. 

"How long you've been!" she said, taking the tray from her. 

"I can't be any quicker when I have to keep going for more things, "said Eyebright. 

"Nobody said you could, " retorted Wealthy, speaking crossly herself, because Eyebright's tone was cross. "Mercy on me! How did you tearyour frock like that? You'll have to darn it yourself, you know;that's the rule. Fetch your work-box as soon as you've done the cupsand saucers. "

Eyebright almost replied "I won't, " but she did not quite dare, andwalked, without speaking, into the sitting-room, where the table wasmade ready for dish-washing, with a tub of hot water, towels, a bit ofsoap, and a little mop. Since vacation began, Wealthy had allowed herto wash the breakfast things on Mondays and Tuesdays, days on whichshe herself was particularly busy. 

Ordinarily, Eyebright was very proud to be trusted with this littlejob. She worked carefully and nicely, and had proved herself capable, but to-day her fingers seemed all thumbs. She set the cups awaywithout drying the bottoms, so that they made wet rings on theshelves; she only half rinsed the teapot, left a bit of soap in itsspout, and ended by breaking a saucer. Wealthy scolded her, sheretorted, and then Wealthy made the speech, which I have quoted, aboutthe black dog. 

Very slowly and unwillingly Eyebright sat down to darn her frock. Itwas a long, jagged rent, requiring patience and careful slowness, andneither good-will nor patience had Eyebright to bring to the task. Herfingers twitched, she "pshawed, " and "oh deared, " ran the needle inand out and in irregularly, jerked the thread, and finally gave afretful pull when she came to the end of the first needleful, whichtore a fresh hole in the stuff and puckered all she had darned, sothat it was not fit to be seen. Wealthy looked in just then, and wasscandalized at the condition of the work. 

"You can just pick it out from the beginning, " she said. "It's aburning shame that a great girl like you shouldn't know how to dobetter. But it's temper--that's what it is. Nothing in the world buttemper, Eyebright. You've been as cross as two sticks all day, Massyknows for what, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself, " whereon shegave Eyebright a little shake. 

The shake was like a match applied to gunpowder. Eyebright flamed intoopen revolt. 

"Wealthy Ann Judson!" she cried, angrily. "Let me alone. It's all yourfault if I am cross, you treat me so. I won't pick it out. I won'tdarn it at all. And I shall just tell my father that you shook me; seeif I don't. "

Wealthy's reply was a sound box on the ear. Eyebright's naughtinesscertainly deserved punishment, but it was hardly wise or right ofWealthy to administer it, or to do it thus. She was far too angry tothink of that, however. 

"That's what you want, " said Wealthy, "and you'd be a better girl ifyou got it oftener. " Then she marched out of the room, leavingEyebright in a fury. 

"I won't bear it! I won't bear it!" she exclaimed, bursting intotears. "Everybody is cruel, cruel! I'll run away! I'll not stay inthis house another minute--not another minute, " and, catching up hersun-bonnet, she darted through the hall and was out of the gate anddown the street in a flash. Wealthy was in the kitchen, her father wasout, no one saw her go. Rosy and Tom Bury, who were swinging on theirgate, called to her as she passed, but their gay voices jarred on herear, and she paid no attention to the call. 

Tunxet village was built upon a sloping hill whose top was crownedwith woods. To reach these woods, Eyebright had only to climb twostone walls and cross a field and a pasture, and as they seemed justthen the most desirable refuge possible, she made haste to do so. Shehad always had a peculiar feeling for woods, a feeling made up ofterror and attraction. They were associated in her mind with fairiesand with robbers, with lost children, redbreasts, Robin Hood and hismerry men; and she was by turns eager and shy at the idea of exploringtheir depths, according to which of these images happened to beuppermost in her ideas. To-day she thought neither of Robin Hood northe fairies. The wood was only a place where she could hide away andcry and be unseen, and she plunged in without a thought of fear. 

In and in she went, over stones and beds of moss, and regiments oftall brakes, which bowed and rose as she forced her way past theirstems, and saluted her with wafts of woodsy fragrance, half bitter, half sweet, but altogether pleasant. There was something soothing inthe shade and cool quiet of the place. It fell like dew on her hotmood, and presently her anger changed to grief, she knew not why. Hereyes filled with tears. She sat down on a stone all brown with softmosses, and began to cry, softly at first, then loudly and more loud, not taking any pains to cry quietly, but with hard sobs and greatgulps which echoed back in an odd way from the wood. It seemed arelief at first to make as much noise as she liked with her crying, and to know that there was no one to hear or be annoyed. It waspleasant, too, to be able to talk out loud as well as to cry. 

"They are _so_ unkind to me, " she wailed, "so very unkind. Wealthynever slapped me before. She has no right to slap me. I'll never kissWealthy again, --never. O-h, she was so unkind"--

"O-h!" echoed back the wood in a hollow tone. Eyebright jumped. 

"It's like a voice, " she thought. "I'll go somewhere else. It isn'tnice just here. I don't like it. "

So she went back a little way to the edge of the forest, where thetrees were less thick, and between their stems she could see thevillage below. Here she felt safer than she had been when in the thickwood. She threw herself down in a comfortable hollow at the foot of anoak, and, half sitting, half lying, began to think over her wrongs. 

"I guess if I was dead they'd be sorry, " she reflected. "They'd huntand hunt for me, and not know where I was. And at last they'd come uphere, and find me dead, with a tear on my cheek, and then they'd knowhow badly they had made me feel, and their hearts would nearly break. I don't believe father would ever smile again. He'd be like the kingin the 'Second Reader':--

 'But waves went o'er his son's bright hair, He never smiled again. '

Only, I'm a daughter, and it would be leaves and not waves! Mother, she'd cry and cry, and as for that old Wealthy"--but Eyebright felt itdifficult to imagine what Wealthy would do under these circumstances. Her thoughts drifted another way. 

"I might go into a convent instead. That would be better, I guess. I'dbe a novice first, with a white veil and a cross and a rosary, and I'dlook so sweet and holy that all the other children, --no, therewouldn't be any other children, --never mind!--I'd be lovely, anyhow. But I'd be a Protestant always! I wouldn't want to be a Catholic andhave to kiss the Pope's old toe all the time! Then by and by I shouldtake that awful black veil. Then I could never come out any more--notever! And I should kneel in the chapel all the time as motionless as amarble figure. That would be beautiful. " Eyebright had never been ableto sit still for half an hour together in her life, but that made nodifference in her enjoyment of this idea. "The abbess will bebeautiful, too, but stern and unrelenting, and she'll say 'Daughters'when she speaks to us nuns, and we shall say 'Holy Mother' when wespeak to her. It'll be real nice. We shan't have to do any darning, but just embroidery in our cells and wax flowers. Wealthy'll want tocome in and see me, I know, but I shall just tell the porter that Idon't want her, not ever. 'She's a heretic, ' I shall say to theporter, and he'll lock the door the minute he sees her coming. Thenshe'll be mad! The Abbess and _Mčre Généfride_"--Eyebright had justread for the fourth time Mrs. Sherwood's exciting novel called "TheNun, " so her imaginary convent was modelled exactly after the onethere described--"the abbess and _Mčre Généfride_ will always bespying about and listening in the passage to hear what we say, when wesit in our cells embroidering and telling secrets, but me and myPauline--no, I won't call her Pauline--Rosalba--sister Rosalba--thatshall be her name--we'll speak so low that she can't hear a word. Thenwe shall suspect that something strange is taking place down in thecellar, --I mean the dungeons, --and we'll steal down and listen whenthe abbess and the bishop and all of them are trying the sister, whohas a bible tied on her leg!" Here Eyebright gave an enormous yawn. "And--if--the--mob--does come--Wealthy--will be sure to--sure to--"

But of what we shall never know, for at this precise moment Eyebrightfell asleep. 

[Illustration: ASLEEP IN THE WOODS. ]

She must have slept a long time, for when she waked the sun hadchanged his place in the sky, and was shining on the western side ofthe village houses. Had some good angel passed by, lifted the "blackdog" from her shoulder, and swept from her mind all its foolish andangry thoughts, while she dreamed there under the trees? For behold!matters and things now looked differently to her, and, instead ofblaming other people and thinking hard things of them, she began toblame herself. 

"How naughty I was, " she thought, "to be so cross with poor mamma, just because she wanted another cup of tea! Oh dear, and I made hercry! I know it was me--just because I looked so cross. How horrid Ialways am! And I was cross to papa, too, and put my lip out at him. How could I do so? What made me? Wealthy hadn't any business to slapme, though--

"But then I was pretty ugly to Wealthy, " she went on, her consciencetelling her the truth at last, as consciences will, if allowed. "Ijust tried to provoke her--and I called her Wealthy Ann Judson! Thatalways makes her mad. She never slapped me before not since I was alittle mite of a girl. Oh, dear! And only yesterday she washed allGenevieve's dolly things--her blue muslin, and her overskirt, andall--and she said she didn't mind trouble when it was for my doll. She's very good to me sometimes. Almost always she's good. Oh, Ioughtn't to have spoken so to Wealthy--I oughtn't--I oughtn't!" AndEyebright began to cry afresh; not angry tears this time, but bright, healthful drops of repentance, which cleansed and refreshed her soul. 

"I'll go right home now and tell her I am sorry, " she said, impetuously;and, jumping from her seat, she ran straight down the hill and acrossthe field, eager to make her confession and to be forgiven. Eyebright'sfits of temper, big and little, usually ended in this way. She had noneof that dislike of asking pardon with which some persons are afflicted. To her it was a relief--a thing to be met and gone through with for thesake of the cheer, the blue-sky-in-the-heart, which lay on the otherside of it, and the peace which was sure to follow, when once the"forgive me" was spoken. 

In at the kitchen door she dashed. Wealthy, who was ironing, with aworried frown on her brow, started and exclaimed at the sight ofEyebright, and sat suddenly down on a chair. Before she could speak, Eyebright's arms were round her neck. 

"I was real horrid and wicked this morning, " she cried. "Pleaseforgive me, Wealthy. I won't be so naughty again--not ever. Oh, don't, don't!" for, to her dismay, Wealthy, the grim, broke down and began tocry. This was really dreadful. Eyebright stared a moment; then her owneyes filled, and she cried, too. 

"What a fool I be!" said Wealthy, dashing the drops from her eyes. "There, Eyebright, there! Hush, dear; we won't say any more about it. "And she kissed Eyebright, for perhaps the tenth time in her life. Kisses were rare things, indeed, with Wealthy. 

"Where have you been?" she asked presently. "It's four o'clock andafter. Did you know that? Have you had any dinner?"

"No, but I don't want any, Wealthy. I've been in the woods on top ofthe hill. I ran away and sat there, and I guess I fell asleep, " saidEyebright, hanging her head. 

"Well, your pa didn't come home to dinner, for a wonder; I reckon hewas kept to the mill; so we hadn't much cooked. I took your ma's up toher; but I never let on that I didn't know where you was, for fear ofworrying her. She has worried a good lot any way. Here, let me brushyour hair a little, and then you'd better run upstairs and make hermind easy. I'll have something for you to eat when you come down. "

Eyebright's heart smote her afresh when she saw her mother's pale, anxious face. 

"You've been out so long, " she said. "I asked Wealthy, and she saidshe guessed you were playing somewhere, and didn't know how the timewent. I was afraid you felt sick, and she was keeping it from me. Itis so bad to have things kept from me; nothing annoys me so much. Andyou didn't look well at breakfast. Are you sick, Eyebright?"

"No, mamma, not a bit. But I have been naughty--very naughty indeed, mamma; and I ran away. "

Then she climbed up on the bed beside her mother, and told the storyof the morning, keeping nothing back--all her hard feelings and angerat everybody, and her thoughts about dying, and about becoming a nun. Her mother held her hand very tight indeed when she reached this lastpart of the confession. The idea of the wood, also, was terrible tothe poor lady. She declared that she shouldn't sleep a wink all nightfor thinking about it. 

"It wasn't a dangerous wood at all, " explained Eyebright. "Therewasn't any thing there that could hurt me. Really there wasn't, mamma. Nothing but trees, and stones, and ferns, and old tumbled-down trunkscovered with tiny-weeny mosses, --all green and brown and red, and someperfectly white, --so pretty. I wish I had brought you some, mamma. "

"Woods are never safe, " declared Mrs. Bright, "what with snakes, andtramps, and wildcats, and getting lost, and other dreadful things, Ihardly take up a paper without seeing something or other bad in itwhich has happened in a wood. You must never go there alone again, Eyebright. Promise me that you won't. "

Eyebright promised. She petted and comforted her mother, kissing herover and over again, as if to make up for the anxiety she had causedher, and for the cross words and looks of the morning. The sad thingis, that no one ever does make up. All the sweet words and kind actsof a lifetime cannot undo the fact that once--one bad day far awaybehind us--we were unkind and gave pain to some one whom we love. Eventheir forgiveness cannot undo it. How I wish we could remember thisalways before we say the words which we afterward are so sorry for, and thus save our memories from the burden of a sad load of regret andrepentance!

When Eyebright went downstairs, she found a white napkin, her favoritemug filled with milk, a plateful of bread and butter and cold lamb, and a large pickled peach, awaiting her on the kitchen table. Wealthyhovered about as she took her seat, and seemed to have a dispositionto pat Eyebright's shoulder a good deal, and to stroke her hair. Wealthy, too, had undergone the repentance which follows wrath. Hermorning, I imagine, had been even more unpleasant than Eyebright's, for she had spent it over a hot ironing table, and had not had therefreshment of running away into the woods. 

"It's so queer, " said Eyebright, with her mouth full of bread andbutter. "I didn't know I was hungry a bit, but I am as hungry as canbe. Every thing tastes so good, Wealthy. "

"That's right, " replied Wealthy, who was a little upset, and tearfulstill. "A good appetite's a good thing, --next best to a goodconscience, I think. "

Eyebright's spirits were mounting as rapidly as quicksilver. BessieMather appeared at the gate as she finished her last mouthful, and, giving Wealthy a great hug, Eyebright ran out to meet her, with alightness and gayety of heart which surprised even herself. The bluesky seemed bluer than ever before, the grass greener, the sunshine waslike yellow gold. Every little thing that happened made her laugh. Itwas as though a black cloud had been rolled away from between her andthe light. 

"I wonder what makes me so particularly happy to-night, " she thought, as she sat on the steps waiting for papa, after Bessie was gone. "It'squeer that I should, when I've been so naughty--and all. "

But it was not queer, though Eyebright felt it so. The world neverlooks so fair and bright as to eyes newly washed by tears of sorrowfor faults forgiven; and hearts which are emptied of unkind feelingsgrow light at once, as if happiness were the rule of the world and notthe exception. 

CHAPTER VI. 

CHANGES. 

It happens now and then in life that small circumstances linkthemselves on to great ones, and in this way become important, whenotherwise they might pass out of mind and be forgotten. Such was thecase with that day's naughtiness. Eyebright remembered it always, andnever without a sharp prick of pain, because of certain things thatfollowed soon afterward, and of which I must tell you in this chapter. 

Miss Fitch's winter term opened on the 15th of September. The boys andgirls were not sorry to begin school, I think. They had "playedthemselves out" during the long vacation, and it was rather a pleasantchange now to return to lessons and regular hours. Every thing seemednew and interesting after three months' absence, the schoolhouse, theGreen, all the cubby-holes and hiding-places, just as shabbyplaythings laid aside for a while come out looking quite fresh, and donot seem like old ones at all. There was the beautiful autumn weather, beside, making each moment of liberty doubly delightful. Day afterday, week after week, this perfect weather lasted, till it seemed asthough the skies had forgotten the trick of raining, or how to be ofany color except clear, dazzling blue. The wind blew softly and madelovely little noises in the boughs, but there was a cool edge to itssoftness now which added to the satisfaction of breathing it. Thegarden beds were gay as ever, but trees began to show tips of crimsonand orange, and now and then a brown leaf floated gently down, asthough to hint that summer was over and the autumn really begun. Smalldrifts of these brown leaves formed in the hollows of the road andabout fence corners. The boys and girls kicked them aside to get atthe chestnut burs which had fallen and mixed with them, --spiky burs, half open, and showing the glossy-brown nut within. It was a greatapple-year, too, and the orchards were laden with ripe fruit. Nearlyall the Saturday afternoons were spent by the children inapple-gathering or in nutting, and autumn seemed to them as summer hadseemed before autumn, spring before summer, and winter in its turnbefore spring, --the very pleasantest of the four pleasant seasons ofthe year. 

With so many things to do, and such a stock of health and spirits tomake doing delightful, it is not strange that for a long timeEyebright remained unconscious of certain changes which were takingplace at home, and which older people saw plainly. It did cross hermind once or twice that her mother seemed feebler than usual, andWealthy and papa worried and anxious, but the thought did not stay, being crowded out by thoughts of a more agreeable kind. She had neverin her life been brought very close to any real trouble. Wealthy hadspoken before her of Mrs. So-and-so as being "in affliction, " and shehad seen people looking sad and wearing black clothes, but it was likesomething in a book to her, --a story she only half comprehended;though she vaguely shrank from it, and did not wish to read further. With all her quick imagination, she was not in the least morbid. Sorrow must come to her, she would never take a step to meet it. Soshe went on, busy, healthy, happy, full of bright plans and fun andmerriment, till suddenly one day sorrow came. For, running in fromschool, she found Wealthy crying in the kitchen, and was told that hermother was worse, --much worse, --and the doctor thought she could onlylive a day or two longer. 

"Oh, no, no, Wealthy, " was all she could say at first. Then, "Whydoesn't Dr. Pillsbury give mamma something?" she demanded; forEyebright had learned to feel a great respect for medicine, and tobelieve that it must be able to cure everybody. 

Wealthy shook her head. 

"It ain't no use specylating about more medicines, " she said, "yourma's taken shiploads of 'em, and they ain't never done her any goodthat I can see. No, Eyebright dear; it's got to come, and we must makethe best of it. It's God's will I s'pose, and there ain't nothing tobe said when that's the case. "

"Oh, dear! how can God will any thing so dreadful?" sobbed Eyebright, feeling as if she were brought face to face with a great puzzle. Wealthy could not answer. It was a puzzle to her, also. But she tookEyebright into her lap, held her close, and stroked her hair gently;and that helped, as love and tenderness always do. 

Some very sad days followed. The doctor came and went. There was ahush over the house. It seemed wrong to speak aloud even, andEyebright found herself moving on tiptoe, and shutting the doors withanxious care; yet no one had said, "Do not make a noise. " Everybodyseemed to be waiting for something, but nobody liked to think whatthat something might be. Eyebright did not think, but she feltmiserable. A great cloud seemed to hang over all her bright littleworld, so happy till then. She moped about, with no heart to do anything, or she sat in the hall outside her mother's door, listening forsounds. Now and then they let her creep in for a minute to look atmamma, who lay motionless as if asleep; but Eyebright could not keepfrom crying, and after a little while, papa would sign to her to go, and she would creep out again, hushing her sobs till she was safelydownstairs with the door shut. It was such a melancholy time that I donot see how she could have got through with it, had it not been forGenevieve, who, dumb as she was, proved best comforter of all. Withher face buried in the lap of Genevieve's best frock, Eyebright mightshed as many tears as she liked, whispering in the waxen ear how muchshe wished that mamma could get well, how good, how very good shealways meant to be if she did, and how sorry she was that she had everbeen naughty or cross to her; especially on that day, that dreadfulday, when she ran off into the woods, the recollection of whichrankled in her conscience like a thorn, Genevieve listenedsympathizingly, but not even her affection could pull out the thorn, or make its prick any easier to bear. 

I do not like to tell about sad things half so well as about happyones, so we will hurry over this part of the story. Mrs. Bright livedonly a week after that evening when Eyebright first realized that shewas so much worse. She waked up before she died, kissed Eyebright forgood-by, and said, "My helpful little comfort. " These sweet words werethe one thing which made it seem possible to live just then. All herlife long they came back to Eyebright like the sound of music, andwhen the thought of her childish faults gave her pain, these words, which carried full forgiveness of the faults, soothed and consoledher. After a while, as she grew older, she learned to feel that mammain heaven knew much better than mamma on earth could, how much herlittle daughter really had loved her, and how it grieved her now toremember that ever she should have been impatient or unkind. 

But this was not for a long time afterward, and meanwhile her chiefpleasure was in remembering, that, for all her naughtiness, mamma hadkissed her and called her "a comfort" before she died. 

After the funeral, Wealthy opened the blinds, which had been kepttight shut till then, and life returned to its usual course. Breakfast, dinner, and supper appeared regularly on the table, papawent again to to the mill, and Eyebright to school. She felt shy andstrange at first, and the children were shy of her, because of herblack alpaca frock, which impressed their imaginations a good deal. This wore off as the frock wore out, and by the time that Eyebrighthad ripped out half the gathers of the waist and torn a hole in thesleeve, which was pretty soon, the alpaca lost its awfulness in theireyes, and had become as any common dress. In the course of a week ortwo, Eyebright found herself studying, playing, and walking at recesswith Bessie, quite in the old way. But all the while she was consciousof a change, and a feeling which she fought with, but could not getrid of, that things were not, nor ever could be, as they had beenbefore this interruption came. 

Home was changed and her father was changed. Eyebright was no longercareless or unobservant, as before her mother's death, and she noticedhow fast papa's hair was turning gray, and how deep and careworn thelines about his mouth and eyes had become. He did not seem to gain incheerfulness as time went on, but, if any thing, to look more sad andtroubled; and he spent much of his time at the cherry-wood deskcalculating and doing sums and poring over account-books. Eyebrightnoticed all these little things, she had learned to use her eyes now, and though nobody said any thing about it, she felt sure that papa wasworried about something, and in need of comfort. 

She used to come early from play, and peep into the sitting-room tosee what he was doing. If he seemed busy, she did not interrupt him, but drew her low chair to his side and sat there quietly, withGenevieve in her lap, and perhaps a book; not speaking, but now andthen stroking his knee or laying her cheek gently against it. All thetime she felt so sorry that she could not help papa. But I think shedid help, for papa liked to have her there, and the presence of a lovewhich asks no questions and is content with loving, is most soothingof all, sometimes, to people who are in perplexity, and trying to seetheir way out. 

But none of Eyebright's strokes or pats or fond little ways coulddrive the care away from her father's brow. His trouble was too heavyfor that. It was a kind of trouble which he could not very wellexplain to a child; trouble about business and money, --things whichlittle people do not understand; and matters were getting worseinstead of better. He was like a man in a thorny wood, who cannot seehis way out, and his mind was more confused and anxious than any oneexcept himself could comprehend. 

At last things came to such a pass that there was no choice left, andhe was forced to explain to Eyebright. It was April by that time. Hewas at his desk as usual, and Eyebright, sitting near, had Genevievecuddled in her lap, and the "Swiss Family Robinson" open before her. 

"Now you're done, arn't you, papa!" she cried, as he laid down hispen. "You won't write any more to-night, will you, but sit in therocking-chair and rest. " She was jumping up to get the chair, when hestopped her. 

"I'm not through yet, my dear. But I want to talk with you for alittle while. "

"O papa, how nice! May I sit on your knee while you talk?"

Papa said yes, and she seated herself. He put his arm round her, andfor a while stroked her hair in silence. Eyebright looked up, wonderingly. 

"Yes, dear, I'll tell you presently. I'm trying to think how to begin. It's something disagreeable, Eyebright, --something which will make youfeel very bad, I'm afraid. "

"Oh dear! what is it?" cried Eyebright, fearfully. "Do tell me, papa. "

"What should you say if I told you that we can't live here any longer, but must go away?"

"Away from this house, do you mean, papa?"

"Yes, away from this house, and away from Tunxet, too. "

"Not away for always?" said Eyebright, in an awe-struck tone. "Youdon't mean that, papa, do you? We couldn't live anywhere else foralways!" giving a little gasp at the very idea. 

"I'm afraid that's what it's coming to, " said Mr. Bright, sadly. "Idon't see any other way to fix it I've lost all my money, Eyebright. It is no use trying to explain it to a child like you, but that is thecase. All I had is gone, nearly. There's scarcely any thing left, --notenough to live on here, even if I owned this house, which I don't. "

Not own their own house! This was incomprehensible. What could papamean?

"But, papa, it's _our_ house!" she ventured timidly. 

Papa made no answer, only stroked her hair again softly. 

"And the mill? Isn't the mill yours, papa?" she went on. 

"No, dear, I never did own the mill. You were too little to understandabout the matter when I took up the business. It belongs to a company;do you know what a 'company' means?--and the company has failed, sothat the mill is theirs no longer. It's going to be sold at auctionsoon. I was only a manager, and of course I lose my place. But thatisn't so much matter. The real trouble is that I've lost my ownproperty, too. We're poor people now, Eyebright. I've beencalculating, and I think by selling off every thing here I can justclear myself and come out honest but that's all. There'll be almostnothing left. "

"Couldn't you get another mill to manage?" asked Eyebright, in abewildered way. 

"No, there is no other mill; and if there were, I shouldn't want totake it. I'm too old to begin life over again in the place where Istarted when I was a boy to work my way up. I _have_ worked, too, --worked hard, --and now I come out in the end not worth a cent. No, Eyebright, I couldn't do it!"

He set her down as he spoke, and began to walk the room with heavy, unequal steps. The old floor creaked under his tread. There wassomething very sad in the sound. 

A child feels powerless in the presence of sudden misfortune. Eyebright sat as if stunned, while her father walked to and fro. Genevieve slipped from her lap and fell with a bump on the carpet, butshe paid no attention. Genevieve wasn't real to her just then; only adoll. It was no matter whether she bumped her head or not. 

Mr. Bright came back to his chair again. 

"I'll tell you what I've been thinking of, " he said. "I own a littlefarm up in Maine. It's about the only thing I do own which hasn't gota mortgage on it, or doesn't belong to some one else in one way oranother. It's a very small farm, but there's a house on it, --some kindof a house, --and I think of moving up there to live. I don't know muchabout the place, and I don't like the plan. It'll be lonely for you, for the farm is on an island, it seems, and there's no one else livingthere, no children for you to play with, and no school. These aredisadvantages; but, on the other hand, the climate is said to be good, and I suppose I can raise enough up there for our living, and not runinto debt, which is the thing I care most for just now. So I've aboutdecided to try it. I'm sorry to break up your schooling, and to takeyou away from here, where you like it so much; but it seems the onlyway open. And if you could go cheerfully, my dear, and make the bestof things, it would be a great comfort to me. That's all I've got tosay. "

Eyebright's mind had been at work through this long sentence. Herreply astonished her father not a little, it was so bright and eager. 

"What is the island in, papa? A lake?"

"No, not a lake. It's in the sea, but very near the coast. I thinkthere's some way of walking across at low tide, but I'm not sure. "

"I think--I'm rather glad, " said Eyebright slowly. "I always did wantto live on an island and I never saw the sea. Don't feel badly, papa, I guess we shall like it. "

Mr. Bright was relieved; but he couldn't help shaking his head alittle, nevertheless. 

"You must make up your mind to find it pretty lonesome, " he said, compassionately. 

"The Swiss Family Robinson didn't, " replied Eyebright. "But then, " sheadded, "there were six of them. And there'll only be four ofus--counting Genevieve. "

If Eyebright had taken the news too calmly, Wealthy made up for it byher wild and incredulous wrath when in turn it was broken to her. 

"Pity's sakes!" she cried. "Whatever is the man a-thinking about?Carry you off to Maine, indeed, away from folks and church and everything civilized! He's crazy, --that's what he is, --as crazy as a loon!"

"Papa's not crazy. You mustn't say such things, Wealthy, " repliedEyebright, indignantly. "He feels real badly about going. But we'vegot to go. We've lost all our money, and we can't stay here. "

"A desert island, too!" went on Wealthy, pursuing her own train ofreflection. "Crocodiles and cannibals, I suppose! I've heard what aGod-forsaken place it is up there. Who's going to look after you, I'dlike to know?--you, who never in your life remembered your rubbershoes when it rained, or knew winter flannels from summer ones, orbest frocks from common?" Words failed her. 

"Why, Wealthy, shan't you come with us?" cried Eyebright, in astartled tone. 

"I? No, indeed, and I shan't then!" returned Wealthy. "I'm not such afool as all that. Maine, indeed!" Then, her heart melting at thedistress in Eyebright's face, she swooped upon her, squeezed her hard, and said: "What a cross-grained piece I be! Yes, Eyebright dear, I'llgo along. I'll go, no matter where it is. You shan't be trusted tothat Pa of yours if I can help it; and that's my last word in thematter. "

Eyebright flew to papa with the joyful news that Wealthy was willingto go with them. Mr. Bright looked dismayed. 

"It's out of the question, " he replied. "I can't afford it, for onething. The journey costs a good deal, and when she got there, Wealthywould probably not like it, and would want to come back again, whichwould be money thrown away. Beside, it is doubtful if we shall be ableto keep any regular help. No, Eyebright; we'd better not think of it, even. You and I will start alone, and we'll get some woman there tocome and work when it's necessary. That'll be as much as I canmanage. "

Of course, when Wealthy found that there were objections, her wish togo increased tenfold. She begged, and Eyebright pleaded, but papa heldto his decision. There was no helping it, but this difference inopinion made the household very uncomfortable for a while. Wealthyfelt injured, and went about her work grimly, sighing conspicuouslynow and then, or making dashes at Eyebright, kissing her furiously, shedding a few tears, and then beginning work again, all in stonysilence. Papa shut himself up more closely than ever with hisaccount-books, and looked sadder every day; and Eyebright, though shestrove to act as peacemaker and keep a cheerful face, felt her heartheavy enough at times, when she thought of what was at hand. 

They were to start early in May, and she left school at once; forthere was much to be done in which she could help Wealthy, and thetime was but short for the doing of it all. The girls were sorry whenthey heard that Eyebright was going away to live in Maine, and Bessiecried one whole recess, and said she never expected to be happy again. Still, the news did not make quite as much sensation as Eyebright hadexpected, and she had a little sore feeling at her heart, as if theothers cared less about losing her than she should have cared had shebeen in their place. This idea cost her some private tears; shecomforted herself by a poem which she called "Fickleness, " and whichbegan:

 "It is wicked to be fickle, And very, very unkind, And I'd be ashamed"--

but no rhyme to fickle could she find except "pickle, " and it was sohard to work that in, that she gave up writing the verses, and onlykept away from the girls for a few days. But for all Eyebright'sdoubts, the girls did care, only Examination was coming on, and theywere too busy in learning the pieces they were to speak, andpractising for a writing prize which Miss Fitch had promised them, torealize just then how sorry they were. It came afterward, when theExamination was over, and Eyebright really gone; and it was a longtime--a year or two at least--before any sort of festival or picniccould take place in Tunxet without some child's saying, wistfully: "Iwish Eyebright was here to go; don't you?" Could Eyebright have knownthis, it would have comforted her very much during those last weeks;but the pity is, we can't know things beforehand in this world. 

So, after all, her chief consolation was Genevieve, to whom she couldtell any thing without fear of making mischief or being contradicted. 

"There's just one thing I'm glad about, " she said to this chosenconfidante, "and that is that it's an island. I never saw any islands, neither did you, Genevieve; but I know they must be lovely. And I'mglad it's in the sea, too. But, oh dear, my poor child, how will youget along without any other dolls to play with? You'll be very lonelysometimes--very lonely, indeed--I'm afraid. "

CHAPTER VII. 

BETWEEN THE OLD HOME AND THE NEW. 

"Wealthy, " said Eyebright, "I want to tell you something. "

Wealthy was kneading bread, her arms rising and falling with a strong, regular motion, like the piston of a steam-engine. She did not eventurn her head, but dusting a little flour on to the dough, wentstraight on saying briefly, --

"Well, what?"

"I've been thinking, " continued Eyebright, "that when papa and I getto the Island, perhaps some days there won't be anybody to do thecooking but me, and it would be so nice if you would teach me a fewthings, --not hard ones, you know, --little easy things. I know how totoast now, and how to boil eggs, and make shortcake, and stew rhubarb, but papa would get tired of those if he didn't have any thing else, Iam afraid. "

"You and your Pa'll go pretty hungry, I guess, if there's no one butyou to do the cooking, " muttered Wealthy. "Well, what would you liketo learn?"

"Is bread easy to make? I'd like to learn that. "

"You ain't hardly strong enough, " said Wealthy, with a sigh, but sheset her bowl on a chair as she spoke, and proceeded to give Eyebrighta kneading lesson on the spot. It was much more fatiguing thanEyebright had supposed it would be. Her back and arms ached for a longtime afterward, but Wealthy said she "got the hang of it wonderfullyfor a beginner, " and this praise encouraged her to try again. EveryWednesday and Saturday, after that, she made the bread, from thesifting of the flour to the final wrap of the hot loaf in a browntowel, Wealthy only helping a very little, and each time the taskseemed to grow easier, so that, before they went away, Eyebright feltthat she had that lesson at her fingers' ends. Wealthy taught herother things also, --to broil a beefsteak, and poach an egg, to makegingerbread and minute biscuit, fry Indian pudding, and prepare andflavor the "dip" for soft toast. All these lessons were good for her, and in more senses than one. Many a heart-ache flew up the chimney andforgot to come down again, as she leaned over her saucepans, stirring, tasting, and seasoning. Many a hard thought about the girls and theirnot caring as they ought about her going, slipped away, and came backbrightened into good-humor, in the excitement of watching the biscuitsrise, or moulding them into exact form and size. And how pleasant itwas if Wealthy praised her, or papa asked for a second helping ofsomething and said it was good. 

Meanwhile, the business of breaking up was going on. Wealthy, whoseideas were of the systematic old-fashioned kind, began at the very topof the house and came slowly down, clearing the rooms out in regularorder, scrubbing, sweeping, and leaving bare, chill cleanness behindher. Part of the furniture was packed to go to the Island, but by farthe greater part was brought down to the lower floor, and stacked inthe best parlor, ready for an auction, which was to take place on thelast day but one. It was truly wonderful how many things the houseseemed to contain, and what queer articles made their appearance outof obscure holes and corners, in the course of Wealthy's rummagings. There were old fire-irons, old crockery, bundles of herbs, dried solong ago that all taste and smell had departed, and no one now couldguess which was sage and which catnip; scrap-bundles, which madeEyebright sigh and exclaim, "Oh dear, what lots of dresses I wouldhave made for Genevieve, if only I had known we had these!" There wereboxes full of useless things, screws without heads, and nails withoutpoints, stopples which stopped nothing, bottles of medicine which hadlost their labels, and labels which had lost their bottles. Someformer inhabitant of the house had evidently been afflicted with mice, for six mouse-traps were discovered, all of different patterns, allrusty, and all calculated to discourage any mouse who ever nibbledcheese. There were also three old bird-cages, in which, since thememory of man, no bird had ever lived; a couple of fire-buckets ofancient black leather, which Eyebright had seen hanging from a rafterall her life without suspecting their use, and a gun of Revolutionarypattern which had lost its lock. All these were to be sold, and so wasthe hay in the barn, as also were the chickens and chicken-coops; evenBrindle and old Charley. 

The day before the auction, a man came and pasted labels with numberson them upon all the things. Eyebright found "24" stuck on the side ofher own special little stool, which papa had said she might take tothe Island, but which had been forgotten. She tore off the label, andhid the stool in a closet, but it made her feel as if every thing inthe house was going to be sold whether or no, and she half turned andlooked over her shoulder at her own back, as if she feared to find anumber there also. Wealthy, who was piling the chairs together bytwos, laughed. 

"I guess they won't put you up to 'vandoo, '" she said; "or, if theydo, I'll be the first to bid. There, that's the last! I never did seesuch a heap of rubbish as come out of that garret; your Ma, and yourGrandma, too, I reckon, never throwed away any thing in all theirdays. Often and often I used to propose to clean out and kind of sortover the things, but your Ma, she wouldn't ever let me. They was sureto come in useful some day, she said; but that day never come, --andthere they be, moth-and-rust-corrupted, sure enough! Well, 'tain't nouse layin' up treasures upon earth. We all find that out when we cometo clear up after fifty years' savin'. "

Next morning proved fine and sunny, and great numbers of people cameto the auction. Some of them brought their dinners in pails, andstayed all day, for auctions do not occur very often in the country, and are great events when they do. Eyebright, who did not know exactlyhow to dispose of herself, sat on the stairs, high up, where no onecould see her, and listened to the auctioneer's loud voice calling offthe numbers and bids. "No. 17, one clock, --who bids two dollars forthe clock? No. 18, lounge covered with calliker. I am offeredseven-fifty for the lounge covered with calliker. I am offeredseven-fifty for the lounge covered with calliker. Who bids eight?Thank you, Mr. Brown--going at eight--gone. " And No. 17 was thekitchen clock, which had told her the hour so many, many times; thelounge covered with "calliker" was mother's lounge, on which she hadso often lain. It seemed very sad, somehow, that they should be"going--gone. "

Later in the day she saw, from the window, people driving away intheir wagons with their bargains piled in behind them, or set betweentheir knees, --papa's shaving-glass, Wealthy's wash-tubs, the bedsteadfrom the best room. She could hardly keep from crying. It seemed as ifthe pleasant past life in the old house were all broken up into littlebits, and going off in different directions in those wagons. 

She was still at the window when Wealthy came up to search for her. Eyebright's face was very sober, and there were traces of tears on hercheeks. 

"Eyebright, where are you? Don't stay mopin' up here, 'tain't no use. Come down and help me get tea. I've made a good fire in thesittin'-room, and we'll all be the better for supper, I reckon. Auctions is wearin' things, and always will be to the end of time. Your Pa looks clean tuckered out. "

"Are all the people gone?" asked Eyebright. 

"Yes, they have, and good riddance to them. It made me madder thanhops to hear 'em a-boastin' of the bargains they'd got. Mrs. Doolittle, up to the corner, bid in that bureau from the keepin'-roomchamber for seven dollars. It was worth fifteen; the auction-man saidso himself. But to kind of match that, her daughter-in-law, she giv'thirty cents a yard for that rag-carpet in your room, and it didn'tcost but fifty when it was new, and that was twelve years ago nextNovember! So I guess we come out pretty even with the Doolittlefamily, after all!" added Wealthy, with a dry chuckle. 

Eyebright followed downstairs. The rooms looked bare and unhomelikewith only the few pieces of furniture left which Wealthy had bid infor her private use; for Wealthy did not mean to live out any more, but have a small house of her own, and support herself by "tailorin'. "She had bought a couple of beds, a table, a few chairs, and somecooking things, so it was possible, though not very comfortable, tospend one night more in the house. Eyebright peeped into the emptyparlor and shut the door. 

"Don't let's open it again, " she said. "We'll make believe that everything is there still, just as it used to be, and then it won't seem sodismal. "

But in spite of "make-believes, " it would have been dismal enough hadthey not been too busy to think how altered and forlorn the houselooked. One more day of hard work, and all was cleared out and madeclean. Wealthy followed with her broom and actually "swept herselfout, " as Eyebright said, brushing the last shreds and straws throughthe door on to the steps, where the others stood waiting. Mr. Brightlocked the door. The key turned in the rusty lock with a sound like agroan. Mr. Bright stood a moment without speaking; then he handed thekey to Wealthy, shook hands with her, and walked quickly away in thedirection of Mr. Bury's house, where he and Eyebright were to spendthe night. 

Wealthy was feeling badly over the loss of her old home; and emotion, with her, always took the form of gruffness. 

"No need to set about kissing to-night, " she said, as Eyebright heldup her face, "I'm a-comin' round to see you off to-morrow. "

Then she, too, stalked away. Eyebright looked after her for a littlewhile, then very slowly she opened the garden-gate, and went the roundof the place once more, saying good-by with her eyes to eachwell-known object. The periwinkle bed was blue with flowers, thedaffodils were just opening their bright cups. "Old maids, " Wealthyhad been used to call them, because their ruffled edges were so neatlytrimmed and pinked. There was the apple-tree crotch, where, everysummer since she could remember, her swing had hung. There was her ownlittle garden, bare now and brown with the dead stalks of last year. How easy it would be to make it pretty again if only they were goingto stay! The "cave" had fallen in, to be sure, and was only a hole inthe ground, but a cave is soon made. She could have another in no timeif only--here Eyebright checked herself, recollecting that "if only"did not help the matter a bit, and, like a sensible child, she walkedbravely away from the garden and through the gateway. She paused onemoment to look at the sun, which was setting in a sky of clear yellow, over which little crimson clouds drifted like a fleet of fairy boats. The orchards and hedges were budding fast. Here and there acherry-tree had already tied on its white hood. The air was full ofsweet prophetic smells. Altogether, Tunxet was at its very prettiestand pleasantest, and, for all her good resolutions, Eyebright gaveway, and wept one little weep at the thought that to-morrow she andpapa must leave it all. 

She dried her eyes soon, for she did not want papa to know she hadbeen crying, and followed to Mrs. Bury's, where Kitty and the childrenwere impatiently looking out for her, and every one gave her a heartywelcome. 

But in spite of their kindness, and the fun of sleeping with Kitty forthe first time, it seemed grave and lonesome to be anywhere except inthe old place where she had always been, and Eyebright began to beglad that she and papa were to go away so soon. The home feeling hadvanished from Tunxet, and the quicker they were off, the better, shethought. 

The next morning, they left, starting before six o'clock, for therailroad was five miles away. Early as it was, several people werethere to say good-by, --Bessie Mather, Laura Wheelwright, --who hadn'ttaken time even to wash her face, --Wealthy, very gray and grim andsilent, and dear Miss Fitch, to whom Eyebright clung till the veryend. The last bag was put in, Mr. Bury kissed Eyebright and lifted herinto the wagon, where papa and Ben were already seated. Good-bys wereexchanged. Bessie, drowned in tears, climbed on the wheel for a lasthug, and was pulled down by some one. Ben gave a chirrup, the horsesbegan to move, and that was the end of dear old Tunxet. The last thingEyebright saw, as she turned for a final look, was Wealthy's grim, sadface, --poor Wealthy, who had lost most and felt sorriest of all, though she said so little about it. 

It was a mile or two before Eyebright could see any thing distinctly. She sat with her head turned away, that papa might not notice her weteyes. But perhaps his own were a little misty, for he, too, turned hishead, and it was a long time before he spoke. The beautiful morningand the rapid motion were helps to cheerfulness, however, and beforethey reached the railroad station Mr. Bright had begun to talk to Ben, and Eyebright to smile. 

She had never travelled on a railroad before, and you can easilyimagine how surprising it all seemed to her. At first it frightenedher to go so fast, but that soon wore off, and all the rest wasenjoyment. Little things, which people used to railroads hardlynotice, struck her as strange and pleasant. When the magazine-boychucked "Ballou's Dollar Monthly" into her lap, she jumped, and said, "Oh, thank you!" and she was quite overcome by the successive gifts, as she supposed, of a paper of pop-corn, a paper of lozenges, and a"prize package, " containing six envelopes, six sheets of note-paper, six pens, a wooden pen-handle and a "piece of jewelry, "--all fortwenty-five cents!

"Did he really give them to me?" she asked papa, quite gasping at theidea of such generosity. 

Then the ice-water boy came along, with his frame of tumblers; she hada delicious cold drink, and told papa "she did think the railroad wasso kind, " which made him laugh; and, as seeing him laugh brightenedher spirits, they journeyed on very cheerfully. 

About noon, they changed cars, and presently after that Eyebrightbecame aware of a change in the air, a cool freshness and odor of saltand weeds, which she had never smelt before, and liked amazingly. Shewas just going to ask papa about it when the train made a sudden curveand swept alongside a yellow beach, beyond which lay a great shiningexpanse, --gray and silvery and blue, --over which dappled foamy wavesplayed and leaped, and large white birds were skimming and diving. Shedrew a long breath of delight, and said, half to herself and half topapa, "That is the sea!"

"How did you know?" asked he, smiling. 

"Oh, papa, it couldn't be any thing else. I knew it in a minute. "

After that, they were close to the sea almost all the way. Eyebrightfelt as if she could never be tired of watching the waves rise andfall, or of breathing the air, which seemed to fill and satisfy herlike food though it made her hungry, too, and she was glad of the niceluncheon which Mr. Bury had packed up for them. But even pleasantthings have a tiring side to them, and as night drew on, Eyebrightbegan to think she should be as glad of bed as she had been of dinner. 

Her heavy head had been nodding for some time, and had finally droppedupon papa's shoulder, when he roused her with a shake and said, --

"Wake up, Eyebright, wake up! Here we are. "

"At the Island?" she asked, drowsily. 

"No, not at the Island yet. This is the steamboat. "

To see a steamboat had always been one of Eyebright's chief wishes, but she was too sleepy at that moment to realize that it was granted. Her feet stumbled as papa guided her down the stair; she could notkeep her eyes open at all. The stewardess--a colored woman--laughedwhen she saw the half-awake little passenger; but she was verygood-natured, whipped off Eyebright's boots, hat, and jacket, in atwinkling, and tucked her into a little berth, where in three minutesshe was napping like a dormouse. There was a great deal of whistlingand screeching and ringing of bells when the boat left her dock, heavyfeet trampled over the deck just above the berth, the water lapped andhissed; but not one of these things did Eyebright hear, nor was sheconscious of the rock-ing motion of the waves. Straight through themall she slept; and when at last she waked, the boat was no longer atsea, and there was hardly any motion to be felt. 

It was not yet six o'clock. The shut-up cabin was dark and close, except for one ray of yellow sun, which straggled through a crack, andlay across the carpet like a long finger. It flickered, and seemed tobeckon, as if it wanted to say, "Get up, Eyebright, it is morning atlast; get up, and come out with me. " She felt so rested and fresh thatthe invitation was irresistible; and slipping from the berth, she puton dress and boots, which were laid on a chair near by, tied the hatover her unbrushed hair, and with her warm jacket in hand, stole outof the cabin and ran lightly upstairs to the deck. 

Then she gave a great start, and said, "Oh!" with mingled wonder andsurprise; for, instead of the ocean which she had expected to see, theboat was steaming gently up a broad river. On either side was a bold, wooded shore. The trees were leafless still, for this was much farthernorth than Tunxet, but the rising sap had tinted their boughs withlovely shades of yellow, soft red, and pink-brown, and there werequantities of evergreens beside, so that the woods did not look coldor bare. Every half mile or so the river made a bend and curved awayin a new direction. It was never possible to see far ahead, and, asthe steamer swept through the clear green and silver water, itcontinually seemed that, a little farther on, the river came to end, and there was no way out except to turn back. But always when the boatreached the place where the end seemed to be, behold, a new reach ofwater, with new banks and tree-crowned headlands, appeared, so thattheir progress was a succession of surprises. Here and there were dotsof islands too, just big enough to afford standing-room to a dozenpines and hemlocks, so closely crowded together that the trees nextthe edge almost seemed to be holding fast by their companions whilethey leaned over to look at their own faces in the water. 

These tiny islets enchanted Eyebright. With each one they passed shethought, "Oh, I hope ours is just like that!" never reflecting thatthese were rather play islands than real ones, and that Genevieve wasthe only member of the family likely to be comfortable in such limitedspace as they afforded. She had the deck and the river to herself fornearly an hour before any of the passengers appeared; when they did, she remembered, with a blush, that her hair was still unbrushed, andran back to the cabin, when the stewardess made it tidy, and gave hera basin of fresh water for her face and hands. She came back just intime to meet papa, who was astonished at the color in her cheek andthe appetite she displayed at breakfast, which was served in a stuffycabin smelling of kerosene oil and bed-clothes, and calculated todiscourage any appetite not sharpened by early morning air. 

Little did Eyebright care for the stuffy cabin. She found the boat andall its appointments delightful; and when, after breakfast, the oldcaptain took her down to the engine-room and showed her the machinery, she fairly skipped with pleasure. It was a sort of noisy fairy-land toher imagination; all those wonderful cogs and wheels, and shining rodsand shafts, moving and working together so smoothly and so powerfully. She was sorry enough when, at eleven o'clock, they left the boat, andlanded at a small hamlet, which seemed to have no name as yet, perhapsbecause it was so very young. Eyebright asked a boy what they calledthe town, but all he said in reply was, "'Tain't a teown"--andsomething about a "Teownship, " which she didn't at all understand. 

Here they had some dinner, and Mr. Bright hired a wagon to take them"'cross country" to Scrapplehead, which was the village nearest to"Causey Island, " as Eyebright now learned that their future home wascalled. "Cosy, " papa pronounced it. The name pleased her greatly, andshe said to herself, for perhaps the five-hundredth time, "I _know_ itis going to be nice. "

It was twenty-two miles from the nameless village to Scrapplehead, butit took all the afternoon to make the journey, for the roads wererough and hilly, and fast going was impossible. Eyebright did not carehow slowly they went. Every step of the way was interesting to her, full of fresh sights and sounds and smells. She had never seen suchwoods as those which they passed through. They looked as if they mighthave been planted about the time of the Deluge, so dense and massivewere their growths. Many of the trees were old and of immense size. Some very large ones had fallen, and their trunks were thickly crustedwith fungi and long hair-like tresses of gray moss. Here and therewere cushions of green moss, so rich and luxuriant as to be thesoftest sitting-places imaginable. Eyebright longed to get out androll on them; the moss seemed at least a yard deep. Once they passedan oddly shaped broad track by the road-side, which the driver toldthem was the foot-mark of a bear. This was exciting. And a littlefarther on, at the fording of a shallow brook, he showed them where adeer had stopped to drink the night before, and left the impression ofhis slender hoofs in the wet clay. 

It was as interesting as a story to be there, so near the haunts ofthese wild creatures. Then, leaving the woods, they would come to widevistas of country, with pine-clad hills and slopes and beautifulgleaming lakes. And twice from the top of an ascent they caught theoutlines of a bold mountain-range. A delicious air blew down fromthese mountains, cool, crystal clear, and spiced with the balsamicsmell of hemlocks and firs and a hundred lovely wood-odors beside. 

"Oh, isn't Maine beautiful!" cried Eyebright, in a rapture. She felt asort of resentment against Wealthy for having called it a"God-forsaken" place. "But Wealthy didn't know: she never was here, "was her final conclusion. "If she ever had been here, she couldn'thave been so silly. "

It was too dark to see much of Scrapplehead when at last they gotthere. It was a small place, nestled in an angle of the hills. Themisty gray ocean lay beyond. Its voice came to their ears as theydescended the last steep pitch, a hushed low voice with a droningtone, as though it were sleepy-time with the great sea. There was notavern in the village, and they applied at several houses beforefinding any one willing to accommodate them. By this time, Eyebrightwas very tired, and could hardly keep from crying as they drove awayfrom the third place. 

"What shall we do if nobody will take us in?" she asked papadolefully. "Shall we have to sit in the wagon all night?"

"Guess 't won't come to that, " said the cheery driver. "Downs'll takeyou. I'll bet a cookie he will. " When he came to "Downs's, " he jumpedout and ran in. "They're real clever folks, " he told Mrs. Downs; "andthe little gal is so tired, it's a pity to see. "

So Mrs. Downs consented to lodge them; and their troubles were overfor that day. Half blind with sleep and fatigue, Eyebright ate herbread and milk, fried eggs, and doughnuts, fell asleep while sheundressed, gave her head a knock against the bedpost, laughed, hurriedinto bed, and in three minutes was lost in dreamless slumber. The windblew softly up the bay, the waves sang their droning lullaby, ahalf-grown moon came out, twinkled, and flashed in the flashing water, and sent one long beam in to peep at the little sleeper in bed. Thenew life was begun, and begun pleasantly. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CAUSEY ISLAND. 

When Eyebright awoke next morning, she ran straight to the window, with the hope that she might see Causey Island. But the window did notlook toward the sea. Only a barn, a bit of winding road, and a greenhill with a rocky top, were to be seen; and she dropped the papershade with a sense of disappointment. 

Dressing herself as fast as she could, she ran downstairs. Mrs. Downs, who was frying fish in the kitchen, pointed with a spoon in answer toher question, and said, --

"It's up that way the island is, but 'taint much to look at. It's toofur for you to see the house. "

Eyebright didn't particularly care about seeing the house. She wassatisfied with seeing the island. There it lay, long and green, raisedhigh out of the blue sea like a wall, with the water washing its stonyshore. There seemed to be a good many trees and bushes on top, andaltogether she thought it a beautiful place, and one where a littlegirl might be happy to live. 

"You ain't the folks that's coming to live up to the island, be you?"said Mrs. Downs. "Do tell if you are? We heard there was some one. There hain't been nobody there for quite a spell back, not since theLotts went away last year. Job Lott, he farmed it for a while; butMiss Lott's father, he was took sick over to Machias, and they movedup to look after him, and nobody's been there since, unless the boysfor blueberries. I guess your Pa'll find plenty to do to get thingsstraightened out, and so will the rest of you. "

"There isn't any 'rest' but me. "

"Do tell now. Hain't you any Ma?"

"No, " said Eyebright, sadly. "Mother died last November. "

"You poor little thing!" cried kind Mrs. Downs; "and hain't you got nobrothers and sisters either?"

"No; not any at all. "

"Why, you'll be lonesome, I'm afraid, up to the island. You neverlived in such a sort of a place before, did you?"

"Oh, no; we always lived in Tunxet. But I don't believe I shall belonesome. It looks real pretty from here. Why is it called CosyIsland, Mrs. Downs?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know. Folks always called it that. I neverthought to ask nobody. Perhaps he'll know when he comes in. "

"He" was Mr. Downs; but he knew no more than his wife about the nameof the island. Mr. Bright, however, was better informed. He told themthat the name, in the first place, was "Causeway, " from the naturalpath, uncovered at each low tide, which connected it with the shore, and that this had gradually been changed to "Causey, " because it waseasier to pronounce. Eyebright was rather disappointed at thisexplanation. 

"I thought it was 'Cosy, '" she said, "because the island was cosey. "

Mr. Downs gave a great laugh at this, but papa patted her head kindly, and said, --

"We'll see if we can't make it so, Eyebright. "

The tide would not serve for crossing the causeway till the afternoon, but Mr. Downs offered to put them over in his boat without waiting forthat. It was arranged that they should come back for the night, andMrs. Downs packed some bread and cheese and doughnuts in a basket toserve them as dinner. Eyebright took the basket on her arm, and randown to the shore in high spirits. It was a lovely day. The sea was asblue as the sky, and, as the boat pushed off, little ripples from theincoming tide struck the pebbly beach, with swift flashes of white, like gleaming teeth, and a gay little splash, so like a laugh thatEyebright laughed too, and showed her teeth. 

"What are you smiling at?" asked her father. 

"I don't know, " she answered, in a tone of dreamy enjoyment. "I likeit here, papa. "

Near as the island looked, it took quite a long time to reach it, though Mr. Downs pulled strongly and steadily. It was veryinteresting, as each stroke took them nearer and nearer, and showedmore and more distinctly what their future home was like. The trees, which at first had seemed a solid green mass, became distinct shapesof pines, hemlocks, and sumachs. A little farther, and openingsappeared between them, through which open spaces on top could be seen, bushes, a field, and yes, actually! a little brown patch, which was ahouse. There it was, and Eyebright held Genevieve up that she mightsee it, too. 

"That's our house, my child, " she whispered. "Aren't you glad? But my!don't it look small?"

It was small, smaller even than it looked, as they found, when, aftersaying good-by to Mr. Downs, and getting directions for crossing the"Causey, " they climbed the steep path which led to the top, and cameout close to the house. Mr. Bright gave a low whistle as he looked atit, and Eyebright opened her eyes wide. 

"It's a comfort that we're not a large family, isn't it?" she said, quaintly. "I'm almost glad now that Wealthy didn't come, papa. Wouldn't she say it was little? Littler than Miss Fitch's schoolhouse, I do believe. "

The front door was fastened only by a large cobweb, left by someindustrious spider of last year, so it was easy to make their way in. There was no entrance-hall. The door opened directly into a squarekitchen, from which opened two smaller rooms. One had shelves roundit, and seemed to be a sort of pantry or milk-room. As they went intothe other, a trickling sound met their ears, and they saw a slenderstream of clear spring water running into a stone sink. The sink neverseemed to get any fuller, but the water ran on and on, and there wasno way to stop it, as Eyebright found after a little examination. 

"Isn't that splendid?" she cried. "It just runs all the time, and weshan't have to pump or any thing. I do like that so much!" Then, as ifthe sound made her thirsty, she held her head under the spout, andtook a good long drink. 

"Do taste it. It's the best water that ever was, " she declared. 

This spring-water, always at hand, was the only luxury which thelittle house afforded. All the rest was bare and plain as could be. Upstairs were two small chambers, but they were more likechicken-coops than bedrooms; for the walls, made of laths not yetplastered, were full of cracks and peep-holes, and the staircase whichled to them resembled a ladder more than was desirable. There wasplenty of sunshine everywhere, for there were no blinds, and the sweetyellow light made a cheerfulness in the place, forlorn as it was. Eyebright did not think it forlorn. She enjoyed it very much as thoughit had been a new doll's-house, and danced about gleefully, planningwhere this should go, and that; how papa's desk should have a cornerby one window, and her little chair by the other, and the big mahoganytable, which Wealthy had persuaded them to bring, by the wall. Sheshowed a good deal of cleverness and sense in their arrangement, andpapa was well content that things should be as she liked. 

"We must have the upstairs rooms plastered, I suppose, " he said. "That'll require some time, I'm afraid. Plaster takes so long to dry. We must arrange to wait at Mr. Downs's for a week or two, Eyebright. "

He sighed as he spoke, and sat down on the door-step, his elbows onhis knees, his chin in his hands, looking tired and discouraged. 

"Oh, must we?" cried Eyebright, her face falling. "That won't be nicea bit. Papa! I've got an idea. Don't plaster the walls. Let me fixthem. I'll make them real nice, just as nice as can be, if you will, and then we shan't have to wait at all. "

"Why, what can you do with them? How do you mean?" demanded herfather. 

"Oh, papa, it's a secret, I'd rather not tell you. I'd rather have ita surprise, --mayn't I?"

Papa demurred, but Eyebright coaxed and urged, and at last he said, --

"Well, I don't care about it one way or the other. Try your idea ifyou like, Eyebright. It will amuse you perhaps, and any thing will dofor the summer. We can plaster in the fall. "

"I don't believe you'll want to, " remarked Eyebright, shaking her headmysteriously. "My way is much prettier than plaster. Just you wait andsee, papa. I'm sure you'll like it. "

But papa seemed down-hearted, and it was not easy to make him smile. To tell the truth, the look of the farm was rather discouraging. Hekicked the earth over with his foot, and said the soil was poor andevery thing seemed run down. But Eyebright would not give in to thisview at all. It was a lovely place, she insisted, and she ran aboutdiscovering new beauties and advantages every moment. Now it was athicket of wild roses just budding into leaf. Next a patch ofwinter-green, with white starry blossoms and red berries. Then, peeping over the bank, she called papa's attention to a strip ofpebbly beach on the side of the island next the sea. 

"Here's where we can take baths, " she said. "Why, I declare, here's apath down to it. I guess the people who used to live here made it;don't you? Oh, do come and see the beach, papa!"

It was a rough little path which led to the beach, and overgrown withweeds; but they made their way down without much trouble, andEyebright trampled the pebbles under foot with great satisfaction. 

"Isn't it splendid!" she cried. "See that great stone close to thebank, papa. We can go behind there to dress and undress. It's a realnice place. I'm going to call it the 'The Dressing-room. ' How wide thesea is on this side! And what is that long point of land, papa?"

For the island lay within a broad curving bay. One end of the curveprojected only a little way, but toward the north a long, cape-liketongue of land, with a bold, hilly outline, ran out to sea, and made astriking feature in the landscape. 

"Those are the Guinness Hills, " said Mr. Bright. "Canada begins justthe other side of them. Do you see those specks of white on the point?That is Malachi, and in the summer there is a steamboat once a weekfrom there to Portland. We can see it pass in clear weather, Mr. Downssays. "

"That will be nice, " said Eyebright, comfortably. "I'm glad we've gota beach of our own, papa; aren't you? Now I want to look about somemore. "

To the left of the house the ground rose in a low knoll, whose top wascovered with sassafras bushes. This was the source of the spring whosewater ran into the back kitchen. They came upon it presently, andcould trace the line of spouts, each made of a small tree-trunk, halved and hollowed out, which led it from the hill to the house. Following these along, Eyebright made the discovery of a cubby, --averitable cubby, --left by some child in a choice and hidden cornerformed by three overlapping moosewood bushes. The furniture, exceptfor a table made of three shingles, consisted entirely of corn-cobs;but it was a desirable cubby for all that, and would be a pleasantout-door parlor for Genevieve on hot days, Eyebright thought. It madethe island seem much more home-like to know that other children hadlived there and played under the trees; and, cheered by this idea, shebecame so merry, that gradually papa brightened, too, and began tomake plans for his farming operations with more heart than he hadhitherto shown, deciding where to plant corn and where potatoes, andwhere their little vegetable garden would better be. 

"I suppose it's no use to try for fruit, " he said; "the climate is toocold. "

"Not too cold for blueberries, " Eyebright replied. "There are lots ofthem, Mrs. Downs says, and lots of cranberries, and Mr. Downs'sbrother has got an apple-tree. "

"An apple-tree! Dear! dear! Think of getting to a place where peoplehave only one apple-tree, " muttered Mr. Bright. 

By the time that they had made the circuit of the island it was twelveo'clock. This was dinner-time, Eyebright declared, and she producedthe lunch-basket. Mrs. Downs's bread had yellow specks of saleratus init, and was very different from Wealthy's delicious loaves; but theywere too hungry to criticise, though Eyebright shook her head over it, and thought with satisfaction of the big parcel of yeast-powder whichshe and Wealthy had packed up. She knew exactly where it was, in thecorner of a certain red box, and that reminded her to ask papa whenthe boxes would be likely to come. 

"They are due at this moment, " he replied, "I suppose we may look forthem at any time now. Mr. Downs says there have been head winds forthis week past, and I presume that has kept the sloop back. Perhapsshe may come to-day. "

"I do hope she will. I want dreadfully to begin and fix the house. Doesn't it seem a great while since we left Tunxet, papa? I can'tbelieve that it is only three days, so much has happened. "

The tide had been going out since eleven o'clock, and by four, whenthey were ready to cross, the causeway was uncovered. It was a widepathway of sand, not flat and even all the way, but high in someplaces and low in others, with shells and pebbles shining here andthere on its surface. It was like a beach, except for being narrower, and having water on both sides of it, instead of on only one. The sandwas still wet enough to make good hard footing, and Eyebright skippedgayly over it, declaring that she felt just like the children ofIsrael in the middle of the Red Sea. 

"It is so strange to think that, just a little while ago, this was allwater, " she said; "and just a little while longer, and it will be allwater again. It is the most interesting thing we've got on our island, I think, papa; but it makes me feel a little afraid, too. "

"There's nothing to be afraid of if you're only careful not to comehere except when the tide is going out, " said her father. "Nowremember this, Eyebright, --you must never try to cross when the tideis rising, even if the sand looks perfectly dry and the water seems agood way off. The sea comes in very fast up here on these northernshores, and if you made a misstep and sprained your ankle, or had anaccident of any kind, you might be drowned before any one could cometo your help. Remember, my child. "

"Yes, papa, I will, " said Eyebright, looking rather nervously at thewater. It was slipping farther away every moment, and seemed the mostharmless thing in the world; but papa's words made her feel as if itwere a dangerous and deceitful creature which could not be trusted. 

It was over a mile from the causeway to the village, though at firstsight the distance looked much less Plodding along the sandy shore wasslow work, so that they did not reach the village till nearly six. Asmell of frying met them as they entered the door. Mrs. Downs, wishingto do them honor, was making blueberry flapjacks for tea. Did any ofyou ever eat blueberry flapjacks? I imagine not, unless you havesummered on the coast of Maine. They are a kind of greasy pancake, inwhich blueberries are stirred till the cakes are about the color of abruise. They are served swimming in melted butter and sugar, and inany other place or air would be certain indigestion, if not suddendeath, to any person partaking of them. But, somehow, in that placeand that air they are not only harmless but seem quite delicious aswell. Eyebright thought so. She ate a great many flapjacks, thoughtthem extremely nice, and slept like a top afterward, with never a baddream to mar her rest. 

A big gray sail at the wharf was the glad sight that met their eyeswhen they came down next morning. The sloop had come in during thenight, with all Mr. Bright's goods on board. He had hoped that itmight be possible to land them on the island, but the captain said itwas out of the question; he couldn't get near enough, for one thing, and if he could, he wouldn't; for how were heavy things like them tobe dumped on a shelvin' bank like that, he'd like to know? So thegoods were landed on the dock at Scrapplehead, and Mr. Downs undertookto find an ox-team to draw them across the causeway at low tide. 

Getting oxen was not an easy matter at that season of the year, butMr. Downs, who had taken a fancy to his lodgers, bestirred himself, and at last found some one willing to let his yoke go in considerationof a dollar and a quarter. So, at exact low tide, the great cart, piled with boxes and barrels, creaked slowly across the sandy bar, Mr. Downs driving, and papa walking behind with Eyebright, who was morethan ever reminded of the crossing of the Red Sea. It took muchlugging and straining and "gee"-ing and "haw"-ing to get the load upthe steep bank on the other side; but all arrived safely at last infront of the house. There the cart was unloaded as fast as possible, afew things set indoors, the rest left outside, and, getting into thecart, they all drove back across the causeway. It was harder work thanwhen they came, for the tide was rising, and the sand had grown softand yielding. One great swirling wave ran up and curled around theoxen's hoofs just as they reached firm ground, but, though Eyebrightgave a little scream, and Mr. Downs frowned and said, "by gosh!" noharm was done, and the momentary fright only made pleasanter theirdrive to Scrapplehead, which they reached just as the sun sank for thenight into a great soft-looking bed of purple and crimson clouds. 

This was their last night with the Downs family. Early next morningthey started for the island in Mr. Downs's boat, taking with themtheir last bundles and bags, and Mrs. Downs, who had kindly offered togive them a day's help. Very helpful it proved, for there was everything to do. 

Mr. Bright, like all men, wanted to do every thing at once, andEyebright was too inexperienced to know what should come first andwhat second; so Mrs. Downs's good sense and advice were of greatvalue. Under her directions the bedrooms were swept and cleaned, andthe bedsteads put together, first of all, for, as she said, "You'vegot to sleep, anyhow, and if you don't do it comfortable you'll besick, and that would never do. " Next, while Eyebright swept thekitchen, she and Mr. Bright got the stove into place, fixed the pipe, and lighted a fire, after which Mrs. Downs scoured the pantry shelves, and unpacked china and tins. 

"There, " she said, surveying the result with great satisfaction. "Thatbegins to look folksy. What's sewed up in that old comforter? Arocking-cheer. Let's have it out!"

So the rocking-chair was unsewed, and papa's desk and the big tablewere unpacked; and as each familiar article came to view, Eyebrightfelt as though an old friend were restored to her. She patted the armof her own little chair, and put the plaided cover from the oldsitting-room over the table, with a sense of cheer and comfort. Sheand papa and Mrs. Downs dined on bread and cheese in the intervals ofwork, and by five o'clock they were very fairly in order, and Mrs. Downs made ready to go back to her own family. Eyebright walked withher as far as the causeway, and parted with a hearty kiss. Mrs. Downsseemed like a second Wealthy, almost, she had been so kind andthoughtful all that busy day. 

Papa was sitting in the rocking-chair, by the stove, when she wentback. She stopped to kiss him as she passed, and proceeded to set thetable and get supper. Mrs. Downs had started them with a supply ofbread, butter, and milk; but the tea and sugar came out of one of theTunxet boxes, and so did the tumbler of currant-jam, opened in honorof the occasion. Wealthy had made it, and it seemed to taste of thepleasant old times. Eyebright did not care to think much about Wealthyjust then. The tide was drawing over the causeway, cutting them offfrom everybody else in the world. She felt lonely and the least bitafraid, in spite of papa's being there; and only keeping very busytill bedtime saved her from homesickness, which she felt would be abad beginning, indeed, for that first evening in her new home. 

Next morning was fair. All the days had been good so far, which wasfortunate, for a half-settled house is a dismal place enough in rainyweather. Eyebright opened her eyes, and after one bewildered starebegan to laugh, for through the slats of her "coop, " she coulddistinctly see papa, half-dressed, and brushing his hair in his, onthe other side of the entry. This was not to be endured, so afterbreakfast, while he went to the village for some provisions, she setto work with great energy on her plan for reforming the bedroom walls. This was to cover them with "picture papers. " There was an abundanceof material for the purpose at hand, for her mother had taken Harper'sBazar and Frank Leslie's Illustrated for several years; and as shesaved all the back numbers, a large pile had collected, which Wealthyhad carefully packed. These Eyebright sorted over, setting aside allthe pictures of cows, and statesmen, and steamboats, and railroadtrains for papa's room, and keeping the kittens, and dogs, and boys, and girls, and babies for her own. She fastened the papers to thelaths with tacks, and the ceilings were so low that she was able to doall but the very top row herself. That she was forced to leave forpapa. So hard did she work that the whole of his room was done beforehe appeared, climbing the path, with a big bundle under one arm, abasket in his hand, and looking very warm and tired. 

"It's a hard pull up the shore, " he said, wiping his forehead. "Ishall have to get a boat whether I can afford it or not, I'm afraid. It'll be worse when hot weather comes, and there'll always be the needof going over to the village for something or other. "

"A boat, " cried Eyebright, clapping her hands "Oh, papa, that would besplendid. I can learn to row it my own self, can't I? It'll be as niceas a carriage of our own, --nicer, for we shan't have to catch thehorse, or feed him either. Now, papa, let me carry the basket, and oh, do come quick. I want to show you how beautifully I have done yourbedroom. "

Papa liked the bedroom very much. He was glad to be saved the expenseand delay of plastering, only he said he was afraid he should alwaysbe late to breakfast, because he should want to lie in bed and studyhis picture-gallery, which joke delighted Eyebright highly. 

It was several days before she had time to attend to her own papering, for there was a great deal else to do, --boxes to unpack, places tosettle, and outside work to begin. Mr. Bright hired a man for one weekto plow and plant and split wood. After that, he thought he could keepthings in running order by himself. He had been brought up on a farm, but years of disuse had made him stiff and awkward at such labor, andhe found the work harder than he had expected. Eyebright was glad tosee the big woodpile grow. It had a cosey look to her, and graduallythe house was beginning to look cosey too. The kitchen, with its stripof carpet and easy-chairs and desk, made quite a comfortablesitting-room. Eyebright kept a glass of wild roses or buttercups orwhite daisies always on the table. She set up a garden of her own, too, after a while, and raised some balsams and "Johnny-jump-ups" fromseeds which Mr. Downs gave her, and some golden-brown coreopsis. Asfor the housekeeping, it fared better than could have been expectedwith only a little girl of thirteen to look after things. Once a week, a woman came from the village for the day (and half a dollar), did thewashing and part of the ironing, roasted a joint of meat if there wasone to roast, made a batch of pies, perhaps, or a pan of gingerbread, and scoured the pots and pans and the kitchen floor. This lightenedthe work for the next seven days, and left Eyebright only vegetablesand little things to cook, and the ordinary cleaning, bed-making, anddusting to do, which she managed very well on the whole, thoughsometimes she got extremely tired, and wished for Wealthy's stronghands to help her. Milk and butter came from Mr. Downs's every otherday, and papa was very good and considerate about his food, and quitecontented with a dinner of potatoes or mush if nothing better was tobe had, so the little housekeeper did not have any heavy burden on hermind so far as he was concerned. 

The boat proved a great comfort when it came, which was not till morethan a month after their settlement on Causey Island. Eyebright tookregular rowing lessons and practised diligently, so that after a fewweeks she became really expert, and papa could trust her to go aloneas far as the village, when the weather was fair and the sea smooth. These rows to and fro were the greatest treats and refreshments afterhouse-work. Sometimes it happened that her errands kept her tillsunset, and she floated home on the incoming tide, just dipping theoars gently in now and then, and carried along by the current and a"singing" wind, which followed close behind and pushed the boat on itsway. These were Eyebright's real "play" times. She kept a story goingabout a princess and a boat, and some water-fairies and awater-prince, and whenever the chance came for a solitary row, she"acted" it by herself in the old pleasant way, always wishing thatBessie or some other girl could be along to play it with her. Anothergirl, --some one to share work and fun, waking and sleeping, withher, --that was all which was wanted, she thought, to make CauseyIsland as pleasant as Tunxet. 

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IX. 

SHUT UP IN THE OVEN. 

You will probably think that it was a dish of pork-and-beans, or anIndian pudding of the good, old-fashioned kind, which was shut up inthe Oven. Not at all. You are quite mistaken. The thing shut up in theOven was Eyebright herself! And the Oven was quite different from anything you are thinking of, --cold, not hot; wet, not dry; with a doormade of green sea-water instead of black iron. This sounds like aconundrum; and, as that is hardly fair, I will proceed to unriddle itat once and tell you all about it. 

The Oven was a sort of cave or grotto in the cliffs, four miles fromScrapplehead, but rather less than three from the causeway. Its realname was "The Devil's Oven. " Country people, and Maine country peopleabove all others, are very fond of calling all sorts of strange andstriking places after the devil. If Eyebright had ever heard the wholename, perhaps she might not have ventured to go there alone as shedid, in which case I should have no adventure to write about. Butpeople usually spoke of it for shortness' sake as the "Oven, " and shehad no idea that Satan had any thing to do with the place, nor, forthat matter, have I. 

It was from Mrs. Downs that she first heard about the Oven. Mrs. Downshad been there once, years before. It was a "natteral curosity, " shesaid, with all sorts of strange sea-creatures growing in pools, andthe rocks were red and quite beautiful. It wasn't a dangerous place, either, and here Mr. Downs confirmed her. You couldn't get in afterhalf-tide, but anybody could stay in for a week in ordinary weather, and not be drowned. There were plenty of places a-top of the cave, where you could sit and keep dry even at high water, though it wouldbe "sort of poky, " too. Eyebright's imagination was fired by thisdescription, and she besought papa to take her there at once. Hepromised that he would "some day, " but the day seemed long in coming, as holidays always do to busy people; and June passed, and July, andstill the Oven was unvisited, though Eyebright did not forget her wishto go. 

August came at last, --the delicious north-of-Maine August, with hot, brilliant noons, and cool, balmy nights, so different from the murky, steamy August of everywhere else, --and was half over, when oneafternoon papa came in with a piece of news. 

"What should you say, Eyebright, if I were to go off for the whole dayto-morrow?" he asked. 

"Why, papa Bright, what do you mean? You can't! There isn't anywhereto go to. "

"There's Malachi. "

"Oh, papa, not in our little boat!"

"No, in a schooner belonging to Mr. Downs's brother. It has just putin with a load of lumber, and the captain has offered me a passage ifI like to go. He expects to get back to-morrow evening about nineo'clock. Should you be lonesome, do you think, Eyebright, if I went?"

"Not a bit, " cried Eyebright, delighted at the idea of papa's having asail. "I'll do something or other that is pleasant. Perhaps I'll goand stay all day with Mrs. Downs. Anyhow, I'll not be lonely. I'm gladthe captain asked you to go, papa. It'll be nice, I think. "

But next morning, when she had given papa his early breakfast, watchedhim across the causeway, and seen the sails of the schooner diminishinto two white specks in the distance, she was not sure that it wasnice. She sang at her dish-washing and clattered her cups and spoons, to make as much noise as possible; but for all she could do, the housefelt silent and empty, and she missed papa very much. Her plan hadbeen to go to the village as soon as her work was done, and make Mrs. Downs a visit, but later another idea popped into her mind. She wouldgo to the Oven instead. 

"I know about where it is, " she thought. "If I keep close to the shoreI can't miss it, anyway. Mr. Downs said it wasn't more than two milesand three-quarters from the causeway. Two miles and three-quartersisn't a very long walk. It won't be half-tide till after ten. I canget there by a little after nine if I start at once. That'll give mean hour to see the cave, and when I come back I'll go down to thevillage and stay to dinner with Mrs. Downs. I'll take some bread andbutter, though, because one does get so hungry up here if you take theleast little walk. What a good idea it is to do this! I am glad papawent to Malachi, after all. "

Her preparations were soon made, and in ten minutes she was speedingacross the causeway, which was safe walking still, though the tide hadturned, --her pocket full of bread and butter, and Genevieve in herarms. She had hesitated whether or not to take Genevieve, but itseemed too sad to leave her all alone on the island, so it ended inher going too, in her best bonnet and a little blanket shawl. Themorning was most beautiful, dewy and fresh, and the path along theshore was scented with freshly cut hay from inland fields, and withspicy bayberry and sweet fern. A belated wild rose shone here andthere in the hedges, pale and pink. Tangles of curly, green-brownfringe lay over the clustering Virgin's Bower. The blue lapping waves, as they rose and fell, were full of sea-weeds of a lovely red-browntint, and a frolicsome wind played over the surface of the sea, andseemed to be whispering something funny to it, for the water trembledin the sun and dimpled as if with sudden laughter. 

The way, as a general thing, lay close by the shore, winding over thetops of low cliffs covered with dry yellow grasses. Now and then itdipped down to strips of shingle beach, or skirted little coves withboundaries of bushes and brambles edging the sand. Miles are not easyto reckon when people are following the ins and outs of an irregularcoast. Half a dozen times Eyebright clambered to the water's edge andpeeped round the shoulder of a great rock, thinking that she must havegot to the cave at last. Yet nothing met her eyes but more rocks, andsurf, and fissures brown with rust and barnacles. At last, she came ona group of children, playing in the sand, and stopped to ask the wayof them. 

There were two thin, brown little girls in pink-and-gray ginghamfrocks, and pink-and-gray striped stockings appearing over the tops ofhigh, laced boots. They were exactly the same size, and made Eyebrightthink of grasshoppers, they were so wiry and active, and sprang aboutso nimbly. Then there were three rosy, hearty-looking countrychildren, and a pair of little boys, with sharp, delicately cut faces, who seemed to be brothers, for they looked like each other and quiteunlike the rest. All seven were digging holes in the sand with sticksand shovels, and were as much absorbed in their work as a party ofdiligent beavers. When Eyebright appeared, with Genevieve in her arms, they stopped digging and looked at her curiously. 

"Do you know how far the Oven is from here?" asked Eyebright. 

"No, " and "What's the Oven?" answered the children, and one of thegray-and-pink little girls added: "My, what a big doll!" Eyebrightscarcely heeded these answers, she was so delighted to see somechildren after her long fast from childhood. 

"What are you making?" she asked. 

"A fort, " replied one of the boys. 

"Now, Fweddy, you said you'd call it a castle, " put in one of thegirls. 

"Well, castles are just the same things as forts. My mother said so. "

"Is that your mother sitting there?" asked Eyebright catching aglimpse of a woman and a baby under a tree not far off. 

"Oh, dear, no! That's Mrs. Waurigan. She's Jenny's mother, you know, and 'Mandy's and Peter Paul Rubens's. She's not our mother at all. Mymother's name is Mrs. Brown, and my papa is Dr. Azariah P. Brown. Welive in New York city. Did you ever see New York city?"

[Illustration: When Eyebright appeared with Genevieve in her arms, they stopped digging and looked at her curiously. --PAGE 172. ]

"No, never. I wish I had, " said Eyebright. 

"It's a real nice place, " went on the pink-and-gray midge. "You'dbetter make haste and come and see it quick, 'cause it's de-te-rottingevery day; my papa said so. Don't you think Dr. Azariah P. Brown is abeau-tiful name? I do. When I'm mallied and have a little boy, I'mgoing to name him Dr. Azariah P. Brown, because it's the beautifulestname in the world. "

"She's 'gaged already, " said the other little sister. "She's 'gaged toWilly Prentiss. And she's got a 'gagement wing; only, she turns thestone round inside, so's to make people b'lieve it's a plain gold wingand she's mallied already. Isn't that cheating? It's just as bad astelling a weal story. "

"No, it isn't either!" cried the other, twirling a small gilt ringround on a brown finger, and revealing a gem made, apparently, ofsecond-rate sealing-wax, and about the color of a lobster's claw. "No, it isn't cheating, not one bit; 'cause sometimes the wing gets turnedround all by itself, and then people can see that it isn't plain gold. And Nelly's 'gaged, too, just as much as I am, only she hasn't got anywing, because Harry Sin--"

"Now, Lotty!" screamed Nelly, flinging herself upon her, "you mustn'ttell the name. "

"So your name is Lotty, is it?" said Eyebright, who had abandonedGenevieve to the embraces of Jenny, and was digging in the sand withthe rest. 

"No, it isn't. My really name is Charlotte P. , only Mamma calls meLotty. I don't like it much. It's such a short name, just Lotty. Lookhere, you didn't ever see me till to-day, so it can't make muchdifference to you, so won't you please call me Charlotte P. ? I'd likeit so much if you would. "

Eyebright hastened to assure Charlotte P. Of her willingness to grantthis slight favor. 

"Are these little boys your brothers, Lot--Charlotte P. , I mean?" sheasked. 

"Oh, no!" cried Nelly. "Our bwother is lots and lots bigger than theyare. That's Sinclair and Fweddy. They ain't no 'lation at all, 'ceptthat they live next door. "

"Their mamma's a widow, " interposed Charlotte P. "She plays on thepiano, and a real handsome gentleman comes to see her 'most every day. That's what being a widow means. "

"Look here what I've found!" shouted Sinclair, who had gone fartherdown the beach. "I guess it's a shrimp. And if I had a match I'd makea fire and cook it, for I read in a book once that shrimps aredelicious. "

"Let me see him! Let me see him!" clamored the little ones. Then, in atone of disgust: "Oh, my! ain't he horrid-looking and little. He isn'tany bigger than the head of a pin. "

"That's not true, " asserted Sinclair: "he's bigger than the head of mymamma's shawl-pin, and that's ever so big. "

"I don't believe he's good a bit, " declared Lotty. 

"Then you shan't have any of him when he's cooked, " said Sinclair. "I've got a jelly-fish, too. He's in a hole with a little water in it, but he can't get out. I mean to eat him, too. Are jelly-fish good?" toEyebright. 

"I don't believe they are, " she replied. "I never heard of anybody'seating them. "

"I like fishes, " went on Sinclair. "My mamma says she guesses I've gota taste for nat-nat-ural history. When I grow up I mean to read allthe books about animals. "

"And what do you like?" asked Eyebright of the other little boy, whohad not spoken yet, and whose fair baby face had an odd, almostsatirical expression. 

"Fried hominy, " was the unexpected reply, uttered in a sharp, distinctvoice. The children shouted and Eyebright laughed, but Freddy onlysmiled faintly in a condescending way. And now Eyebright rememberedthat she was on her road to the cave, --a fact quite forgotten for themoment, --and she jumped up and said she must go. 

"Perhaps Mrs. Waurigan will know where the Oven is, " she added. 

"I guess so, " replied Lotty; "because she does know about a greatmany, many things. Good-by!--do come again to-morrow, and bringDolly, won't you?" and she gave Genevieve one kiss and Eyebrightanother. "You're pretty big to play with dolls, I think. But then"--meditatively--"she's a pretty big doll too. "

Mrs. Waurigan was knitting a blue-yarn stocking. She could tellEyebright nothing about the Oven. 

"I know it's not a great way off, " she said. "But I've never beenthere. It can't be over a mile, if it's so much as that; that I'm sureof. Have you walked up all the way from Scrapplehead? I want to know?It's a long way for you to come. "

"Not so far as New York city, " said Eyebright, laughing. "Those littlegirls tell me they come from there. "

"Yes; the twins and Sinclair and Freddy all come from New York. Theirmother, Mis' Brown, who is a real nice lady, was up here last year. She took a desprit fancy to the place, and when the children hadscarlet fever in the spring, and Lotty was so sick that the doctordidn't think she'd ever get over it, she just packed their trunk andsent them right off here just as soon as they was fit to travel. Shesaid all she asked was that I'd feed 'em and do for 'em just as I dofor my own; and you wouldn't believe how much they've improved sincethey came. They look peaked enough still, but for all that nobody'dthink that they were the same children. "

"And did the little boys come with them?"

"Yes. They're neighbors, Miss' Brown wrote, and their mother wanted togo to the Springs, or somewhere, so she asked mightn't they come, too. At first, I thought I couldn't hardly manage with so many, but theyhaven't been a bit of trouble. Just set them anywheres down on theshore, and they'll dig all day and be as happy as clams. The only badthings is boots. Miss' Brown, she sent seven pairs apiece in thetrunk, and, you would hardly believe it, they're on the sixth pairalready. Rocks is dreadful hard on leather, and so is sand. But Iguess their Ma wont care so's they go back strong and healthy. "

"I'm sure she won't, " said Eyebright. "Now I must be going, or Ishan't be able to get into the cave when I find it. "

"You'd better come in and get a bite of something to eat as you comeback, " said Mrs. Waurigan. "That's the house just across that pasture. 'T ain't but a step out of your way. "

"Oh, thank you. How kind you are!" replied Eyebright. Then she saidgood-by and hurried on, thinking to herself, --"Maine is full of goodpeople, I do believe. I wish Wealthy could come up here and see hownice they are. "

It seemed more than a mile to the Oven, but she made the distancelonger than it was by continually going down to the water's edge tomake sure that she was not passing the cave without knowing it. It wasalmost by accident that in the end she lighted upon it. Strolling alittle out of her way to pick a particularly blue harebell which hadcaught her eye, she suddenly found herself on the edge of a hollowchasm, and, peeping over, perceived that it must be the place she wasin search of. Scrambling down from her perch, which was about half-wayup one side, she found herself in a deep recess, overhung by a largerock, which formed a low archway across its front. The floor ran backfor a long distance, rising gradually, in irregular terraces, till itmet the roof; and here and there along these terraces were basin-likeholes full of gleaming water, which must be the pools Mrs. Downs hadtalked about. 

Eyebright had never seen a cave before, though she had read and playedabout caves all her life, so you can imagine her ecstasy andastonishment at finding herself in a real one at last. It was as goodas the "Arabian Nights, " she thought, and a great deal better than thecave in the "Swiss Family Robinson. " Indeed, it was a beautiful place. Cool green light filled it, like sunshine filtered through sea-water. The rocky shelves were red, or rather a deep rosy pink, and the waterin the pools was of the color of emerald and beautifully clear. Sheclimbed up to the nearest pool, and gave a loud scream of delight, forthere, under her eye, was a miniature flower-garden, made by thefairies, it would seem, and filled with dahlia-shaped andhollyhock-shaped things, purple, crimson, and deep orange; which wereflowers to all appearance, and yet must be animals; for they openedand shut their many-tinted petals, and moved and swayed when shedipped her fingers in and splashed the water about. There were greenspiky things, too, exactly like freshly fallen chestnut burrs, lettuce-like leaves, --pale red ones, as fine as tissue-paper, --anddelicate filmy foliage in soft brown and in white. Yellow snails clungto the sides of the pool, vivid in color as the blossom of atrumpet-creeper; and, as she lay with her face close to the surface ofthe water, a small, bright fish swam from under the leaves, and dartedacross the pool like a quick sun ray. Never, even in her dreams, hadEyebright imagined any thing like it, and in her delight she gaveGenevieve a great hug, and cried:--

"Aren't you glad I brought you, dear, and oh, isn't it beautiful?"

There were several pools, one above another, and each higher oneseemed more beautiful than the next below. The very biggest "dahlia"of all--Anemone was its real name, but Eyebright did not knowthat--was in the highest of these pools, and Eyebright lay so longlooking at it and giving it an occasional tickle with her forefingerto make it open and shut, that she never noticed how fast the tide wasbeginning to pour in. At last, one great wave rolled up and brokealmost at her feet, and she suddenly bethought herself that it mightbe time to go. Alas! the thought came too late, as in another minuteshe saw. The rocks at the side, down which she had climbed, were cutoff by deep water. She hurried across to the other side to see if itwere not possible to get out there; but it was even worse, and thetide ran after as she scrambled back, and wetted her ankles before shecould gain the place where she had been sitting before she made thisdisagreeable discovery. That wasn't safe either, for pretty soon asplash reached her there, and she took Genevieve in her arms andclimbed up higher still, feeling like a hunted thing, and as if thesea were chasing her and would catch her if it possibly could. 

It was a great comfort just then to recollect what Mr. Downs had saidabout the cave being safe enough for people who were caught there bythe tide, "in ordinary weather. " Eyebright worried a little over thatword "ordinary, " but the sun was shining outside, and she could seeits gleam through the lower waves; the water came in quietly, whichproved that there wasn't much wind; and altogether she concluded thatthere couldn't be any thing extraordinary about this particular day. Ithink she proved herself a brave little thing, and sensible, too, tobe able to reason this out as she did, and avoid useless fright; but, for all her bravery, she couldn't help crying a little as she satthere like a limpet among the rocks, and realized that the Oven doorwas fast shut, and she couldn't get out for ever so many hours. All ofa sudden it came to her quite distinctly how foolish and rash it wasto have come there all alone, without permission from papa, or lettinganybody know of her intention. It was one comfort that papa at thatmoment was in Malachi, and couldn't be anxious about her; but, "Ohdear!" Eyebright thought, "how dreadfully he would feel if I never didget out, and he came back and found me gone, and nobody could tell himwhere I was. I'll never do such a bad, naughty thing again, never, --ifI ever do get out, that is--" she reflected, as the water climbedhigher and higher, and again she moved her seat to avoid it, stillwith the sense of being a hunted thing which the sea was trying tocatch. 

Her seat was now too far from the pools for her to note how theanemones and snails were enjoying their twice-a-day visit from thetide, how the petals quivered and widened, the weeds grew brighter, and the fish darted about with renewed life and vigor. I don't believeit would have been much comfort to her if she had seen them. Fishesare unfriendly creatures; they never seem to care any thing abouthuman beings, or whether they are feeling glad or sorry. Genevieve, for all her being made of wax, was much more satisfactory. What wasparticularly nice, she lent Eyebright her blanket-shawl to wear, forthe cave had begun to feel very chilly. The shawl was not large, butit was better than nothing; and with this round her shoulders, andDolly cuddled in her arms, she sat on the very highest ledge of alland watched the water rise. She couldn't go any higher, so she hoped_it_ couldn't, either; and as she sat, she sang all the songs andhymns she knew, to keep her spirits up, --"Out on an Ocean, " "ShiningShore" (how she wished herself on one!), "Rosalie, the PrairieFlower, " "Old Dog Tray, " and ever so many others. It was a verymiscellaneous concert, but did as well for Eyebright and the fishes asthe most classical music could have done; better, perhaps, for Mozartand Beethoven might have sounded a little mournful, and "songs withoutwords" would never have answered. Songs _with_ words were what werewanted in that emergency. 

The tide halted at last, after filling the cave about two-thirds full. Once sure that it had turned and was going down, Eyebright felteasier, and could even enjoy herself again. She ate the bread andbutter with a good appetite, only wishing there was more of it, andthen made up a delightful story about robbers and a cave and aprincess, in which she herself played the part of the princess, whowas shut in the cave of an enchanter till a prince should come andrelease her through a hole in the top. By the time that this happenedand the princess was safely out, the uppermost pool was uncovered, andEyebright clambered down the wet rocks and took another long look atit, "making believe" that it was a garden which a good fairy hadplanted to amuse the princess; and, indeed, no fairy could haveinvented a prettier one. So, little by little, and following thereceding sea, she was able at last, with a jump and a long step, toreach the rocky pathway by which she had come down, and two minuteslater she was on top of the cliff again, and in the sunshine, whichfelt particularly warm and pleasant. The sun was half-way down thesky; she had been in the cave almost six hours, and she knew it mustbe late in the afternoon. 

Neither Mrs. Waurigan nor the party of children was visible as shepassed the house. They had probably gone in for tea, and she did notstop to look them up, for a great longing for home had seized uponher. The tide delayed her a little while at the causeway, so that itwas past six when she finally reached the island, and her boots werewet from the soaked sand; but she didn't mind that a bit, she was sovery glad to be safely there again. She pulled them off, put on drystockings and shoes, made the fire, filled the tea-kettle, set thetable, and, after a light repast of bread and milk, curled herself upin the rocking-chair for a long nap, and did not wake till nearlynine, when papa came in, having been set ashore by the schooner's boatas it passed by. He had a large codfish in his hand, swung from a loopof string. 

"Well, it has been a nice day, " he said, cheerfully, rubbing hishands. "The wind was fair both ways. We did some fishing, and I caughtthis big fellow. I don't know when I have enjoyed any thing so much. What sort of a day have you had, little daughter?"

Eyebright began to tell him, but at the same time began to cry, whichmade her story rather difficult to understand. Mr. Bright looked verygrave when at last he comprehended the danger she had been in. 

"I shan't dare to go anywhere again, " he said. "I thought I couldtrust you, Eyebright. I supposed you were too sensible and steady todo such a wild thing as this. I am very much surprised and very muchdisappointed. "

These words were the heaviest punishment which Eyebright could havehad, for she was proud of being trusted and trustworthy. Papa had satdown and was leaning his head on his hand in a dispirited way. All hisbright look was overclouded, --the pleasant day seemed forgotten andalmost spoiled. She felt that it was her fault, and reproached herselfmore than ever. 

"Oh, please don't say that, papa, " she pleaded, tearfully. "I _can_ betrusted, really and truly I can. I won't ever go to any dangerousplace alone again, really I won't. Just forgive me this time, andyou'll see how good I'll be all the rest of my life. "

So papa forgave her, and she kept her promise, and never did go off onany thoughtless expeditions again, as long as she lived on CauseyIsland. 

CHAPTER X. 

A LONG YEAR IN A SHORT CHAPTER. 

It was Christmas Eve, and Eyebright, alone in the kitchen, was hangingup the stockings before going to bed. Papa, who had a headache, hadretired early, so there was no one to interrupt her. She only wishedthere had been. Half the fun of Christmas seems missing when there isnobody from whom to keep a secret, no mystery, no hiding of things incorners and bringing them out at just the right moment. Very carefullyshe tied papa's stocking to the corner of the chimney and proceeded to"fill" it; that is, to put in a pair of old fur gloves which she haddiscovered in one of the boxes, and had mended by way of a surprise, and a small silk bag full of hickory-nut meats, carefully picked fromthe shells. These were all the Christmas gifts she had been able toget for papa, and the long gray stocking-leg looked very empty to hereyes. She had wished much to knit him a comforter, but it was threeweeks and more since either of them had been able to get to thevillage; besides which, she knew that papa felt very poor indeed, andshe did not like to ask for money, even so little as would havecarried out her wish. "This must do, " she said, with a quick sigh. Then she hung up her own stocking, and went upstairs. Eyebright alwayshad hung up her stocking on Christmas Eve ever since she couldremember, and she did it now more from the force of habit than anything else, forgetting that there was no Wealthy at hand to put thingsin, and that they were living on an island which, since winter began, seemed to have changed its place, and swung a great deal farther awayfrom things and people and the rest of the world than it had been. 

For winter comes early to the Maine coasts. Long before Thanksgiving, the ground was white with snow, and it stayed white from that time ontill spring. After the first heavy storm, the farmers turned out withsnow-ploughs to break paths through the village. As more snow fell, itwas shovelled out and thrown on either side of the path, till the longdouble mounds half hid the people who walked between. But there was noone to break a path along the shore toward the causeway. The tide, rising and falling, kept a little strip of sand clear for part of thedistance, and on this Eyebright now and then made her way to thevillage. But it was a hard and uncertain walk, and as rowing the boatwas very cold work, it happened sometimes that for weeks togetherneither she nor papa left the island, or saw anybody except eachother. 

This would have seemed very lonely, indeed, had not the house-workfilled up so much of her time. Papa had no such resource. After thewood was chopped, and the cow fed, and a little snow shovelled, perhaps, --that was all. He could not find pleasure, as Eyebright did, in reading over and over again a book which he already knew by heart;the climate did not brace and stimulate him as it did her; the coldaffected him very much; he moped in the solitude, and time hungheavily upon his hands. 

Eyebright often wondered how they could ever have got along--or, infact, if it could have been possible to get along at all--withouttheir cow. Papa had bought her in the autumn, when he began to realizehow completely they were to be shut off from village supplies in badweather. She was a good-natured, yellow beast, without any pedigree, or any name till Eyebright dubbed her "Golden Rod, " partly because ofher color, and partly because the field in which she grazed before shecame to them was full of goldenrod, which the cow was supposed to eat, though I dare say she didn't. She gave a good deal of milk, not of therichest quality, for her diet was rather spare, but it was a greathelp and comfort to have it. With milk, potatoes, cabbages, and beetsfrom their own garden; flour, Indian meal, and a barrel of salt beefin store, there was no danger of starvation on Causey Island, thoughEyebright at times grew very tired of ringing the changes on these fewarticles of diet, and trying to invent new dishes with which to temptpapa's appetite, which had grown very poor since the winter set in. 

Altogether, life on the island was a good deal harder and lesspleasant now than it had been in summer-time, and the sea was a greatdeal less pleasant. Eyebright loved it still; but her love was mingledwith fear, and she began to realize what a terrible thing the oceancan be. The great gray waves which leaped and roared and flungthemselves madly on the rocks, were so different from the blue, rippling waves of the summer, that she could hardly believe it thesame sea. And even when pleasant days came, and the waves grew calm, and the beautiful color returned to the water, still the other andfrightful look of the ocean remained in her memory, and her bad dreamswere always about storms and shipwrecks. Many more boats passedbetween Malachi and Scrapplehead in winter than in summer. Now thatthe inland roads were blocked with snow, and the Boston steamer hadceased to run, the mails came that way, being brought over every weekin a sail-boat. Even row-boats passed to and fro in calm weather, andwhat with lumber vessels and fishing smacks, and an occasionaltraveller from out-of-the-way Canada, sails at sea, or the sound ofclinking oars off the bathing-beach, became of frequent occurrence. These little boats out in the great fierce ocean weighed heavily onEyebright's mind sometimes. Especially was this the case when heavyfogs wrapped the coast, as occasionally they did for days together, making all landmarks dangerously dim and indistinct. At such times itseemed as if Causey Island were a big rocky lump which had got in theway, and against which ships were almost certain to run. She wishedvery much for a light-house, and she coaxed papa to let her keep akerosene lamp burning in the window of her bedroom on all foggy andvery dark nights. "The little gal's lamp, " the Malachi sailors calledit, and they learned to look for it as a guide, though its reflectivepower was not enough to make it serviceable in a fog, which was thechief danger of all. 

There was no fog, however, when she opened her eyes on Christmasmorning, but a bright sun, just rising, which was a sort of Christmaspresent in itself. She made haste to dress, for she heard papa movingin his room, and she wished to get down first, but he was as quick asshe, and they finally met at the stair-top, and went down together. 

When he saw the stockings, he looked surprised and vexed. 

"Dear me! did you hang up your stocking, Eyebright?" he asked, in adepressed tone. "I quite forgot it was Christmas. You'll have nopresents, my child, I'm afraid. "

"Never mind, papa, I don't care; I don't want any thing, " saidEyebright. 

She spoke bravely, but there was a lump in her throat, and she couldhardly keep from tears. It seemed so strange and dreadful not to haveany thing at all in her stocking, --not one single thing! She had notthought much about the matter, but with childish faith had taken itfor granted that she must have something--some sort of a present, andfor a moment the disappointment was hard to bear. 

Papa looked very much troubled, especially when he spied his ownstocking and perceived that his little daughter had remembered himwhile he had forgotten her. He spent the morning rummaging his deskand the trunks upstairs, as if in search of something, and afterdinner announced that he was going to the village to get the mail. Themails came into Scrapplehead twice a week, but he seldom had anyletters, and Eyebright never, so, as a general thing, they were notvery particular about calling regularly at the post-office. 

Eyebright wanted to go, too, but the day was so cold that papa thoughtshe would better not. She wrapped him in every warm thing she couldfind, and drew the fur-gloves over his fingers with greatsatisfaction. 

"They will keep you quite warm, won't they?" she said. "Your fingerswould almost freeze without them, wouldn't they? You like them, don'tyou, papa?"

"Very much, " said Mr. Bright, giving her a good-by kiss. 

Then he stepped into the boat and took the oars, while she wrapped herarms in her shawl and watched him row away. Her breath froze on theair like a cloud of white steam. She felt her ears tingle, andpresently ran back to the house, feeling as if Jack Frost were nippingher as she ran, but with glowing cheeks and spirits brightened by thesplendid air. 

Just before sunset papa came rowing back. He was almost stiff withcold, but when once he had thawed out in the warm kitchen, he seemednone the worse for that. It was quite exciting to hear from thevillage after such a long silence. Papa had seen Mrs. Downs and Mr. Downs and the children. Benny had had the mumps, but he was almostwell again. Mrs. Downs sent her love to Eyebright, and a mince piepinned up in a towel. This was very nice, but when Eyebright unpinnedthe towel and saw the pie, she gave a scream of dismay. 

"Why, papa, it's all hard, " she said, "and it's just like ice. Touchit, papa; did you ever feel any thing so cold?"

In fact, the pie was frozen hard, and had to be thawed for a long timein the oven before it was fit to eat. While this process was going on, papa produced a little parcel from his pocket. It was a Christmaspresent, --a pretty blue neck-tie. Eyebright was delighted, and showedher gratitude by kissing papa at least a dozen times, and dancingabout the kitchen. 

"Oh, and here's a letter for you, too, " he said. 

"A letter for me. How queer! I never had a letter before, that Iremember. Why, it's from Wealthy! Papa, I wish you'd read it to me. Itlooks very hard to make out, Wealthy writes such a funny hand. Don'tyou recollect how she used to work over her copy-book, with her nosealmost touching the paper, and how inky she used to get?"

It was the first time they had heard from Wealthy since they leftTunxet, more than eight months before. Wealthy wrote very few letters, and those few cost an amount of time, trouble, and ink-spots, whichwould have discouraged most people from writing at all. 

This was the letter:--

 DEAR EYEBRIGHT: I take my pen in hand to tell you that I am well, and hope you are the same. All the friends here is well, except Miss Bury. She's down with intermitting fever, and old Miss Beadles is dead and buried. Whether that's being well or not I can't say. Some folks think so, and some folks don't. I haint written before. I aint much of a scribe, as you know, so I judge you haven't been surprised at not hearing of me. I might have writ sooner, but along in the fall my arm was kind of lamed with rheumatism, and when I got over that, there was Mandy Harmon's weddin' things to do, --Pelatiah Harmon's daughter, down to the corners, you know. What girls want so many clothes for when they get married, I cant for the life of me tell. The shops don't shut up for good just afterward, so far as anybody knows, but you'd think they did from the fuss some of them make. Mandy had five new dresses. They was cut down to Worcester, but I made them, besides two calikus and ten of every thing, and a double gown and an Ulster and the Lord knows what not. I've had to stick to it to put 'em through, but they're all done at last, and she got married last week and went off, and she'll spend the next few years a-alterin' of them things over, or I miss my guess. That Mather girl keeps asking me about you, but I tell her you haint wrote but twice, and I don't know no more than she does. Mr. Bury got your Pa's letter. We was glad to hear you liked it up there, but most places is pleasant enough in summer. Winter is the tug. I suppose it's cold enough where you are, sometimes, judging from Probbabillities. Mr. Asher has took the house. Tell your Pa. It dont look much like old times. He has put wooden points on top of the barn and mended the back gate, and he's got a nasty Newfoundland which barks most all the time. Now I must conclude. --Yours truly, WEALTHY A. JUDSON. 

 P. S. --My respects to your Pa and to all inquiring friends. I was thinking that that water-proof of your Ma's had better be cut over for you in the spring. What kind of help do you get up in Maine?

"Oh, how like dear, funny old Wealthy that is!" cried Eyebright, asbetween smiles and tears she listened to the reading of this letter. "Whom do you suppose she means by 'all inquiring friends'? And isn'tit just like her to call Bessie 'that Mather girl'? Wealthy nevercould endure Bessie, --I can't imagine why. Well, this has been a realnice Christmas, after all. I'm glad you didn't go to the post-officelast week, papa, for then we should have got the letter sooner, andshouldn't have had it for to-day. It was much nicer to have it now. "

"Winter's the tug. " Eyebright thought often of this sentence ofWealthy's as the long weeks went by, and still the cold continued andthe spring delayed, till it seemed as though it were never coming atall, and papa grew thinner and more listless and discouraged all thetime. The loneliness and want of occupation hurt him more than it didEyebright, and when spring came, as at last it did, his spirits didnot revive as she had hoped they would. Farming was trying anddepressing work on Causey Island. The land was poor and rocky, --"outof heart, " as the saying is, --and Mr. Bright had neither the spiritnor the money to bring it into condition. He missed his old occupationand his old neighbors more than he had expected; he missed newspapers;and a growing anxiety about the future, and about Eyebright, --who wasgetting no schooling of any kind, --combined to depress him and givehim the feeling that he had dropped out of life, and there was no usein trying to make things better. 

It was certainly a disadvantage to Eyebright, at her age, to be takenout of school; still life on the island was a schooling for all that, and schooling of a very useful kind. History and geography areexcellent things, but no geography or history can take the place ofthe lessons which Eyebright was now learning, --lessons in patience, unselfishness, good-humor, and helpfulness. When she fought with herown little discontents and vexations, and kept her face bright andsunny for papa's sake, she was gaining more good than she could havedone from the longest chapter in the best school-book ever printed. Not that the school-books are not desirable, too, or that Eyebrightdid not miss them. After the first novelty of their new life was over, she missed school very much, --not the fun of school only, but theactual study itself. Her mind felt as they say teething dogs do, as ifit must have something to bite on. She tried the experiment of settingherself lessons, but it did not succeed very well. There was no one toexplain the little difficulties that arose, and she grew puzzled andconfused, and lost the desire to go on. 

Another thing which she missed very much was going to church. Therehad never been either a church or a Sunday-school in Scrapplehead, andthe people who made any difference for Sunday made it by idling about, which was almost worse than working. At first, Eyebright tried toobserve the day after a fashion, by learning a hymn and studying ashort Bible lesson, but such good habits drop off after a while, whenthere is nothing and nobody to remind or help us, and little by littleshe got out of the way of keeping it up, and sometimes quite forgotthat it was Sunday till afterward. Days were much alike on the island, especially in winter, and it was not easy to remember, which must beher excuse; but it was a sad want in her week, and a want which wascontinually growing worse as she grew older. 

Altogether, it was not a good or wholesome life for a child to lead, and only her high spirits and sweet, healthful temper kept her frombeing seriously hurt by it. It was just now that Mr. Joyce's wordswere proved true, and the quick power of imagination with which naturehad gifted her became her best friend. It enabled her to take sightsand sounds into the place of play-fellows and friends, mixing themwith her life as it were, and half in fun, half in earnest, gettingcompanionship out of them. Skies and sunsets, flowers, waves, birds, --all became a part of the fairy-world which lay always at hand, and to which her mind went for change and rest from work too hard andthoughts over-anxious for a child to bear. She was growing fast, butthe only signs she gave of growing older were her womanly andthoughtful ways about papa and his comforts, and a slight, veryslight, difference in her feeling toward Genevieve, whom she playedwith no longer, though she took her out now and then when she wasquite alone, and set her in a chair opposite, as better than nocompany at all. Eyebright had no idea of being disloyal to this dearold friend, but her eyes had opened to the fact that Genevieve wasonly wax, and do what she could, it was impossible to make her seemalive any more. 

Her rapid growth was another trouble, for she could not wear theclothes which she had brought with her to the island, and it was veryhard to get others. Papa had no money to spare, she knew, and shecould not bear to worry him with her difficulties, so she went to Mrs. Downs instead. Mrs. Downs had her hands full of sewing for "him" andher three boys; still she found time to advise and help, and betweenher fitting and Eyebright's sewing, a skirt and jacket were concoctedout of the water-proof designated by Wealthy, which though ratherqueer in pattern, did nicely for cool days, and relieved Eyebrightfrom the long-legged sensation which was growing over her. This, witha calico, some of Mrs. Bright's underclothing altered a little, and asun-bonnet with a deep cape, made a tolerable summer outfit. Gloves, ruffles, ribbons, and such little niceties, she learned to do without;and when the sweet summer came again with long days and warm winds, when she could row, sit out-doors as much as she liked, and swing inthe wild-grape hammocks which festooned the shore, she did not missthem. Girls on desert islands can dispense with finery. 

But summers in Maine are very short, and, as lengthening days andchilly nights began to hint at coming winter, Eyebright caught herselfshivering, and knew that she dreaded it very much indeed. 

"How long it will seem!" she thought. "And how will poor papa bear it?And what am I to do when all mamma's old clothes are worn out? I don'tsuppose I ever shall have any new ones, and how I am to manage, Icannot imagine!"

CHAPTER XI. 

A STORM ON THE COAST. 

Summers _are_ short in Maine; still the autumn that year seemed in nohaste to begin its work. September came and went, bringing onlytrifling frosts, and the equinoctial week passed without a storm. Inits place appeared an odd yellow mist, which wrapped the world in itsfolds and made the most familiar objects look strange and unnatural. Not a fog, --it was not dense enough for that. It seemed more like airmade visible, thickened just a little, and tinted with color, butcommon air still, warm, thin, and quiet. The wind blew softly for manydays; there was a general hush over land and sea, and the sun blinkedthrough the golden haze like a bigger and hotter moon. 

This strange atmosphere lasted so long that people grew accustomed andceased to wonder at it. Some of the old sailors shook their heads andsaid it would end with a gale; but old sailors are fond of prophesyinggales, and nobody was frightened by the prediction, or saw any reasonfor being so, as long as the weather remained thus warm and perfectlycalm. 

The little steamer from Malachi to Portland made her last trip for theseason on the 30th of September; and the day before, Mr. Bright, whohad some potatoes to ship to market, went over with them to Malachi, in a small sail-boat belonging to Captain Jim, Mr. Downs's brother'sson. They were not to return till next day, so it was arranged thatEyebright should spend the night with Mrs. Downs, as papa did not liketo leave her alone on the island. She went with him as far as thevillage, and kissed him for good-by on the dock, when the little cargowas all on board and Captain Jim just ready to push off. 

"I shall go home early to-morrow, and make some egg-toast and somefrizzled beef for your supper, papa, so mind you don't stop to teawith Mrs. Downs, " were her last words. 

"All right--I won't, " said her father; and Captain Jim laughed andsaid:--

"You'd better not put the frying-pan on till you see us a-coming, forwith this light wind there's no knowing when we'll get over, and thefrizzle might be sp'iled. "

Then the sail flapped and filled, and off they went over the yellowsea. Eyebright watched till the boat passed behind the island, and outof sight; then she walked up the road to the Downs's, saying toherself, --

"What funny weather! I never saw any thing like it. It isn't a bitlike last September. "

Next morning showed the same sultry mist, a little thicker if anything. Eyebright stayed with Mrs. Downs till after dinner, helped inthe weekly baking, hemmed two crash towels, told Benny a story, andset out for home a little after four, carrying a blueberry pie in abasket for papa's supper. As she toiled over the sand of the causewayand up the steep path, she was conscious of a singular heaviness inthe air, and it struck her that the sea was making a sound such as shehad never heard before, --a sort of odd shuddering moan, as if somegreat creature was in pain a long way out from shore. The water lookedglassy calm, and there did not seem to be much wind, which made thesound even stranger and more startling. But she forgot about the soundwhen she reached the house, for there was a great deal to do and notmuch time to do it in, for Captain Jim expected to get back by sixo'clock or soon after. What with sweeping and dusting and fire-making, an hour passed rapidly, when suddenly a dusky darkness settled overthe house, and at the same moment a blast of wind blew the door openwith a bang. 

"Oh dear, there is going to be a thunder-storm, " thought Eyebright. She was afraid of thunder and lightning and did not like the idea atall. 

Going to the door to shut it, she stopped short, for she saw a strangesight. One side of the heavens was still thick with the yellow haze, but toward the sea a bank of black clouds was whirling rapidly up fromthe horizon. It had nearly reached the zenith, and had already hiddenthe sun and turned the afternoon into temporary twilight. The sea wasglassy smooth near the shore--as smooth as oil; but farther out, thewaves had begun to toss and tumble, and the moaning sound was become adeep hollow boom, which might easily be imagined the very voice of theapproaching storm. 

Filled with anxiety, Eyebright ran down to the cliff above thebathing-beach and looked toward the long cape at the end of which layMalachi. The dots of houses showed plainer and whiter than usualagainst the cape, which had turned of a deep slate-gray, almost black. Two or three ships were in sight, but they were large ships far out atsea, and the strange darkness and the confusion and tumble of thewaves, which every instant increased, made it difficult to detect anyobject so small as a boat. She was just turning away, when a suddengleam of light showed what seemed to be a tiny sail far out in thebay, but it disappeared and, at the same moment, a sudden, violentwind swept in from the sea, and almost threw her down. She caught holdof a sapling-stem to steady herself, and held tightly till the gustpassed. Next instant came a great roar of blinding rain, and she wasforced to run as fast as she could to the house. It took but twominutes to reach it; but already she was drenched to the skin, and thewater was running in streams from her dress and the braids of herhair. 

She had to change all her clothes. As she sat before the fire, dryingher hair with a rough towel, she could hear the rain pouring on theroof with a noise like thunder, and every few minutes great waves ofwind surged against the house, making it shake and tremble till therafters creaked. There were other sounds, too, --odd rattlings, deephollow notes like groans, and a throbbing as of some mightypulse, --but there was no thunder; indeed Eyebright doubted if shecould have heard it had there been any, so loud was the tumult ofnoises. 

She sat by the fire and dried her hair--what else was there todo?--but feeling all the time as if she ought to be out in the rainhelping papa somehow. The tears ran down her cheeks; now and then shewrung her hands tightly, and said, "O papa! O papa!" Never had shefelt so little and helpless and lost in all her life before. She triedto say a prayer, but it seemed to her just then that God could nothear a weak, small voice like hers through such a rage of storm. Shecould not realize what it would have been such a comfort tofeel, --that God is never so near his children or so ready to listen, as when storms are wildest and they need him most. And so she sat, till by and by the clock struck six, and made her jump at the ideathat papa might come in soon and find no supper ready for him. 

"I mustn't let _that_ happen, " she thought, as, with shaking hands, she mended the fire, laid the table, and set the kettle on to boil. She would not allow herself to question the fact that papa wouldcome--_must_ come, though he might be a little late; and she shavedthe dried beef, broke the eggs, and sliced bread for toasting, so asto be able to get supper as soon as possible after he should appear. This helped her through with another hour. Still no sign of papa, andstill the storm raged, as it seemed, more furiously than ever. 

Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten, half-past ten. I don't know how thatevening passed. It seemed as long as two or three ordinary days. Manytimes, thinking she heard a sound, Eyebright flew to the door, butonly to come back disappointed. At last the rain slackened, and, unable to sit still any longer, she put on her water-proof and Indiarubbers, tied a hood over her head, and, taking a lantern, went downto the cliff again. It would have been of no use to carry an umbrellain that wind, and the night was so dark that, even with the help ofthe lantern, and well as she knew the path, she continually wanderedfrom it, and struck and bruised herself against stumps and brancheswhich there was not light to avoid. 

At last she gained the top of the bank over the beach. The sea wasperfectly black; she could see nothing and hear nothing, except theroar of waves and the rattle of the shingle below. Suddenly came aflash of lightning. It lit the water for a minute, and revealed a darkspot which might be a boat borne on the waves a little way out fromshore. Eyebright did not hesitate an instant, but tumbled andscrambled down the bank at once, waving the lantern, and crying, "HereI am, papa! this way, papa!" as loud as she could. She had scarcelyreached the beach, when another flash showed the object much nearer. Next moment came a great tumbling wave, and out of the midst of it andof the darkness, something plunged on to the beach; and then came thelightning again. It was a boat--and a man in it. 

Eyebright seized and held with all her might. 

"Oh, hurry and get out, papa, " she cried; for though she could notsee, she felt another wave coming. "I can't keep hold but a minute. "

And then--she hardly knew how it happened--the man did get out--tumbleout rather--upon the sand; and, as she let go the boat and caught holdof him, in sped the wave she had dreaded, with a loud roar, splashedher from head to foot, and rolled back, carrying the boat with it. Theman lay on the beach as if unable to move, but by the sense of touch, as well as the dim light of the lantern, Eyebright already knew thatit was not papa, but a stranger, whose arm she clutched. 

"Get up, oh, do get up!" she screamed. "You'll be drowned if youdon't. Don't you see that you will? Oh, what shall I do?"

The man seemed to hear, for he slowly struggled up to his feet, but hedid not speak. It was terrible work getting him up the cliff. The windin furious moments seemed to seize and pin them down, and at suchtimes there was nothing to be done but to stand still, flattenthemselves against the bank, and wait till its force abated. Eyebrightwas most thankful when at last they reached the top. She hurried thestranger with what speed she could across the field to the house, keeping the path better than when she came down, because the light inthe kitchen window now served her as a guide. The man stumbledcontinually, and more than once almost fell down. As they entered thekitchen he quite fell, and lay so long on the floor as to frightenEyebright extremely. She had never seen any one faint, and she fearedthe man was dead. Not knowing in the least what she ought to do, sheran for a pillow to lay under his head, covered him with a blanket, and put some water on his forehead. This last was rather unnecessary, considering his wet condition, but Bessie had always "brought to" theLady Jane in that way, so Eyebright thought it might be the rightthing. After a long time, she had the comfort of seeing him open hiseyes. 

"Oh, you are better; I am so glad, " she said, "Do try to get into therocking-chair. The floor is so hard. Here, I will help you. "

And she took hold of his arm for the purpose. He winced and shrank. 

"Not that arm--don't touch that arm, please, " he said. "I have hurt itin some way. It feels as if it were broken. "

Then very slowly and painfully he got up from the floor and into therocking-chair which Eyebright had covered with a thick comfortable tomake it softer. She made haste to wet the tea, and presently broughthim a cup. 

"Thank you, " he said, faintly. "You are very kind. "

She could see his face now. He was not a young man, at all. His hairand beard were gray, and he seemed as old as papa; but he was so wetand pale and wild-looking just then, that it was not easy to judgewhat he was like. His voice was pleasant, and she did not feel at allafraid of him. The tea seemed to revive him a little, for, after lyingquiet a while with his eyes closed, he sat up, and, fumbling with hisleft hand in an inner pocket, produced a flat parcel tied in stoutpaper, with a direction written upon it; and, beckoning Eyebright tohim, said:--

"My dear, it is a bad night to ask such a favor in, and I don't knowhow far you may be from the village; but could you manage to send thisover to the stage-office at once? It is of great consequence to me, orI would not ask it. Have you a hired man who could go? I will pay himhandsomely for taking it. He must give it to the driver of the stageto put into the express-office at Gillsworth, and take a receipt forit. Please ask him to be particular about that, as the parcel hasmoney in it. "

"We haven't any hired man, " said Eyebright. "I'm so sorry, sir. Buteven if we had, he couldn't get across for ever so long. "

"Get across?"

"Yes; this is an island. Didn't you know that? We can walk over to theother shore at low tide; but the tide won't be low till after five, even if we had a man. But there isn't anybody but just me. "

"After five, --and the mail goes out at six, " muttered the stranger. "Then I must manage to go myself. "

He tried to get up, but his arm fell helplessly by his side, hegroaned, and sank back again. Presently, to Eyebright's terror, hebegan to talk rapidly to himself, not to her at all, as it seemed. 

"It _must_ go, " he said, in a quick, excited way. "I don't mind what Ipay or what risk I run. Do you think I'm going to lose everything?--lose every thing?--other people's money?--" A long pause;then, "What's a wetting?"--he went on, in a loud tone--"that's nothing. A wetting!--my good name is worth more than money to me. "

He was silent after that for a long time. Eyebright hoped he had goneto sleep, when suddenly he opened his eyes, and said, imploringly:"Oh, if you knew how important it was, you _would_ make haste. I amsure you would. "

He did not say much more, but seemed asleep, or unconscious; only nowand then, roused for a moment, he muttered some word which showed himto be still thinking about the parcel, and the necessity for sendingit to the office immediately. 

Eyebright put another blanket round him, and fetched a chair for hisfeet to rest upon. That seemed all she could do, except to sit andwatch him, getting up occasionally to put wood on the fire, or goingto the door to listen, in hopes of hearing papa's step in the path. The parcel lay on the table where the stranger had put it. She lookedat it, and looked at it, and then at the clock. It was a quarter tofive. Again the broken, dreamy voice muttered: "It must go, --it mustgo. " A sudden, generous impulse seized her. 

"I'll take it myself!" she cried. "Then it will be sure to be in time. And I can come back when papa does. "

Poor child, so sure still that papa must come!

It lacked less than three-quarters of an hour to low water. At thatstate of the tide the causeway was usually pretty bare; but, as shedescended the hill, Eyebright, even in the darkness, could see that itwas not nearly bare now. She could hear the swish of the water on thepebbles, and, by the light of her lantern, caught sight of more thanone long wave sweeping almost up to the crest of the ridge. She wouldnot wait, however, but set bravely forward. The water must be shallow, she knew, and fast growing more so, and she dared not delay; for thewalk down the shore, in the wind, was sure to be a long one, "Imustn't miss the stage, " she kept saying, to encourage herself, andstruck in, feeling the way with the point of her umbrella, and holdingthe lantern low, so as to see where she stepped. The water was onlytwo or three inches deep, --less than that in some places; but everyfew minutes a wave would rush across and bury her feet above theankles. At such times, the sand would seem to give way and let herdown, and a sense of sinking and being carried off would seize uponher and take away all her strength. She dared not move at thesemoments, but stood still, dug her umbrella into the sand, and waitedtill the water ran back. 

As she got farther from the island, a new danger assailed her. It wasthe wind, of which she now felt the full force. It bent and swayed herabout till she felt like a plaything in its grasp. Once it caught herskirts and blew her over toward the deeper water. This was the mostdangerous moment of all; but she struggled back, and the gust relaxedits grasp. More than once the fury of the blast was so great that shedared not stand upright, but crouched on the wet sand, and madeherself as flat as possible, till it passed by. Oh, how she wishedherself back at home again. But going back was as dangerous as goingforward, and she kept on, firm in her purpose still, though drenched, terrified, and half crying, till, little by little, wet sand insteadof water was under her feet, the waves sounded behind instead ofimmediately beside her, and at last, stumbling over a clump ofblueberry bushes, she fell forward on her knees upon the othershore, --a soggy, soaked, disagreeable shore enough, but a most welcomesight just then. 

So tired and spent was she, that for some minutes she lay under theblueberry clump before she could gather strength to pull herself upand go on. It was a very hard and painful walk, and the wind and thedarkness did all they could to keep her back; but the gallant littleheart did not fail, and, at last, just as the first dim dawn wasbreaking, she gained the village and Mr. Downs's door. 

Mrs. Downs had been up nearly all night, so great was her anxiety forCaptain Jim and Mr. Bright. She had just fallen asleep in her clothes, when she was roused by a knock. 

"That's them at last, " she cried, jumping up, and hurrying to thedoor. 

Great was her surprise at the little soaked figure which met her eyes, and greater still when she recognized Eyebright. 

"Why, what in the name of--why!" was all she could say at first. Then, regaining her wits, "Eyebright, my dear child, what has fetched youout at this hour of day; and massy's sake, how did you come?"

"I came on the causeway. Oh, Mrs. Downs, is papa here?"

"Over the causeway!" cried Mrs. Downs. "Good land alive! Whatpossessed you to do such a fool hardy thing? I only wonder you werenot drowned outright. "

"So do I. I was almost. But, Mrs. Downs, is papa here? Oh, do tellme. "

"No, they haven't got in yet, " said Mrs. Downs, affecting an ease andsecurity which she did not feel. "The storm has delayed them, or, what's more likely, they never started at all, and will be overto-day. I guess that'll turn out to be the way of it. Jim's got toogood sense to put out in the teeth of a heavy squall like this hasbeen. An' he must ha' seen it was a-comin'. But, my dear, how wet youare! And what did make you do such a crazy thing as to set out overthe causeway in such weather?"

"I couldn't help it, " with a sob. "There's a poor man up at our house, Mrs. Downs. He came in a boat, and was 'most drowned, and he's hurthis arm dreadfully, and I'm afraid he's very sick beside; and hewanted this parcel to go by the stage-driver. He said it must go, itwas something very important. So I brought it. The stage hasn't goneyet, has it? I wanted so much to be in time. "

"Well, I declare!" cried Mrs. Downs, furiously. "He must be a prettyman to send you across the bar in the night and such a storm, to fetchhis mail. I'd like to throw it right straight in the water, that Iwould, and serve him right. The idea!"

"Oh, he didn't mean that I should go, --he didn't know any thing aboutit, " protested Eyebright. "He asked me to send our hired man, and whenI told him we hadn't any hired man, he said then he would comehimself; but he was too sick. He said such queer things that I wasfrightened. And then he went to sleep, and I came. Please tell me whattime it is; I must go to the office right away. "

"Indeed you won't, " said Mrs. Downs. "You'll come straight upstairsand go to bed. I'll wake him up. He'll take it. There's plenty oftime. 'T isn't six yet, and the stage'll be late this morning, I'llbet. "

"Oh, I can't go to bed; I must go back to the island, " Eyebrightpleaded. "The man who came is all alone there, and you can't think howsick he is. "

"Poor man or not, you'll go to bed, " said Mrs. Downs, inexorably, helping the tired child upstairs. "Me and Mr. Downs'll see to the poorman. You ain't needed to carry the hull world on your back as long asthere's any grown folks left, you poor little mite. Go to bed andsleep, and we'll look after your man. "

Eyebright was too tired to resist. 

"Oh, please ask Mr. Downs to take a receipt, the man was so particularabout that, " was her only protest. 

She fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, and knewnothing more till after noon, when she opened her eyes, feeling for amoment entirely bewildered as to where she was. Then, as it all cameback to her mind, she jumped up in a hurry. Her clothes, nicely dried, lay on a chair beside the bed. She hurried them on, and randownstairs. 

Nobody was visible except little Benny, who told her that his motherhad "gone along up to the island. "

"She said you was to eat some breakfast, " he added. "It's in the ovena-keepin' warm. Shall I show you where it is?"

"Oh, never mind, " cried Eyebright. "Never mind about breakfast, Benny. I don't feel hungry. "

"Ma said you _must_, " declared Benny, opening the oven door anddisclosing a plate full of something very dry and black. "Oh, dear, it's all got burned up. "

"I'll drink some milk instead, " said Eyebright. "Who's that coming upthe road, Benny?"

"It's Pa. I guess he's come back to get you, " said Benny, running outto meet him. 

Mr. Downs had come to fetch Eyebright. He looked very grave, shethought. 

When she asked eagerly, had papa come yet, Mr. Downs shook his head. Perhaps they had stayed over in Malachi, to avoid the storm, he said, and would get in later. He helped Eyebright into the boat, and rowedto the island without saying another word. The wind had abated, butthe sea was still very rough, and long lines of white surf werebreaking on the rocks and beaches. 

The kitchen looked very queer and crowded, for Mr. Downs had broughtdown a mattress from upstairs, and made a bed on the floor, upon whichEyebright's "man" was now sleeping. His wet clothes had been changedfor some dry ones belonging to Mr. Bright, and, altogether, he lookedfar less wild and forlorn than he had appeared to be the night before, though he evidently was seriously ill. Mrs. Downs didn't think his armwas broken; but she couldn't be sure, and "he" was sent up the shoreto fetch Dr. Treat, the "natural bone-setter. " There was no regulardoctor at Scrapplehead. 

The natural bone-setter pronounced the arm not broken, but badly cutand bruised, and the shoulder dislocated. He tied it up with aliniment of his own invention, but both fever and rheumatism followed, and for some days the stranger tossed in pain and delirium. Mrs. Downsstayed on the island to nurse him, and both she and Eyebright hadtheir hands full, which was well, for it helped them to endure thesuspense of the next week as nothing else could have done. 

It was not for some time, even after that dreadful week, that theygave up the hope that Captain Jim had waited over in Malachi and wouldappear with the next fair wind. Then a sloop put in, bringing thecertain news that he and Mr. Bright had sailed about two hours beforethe storm began. After that, the only chance--and that a vagueone--was, that the boat might have landed on the coast farther below, or, blown out to sea, been picked up by some passing ship. Days passedin this hope. Whenever Eyebright could be spared for a moment, shealways ran to the cliff on the sea-side, in the hope of seeing a shipsailing in with papa on board, or news of him. She never spoke as ifthere was any doubt that he would come in the end, and Mrs. Downs, dreading to cloud her hopefulness, replied always as confidently asshe could, and tried to be hopeful, too. 

So a fortnight passed over the busy, anxious household, and poorEyebright--though her words were still courageous--was losing heart, and had begun to feel that a cold, dreadful wave of sorrow was poisingitself a little way off, and might presently break all over her, when, one day, as she stood by the bedside of their patient, --much betternow and quite in his senses, --he looked at her with a sudden start ofrecognition, and said:--

"Why, I know you. You are Mr. Bright's little girl, --are you not? Youare Eyebright! Why did I not recognize you before? Don't you recollectme at all? Don't you know who I am?"

And, somehow, the words and the pleasant tone of voice, and the lookwhich accompanied them made him look different, all at once, to thechild, and natural, and Eyebright did know him. 

It was Mr. Joyce!

CHAPTER XII. 

TRANSPLANTED. 

"It is strange that I did not recognize you before, " said Mr. Joycenext day; "and yet not so strange either, for you have grown andaltered very much since we met, two years and a half ago. "

He might well say so. Eyebright had altered very much. She was as tallas Mrs. Downs now, and the fatigue and anxiety of the last fortnighthad robbed her of her childish look and made her seem older than shereally was. Any one might have taken her for a girl of seventeen, instead of fourteen-and-a-half. She and Mr. Joyce had had several longtalks, during which he learned all about their leaving Tunxet, abouther anxiety for her father, and, for the first time, the full story ofthe eventful night which had brought him to Causey Island. He wasgreatly startled and shocked when he comprehended what dangerEyebright had run in doing his errand to the village. "My dear, dearchild, " he said; "you did me a service I shall never forget. I couldnever have forgiven myself had you lost your life in doing it. If Ihad had my senses about me I would not have let you go; pray believethat. That unlucky parcel came near to costing more than it's worth, for it was on its account that I set out to row over from Malachi thatafternoon. "

"To take the stage?" suggested Eyebright. 

"Yes--to catch the stage. The parcel had money in it, and it was ofgreat consequence that it should reach Atterbury--where I live--assoon as possible. You look curious, as if you wanted to hear more. Youlike stories still, I see. I remember how you begged me to tell youone that night in Tunxet. "

"Yes, I like them dearly. But I hardly ever hear any now. There is noone up here to tell them. "

"Well, this isn't much of a story, or rather it would be a long oneenough if I gave the whole of it; but the part which I can tell isn'tmuch. Once upon a time there was a thief, and he stole a quantity ofmoney out of a bank. It was the Atterbury Bank, of which I am thepresident. The theft came at the worst possible time, and there wasgreat danger, if the money could not be recovered, that the bank wouldhave to stop payment. Fortunately, we got a clue to the thief'swhereabouts, and I started in search of him, and caught him in alittle village in Canada where he had hidden himself away, and wasfeeling quite safe--What makes you look so excited?"

"It is _so_ interesting, " said Eyebright. "Weren't you a bit afraidwhen you saw him? Did he have a pistol?"

"Pistol? No. Ah, you are thinking of the thieves in story-books, Isee, --terrible villains with masks and blunderbusses. The kind we havenowadays are quite different, --pretty young men, with nice mustachesand curly hair, who are very particular about the fit of their glovesand what kind of cigars they smoke. That's the sort who make off withbank money. This thief of ours was a young fellow, only a few yearsolder than my Charley, whom I had known all my life, and his fatherbefore him. I would a great deal rather have had it one of theold-fashioned kind with a blunderbuss. Well, I found him, and I gotback the money--the bulk of it. A part he had spent. Having securedit, my first thought was how to get home quickest, for every day'sdelay made a great difference to the bank. I had just time to driveover and catch the Portland steamer, but my wagon broke down six milesfrom Malachi, and when I got in she had been gone an hour and a half. I made inquiries, and found that the Scrapplehead stage started nextmorning, so I hired a boat and undertook to row across. It was notstorming then. The man who let the boat did say that the weatherlooked 'kind of unsartin, ' but I could see no change; it was thick andmurky, but it had been that for days back, and I was in such haste toget in, that I should probably have tried it had it looked worse thanit did. The distance is not great, and I am used to rowing. Only God'smercy saved me from capsizing when the first squall struck the boat. After that, I have only confused memories. All I could do was to keepthe boat head on to the waves, and it was so intensely dark that Icould see nothing. I must have been rowing for hours in the blackness, without the least idea where I was or which way I was going, when Isaw a light moving toward me. That, from what you say, must have beenyour lantern. I had just strength left to pull toward it, and thewaves carried me on to the beach. My arm was all right then. I musthave hurt it when I fell over the side of the boat. It was amiraculous escape, and I believe that I owe my life to the fact ofyour coming down as you did. I shall never forget that, Eyebright. "

People often say such things in the warm-heartedness of a greatdeliverance from danger, or recovery from sickness, and when they getwell again, or the danger fades from their minds, they cool off alittle. But Mr. Joyce did not cool; he meant all he said. And verysoon after came the opportunity of proving his sincerity, for thegreat wave of trouble, which Eyebright had dimly felt and dreaded, broke just then and fell upon her. The boat in which Captain Jim Downsand her father had sailed was picked up far down the coast, floatingbottom upward, and no doubt remained that both had lost their lives inthe storm of that dreadful night. 

How the poor child could have borne this terrible news without Mr. Joyce at hand to help her, I cannot imagine. She was almostbroken-hearted, and grew so thin and pale that it was pitiful to see. Her sorrow was all for papa; she did not realize as yet the loss whichhad fallen on herself; but it would have been hard to find in theworld a little girl left in a more desolate position. In losing papashe lost every thing that she had--home, protection, support. Nobodywanted her; she belonged to nobody. She could not stay on the island;she could not go back to Tunxet; there was no one in the world--unlessit was Wealthy--to whom she had the right to go for help or advice;and Wealthy herself was a poor woman, with little in her power to giveexcept advice. Eyebright instinctively dreaded the idea of meetingWealthy, for she knew that Wealthy would _think_ if she did not sayit, that it was all papa's fault; that he ought never to have takenher to Maine, and the thought of having papa blamed hurt her terribly. These anxieties as yet were all swallowed up in grief for papa, butwhenever she happened to think about herself, her mind grew perfectlybewildered and she could not in the least see what she was to do. 

And now what a comfort Mr. Joyce was to her! He was nearly well now, and in a great hurry to get back to his business; but nothing wouldhave induced him to leave the poor child in such trouble, and hestayed on and on, devoting himself to her all day long, soothing her, telling her sweet things about heaven and God's goodness and love, letting her talk as much as she liked of papa, and not trying even tocheck the crying which such talks always brought on. Eyebrightresponded to this kindness with all her warm little heart. She learnedto love Mr. Joyce dearly, and turned to him and clung to him as if hehad been a friend always instead of for a few days only. But all thistime her future remained unsettled, and she was at the same time tooinexperienced and too much oppressed with sorrow to be able to thinkabout it or make any plans. 

Other people were thinking about it, however. Mrs. Downs talked thematter over with her husband, and told Mr. Joyce that "He" was willingshe should take Eyebright, provided her folks, if she had any, wouldconsent to have her "bound" to them till she was of age. They neverhad kept "help, " and she didn't need any now; it wasn't for that shewanted the child, and as for the binding out, 'twasn't nothing but aformality, only Mr. Downs was made that way, and liked to have thingsdone regular and legal. He set store by Eyebright, just as she didherself, and they'd see that she had a comfortable home and was welltreated in every way. Mrs. Downs meant kindly, but Mr. Joyce had otherschemes for Eyebright. As soon as the fact of her father's deathbecame certain, he had written to his wife, and he only waited ananswer to propose his plan. It came at last, and as soon as he hadread it, he went in search of Eyebright, who was sitting, as she oftendid now, on the bank over the bathing-beach, looking sorrowfully offtoward the sea. 

"I have a letter from home, " he said, sitting down beside her, "and Ifind that I must go back at once, --day after to-morrow at latest. "

"Oh, must you?" said Eyebright, in a voice which sounded like a sob. She hid her face on his arm as she spoke, and he knew that she wascrying. 

"Yes; but don't cry, my dear child. I don't mean to leave you herealone. That is not my plan at all. I want you to come with me. Longago, I wrote to my wife to propose this plan, and I only waited tohear from her before telling you about it. Will you come and live withus, Eyebright? I can't take your father's place to you, --nobody coulddo that, and it wouldn't be right they should; but we'll all do ourbest to make you happy and at home, and you shall be just like our owngirl if you'll come. What do you say, my dear? Will you?"

"How kind--how kind you are!" replied Eyebright, in a dazed, wonderingway. "I can't think what makes you so good to me, dear Mr. Joyce. Butdo you think I ought to come? I'm afraid I should be troublesome. Wealthy used to say 'that other folks's children always weretroublesome, ' and that it was mean to 'settle down' on people. "

"Never mind Wealthy or her maxims, " said Mr. Joyce, with a smile. "We'll risk your being troublesome, Eyebright. Will you come?"

"Do you think papa would have wished to have me?" asked Eyebright, wistfully. "There's nobody for me to ask now except you, you know. Papa always hated 'being under obligations' to people. If I stay withMrs. Downs, " she added, timidly, "I can work and help her, and then Ishan't be a burden. I'm afraid there isn't any thing I can do to helpif I go with you. "

"Oh, Mrs. Downs has told you of her plan, has she, " said Mr. Joyce, half vexed. "Now, listen, my child. I do really and seriously thinkthat your father, were he here, would prefer that you should go withme. If you stay with Mrs. Downs, you must give up your educationentirely. She is a kind woman and really fond of you, I think; butwith her you can have no advantages of any sort, and no chance to fityourself for any higher sort of work than house-work. With me you willhave the opportunity of going to an excellent school, and, if you doyour best, by the time you are twenty-one you will be able to teach, and support yourself in that way, if it becomes necessary. And, mydear, you are mistaken in thinking that there is nothing you can do tohelp us. We have never had a daughter, but we always have wished forone. My wife and I are getting on in life, and there are lots of waysin which a young girl will cheer and brighten us up, and help to makethe house pleasant for Charley. It is dull for a boy with no sisters, and only an old father and mother. So, you see, we really are in needof a girl, and you are just the girl we need. So, will you come?"

"Oh, I'll come gladly!" cried Eyebright, yielding to the pleasantnessof the thought. "I'd rather live with you than anybody else in theworld, Mr. Joyce, if only you are sure it is right. "

It was settled from that moment, though Eyebright still felt a littlequalm of shyness and fear at the thought of the unknown Mrs. Joyce. "How horrible it would be if she didn't like me when I get there!" shesaid to herself. 

Only one more day at Causey Island, and that a very busy and confusedone. The little house, which it had taken so many days to get inorder, was all pulled to pieces and dismantled in a few hours. Somethings, such as papa's desk, and Eyebright's own special chair, Mr. Joyce ordered packed, and sent after them to Atterbury; the rest wereleft to be sold, or perhaps let with the cottage, if any one shouldhire it. Several articles, at his suggestion, Eyebright gave to Mrs. Downs, and she gratified Mr. Downs extremely by making him a presentof the boat. 

"You couldn't have done nothing to please me better, " he said. "It'llcome real handy to have another boat, and we shall think a heap of itsbeing yours. And, I'll tell you what, we'll just change its name, andcall it 'The Eyebright, ' after you. The first spare day I get, I'llpaint the name on the stern, so's we'll always be reminded of youwhenever we see it. "

This was quite a flight of fancy for Mr. Downs. 

By sunset the house was cleared of all that was to be taken away, andEyebright's trunk packed and locked. A very little trunk it was, andall it held very old and shabby. Even Mrs. Downs shook her head andsaid the things were hardly worth taking; but Eyebright didn't muchmind. Her head was full of other thoughts, and, beside, she hadlearned to rely on Mr. Joyce as a helper out of all difficulties, andshe was content to leave herself and her future wants to him. 

So, at early dawning of the third day, they left the island, rowingdown to the village in the newly christened "Eyebright, " now theproperty of Mr. Downs. The good-byes had been taken the eveningbefore, and Eyebright did not turn her head, as they glided away, tolook at the green tufted shore or the blue sea, bluer than ever in thecalm hush of a cloudless sunrise. Very steadily and carefully sherowed, dipping her oars, and "feathering, " as papa had taught her, asif only intent on doing her task as well as possible for this the lasttime. But later, after they reached the village, when the farewellshad all been spoken, the Downs family kissed, and herself and Mr. Joyce were in the stage-wagon ready to start, she turned again for onemoment, and her eyes sought out the blue-green outline which they knewso well. There it lay, with the calm waters all about it, the homewhich had been at the same time so hard and so pleasant, and was nowso sad. Tears rushed to her eyes as she gazed, and she whispered toherself so softly that no one else could hear, "Good-by. Good-by, papa. "

How strange and yet how familiar, the road seemed!--the very road overwhich she and papa had passed less than two years before. It was theone journey of her life, and she recollected every thing perfectly. There was the nameless village, looking exactly the same, but nolonger nameless; for a wooden board was suspended over the steamboatlanding, with "Pocobasset" painted upon it in large letters. Prettysoon the steamboat came along, the same identical steamboat, and downthe river they went, past all the tiny islands and wooded capes whichshe remembered so well; only the light was of sunset now instead ofsun-rising, and the trees, which then were tinged with coming spring, now bore the red and yellow leaves of autumn. There was thegood-natured stewardess and the captain, --nobody was changed, --nothinghad happened, as it seemed, except to herself. 

They left the boat, very early in the morning, at a point some fiftymiles short of that from which she and papa had embarked, and, travelling all day, reached Atterbury late on the second afternoon. Eyebright had plenty of time to recall her dread of Mrs. Joyce as theydrove up from the station. The town was large and thriving, and lookedlike a pleasant one. There were many white-painted, green-blindedhouses, with neat court-yards, of the kind always to be found in NewEngland villages; but among these appeared, here and there, a quaint, old-fashioned mansion; and the elm-shaded streets gave glimpses ofpretty country beyond, woodlands, cultivated valley-lands, and anencircling line of hills with softly rounded outlines. Eyebrightthought it a delightful-looking place. They drew up before a wide, ample house, whose garden blazed with late flowers, and Mr. Joyce, lifting her out, hurried up the gravel walk, she following timidly, threw open the front door, and called loudly: "Mother! Mother! whereare you, Mother?"

At the call, a stout little lady, in a pink-ribboned cap, hurried outof a room at one side of the hall. 

"Oh, Benjamin, is it really you? My dear husband. Well, I _am_ glad;"and she gave him _such_ a kiss. Then, turning to Eyebright, she saidin the kindest voice, --

"And this is your little girl, is it? Why, Benjamin, she is tallerthan I am! My dear, I am very glad to see you; very glad, indeed. Father says you are _his_ girl; but you must be mine, too, and learnto love the old lady just as fast as you can. "

Was not this a delightful reception for a weary, journey-stainedlittle traveller? Eyebright returned the kiss with one equally warm, and all her fears of Mrs. Joyce fled for ever. 

"You shall go right upstairs, " said this new friend; "tea will beready soon, and I know you are longing for some cold water to wash offthe dust. It's the most refreshing thing always after a journey. "

She led the way, and left Eyebright to herself in a little bedroom. Such a pretty bedroom it was! Eyebright felt sure at once that it hadbeen got ready expressly for herself. It was just such a room as ayoung girl fancies, with a dainty white bed, white curtains at thewindow, a white-frilled toilet-table, and on the toilet-table a smartblue pincushion, with "Welcome" stuck upon it in shining pins. Eventhe books on the table seemed to have been chosen to suit her taste, for there lay "The Dove in the Eagle's Nest;" "The Wide Wide World;""The Daisy Chain, " in two fat blue volumes; and Mrs. Whitney'scharming tale of "We Girls. " She peeped at one title after anotherwith a little jump of satisfaction. How long, how very long it wassince she had had a new story-book to read. A whole feast of enjoymentseemed shut up inside those fascinating covers. But she would notnibble the feast now; and closing "The Daisy Chain, " begun to unpackher handbag. 

She opened the top bureau-drawer, and said, "Oh!" quite aloud, forthere appeared a row of neat little linen collars and cuffs, somepretty black neck-ties, a nubč of fleecy white wool, and a couple ofcunning paper boxes with the jeweller's mark on their lids. Could theybe meant for her? She ventured to peep. One box held a pair of jetsleeve-buttons; the other, a small locket of shining jet, with aribbon drawn through its ring, all ready for wear. She was stillwondering over these discoveries, when a little tap sounded on thedoor, followed immediately by the appearance of Mrs. Joyce. 

"I just came to see if you had all you wanted, " she said. "Oh, youhave found those little duds. I knew, from what Father wrote, that youcouldn't get any thing in the place where you were, so I chose thosefew little things, and to-morrow we'll see what more you want. " Then, cutting short Eyebright's thanks, she opened the closet door andcalled out: "Let me have your jacket to hang up, my dear. There's someshelves at this end for your hats. And now I'll help you unpack. You'll never begin to feel at home till you're all unpacked and putaway. Nobody does. "

It was a real satisfaction to Mrs. Joyce to notice how few clothesEyebright possessed, and how shabby they were. All the time that shefolded, and arranged, she was saying to herself, gleefully "She wantsthis, she needs that: she must have all sorts of things at once. To-morrow I'll buy her a nice Henrietta cloth, and a cashmere forevery day, and a pretty wrap of some kind and a hat. "

She betrayed the direction of her thoughts by turning suddenly withthe question, --

"What sized gloves do you wear, my dear?"

"I don't know, " was the reply. "I haven't had any gloves for twoyears, except a pair of worsted mittens last winter. "

"Gracious!" said Mrs. Joyce, but I think she was rather pleased thanotherwise. The truth was, all her life long she had been "spoiling"for a daughter to pet and make much of, and now, at last, her chancehad come. "Boys are all very well, " she told Mr. Joyce that night. "But once they get into roundabouts, there is absolutely nothing morewhich their mothers can do for them in the way of clothes. Girls aredifferent. I always knew that I should like a girl to look after, andthis seems a dear child, Benjamin. I'm sure I shall be fond of her. "

The tea-bell rang in the midst of the unpacking; but, as Mrs. Joyceobserved, they had the rest of the week before them, and it didn'tmatter a bit; so she hurried Eyebright downstairs, and into a cheerfuldining-room. Cheerfulness seemed the main characteristic of the Joyceestablishment. It was not at all an elegant house, --not even, I amsorry to say, a tasteful one. Nothing could possibly be uglier or morecommon-place than the furniture, the curtains, or the flaps of greenreps above the curtains, known to village circles as "lamberkins, " andthe pride of Mrs. Joyce's heart. The carpets and wall paper had noaffinity with each other, and both would have horrified an artist inhome decoration. But everywhere, all through the house, were neatness, solid comfort, and that spirit of family affection which makes anyhouse pleasant, no matter how pretty or how ugly it may be; and thisatmosphere of loving-kindness was as reviving to Eyebright's droopingspirits as real sunshine is to a real plant, drenched and beaten downby heavy storms. She felt its warmth through and through, and from thefirst it did her good. 

Mr. Joyce had just asked a blessing, and was proceeding to cut thesmoking beefsteak before him, when the door opened, and a tall boy, with curly hair and a bright manly face, hurried in. 

"Why, father, I didn't know you were here, or I should have been inlong ago. How are you, sir?" ending the sentence, to Eyebright'samazement and amusement both, with a hug and a hearty kiss, which hisfather as heartily returned. 

"Yes; I'm at home again, and very glad and thankful to be here, " saidMr. Joyce. "Here's the new sister, Charley; you didn't see her, didyou? Eyebright, this is my son Charley. "

"My son Charley, " like most boys of sixteen, was shy with girls whomhe was not acquainted with. He shook hands cordially, but he saidlittle; only he watched Eyebright when she was not observing, and hiseyes were very friendly. He liked her face, and thought her pretty, which was certainly very good of him, for she was looking herworst--tired and pale, with none of her usual sparkle, and dressed inthe water-proof suit which was not at all becoming. 

So here, in this secure and kindly haven, I think we may leave ourlittle storm-tossed girl, with the safe assurance that she will betenderly and wisely cared for. I know that a few among you will wantto hear more. No story was ever written so long or so conclusive, thatsome child-reader did not pop up at the end with, "Oh, but just tellus this one thing. " I cannot satisfy such; still, for their benefit, Iwill just hint at a remark made by Mrs. Joyce some months later. Sheand Mr. Joyce were sitting on the porch, and Eyebright, who had grownas dear as a daughter to the old lady's heart, was playing croquetwith Charley. 

[Illustration: Eyebright, who had grown as dear as a daughter to theold lady, was playing croquet with Charley. --PAGE 246. ]

"It really does seem the luckiest thing that ever was, your beingshipwrecked on that island, " she said. "I was almost frightened todeath when I heard about it, but if you hadn't we never should havegot hold of that child as we did, and what a pity that _would_ be? Shecertainly is the nicest girl I ever saw--so sweet-tempered and lovingand helpful, I don't believe any of us could get along without hernow. How fond she and Charley seem of each other! I can't helpthinking they'll make a match of it when they grow up. It would be anexcellent idea, don't you agree with me, Benjamin? Charley could neverfind anybody whom he would like better, and then we should keepEyebright with us always. "

Mr. Joyce roared with laughter. 

"She's only fifteen and Charley won't be seventeen till nextSaturday, " he said. "Don't you think you'd better put off your castlesin the air till they are both a little older, Mother?"

Such castles are absurd; still it is by no means impossible that thismay come to pass, and if it should happen to do so, I fancy Mr. Joycewill be as much pleased as "Mother, " every whit. 

 THE END. 

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