[Transcriber's notes: _ before and after a word or phrase indicateitalics, + indicate bolded text]

THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD

A LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES

NEW YORK 1901

By EUGENE FIELD. 

TO MY SEVEREST CRITIC, MY MOST LOYAL ADMIRER, AND MY ONLY DAUGHTER, MARYFRENCH FIELD, THIS LITTLE BOOK OF PROFITABLE TALES IS AFFECTIONATELYDEDICATED. E. F. 

INTRODUCTION

I have never read a poem by Mr. Field without feeling personally drawn tothe author. Long after I had known him as a poet, I found that he hadwritten in prose little scraps or long essays, which had attracted me injust the same way, when I had met with them in the newspapers, although Ihad not known who the author was. 

All that he writes indeed is quite free from the conventionalisms to whichauthorship as a profession is sadly liable. Because he is free from them, you read his poems or you read his prose, and are affected as if you methim. If you were riding in a Pullman car with him, or if you were talkingwith him at breakfast over your coffee, he would say just such things injust this way. If he had any art, it was the art of concealing art. But Ido not think that he thought much of art. I do not think that he caredmuch for what people say about criticism or style. He wrote as he felt, oras he thought, without troubling himself much about method. It is thissimplicity, or what it is the fashion of the day to call frankness, whichgives a singular charm to his writing. 

EDWARD E. HALE. 

The Tales in this Little Book

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE

THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT

THE COMING OF THE PRINCE

THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM

THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS

THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA

THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET

THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY

MARGARET: A PEARL

THE SPRINGTIME

RODOLPH AND HIS KING

THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS

EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST

LUDWIG AND ELOISE

FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND

THE OLD MAN

BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR

THE LITTLE YALLER BABY

THE CYCLOPEEDY

DOCK STEBBINS

THE FAIRIES OF PESTH

+THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE+

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE

Once upon a time the forest was in a great commotion. Early in the eveningthe wise old cedars had shaken their heads ominously and predicted strangethings. They had lived in the forest many, many years; but never had theyseen such marvellous sights as were to be seen now in the sky, and uponthe hills, and in the distant village. 

"Pray tell us what you see, " pleaded a little vine; "we who are not astall as you can behold none of these wonderful things. Describe them tous, that we may enjoy them with you. "

"I am filled with such amazement, " said one of the cedars, "that I canhardly speak. The whole sky seems to be aflame, and the stars appear to bedancing among the clouds; angels walk down from heaven to the earth, andenter the village or talk with the shepherds upon the hills. "

The vine listened in mute astonishment. Such things never before hadhappened. The vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest neighbor was atiny tree, so small it scarcely ever was noticed; yet it was a verybeautiful little tree, and the vines and ferns and mosses and other humbleresidents of the forest loved it dearly. 

"How I should like to see the angels!" sighed the little tree, "and how Ishould like to see the stars dancing among the clouds! It must be verybeautiful. "

As the vine and the little tree talked of these things, the cedars watchedwith increasing interest the wonderful scenes over and beyond the confinesof the forest. Presently they thought they heard music, and they were notmistaken, for soon the whole air was full of the sweetest harmonies everheard upon earth. 

"What beautiful music!" cried the little tree. "I wonder whence it comes. "

"The angels are singing, " said a cedar; "for none but angels could makesuch sweet music. "

"But the stars are singing, too, " said another cedar; "yes, and theshepherds on the hills join in the song, and what a strangely glorioussong it is!"

The trees listened to the singing, but they did not understand itsmeaning: it seemed to be an anthem, and it was of a Child that had beenborn; but further than this they did not understand. The strange andglorious song continued all the night; and all that night the angelswalked to and fro, and the shepherd-folk talked with the angels, and thestars danced and carolled in high heaven. And it was nearly morning whenthe cedars cried out, "They are coming to the forest! the angels arecoming to the forest!" And, surely enough, this was true. The vine and thelittle tree were very terrified, and they begged their older and strongerneighbors to protect them from harm. But the cedars were too busy withtheir own fears to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the humble vineand the little tree. The angels came into the forest, singing the sameglorious anthem about the Child, and the stars sang in chorus with them, until every part of the woods rang with echoes of that wondrous song. There was nothing in the appearance of this angel host to inspire fear;they were clad all in white, and there were crowns upon their fair heads, and golden harps in their hands; love, hope, charity, compassion, and joybeamed from their beautiful faces, and their presence seemed to fill theforest with a divine peace. The angels came through the forest to wherethe little tree stood, and gathering around it, they touched it with theirhands, and kissed its little branches, and sang even more sweetly thanbefore. And their song was about the Child, the Child, the Child that hadbeen born. Then the stars came down from the skies and danced and hungupon the branches of the tree, and they, too, sang that song, --the song ofthe Child. And all the other trees and the vines and the ferns and themosses beheld in wonder; nor could they understand why all these thingswere being done, and why this exceeding honor should be shown the littletree. 

When the morning came the angels left the forest, --all but one angel, whoremained behind and lingered near the little tree. Then a cedar asked:"Why do you tarry with us, holy angel?" And the angel answered: "I stay toguard this little tree, for it is sacred, and no harm shall come to it. "

The little tree felt quite relieved by this assurance, and it held up itshead more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived and grew, andwaxed in strength and beauty! The cedars said they never had seen thelike. The sun seemed to lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree, heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, and the winds never came to theforest that they did not forget their rude manners and linger to kiss thelittle tree and sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it, no harm threatened; for the angel never slept, --through the day andthrough the night the angel watched the little tree and protected it fromall evil. Oftentimes the trees talked with the angel; but of course theyunderstood little of what he said, for he spoke always of the Child whowas to become the Master; and always when thus he talked, he caressed thelittle tree, and stroked its branches and leaves, and moistened them withhis tears. It all was so very strange that none in the forest couldunderstand. 

So the years passed, the angel watching his blooming charge. Sometimes thebeasts strayed toward the little tree and threatened to devour its tenderfoliage; sometimes the woodman came with his axe, intent upon hewing downthe straight and comely thing; sometimes the hot, consuming breath ofdrought swept from the south, and sought to blight the forest and all itsverdure: the angel kept them from the little tree. Serene and beautiful itgrew, until now it was no longer a little tree, but the pride and glory ofthe forest. 

One day the tree heard some one coming through the forest. Hitherto theangel had hastened to its side when men approached; but now the angelstrode away and stood under the cedars yonder. 

"Dear angel, " cried the tree, "can you not hear the footsteps of some oneapproaching? Why do you leave me?"

"Have no fear, " said the angel; "for He who comes is the Master. "

The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He placed His hands upon itssmooth trunk and branches, and the tree was thrilled with a strange andglorious delight. Then He stooped and kissed the tree, and then He turnedand went away. 

Many times after that the Master came to the forest, and when He came italways was to where the tree stood. Many times He rested beneath the treeand enjoyed the shade of its foliage, and listened to the music of thewind as it swept through the rustling leaves. Many times He slept there, and the tree watched over Him, and the forest was still, and all itsvoices were hushed. And the angel hovered near like a faithful sentinel. 

Ever and anon men came with the Master to the forest, and sat with Him inthe shade of the tree, and talked with Him of matters which the tree nevercould understand; only it heard that the talk was of love and charity andgentleness, and it saw that the Master was beloved and venerated by theothers. It heard them tell of the Master's goodness and humility, --how Hehad healed the sick and raised the dead and bestowed inestimable blessingswherever He walked. And the tree loved the Master for His beauty and Hisgoodness; and when He came to the forest it was full of joy, but when Hecame not it was sad. And the other trees of the forest joined in itshappiness and its sorrow, for they, too, loved the Master. And the angelalways hovered near. 

The Master came one night alone into the forest, and His face was palewith anguish and wet with tears, and He fell upon His knees and prayed. The tree heard Him, and all the forest was still, as if it were standingin the presence of death. And when the morning came, lo! the angel hadgone. 

Then there was a great confusion in the forest. There was a sound of rudevoices, and a clashing of swords and staves. Strange men appeared, uttering loud oaths and cruel threats, and the tree was filled withterror. It called aloud for the angel, but the angel came not. 

"Alas, " cried the vine, "they have come to destroy the tree, the pride andglory of the forest!"

The forest was sorely agitated, but it was in vain. The strange men pliedtheir axes with cruel vigor, and the tree was hewn to the ground. Itsbeautiful branches were cut away and cast aside, and its soft, thickfoliage was strewn to the tenderer mercies of the winds. 

"They are killing me!" cried the tree; "why is not the angel here toprotect me?"

But no one heard the piteous cry, --none but the other trees of the forest;and they wept, and the little vine wept too. 

Then the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn tree from the forest, and the forest saw that beauteous thing no more. 

But the night wind that swept down from the City of the Great King thatnight to ruffle the bosom of distant Galilee, tarried in the forest awhileto say that it had seen that day a cross upraised on Calvary, --the tree onwhich was stretched the body of the dying Master. 

1884. 

+THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT+

THE SYMBOL AND THE SAINT

Once upon a time a young man made ready for a voyage. His name was Norss;broad were his shoulders, his cheeks were ruddy, his hair was fair andlong, his body betokened strength, and good-nature shone from his blueeyes and lurked about the corners of his mouth. 

"Where are you going?" asked his neighbor Jans, the forge-master. 

"I am going sailing for a wife, " said Norss. 

"For a wife, indeed!" cried Jans. "And why go you to seek her in foreignlands? Are not our maidens good enough and fair enough, that you must needsearch for a wife elsewhere? For shame, Norss! for shame!"

But Norss said, "A spirit came to me in my dreams last night and said, 'Launch the boat and set sail to-morrow. Have no fear; for I will guideyou to the bride that awaits you. ' Then, standing there, all white andbeautiful, the spirit held forth a symbol--such as I had never beforeseen--in the figure of a cross, and the spirit said: 'By this symbol shallshe be known to you. '"

"If this be so, you must need go, " said Jans. "But are you wellvictualled? Come to my cabin, and let me give you venison and bear'smeat. "

Norss shook his head. "The spirit will provide, " said he. "I have no fear, and I shall take no care, trusting in the spirit. "

So Norss pushed his boat down the beach into the sea, and leaped into theboat, and unfurled the sail to the wind. Jan stood wondering on the beach, and watched the boat speed out of sight. 

On, on, many days on sailed Norss, --so many leagues that he thought hemust have compassed the earth. In all this time he knew no hunger northirst; it was as the spirit had told him in his dream, --no cares nordangers beset him. By day the dolphins and the other creatures of the seagambolled about his boat; by night a beauteous Star seemed to direct hiscourse; and when he slept and dreamed, he saw ever the spirit clad inwhite, and holding forth to him the symbol in the similitude of a cross. 

At last he came to a strange country, --a country so very different fromhis own that he could scarcely trust his senses. Instead of the ruggedmountains of the North, he saw a gentle landscape of velvety green; thetrees were not pines and firs, but cypresses, cedars, and palms; insteadof the cold, crisp air of his native land, he scented the perfumed zephyrsof the Orient; and the wind that filled the sail of his boat and smote histanned cheeks was heavy and hot with the odor of cinnamon and spices. Thewaters were calm and blue, --very different from the white and angry wavesof Norss's native fiord. 

As if guided by an unseen hand, the boat pointed straight for the beach ofthis strangely beautiful land; and ere its prow cleaved the shallowerwaters, Norss saw a maiden standing on the shore, shading her eyes withher right hand, and gazing intently at him. She was the most beautifulmaiden he had ever looked upon. As Norss was fair, so was this maidendark; her black hair fell loosely about her shoulders in charming contrastwith the white raiment in which her slender, graceful form was clad. Around her neck she wore a golden chain, and therefrom was suspended asmall symbol, which Norss did not immediately recognize. 

"Hast thou come sailing out of the North into the East?" asked the maiden. 

"Yes, " said Norss. 

"And thou art Norss?" she asked. 

"I am Norss; and I come seeking my bride, " he answered. 

"I am she, " said the maiden. "My name is Faia. An angel came to me in mydreams last night, and the angel said: 'Stand upon the beach to-day, andNorss shall come out of the North to bear thee home a bride. ' So, cominghere, I found thee sailing to our shore. "

Remembering then the spirit's words, Norss said: "What symbol have you, Faia, that I may know how truly you have spoken?"

"No symbol have I but this, " said Faia, holding out the symbol that wasattached to the golden chain about her neck. Norss looked upon it, and lo!it was the symbol of his dreams, --a tiny wooden cross. 

Then Norss clasped Faia in his arms and kissed her, and entering into theboat they sailed away into the North. In all their voyage neither care nordanger beset them; for as it had been told to them in their dreams, so itcame to pass. By day the dolphins and the other creatures of the seagambolled about them; by night the winds and the waves sang them to sleep;and, strangely enough, the Star which before had led Norss into the East, now shone bright and beautiful in the Northern sky!

When Norss and his bride reached their home, Jans, the forge-master, andthe other neighbors made great joy, and all said that Faia was morebeautiful than any other maiden in the land. So merry was Jans that hebuilt a huge fire in his forge, and the flames thereof filled the wholeNorthern sky with rays of light that danced up, up, up to the Star, singing glad songs the while. So Norss and Faia were wed, and they went tolive in the cabin in the fir-grove. 

To these two was born in good time a son, whom they named Claus. On thenight that he was born wondrous things came to pass. To the cabin in thefir-grove came all the quaint, weird spirits, --the fairies, the elves, thetrolls, the pixies, the fadas, the crions, the goblins, the kobolds, themoss-people, the gnomes, the dwarfs, the water-sprites, the courils, thebogles, the brownies, the nixies, the trows, the stille-volk, --all came tothe cabin in the fir-grove, and capered about and sang the strange, beautiful songs of the Mist-Land. And the flames of old Jans's forgeleaped up higher than ever into the Northern sky, carrying the joyoustidings to the Star, and full of music was that happy night. 

Even in infancy Claus did marvellous things. With his baby hands hewrought into pretty figures the willows that were given him to play with. As he grew older, he fashioned, with the knife old Jans had made for him, many curious toys, --carts, horses, dogs, lambs, houses, trees, cats, andbirds, all of wood and very like to nature. His mother taught him how tomake dolls too, --dolls of every kind, condition, temper, and color; prouddolls, homely dolls, boy dolls, lady dolls, wax dolls, rubber dolls, paperdolls, worsted dolls, rag dolls, --dolls of every description and withoutend. So Claus became at once quite as popular with the little girls aswith the little boys of his native village; for he was so generous that hegave away all these pretty things as fast as he made them. 

Claus seemed to know by instinct every language. As he grew older he wouldramble off into the woods and talk with the trees, the rocks, and thebeasts of the greenwood; or he would sit on the cliffs overlooking thefiord, and listen to the stories that the waves of the sea loved to tellhim; then, too, he knew the haunts of the elves and the stille-volk, andmany a pretty tale he learned from these little people. When night came, old Jans told him the quaint legends of the North, and his mother sang tohim the lullabies she had heard when a little child herself in thefar-distant East. And every night his mother held out to him the symbol inthe similitude of the cross, and bade him kiss it ere he went to sleep. 

So Claus grew to manhood, increasing each day in knowledge and in wisdom. His works increased too; and his liberality dispensed everywhere thebeauteous things which his fancy conceived and his skill executed. Jans, being now a very old man, and having no son of his own, gave to Claus hisforge and workshop, and taught him those secret arts which he in youth hadlearned from cunning masters. Right joyous now was Claus; and many, manytimes the Northern sky glowed with the flames that danced singing from theforge while Claus moulded his pretty toys. Every color of the rainbow werethese flames; for they reflected the bright colors of the beauteous thingsstrewn round that wonderful workshop. Just as of old he had dispensed toall children alike the homelier toys of his youth, so now he gave to allchildren alike these more beautiful and more curious gifts. So littlechildren everywhere loved Claus, because he gave them pretty toys, andtheir parents loved him because he made their little ones so happy. 

But now Norss and Faia were come to old age. After long years of love andhappiness, they knew that death could not be far distant. And one day Faiasaid to Norss: "Neither you nor I, dear love, fear death; but if we couldchoose, would we not choose to live always in this our son Claus, who hasbeen so sweet a joy to us?"

"Ay, ay, " said Norss; "but how is that possible?"

"We shall see, " said Faia. 

That night Norss dreamed that a spirit came to him, and that the spiritsaid to him: "Norss, thou shalt surely live forever in thy son Claus, ifthou wilt but acknowledge the symbol. "

Then when the morning was come Norss told his dream to Faia, his wife; andFaia said, --

"The same dream had I, --an angel appearing to me and speaking these verywords. "

"But what of the symbol?" cried Norss. 

"I have it here, about my neck, " said Faia. 

So saying, Faia drew from her bosom the symbol of wood, --a tiny crosssuspended about her neck by the golden chain. And as she stood thereholding the symbol out to Norss, he--he thought of the time when first hesaw her on the far-distant Orient shore, standing beneath the Star in allher maidenly glory, shading her beauteous eyes with one hand, and with theother clasping the cross, --the holy talisman of her faith. 

"Faia, Faia!" cried Norss, "it is the same, --the same you wore when Ifetched you a bride from the East!"

"It is the same. " said Faia, "yet see how my kisses and my prayers haveworn it away; for many, many times in these years, dear Norss, have Ipressed it to my lips and breathed your name upon it. See now--see what abeauteous light its shadow makes upon your aged face!"

The sunbeams, indeed, streaming through the window at that moment, castthe shadow of the symbol on old Norss's brow. Norss felt a glorious warmthsuffuse him, his heart leaped with joy, and he stretched out his arms andfell about Faia's neck, and kissed the symbol and acknowledged it. Thenlikewise did Faia; and suddenly the place was filled with a wondrousbrightness and with strange music, and never thereafter were Norss andFaia beholden of men. 

Until late that night Claus toiled at his forge; for it was a busy seasonwith him, and he had many, many curious and beauteous things to make forthe little children in the country round about. The colored flames leapedsinging from his forge, so that the Northern sky seemed to be lighted by athousand rainbows; but above all this voiceful glory beamed the Star, bright, beautiful, serene. 

Coming late to the cabin in the fir-grove, Claus wondered that no sign ofhis father or of his mother was to be seen. "Father--mother!" he cried, but he received no answer. Just then the Star cast its golden gleamthrough the latticed window, and this strange, holy light fell and restedupon the symbol of the cross that lay upon the floor. Seeing it, Clausstooped and picked it up, and kissing it reverently, he cried: "Deartalisman, be thou my inspiration evermore; and wheresoever thy blessedinfluence is felt, there also let my works be known henceforth forever!"

No sooner had he said these words than Claus felt the gift of immortalitybestowed upon him; and in that moment, too, there came to him a knowledgethat his parents' prayer had been answered, and that Norss and Faia wouldlive in him through all time. 

And lo! to that place and in that hour came all the people of Mist-Landand of Dream-Land to declare allegiance to him: yes, the elves, thefairies, the pixies, --all came to Claus, prepared to do his bidding. Joyously they capered about him, and merrily they sang. 

"Now haste ye all, " cried Claus, --"haste ye all to your homes and bring tomy workshop the best ye have. Search, little hill-people, deep in thebowels of the earth for finest gold and choicest jewels; fetch me, Omermaids, from the bottom of the sea the treasures hidden there, --theshells of rainbow tints, the smooth, bright pebbles, and the strange oceanflowers; go, pixies, and other water-sprites, to your secret lakes, andbring me pearls! Speed! speed you all! for many pretty things have we tomake for the little ones of earth we love!"

But to the kobolds and the brownies Claus said: "Fly to every house onearth where the cross is known; loiter unseen in the corners, and watchand hear the children through the day. Keep a strict account of good andbad, and every night bring back to me the names of good and bad, that Imay know them. "

The kobolds and the brownies laughed gleefully, and sped away on noiselesswings; and so, too, did the other fairies and elves. 

There came also to Claus the beasts of the forest and the birds of theair, and bade him be their master. And up danced the Four Winds, and theysaid: "May we not serve you, too?"

The snow-king came stealing along in his feathery chariot. "Oho!" hecried, "I shall speed over all the world and tell them you are coming. Intown and country, on the mountain-tops and in the valleys, --wheresoeverthe cross is raised, --there will I herald your approach, and thither willI strew you a pathway of feathery white. Oho! oho!" So, singing softly, the snow-king stole upon his way. 

But of all the beasts that begged to do him service, Claus liked thereindeer best. "You shall go with me in my travels; for henceforth I shallbear my treasures not only to the children of the North, but to thechildren in every land whither the Star points me and where the cross islifted up!" So said Claus to the reindeer, and the reindeer neighedjoyously and stamped their hoofs impatiently, as though they longed tostart immediately. 

Oh, many, many times has Claus whirled away from his far Northern home inhis sledge drawn by the reindeer, and thousands upon thousands ofbeautiful gifts--all of his own making--has he borne to the children ofevery land; for he loves them all alike, and they all alike love him, Itrow. So truly do they love him that they call him Santa Claus, and I amsure that he must be a saint; for he has lived these many hundred years, and we, who know that he was born of Faith and Love, believe that he willlive forever. 

1886. 

+THE COMING OF THE PRINCE+

THE COMING OF THE PRINCE

I

"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" said the wind, and it tore through thestreets of the city that Christmas eve, turning umbrellas inside out, driving the snow in fitful gusts before it, creaking the rusty signs andshutters, and playing every kind of rude prank it could think of. 

"How cold your breath is to-night!" said Barbara, with a shiver, as shedrew her tattered little shawl the closer around her benumbed body. 

"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" answered the wind; "but why are you outin this storm? You should be at home by the warm fire. "

"I have no home, " said Barbara; and then she sighed bitterly, andsomething like a tiny pearl came in the corner of one of her sad blueeyes. 

But the wind did not hear her answer, for it had hurried up the street tothrow a handful of snow in the face of an old man who was struggling alongwith a huge basket of good things on each arm. 

"Why are you not at the cathedral?" asked a snowflake, as it alighted onBarbara's shoulder. "I heard grand music, and saw beautiful lights thereas I floated down from the sky a moment ago. "

"What are they doing at the cathedral?" inquired Barbara. 

"Why, haven't you heard?" exclaimed the snowflake. "I supposed everybodyknew that the prince was coming to-morrow. "

"Surely enough; this is Christmas eve, " said Barbara, "and the prince willcome tomorrow. "

Barbara remembered that her mother had told her about the prince, howbeautiful and good and kind and gentle he was, and how he loved the littlechildren; but her mother was dead now, and there was none to tell Barbaraof the prince and his coming, --none but the little snowflake. 

"I should like to see the prince, " said Barbara, "for I have heard he wasvery beautiful and good. "

"That he is, " said the snowflake. "I have never seen him, but I heard thepines and the firs singing about him as I floated over the forestto-night. "

"Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!" cried the wind, returning boisterously to whereBarbara stood. "I've been looking for you everywhere, little snowflake! Socome with me. "

And without any further ado, the wind seized upon the snowflake andhurried it along the street and led it a merry dance through the icy airof the winter night. 

Barbara trudged on through the snow and looked in at the bright things inthe shop windows. The glitter of the lights and the sparkle of the vastarray of beautiful Christmas toys quite dazzled her. A strange mingling ofadmiration, regret, and envy filled the poor little creature's heart. 

"Much as I may yearn to have them, it cannot be, " she said to herself, "yet I may feast my eyes upon them. "

"Go away from here!" said a harsh voice. "How can the rich people see allmy fine things if you stand before the window? Be off with you, youmiserable little beggar!"

It was the shopkeeper, and he gave Barbara a savage box on the ear thatsent her reeling into the deeper snowdrifts of the gutter. 

Presently she came to a large house where there seemed to be much mirthand festivity. The shutters were thrown open, and through the windowsBarbara could see a beautiful Christmas tree in the centre of a spaciousroom, --a beautiful Christmas tree ablaze with red and green lights, andheavy with toys and stars and glass balls, and other beautiful things thatchildren love. There was a merry throng around the tree, and the childrenwere smiling and gleeful, and all in that house seemed content and happy. Barbara heard them singing, and their song was about the prince who was tocome on the morrow. 

"This must be the house where the prince will stop, " thought Barbara. "HowI would like to see his face and hear his voice!--yet what would he carefor _me_, a 'miserable little beggar'?"

So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and disconsolate, yetthinking of the prince. 

"Where are you going?" she asked of the wind as it overtook her. 

"To the cathedral, " laughed the wind. "The great people are flockingthere, and I will have a merry time amongst them, ha, ha, ha!"

And with laughter the wind whirled away and chased the snow toward thecathedral. 

"It is there, then, that the prince will come, " thought Barbara. "It is abeautiful place, and the people will pay him homage there. Perhaps I shallsee him if I go there. "

So she went to the cathedral. Many folk were there in their richestapparel, and the organ rolled out its grand music, and the people sangwondrous songs, and the priests made eloquent prayers; and the music, andthe songs, and the prayers were all about the prince and his expectedcoming. The throng that swept in and out of the great edifice talkedalways of the prince, the prince, the prince, until Barbara really lovedhim very much, for all the gentle words she heard the people say of him. 

"Please, can I go and sit inside?" inquired Barbara of the sexton. 

"No!" said the sexton, gruffly, for this was an important occasion withthe sexton, and he had no idea of wasting words on a beggar child. 

"But I will be very good and quiet, " pleaded Barbara. "Please, may I notsee the prince?"

"I have said no, and I mean it, " retorted the sexton. "What have you forthe prince, or what cares the prince for you? Out with you, and don't beblocking up the doorway!" So the sexton gave Barbara an angry push, andthe child fell half-way down the icy steps of the cathedral. She began tocry. Some great people were entering the cathedral at the time, and theylaughed to see her falling. 

"Have you seen the prince?" inquired a snowflake, alighting on Barbara'scheek. It was the same little snowflake that had clung to her shawl anhour ago, when the wind came galloping along on his boisterous search. 

"Ah, no!" sighed Barbara, in tears; "but what cares the prince for _me_?"

"Do not speak so bitterly, " said the little snowflake. "Go to the forestand you shall see him, for the prince always comes through the forest tothe city. "

Despite the cold, and her bruises, and her tears, Barbara smiled. In theforest she could behold the prince coming on his way; and he would not seeher, for she would hide among the trees and vines. 

"Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" It was the mischievous, romping wind once more;and it fluttered Barbara's tattered shawl, and set her hair to streamingin every direction, and swept the snowflake from her cheek and sent itspinning through the air. 

Barbara trudged toward the forest. When she came to the city gate thewatchman stopped her, and held his big lantern in her face, and asked herwho she was and where she was going. 

"I am Barbara, and I am going into the forest, " said she, boldly. 

"Into the forest?" cried the watchman, "and in this storm? No, child; youwill perish!"

"But I am going to see the prince, " said Barbara. "They will not let mewatch for him in the church, nor in any of their pleasant homes, so I amgoing into the forest. "

The watchman smiled sadly. He was a kindly man; he thought of his ownlittle girl at home. 

"No, you must not go to the forest, " said he, "for you would perish withthe cold. "

But Barbara would not stay. She avoided the watchman's grasp and ran asfast as ever she could through the city gate. 

"Come back, come back!" cried the watchman; "you will perish in theforest!"

But Barbara would not heed his cry. The falling snow did not stay her, nordid the cutting blast. She thought only of the prince, and she ranstraightway to the forest. 

II

"What do you see up there, O pine-tree?" asked a little vine in theforest. 

"You lift your head among the clouds tonight, and you tremble strangely asif you saw wondrous sights. "

"I see only the distant hill-tops and the dark clouds, " answered thepine-tree. "And the wind sings of the snow-king to-night; to all myquestionings he says, 'Snow, snow, snow, ' till I am weary with hisrefrain. "

"But the prince will surely come to-morrow?" inquired the tiny snowdropthat nestled close to the vine. 

"Oh, yes, " said the vine. "I heard the country folks talking about it asthey went through the forest to-day, and they said that the prince wouldsurely come on the morrow. "

"What are you little folks down there talking about?" asked the pine-tree. 

"We are talking about the prince, " said the vine. 

"Yes, he is to come on the morrow, " said the pine-tree, "but not until theday dawns, and it is still all dark in the east. "

"Yes, " said the fir-tree, "the east is black, and only the wind and thesnow issue from it. "

"Keep your head out of my way!" cried the pine-tree to the fir; "with yourconstant bobbing around I can hardly see at all. "

"Take _that_ for your bad manners, " retorted the fir, slapping thepine-tree savagely with one of her longest branches. 

The pine-tree would put up with no such treatment, so he hurled hislargest cone at the fir; and for a moment or two it looked as if therewere going to be a serious commotion in the forest. 

"Hush!" cried the vine in a startled tone; "there is some one comingthrough the forest. "

The pine-tree and the fir stopped quarrelling, and the snowdrop nestledcloser to the vine, while the vine hugged the pine-tree very tightly. Allwere greatly alarmed. 

"Nonsense!" said the pine-tree, in a tone of assumed bravery. "No onewould venture into the forest at such an hour. "

"Indeed! and why not?" cried a child's voice. "Will you not let me watchwith you for the coming of the prince?"

"Will you not chop me down?" inquired the pine-tree, gruffly. 

"Will you not tear me from my tree?" asked the vine. 

"Will you not pluck my blossoms?" plaintively piped the snowdrop. 

"No, of course not, " said Barbara; "I have come only to watch with you forthe prince. "

Then Barbara told them who she was, and how cruelly she had been treatedin the city, and how she longed to see the prince, who was to come on themorrow. And as she talked, the forest and all therein felt a greatcompassion for her. 

"Lie at my feet, " said the pine-tree, "and I will protect you. "

"Nestle close to me, and I will chafe your temples and body and limbs tillthey are warm, " said the vine. 

"Let me rest upon your cheek, and I will sing you my little songs, " saidthe snowdrop. 

And Barbara felt very grateful for all these homely kindnesses. She restedin the velvety snow at the foot of the pine-tree, and the vine chafed herbody and limbs, and the little flower sang sweet songs to her. 

"Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!" There was that noisy wind again, but this time itwas gentler than it had been in the city. 

"Here you are, my little Barbara, " said the wind, in kindly tones. "I havebrought you the little snowflake. I am glad you came away from the city, for the people are proud and haughty there; oh, but I will have my funwith them!"

Then, having dropped the little snowflake on Barbara's cheek, the windwhisked off to the city again. And we can imagine that it played rarepranks with the proud, haughty folk on its return; for the wind, as youknow, is no respecter of persons. 

"Dear Barbara, " said the snowflake, "I will watch with thee for the comingof the prince. "

And Barbara was glad, for she loved the little snowflake, that was so pureand innocent and gentle. 

"Tell us, O pine-tree, " cried the vine, "what do you see in the east? Hasthe prince yet entered the forest?"

"The east is full of black clouds, " said the pine-tree, "and the windsthat hurry to the hill-tops sing of the snow. "

"But the city is full of brightness, " said the fir. "I can see the lightsin the cathedral, and I can hear wondrous music about the prince and hiscoming. "

"Yes, they are singing of the prince in the cathedral, " said Barbara, sadly. 

"But we shall see him first, " whispered the vine, reassuringly. 

"Yes, the prince will come through the forest, " said the little snowdrop, gleefully. 

"Fear not, dear Barbara, we shall behold the prince in all his glory, "cried the snowflake. 

Then all at once there was a strange hubbub in the forest; for it wasmidnight, and the spirits came from their hiding-places to prowl about andto disport themselves. Barbara beheld them all in great wonder andtrepidation, for she had never before seen the spirits of the forest, although she had often heard of them. It was a marvellous sight. 

"Fear nothing, " whispered the vine to Barbara, --"fear nothing, for theydare not touch you. "

The antics of the wood-spirits continued but an hour; for then a cockcrowed, and immediately thereat, with a wondrous scurrying, the elves andthe gnomes and the other grotesque spirits sought their abiding-places inthe caves and in the hollow trunks and under the loose bark of the trees. And then it was very quiet once more in the forest. 

"It is very cold, " said Barbara. "My hands and feet are like ice. "

Then the pine-tree and the fir shook down the snow from their broadboughs, and the snow fell upon Barbara and covered her like a whitemantle. 

"You will be warm now, " said the vine, kissing Barbara's forehead. AndBarbara smiled. 

Then the snowdrop sang a lullaby about the moss that loved the violet. AndBarbara said, "I am going to sleep; will you wake me when the prince comesthrough the forest?"

And they said they would. So Barbara fell asleep. 

III

"The bells in the city are ringing merrily, " said the fir, "and the musicin the cathedral is louder and more beautiful than before. Can it be thatthe prince has already come into the city?"

"No, " cried the pine-tree, "look to the east and see the Christmas daya-dawning! The prince is coming, and his pathway is through the forest!"

The storm had ceased. Snow lay upon all the earth. The hills, the forest, the city, and the meadows were white with the robe the storm-king hadthrown over them. Content with his wondrous work, the storm-king himselfhad fled to his far Northern home before the dawn of the Christmas day. Everything was bright and sparkling and beautiful. And most beautiful wasthe great hymn of praise the forest sang that Christmas morning, --thepine-trees and the firs and the vines and the snow-flowers that sang ofthe prince and of his promised coming. 

"Wake up, little one, " cried the vine, "for the prince is coming!"

But Barbara slept; she did not hear the vine's soft calling, nor the loftymusic of the forest. 

A little snow-bird flew down from the fir-tree's bough and perched uponthe vine, and carolled in Barbara's ear of the Christmas morning and ofthe coming of the prince. But Barbara slept; she did not hear the carol ofthe bird. 

"Alas!" sighed the vine, "Barbara will not awaken, and the prince iscoming. "

Then the vine and the snowdrop wept, and the pine-tree and the fir werevery sad. 

The prince came through the forest clad in royal raiment and wearing agolden crown. Angels came with him, and the forest sang a great hymn untothe prince, such a hymn as had never before been heard on earth. Theprince came to the sleeping child and smiled upon her and called her byname. 

"Barbara, my little one, " said the prince, "awaken, and come with me. "

Then Barbara opened her eyes and beheld the prince. And it seemed as if anew life had come to her, for there was warmth in her body, and a flushupon her cheeks and a light in her eyes that were divine. And she wasclothed no longer in rags, but in white flowing raiment; and upon the softbrown hair there was a crown like those which angels wear. And as Barbaraarose and went to the prince, the little snowflake fell from her cheekupon her bosom, and forthwith became a pearl more precious than all otherjewels upon earth. 

And the prince took Barbara in his arms and blessed her, and turning roundabout, returned with the little child unto his home, while the forest andthe sky and the angels sang a wondrous song. 

The city waited for the prince, but he did not come. None knew of theglory of the forest that Christmas morning, nor of the new life that cameto little Barbara. 

_Come thou, dear Prince, oh, come to us this holy Christmas time! Cometo the busy marts of earth, the quiet homes, the noisy streets, the humblelanes; come to us all, and with thy love touch every human heart, that wemay know that love, and in its blessed peace bear charity to allmankind_!

1886. 

+THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM+

THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM

Whilst you were sleeping, little Dear-my-Soul, strange things happened;but that I saw and heard them, I should never have believed them. Theclock stood, of course, in the corner, a moonbeam floated idly on thefloor, and a little mauve mouse came from the hole in the chimney cornerand frisked and scampered in the light of the moonbeam upon the floor. Thelittle mauve mouse was particularly merry; sometimes she danced upon twolegs and sometimes upon four legs, but always very daintily and alwaysvery merrily. 

"Ah, me!" sighed the old clock, "how different mice are nowadays from themice we used to have in the good old times! Now there was your grandma, Mistress Velvetpaw, and there was your grandpa, Master Sniffwhisker, --howgrave and dignified they were! Many a night have I seen them dancing uponthe carpet below me, but always the stately minuet and never that crazyfrisking which you are executing now, to my surprise--yes, and to myhorror, too. "

"But why shouldn't I be merry?" asked the little mauve mouse. "To-morrowis Christmas, and this is Christmas eve. "

"So it is, " said the old clock. "I had really forgotten all about it. But, tell me, what is Christmas to you, little Miss Mauve Mouse?"

"A great deal to me!" cried the little mauve mouse. "I have been very gooda very long time: I have not used any bad words, nor have I gnawed anyholes, nor have I stolen any canary seed, nor have I worried my mother byrunning behind the flour-barrel where that horrid trap is set. In fact, Ihave been so good that I'm very sure Santa Claus will bring me somethingvery pretty. "

This seemed to amuse the old clock mightily; in fact, the old clock fellto laughing so heartily that in an unguarded moment she struck twelveinstead of ten, which was exceedingly careless and therefore to bereprehended. 

"Why, you silly little mauve mouse, " said the old clock, "you don'tbelieve in Santa Claus, do you?"

"Of course I do, " answered the little mauve mouse. "Believe in SantaClaus? Why shouldn't I? Didn't Santa Claus bring me a beautifulbutter-cracker last Christmas, and a lovely gingersnap, and a deliciousrind of cheese, and--and--lots of things? I should be very ungrateful if Idid _not_ believe in Santa Claus, and I certainly shall notdisbelieve in him at the very moment when I am expecting him to arrivewith a bundle of goodies for me. 

"I once had a little sister, " continued the little mauve mouse, "who didnot believe in Santa Claus, and the very thought of the fate that befellher makes my blood run cold and my whiskers stand on end. She died beforeI was born, but my mother has told me all about her. Perhaps you never sawher; her name was Squeaknibble, and she was in stature one of those long, low, rangy mice that are seldom found in well-stocked pantries. Mothersays that Squeaknibble took after our ancestors who came from New England, where the malignant ingenuity of the people and the ferocity of the catsrendered life precarious indeed. Squeaknibble seemed to inherit manyancestral traits, the most conspicuous of which was a disposition to sneerat some of the most respected dogmas in mousedom. From her very infancyshe doubted, for example, the widely accepted theory that the moon wascomposed of green cheese; and this heresy was the first intimation herparents had of the sceptical turn of her mind. Of course, her parents werevastly annoyed, for their maturer natures saw that this youthfulscepticism portended serious, if not fatal, consequences. Yet all in vaindid the sagacious couple reason and plead with their headstrong andheretical child. 

"For a long time Squeaknibble would not believe that there was any sucharchfiend as a cat; but she came to be convinced to the contrary onememorable night, on which occasion she lost two inches of her beautifultail, and received so terrible a fright that for fully an hour afterwardher little heart beat so violently as to lift her off her feet and bumpher head against the top of our domestic hole. The cat that deprived mysister of so large a percentage of her vertebral colophon was the samebrindled ogress that nowadays steals ever and anon into this room, crouches treacherously behind the sofa, and feigns to be asleep, hoping, forsooth, that some of us, heedless of her hated presence, will venturewithin reach of her diabolical claws. So enraged was this ferociousmonster at the escape of my sister that she ground her fangs viciouslytogether, and vowed to take no pleasure in life until she held in herdevouring jaws the innocent little mouse which belonged to the mangled bitof tail she even then clutched in her remorseless claws. "

"Yes, " said the old clock, "now that you recall the incident, I recollectit well. I was here then, in this very corner, and I remember that Ilaughed at the cat and chided her for her awkwardness. My reproachesirritated her; she told me that a clock's duty was to run itself down, _not_ to be depreciating the merits of others! Yes, I recall thetime; that cat's tongue is fully as sharp as her claws. "

"Be that as it may, " said the little mauve mouse, "it is a matter ofhistory, and therefore beyond dispute, that from that very moment the catpined for Squeaknibble's life; it seemed as if that one little two-inchtaste of Squeaknibble's tail had filled the cat with a consuming passion, or appetite, for the rest of Squeaknibble. So the cat waited and watchedand hunted and schemed and devised and did everything possible for acat--a cruel cat--to do in order to gain her murderous ends. Onenight--one fatal Christmas eve--our mother had undressed the children forbed, and was urging upon them to go to sleep earlier than usual, since shefully expected that Santa Claus would bring each of them something verypalatable and nice before morning. Thereupon the little dears whiskedtheir cunning tails, pricked up their beautiful ears, and began tellingone another what they hoped Santa Claus would bring. One asked for a sliceof Roquefort, another for Neufchâtel, another for Sap Sago, and a fourthfor Edam; one expressed a preference for de Brie, while another hoped toget Parmesan; one clamored for imperial blue Stilton, and another cravedthe fragrant boon of Caprera. There were fourteen little ones then, andconsequently there were diverse opinions as to the kind of gift whichSanta Claus should best bring; still, there was, as you can readilyunderstand, an enthusiastic unanimity upon this point, namely, that thegift should be cheese of some brand or other. 

"'My dears, ' said our mother, 'what matters it whether the boon whichSanta Claus brings be royal English cheddar or fromage de Bricquebec, Vermont sage, or Herkimer County skim-milk? We should be content withwhatsoever Santa Glaus bestows, so long as it be cheese, disjoined fromall traps whatsoever, unmixed with Paris green, and free from glass, strychnine, and other harmful ingredients. As for myself, I shall besatisfied with a cut of nice, fresh Western reserve; for truly I recognizein no other viand or edible half the fragrance or half the gustfulness tobe met with in one of these pale but aromatic domestic products. So runaway to your dreams now, that Santa Claus may find you sleeping. '

"The children obeyed, --all but Squeaknibble. 'Let the others think whatthey please, ' said she, 'but _I_ don't believe in Santa Claus. I'mnot going to bed, either. I'm going to creep out of this dark hole andhave a quiet romp, all by myself, in the moonlight. ' Oh, what a vain, foolish, wicked little mouse was Squeaknibble! But I will not reproach thedead; her punishment came all too swiftly. Now listen: who do you supposeoverheard her talking so disrespectfully of Santa Claus?"

"Why, Santa Claus himself, " said the old clock. 

"Oh, no, " answered the little mauve mouse. "It was that wicked, murderouscat! Just as Satan lurks and lies in wait for bad children, so does thecruel cat lurk and lie in wait for naughty little mice. And you can dependupon it, that when that awful cat heard Squeaknibble speak sodisrespectfully of Santa Claus, her wicked eyes glowed with joy, her sharpteeth watered, and her bristling fur emitted electric sparks as big asmarrowfat peas. Then what did that bloodthirsty monster do but scuttle asfast as she could into Dear-my-Soul's room, leap up into Dear-my-Soul'scrib, and walk off with the pretty little white muff which Dear-my-Soulused to wear when she went for a visit to the little girl in the nextblock! What upon earth did the horrid old cat want with Dear-my-Soul'spretty little white muff? Ah, the duplicity, the diabolical ingenuity ofthat cat! Listen. 

"In the first place, " resumed the little mauve mouse, after a pause thattestified eloquently to the depth of her emotion, --"in the first place, that wretched cat dressed herself up in that pretty little white muff, bywhich you are to understand that she crawled through the muff just so faras to leave her four cruel legs at liberty. "

"Yes, I understand, " said the old clock. 

"Then she put on the boy doll's fur cap, " said the little mauve mouse, "and when she was arrayed in the boy doll's fur cap and Dear-my-Soul'spretty little white muff, of course she didn't look like a cruel cat atall. But whom did she look like?"

"Like the boy doll, " suggested the old clock. 

"No, no!" cried the little mauve mouse. 

"Like Dear-my-Soul?" asked the old clock. 

"How stupid you are!" exclaimed the little mauve mouse. "Why, she lookedlike Santa Claus, of course!"

"Oh, yes; I see, " said the old clock. "Now I begin to be interested; goon. "

"Alas!" sighed the little mauve mouse, "not much remains to be told; butthere is more of my story left than there was of Squeaknibble when thathorrid cat crawled out of that miserable disguise. You are to understandthat, contrary to her sagacious mother's injunction, and in notoriousderision of the mooted coming of Santa Claus, Squeaknibble issued from thefriendly hole in the chimney corner, and gambolled about over this verycarpet, and, I dare say, in this very moonlight. "

"I do not know, " said the moonbeam, faintly. "I am so very old, and I haveseen so many things--I do not know. "

"Right merrily was Squeaknibble gambolling, " continued the little mauvemouse, "and she had just turned a double back somersault without the useof what remained of her tail, when, all of a sudden, she beheld, loomingup like a monster ghost, a figure all in white fur! Oh, how frightened shewas, and how her little heart did beat! 'Purr, purr-r-r, ' said the ghostin white fur. 'Oh, please don't hurt me!' pleaded Squeaknibble. 'No; I'llnot hurt you, ' said the ghost in white fur; 'I'm Santa Claus, and I'vebrought you a beautiful piece of savory old cheese, you dear littlemousie, you. ' Poor Squeaknibble was deceived; a sceptic all her life, shewas at last befooled by the most palpable and most fatal of frauds. 'Howgood of you!' said Squeaknibble. 'I didn't believe there was a SantaClaus, and--' but before she could say more she was seized by two sharp, cruel claws that conveyed her crushed body to the murderous mouth ofmousedom's most malignant foe. I can dwell no longer upon this harrowingscene. Suffice it to say that ere the morrow's sun rose like a big yellowHerkimer County cheese upon the spot where that tragedy had been enacted, poor Squeaknibble passed to that bourn whence two inches of her beautifultail had preceded her by the space of three weeks to a day. As for SantaClaus, when he came that Christmas eve, bringing morceaux de Brie and ofStilton for the other little mice, he heard with sorrow of Squeaknibble'sfate; and ere he departed he said that in all his experience he had neverknown of a mouse or of a child that had prospered after once saying thathe didn't believe in Santa Claus. "

"Well, that is a remarkable story, " said the old clock. "But if youbelieve in Santa Glaus, why aren't you in bed?"

"That's where I shall be presently, " answered the little mauve mouse, "butI must have my scamper, you know. It is very pleasant, I assure you, tofrolic in the light of the moon; only I cannot understand why you arealways so cold and so solemn and so still, you pale, pretty littlemoonbeam. "

"Indeed, I do not know that I am so, " said the moonbeam. "But I am veryold, and I have travelled many, many leagues, and I have seen wondrousthings. Sometimes I toss upon the ocean, sometimes I fall upon aslumbering flower, sometimes I rest upon a dead child's face. I see thefairies at their play, and I hear mothers singing lullabies. Last night Iswept across the frozen bosom of a river. A woman's face looked up at me;it was the picture of eternal rest. 'She is sleeping, ' said the frozenriver. 'I rock her to and fro, and sing to her. Pass gently by, Omoonbeam; pass gently by, lest you awaken her. '"

"How strangely you talk, " said the old clock. "Now, I'll warrant me that, if you wanted to, you could tell many a pretty and wonderful story. Youmust know many a Christmas tale; pray tell us one to wear away this nightof Christmas watching. "

"I know but one, " said the moonbeam. "I have told it over and over again, in every land and in every home; yet I do not weary of it. It is verysimple. Should you like to hear it?"

"Indeed we should, " said the old clock; "but before you begin, let mestrike twelve; for I shouldn't want to interrupt you. "

When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat more than usualalacrity, the moonbeam began its story:--

"Upon a time--so long ago that I can't tell how long ago it was--I fellupon a hillside. It was in a far distant country; this I know, because, although it was the Christmas time, it was not in that country as it iswont to be in countries to the north. Hither the snow-king never came;flowers bloomed all the year, and at all times the lambs found pleasantpasturage on the hillsides. The night wind was balmy, and there was afragrance of cedar in its breath. There were violets on the hillside, andI fell amongst them and lay there. I kissed them, and they awakened. 'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' they said, and they nestled in the grasswhich the lambs had left uncropped. 

"A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hillside; above him spread anolive-tree, old, ragged, and gloomy; but now it swayed its rusty branchesmajestically in the shifting air of night. The shepherd's name was Benoni. Wearied with long watching, he had fallen asleep; his crook had slippedfrom his hand. Upon the hillside, too, slept the shepherd's flock. I hadcounted them again and again; I had stolen across their gentle faces andbrought them pleasant dreams of green pastures and of cool water-brooks. Ihad kissed old Benoni, too, as he lay slumbering there; and in his dreamshe seemed to see Israel's King come upon earth, and in his dreams hemurmured the promised Messiah's name. 

"'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' quoth the violets. 'You have come ingood time. Nestle here with us, and see wonderful things come to pass. '

"'What are these wonderful things of which you speak?' I asked. 

"'We heard the old olive-tree telling of them to-night, ' said the violets. '"Do not go to sleep, little violets, " said the old olive-tree, "for thisis Christmas night, and the Master shall walk upon the hillside in theglory of the midnight hour. " So we waited and watched; one by one thelambs fell asleep; one by one the stars peeped out; the shepherd noddedand crooned and crooned and nodded, and at last he, too, went fast asleep, and his crook slipped from his keeping. Then we called to the oldolive-tree yonder, asking how soon the midnight hour would come; but allthe old olive-tree answered was "Presently, presently, " and finally we, too, fell asleep, wearied by our long watching, and lulled by the rockingand swaying of the old olive-tree in the breezes of the night. '

"'But who is this Master?' I asked. 

"'A child, a little child, ' they answered. 'He is called the little Masterby the others. He comes here often, and plays among the flowers of thehillside. Sometimes the lambs, gambolling too carelessly, have crushed andbruised us so that we lie bleeding and are like to die; but the littleMaster heals our wounds and refreshes us once again. '

"I marvelled much to hear these things. 'The midnight hour is at hand, 'said I, 'and I will abide with you to see this little Master of whom youspeak. ' So we nestled among the verdure of the hillside, and sang songsone to another. 

"'Come away!' called the night wind; 'I know a beauteous sea not farhence, upon whose bosom you shall float, float, float away out into themists and clouds, if you will come with me. '

"But I hid under the violets and amid the tall grass, that the night windmight not woo me with its pleading. 'Ho, there, old olive-tree!' cried theviolets; 'do you see the little Master coming? Is not the midnight hour athand?'

"'I can see the town yonder, ' said the old olive-tree. 'A star beamsbright over Bethlehem, the iron gates swing open, and the little Mastercomes. '

"Two children came to the hillside. The one, older than his comrade, wasDimas, the son of Benoni. He was rugged and sinewy, and over his brownshoulders was flung a goat-skin; a leathern cap did not confine his long, dark curly hair. The other child was he whom they called the littleMaster; about his slender form clung raiment white as snow, and around hisface of heavenly innocence fell curls of golden yellow. So beautiful achild I had not seen before, nor have I ever since seen such as he. And asthey came together to the hillside, there seemed to glow about the littleMaster's head a soft white light, as if the moon had sent its tenderest, fairest beams to kiss those golden curls. 

"'What sound was that?' cried Dimas, for he was exceeding fearful. 

"'Have no fear, Dimas, ' said the little Master. 'Give me thy hand, and Iwill lead thee. '

"Presently they came to the rock whereon Benoni, the shepherd, lay; andthey stood under the old olive-tree, and the old olive-tree swayed nolonger in the night wind, but bent its branches reverently in the presenceof the little Master. It seemed as if the wind, too, stayed in itsshifting course just then; for suddenly there was a solemn hush, and youcould hear no noise, except that in his dreams Benoni spoke the Messiah'sname. 

"'Thy father sleeps, ' said the little Master, 'and it is well that it isso; for that I love thee, Dimas, and that thou shalt walk with me in myFather's kingdom, I would show thee the glories of my birthright. '

"Then all at once sweet music filled the air, and light, greater than thelight of day, illumined the sky and fell upon all that hillside. Theheavens opened, and angels, singing joyous songs, walked to the earth. More wondrous still, the stars, falling from their places in the sky, clustered upon the old olive-tree, and swung hither and thither likecolored lanterns. The flowers of the hillside all awakened, and they, too, danced and sang. The angels, coming hither, hung gold and silver andjewels and precious stones upon the old olive, where swung the stars; sothat the glory of that sight, though I might live forever, I shall neversee again. When Dimas heard and saw these things he fell upon his knees, and catching the hem of the little Master's garment, he kissed it. 

"'Greater joy than this shall be thine, Dimas, ' said the little Master;'but first must all things be fulfilled. '

"All through that Christmas night did the angels come and go with theirsweet anthems; all through that Christmas night did the stars dance andsing; and when it came my time to steal away, the hillside was stillbeautiful with the glory and the music of heaven. "

"Well, is that all?" asked the old clock. 

"No, " said the moonbeam; "but I am nearly done. The years went on. Sometimes I tossed upon the ocean's bosom, sometimes I scampered o'er abattle-field, sometimes I lay upon a dead child's face. I heard the voicesof Darkness and mothers' lullabies and sick men's prayers, --and so theyears went on. 

"I fell one night upon a hard and furrowed face. It was of ghostly pallor. A thief was dying on the cross, and this was his wretched face. About thecross stood men with staves and swords and spears, but none paid heed untothe thief. Somewhat beyond this cross another was lifted up, and upon itwas stretched a human body my light fell not upon. But I heard a voicethat somewhere I had heard before, --though where I did not know, --and thisvoice blessed those that railed and jeered and shamefully entreated. Andsuddenly the voice called 'Dimas, Dimas!' and the thief upon whosehardened face I rested made answer. 

"Then I saw that it was Dimas; yet to this wicked criminal there remainedbut little of the shepherd child whom I had seen in all his innocence uponthe hillside. Long years of sinful life had seared their marks into hisface; yet now, at the sound of that familiar voice, somewhat of theold-time boyish look came back, and in the yearning of the anguished eyesI seemed to see the shepherd's son again. 

"'The Master!' cried Dimas, and he stretched forth his neck that he mightsee him that spake. 

"'O Dimas, how art thou changed!' cried the Master, yet there was in hisvoice no tone of rebuke save that which cometh of love. 

"Then Dimas wept, and in that hour he forgot his pain. And the Master'sconsoling voice and the Master's presence there wrought in the dyingcriminal such a new spirit, that when at last his head fell upon hisbosom, and the men about the cross said that he was dead, it seemed as ifI shined not upon a felon's face, but upon the face of the gentle shepherdlad, the son of Benoni. 

"And shining on that dead and peaceful face, I bethought me of the littleMaster's words that he had spoken under the old olive-tree upon thehillside: 'Your eyes behold the promised glory now, O Dimas, ' I whispered, 'for with the Master you walk in Paradise. '"

Ah, little Dear-my-Soul, you know--you know whereof the moonbeam spake. The shepherd's bones are dust, the flocks are scattered, the oldolive-tree is gone, the flowers of the hillside are withered, and noneknoweth where the grave of Dimas is made. But last night, again, thereshined a star over Bethlehem, and the angels descended from the sky toearth, and the stars sang together in glory. And the bells, --hear them, little Dear-my-Soul, how sweetly they are ringing, --the bells bear us thegood tidings of great joy this Christmas morning, that our Christ is born, and that with him he bringeth peace on earth and good-will toward men. 

1888. 

+THE DIVELL'S CHRISTMASS+

THE DIVELL'S CHRYSTMASS. 

It befell that on a time ye Divell did walk to and fro upon ye earth, having in his mind full evill cogitations how that he might do despight;for of soche nature is ye Divell, and ever hath been, that continuallydoth he go about among men, being so dispositioned that it sufficeth himnot that men sholde of their own frowardness, and by cause of the guileborn in them, turn unto his wickedness, but rather that he sholde by hiscrewel artifices and diabolical machinations tempt them at all times andupon every hand to do his fiendly plaisaunce. 

But it so fortuned that this time wherein ye Divell so walked upon yeearth was ye Chrystmass time; and wit ye well that how evill soever yeharte of man ben at other seasons, it is tofilled at ye Chrystmass timewith charity and love, like as if it ben sanctified by ye exceedingholiness of that feast. Leastwise, this moche we know, that, whereas atother times envy and worldliness do prevail, for a verity our natures aretoched at ye Chrystmass time as by ye hand of divinity, and conditionedfor merciful deeds unto our fellow kind. Right wroth was ye Divell, therefore, when that he knew this ben ye Chrystmass time. And as rage dothoften confirm in ye human harte an evill purpose, so was ye Divell nowmore diabolically minded to work his unclean will, and full hejeously fellhe to roar and lash his ribald legs with his poyson taile. But ye Divelldid presently conceive that naught might he accomplish by this means, since that men, affrighted by his roaring and astonied by ye fumes ofbrimstone and ye sulphur flames issuing from his mouth, wolde fleetherefrom; whereas by subtile craft and by words of specious guile it morefrequently befalls that ye Divell seduceth men and lureth them into histoils. So then ye Divell did in a little season feign to be in a fullplaisaunt mind and of sweet purpose; and when that he had girt him aboutwith an hermit's cloak, so that none might see his cloven feet and hispoyson taile, right briskly did he fare him on his journey, and he didsing ye while a plaisaunt tune, like he had ben full of joyouscontentation. 

Now it befell that presently in his journey he did meet with a frere, DanDennyss, an holy man that fared him to a neighboring town for deeds ofcharity and godliness. Unto him spake ye Divell full courteysely, andrequired of him that he might bear him company; to which ye frere gaveanswer in seemly wise, that, if so be that he ben of friendly disposition, he wolde make him joy of his companionship and conversation. Then, whilesthat they journeyed together, began ye Divell to discourse of theologiesand hidden mysteries, and of conjurations, and of negromancy and ofmagick, and of Chaldee, and of astrology, and of chymistry, and of otheroccult and forbidden sciences, wherein ye Divell and all that ply hisdamnable arts are mightily learned and practised. Now wit ye well thatthis frere, being an holy man and a simple, and having an eye single to yeblessed works of his calling, was presently mightily troubled in his mindby ye artifices of ye Divell, and his harte began to waver and to befilled with miserable doubtings; for knowing nothing of ye things whereofye Divell spake, he colde not make answer thereto, nor, being of godlycogitation and practice, had he ye confutations wherewith to meet yeabhominable argumentations of ye fiend. 

Yet (and now shall I tell you of a special Providence) it did fortune, whiles yet ye Divell discoursed in this profane wise, there was vouchsafedunto ye frere a certain power to resist ye evill that environed him; forof a sodaine he did cast his doubtings and his misgivings to ye winds, anddid fall upon ye Divell and did buffet him full sore, crying, "Thou art yeDivell! Get thee gone!" And ye frere plucked ye cloake from ye Divell andsaw ye cloven feet and ye poyson taile, and straightway ye Divell ranroaring away. But ye frere fared upon his journey, for that he had had asuccessful issue from this grevious temptation, with thanksgiving andprayse. 

Next came ye Divell into a town wherein were many people going to and froupon works of charity, and doing righteous practices; and sorely did itrepent ye Divell when that he saw ye people bent upon ye giving of almsand ye doing of charitable deeds. Therefore with mighty diligence did yeDivell apply himself to poyson ye minds of ye people, shewing unto them inartful wise how that by idleness or by righteous dispensation had ye poorebecome poore, and that, soche being ye will of God, it was an evill andrebellious thing against God to seeke to minister consolation unto thesepoore peoples. Soche like specious argumentations did ye Divell use togain his diabolical ends; but by means of a grace whereof none then knewye source, these men and these women unto whom ye Divell spake his hejeousheresies presently discovered force to withstand these fiendlytemptations, and to continue in their Chrystianly practices, to ye gloryof their faith and to ye benefite of ye needy, but to ye exceedingdiscomfiture of ye Divell; for ye which discomfiture I do give heartythanks, and so also shall all of you, if so be that your hartes within yoube of rightful disposition. 

All that day long fared ye Divell to and fro among ye people of ye town, but none colde he bring into his hellish way of cogitation. Nor do I countthis to be a marvellous thing; for, as I myself have herein shewn and aseche of us doth truly know, how can there be a place for ye Divell uponearth during this Chrystmass time when in ye very air that we breatheabideth a certain love and concord sent of heaven for the controul andedification of mankind, filling human hartes with peace and inclininghuman hands to ye delectable and blessed employments of charity? Nay, butyou shall know that all this very season whereof I speak ye holyChrystchilde himself did follow ye Divell upon earth, forefending thecrewel evills which ye Divell fain wolde do and girding with confidenceand love ye else frail natures of men. Soothly it is known of commonreport among you that when ye Chrystmass season comes upon ye earth therecometh with it also the spirit of our Chryst himself, that in yesimilitude of a little childe descendeth from heaven and walketh amongmen. And if so be that by any chance ye Divell is minded to issue from hisfoul pit at soche a time, wit ye well that wheresoever ye fiend fareth todo his diabolical plaisaunce there also close at hand followeth ye gentleChrystchilde; so that ye Divell, try how hard soever he may, hath no powerat soche a time over the hartes of men. 

Nay, but you shall know furthermore that of soche sweete quality and of sogreat efficacy is this heavenly spirit of charity at ye Chrystmass season, that oftentimes is ye Divell himself made to do a kindly deed. So at thistime of ye which I you tell, ye Divell, walking upon ye earth with evillpurpose, became finally overcome by ye gracious desire to give an alms;but nony alms had ye Divell to give, sith it is wisely ordained that yeDivell's offices shall be confined to his domain. Right grievouslytormented therefore was ye Divell, in that he had nought of alms tobestow; but when presently he did meet with a beggar childe that besoughthim charity, ye Divell whipped out a knife and cut off his own taile, which taile ye Divell gave to ye beggar childe, for he had not else togive for a lyttle trinket toy to make merry with. Now wit ye well thatthis poyson instrument brought no evill to ye beggar childe, for by asodaine miracle it ben changed into a flowre of gold, ye which gave greatjoy unto ye beggar childe and unto all them that saw this miracle how thatit had ben wrought, but not by ye Divell. Then returned ye Divell unto hispit of fire; and since that day, whereupon befell this thing of which Ispeak, ye Divell hath had nony taile at all, as you that hath seene yesame shall truly testify. 

But all that day long walked ye Chrystchilde upon ye earth, unseen to yepeople but toching their hartes with his swete love and turning theirhands to charity; and all felt that ye Chrystchilde was with them. So itwas plaisaunt to do ye Chrystchilde's will, to succor ye needy, to comfortye afflicted, and to lift up ye oppressed. Most plaisauntest of all was itto make merry with ye lyttle children, sithence of soche is ye kingdomwhence ye Chrystchilde cometh. 

Behold, ye season is again at hand; once more ye snows of winter lie uponall ye earth, and all Chrystantie is arrayed to the holy feast. 

Presently shall ye star burn with exceeding brightness in ye east, ye skyshall be full of swete music, ye angels shall descend to earth withsinging, and ye bells--ye joyous Chrystmass bells--shall tell us of yebabe that was born in Bethlehem. 

Come to us now, O gentle Chrystchilde, and walke among us peoples of yeearth; enwheel us round about with thy protecting care; forefend allenvious thoughts and evil deeds; toche thou our hearts with the glory ofthy love, and quicken us to practices of peace, good-will, and charitymeet for thy approval and acceptation. 

1888. 

+THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA+

THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SEA

Once upon a time the air, the mountain, and the sea lived undisturbed uponall the earth. The mountain alone was immovable; he stood always here uponhis rocky foundation, and the sea rippled and foamed at his feet, whilethe air danced freely over his head and about his grim face. It came topass that both the sea and the air loved the mountain, but the mountainloved the sea. 

"Dance on forever, O air, " said the mountain; "dance on and sing yourmerry songs. But I love the gentle sea, who in sweet humility crouches atmy feet or playfully dashes her white spray against my brown bosom. "

Now the sea was full of joy when she heard these words, and her thousandvoices sang softly with delight. But the air was filled with rage andjealousy, and she swore a terrible revenge. 

"The mountain shall not wed the sea, " muttered the envious air. "Enjoyyour triumph while you may, O slumberous sister; I will steal you fromyour haughty lover!"

And it came to pass that ever after that the air each day caught up hugeparts of the sea and sent them floating forever through the air in theshape of clouds. So each day the sea receded from the feet of themountain, and her tuneful waves played no more around his majestic base. 

"Whither art thou going, my love?" cried the mountain in dismay. 

"She is false to thee, " laughed the air, mockingly. "She is going toanother love far away. "

But the mountain would not believe it. He towered his head aloft and criedmore beseechingly than before: "Oh, whither art thou going, my beloved? Ido not hear thy sweet voice, nor do thy soft white arms compass me about. "

Then the sea cried out in an agony of helpless love. But the mountainheard her not, for the air refused to bring the words she said. 

"She is false!" whispered the air. "I alone am true to thee. "

But the mountain believed her not. Day after day he reared his massivehead aloft and turned his honest face to the receding sea and begged herto return; day after day the sea threw up her snowy arms and uttered thewildest lamentations, but the mountain heard her not; and day by day thesea receded farther and farther from the mountain's base. Where she oncehad spread her fair surface appeared fertile plains and verdant groves allpeopled with living things, whose voices the air brought to the mountain'sears in the hope that they might distract the mountain from his mourning. 

But the mountain would not be comforted; he lifted his sturdy head aloft, and his sorrowing face was turned ever toward the fleeting object of hislove. Hills, valleys, forests, plains, and other mountains separated themnow, but over and beyond them all he could see was her fair face liftedpleadingly toward him, while her white arms tossed wildly to and fro. Buthe did not know what words she said, for the envious air would not bearher messages to him. 

Then many ages came and went, until now the sea was far distant, so verydistant that the mountain could not behold her, --nay, had he been tenthousand times as lofty he could not have seen her, she was so far away. But still, as of old, the mountain stood with his majestic head high inthe sky, and his face turned whither he had seen her fading like a dreamaway. 

"Comeback, comeback, O my beloved!" he cried and cried. 

And the sea, a thousand miles or more away, still thought forever of themountain. Vainly she peered over the western horizon for a glimpse of hisproud head and honest face. The horizon was dark. Her lover was farbeyond, forests, plains, hills, valleys, rivers, and other mountainsintervened. Her watching was as hopeless as her love. 

"She is false!" whispered the air to the mountain. "She is false, and shehas gone to another lover. I alone am true!"

But the mountain believed her not. And one day clouds came floatingthrough the sky and hovered around the mountain's crest. 

"Who art thou, " cried the mountain, --"who art thou that thou fill'st mewith such a subtile consolation? Thy breath is like my beloved's, and thykisses are like her kisses. "

"We come from the sea, " answered the clouds. "She loves thee, and she hassent us to bid thee be courageous, for she will come back to thee. "

Then the clouds covered the mountain and bathed him with the glory of thesea's true love. The air raged furiously, but all in vain. Ever after thatthe clouds came each day with love-messages from the sea, and oftentimesthe clouds bore back to the distant sea the tender words the mountainspoke. 

And so the ages come and go, the mountain rearing his giant head aloft, and his brown, honest face turned whither the sea departed; the seastretching forth her arms to the distant mountain and repeating his dearname with her thousand voices. 

Stand on the beach and look upon the sea's majestic calm and hear hermurmurings; or see her when, in the frenzy of her hopeless love, shesurges wildly and tosses her white arms and shrieks, --then you shall knowhow the sea loves the distant mountain. 

The mountain is old and sear; the storms have beaten upon his breast, andgreat scars and seams and wrinkles are on his sturdy head and honest faceBut he towers majestically aloft, and he looks always toward the distantsea and waits for her promised coming. 

And so the ages come and go, but love is eternal. 

1886. 

+THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET+

THE ROBIN AND THE VIOLET

Once upon a time a robin lived in the greenwood. Of all the birds hisbreast was the brightest, his music was the sweetest, and his life was themerriest. Every morning and evening he perched himself among the berriesof the linden-tree, and carolled a song that made the whole forest joyous;and all day long he fluttered among the flowers and shrubbery of thewild-wood, and twittered gayly to the brooks, the ferns, and the lichens. 

A violet grew among the mosses at the foot of the linden-tree where livedthe robin. She was so very tiny and so very modest that few knew there wassuch a pretty little creature in the world. Withal she was so beautifuland so gentle that those who knew the violet loved her very dearly. 

The south wind came wooing the violet. He danced through the shrubbery andferns, and lingered on the velvet moss where the little flower grew. Butwhen he kissed her pretty face and whispered to her, she hung her head andsaid, "No, no; it cannot be. "

"Nay, little violet, do not be so cruel, " pleaded the south wind; "let mebear you as my bride away to my splendid home in the south, where all iswarmth and sunshine always. "

But the violet kept repeating, "No, it cannot be; no, it cannot be, " tillat last the south wind stole away with a very heavy heart. 

And the rose exclaimed, in an outburst of disgustful indignation: "What afoolish violet! How silly of her to refuse such a wooer as the south wind, who has a beautiful home and a patrimony of eternal warmth and sunshine!"

But the violet, as soon as the south wind had gone, looked up at the robinperched in the linden-tree and singing his clear song; and it seemed as ifshe blushed and as if she were thrilled with a great emotion as she beheldhim. But the robin did not see the violet. His eyes were turned the otherway, and he sang to the clouds in the sky. 

The brook o'erleaped its banks one day, and straying toward thelinden-tree, it was amazed at the loveliness of the violet. Never had itseen any flower half so beautiful. 

"Oh, come and be my bride, " cried the brook. "I am young and small now, but presently you shall see me grow to a mighty river whose course nohuman power can direct, and whose force nothing can resist. Cast thyselfupon my bosom, sweet violet, and let us float together to that greatdestiny which awaits me. "

But the violet shuddered and recoiled and said: "Nay, nay, impetuousbrook, I will not be your bride. " So, with many murmurs and complaints, the brook crept back to its jealous banks and resumed its devious andprattling way to the sea. 

"Bless me!" cried the daisy, "only to think of that silly violet'srefusing the brook! Was there ever another such piece of folly! Where elseis there a flower that would not have been glad to go upon such awonderful career? Oh, how short-sighted some folks are!"

But the violet paid no heed to these words; she looked steadfastly up intothe foliage of the linden-tree where the robin was carolling. The robindid not see the violet; he was singing to the tops of the fir-trees overyonder. 

The days came and went. The robin sang and fluttered in the greenwood, andthe violet bided among the mosses at the foot of the linden; and althoughthe violet's face was turned always upward to where the robin perched andsang, the robin never saw the tender little flower. 

One day a huntsman came through the greenwood, and an arrow from his cruelbow struck the robin and pierced his heart. The robin was carolling in thelinden, but his song was ended suddenly, and the innocent bird fell dyingfrom the tree. "Oh, it is only a robin, " said the huntsman, and with acareless laugh he went on his way. 

The robin lay upon the mosses at the foot of the linden, close beside theviolet. But he neither saw nor heard anything, for his life was nearlygone. The violet tried to bind his wound and stay the flow of his heart'sblood, but her tender services were vain. The robin died without havingseen her sweet face or heard her gentle voice. 

Then the other birds of the greenwood came to mourn over their deadfriend. The moles and the mice dug a little grave and laid the robin init, after which the birds brought lichens and leaves, and covered the deadbody, and heaped earth over all, and made a great lamentation. But whenthey went away, the violet remained; and after the sun had set, and thegreenwood all was dark, the violet bent over the robin's grave and kissedit, and sang to the dead robin. And the violet watched by the robin'sgrave for weeks and months, her face pressed forward toward that tinymound, and her gentle voice always singing softly and sweetly about thelove she never had dared to tell. 

Often after that the south wind and the brook came wooing her, but shenever heard them, or, if she heard them, she did not answer. The vine thatlived near the chestnut yonder said the violet was greatly changed; thatfrom being a merry, happy thing, she had grown sad and reticent; she usedto hold up her head as proudly as the others, but now she seemed brokenand weary. The shrubs and flowers talked it all over many and many a time, but none of them could explain the violet's strange conduct. 

It was autumn now, and the greenwood was not what it had been. The birdshad flown elsewhere to be the guests of the storks during the wintermonths, the rose had run away to be the bride of the south wind, and thedaisy had wedded the brook and was taking a bridal tour to the seasidewatering-places. But the violet still lingered in the greenwood, and kepther vigil at the grave of the robin. She was pale and drooping, but stillshe watched and sang over the spot where her love lay buried. Each day shegrew weaker and paler. The oak begged her to come and live among the warmlichens that protected him from the icy breath of the storm-king, but theviolet chose to watch and sing over the robin's grave. 

One morning, after a night of exceeding darkness and frost, the boisterousnorth wind came trampling through the greenwood. 

"I have come for the violet, " he cried; "she would not have my fairbrother, but she must go with _me_, whether it pleases her or not!"

But when he came to the foot of the linden-tree his anger was changed tocompassion. The violet was dead, and she lay upon the robin's grave. Hergentle face rested close to the little mound, as if, in her last moment, the faithful flower had stretched forth her lips to kiss the dust thatcovered her beloved. 

1884. 

+THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY+

THE OAK-TREE AND THE IVY

In the greenwood stood a mighty oak. So majestic was he that all who camethat way paused to admire his strength and beauty, and all the other treesof the greenwood acknowledged him to be their monarch. 

Now it came to pass that the ivy loved the oak-tree, and inclining hergraceful tendrils where he stood, she crept about his feet and twinedherself around his sturdy and knotted trunk. And the oak-tree pitied theivy. 

"Oho!" he cried, laughing boisterously, but good-naturedly, --"oho! so youlove me, do you, little vine? Very well, then; play about my feet, and Iwill keep the storms from you and will tell you pretty stories about theclouds, the birds, and the stars. "

The ivy marvelled greatly at the strange stories the oak-tree told; theywere stories the oak-tree heard from the wind that loitered about hislofty head and whispered to the leaves of his topmost branches. Sometimesthe story was about the great ocean in the East, sometimes of the broadprairies in the West, sometimes of the ice-king who lived in the North, and sometimes of the flower-queen who dwelt in the South. Then, too, themoon told a story to the oak-tree every night, --or at least every nightthat she came to the greenwood, which was very often, for the greenwood isa very charming spot, as we all know. And the oak-tree repeated to the ivyevery story the moon told and every song the stars sang. 

"Pray, what are the winds saying now?" or "What song is that I hear?" theivy would ask; and then the oak-tree would repeat the story or the song, and the ivy would listen in great wonderment. 

Whenever the storms came, the oak-tree cried to the little ivy: "Clingclose to me, and no harm shall befall you! See how strong I am; thetempest does not so much as stir me--I mock its fury!"

Then, seeing how strong and brave he was, the ivy hugged him closely; hisbrown, rugged breast protected her from every harm, and she was secure. 

The years went by; how quickly they flew, --spring, summer, winter, andthen again spring, summer, winter, --ah, life is short in the greenwood aselsewhere! And now the ivy was no longer a weakly little vine to excitethe pity of the passer-by. Her thousand beautiful arms had twined hitherand thither about the oak-tree, covering his brown and knotted trunk, shooting forth a bright, delicious foliage and stretching far up among hislower branches. Then the oak-tree's pity grew into a love for the ivy, andthe ivy was filled with a great joy. And the oak-tree and the ivy were wedone June night, and there was a wonderful celebration in the greenwood;and there was most beautiful music, in which the pine-trees, the crickets, the katydids, the frogs, and the nightingales joined with pleasingharmony. 

The oak-tree was always good and gentle to the ivy. "There is a stormcoming over the hills, " he would say. "The east wind tells me so; theswallows fly low in the air, and the sky is dark. Cling close to me, mybeloved, and no harm shall befall you. "

Then, confidently and with an always-growing love, the ivy would clingmore closely to the oak-tree, and no harm came to her. 

"How good the oak-tree is to the ivy!" said the other trees of thegreenwood. The ivy heard them, and she loved the oak-tree more and more. And, although the ivy was now the most umbrageous and luxuriant vine inall the greenwood, the oak-tree regarded her still as the tender littlething he had laughingly called to his feet that spring day, many yearsbefore, --the same little ivy he had told about the stars, the clouds, andthe birds. And, just as patiently as in those days he had told her ofthese things, he now repeated other tales the winds whispered to histopmost boughs, --tales of the ocean in the East, the prairies in the West, the ice-king in the North, and the flower-queen in the South. Nestlingupon his brave breast and in his stout arms, the ivy heard him tell thesewondrous things, and she never wearied with the listening. 

"How the oak-tree loves her!" said the ash. "The lazy vine has naught todo but to twine herself about the arrogant oak-tree and hear him tell hiswondrous stories!"

The ivy heard these envious words, and they made her very sad; but shesaid nothing of them to the oak-tree, and that night the oak-tree rockedher to sleep as he repeated the lullaby a zephyr was singing to him. 

"There is a storm coming over the hills, " said the oak-tree one day. "Theeast wind tells me so; the swallows fly low in the air, and the sky isdark. Clasp me round about with thy dear arms, my beloved, and nestleclose unto my bosom, and no harm shall befall thee. "

"I have no fear, " murmured the ivy; and she clasped her arms most closelyabout him and nestled unto his bosom. 

The storm came over the hills and swept down upon the greenwood withdeafening thunder and vivid lightning. The storm-king himself rode uponthe blast; his horses breathed flames, and his chariot trailed through theair like a serpent of fire. The ash fell before the violence of thestorm-king's fury, and the cedars groaning fell, and the hemlocks and thepines; but the oak-tree alone quailed not. 

"Oho!" cried the storm-king, angrily, "the oak-tree does not bow to me, hedoes not tremble in my presence. Well, we shall see. "

With that the storm-king hurled a mighty thunderbolt at the oak-tree, andthe brave, strong monarch of the greenwood was riven. Then, with a shoutof triumph, the storm-king rode away. 

"Dear oak-tree, you are riven by the storm-king's thunderbolt!" cried theivy, in anguish. 

"Ay, " said the oak-tree, feebly, "my end has come; see, I am shattered andhelpless. "

"But _I_ am unhurt, " remonstrated the ivy, "and I will bind up yourwounds and nurse you back to health and vigor. "

And so it was that, although the oak-tree was ever afterward a riven andbroken thing, the ivy concealed the scars upon his shattered form andcovered his wounds all over with her soft foliage. 

"I had hoped, dear one, " she said, "to grow up to thy height, to live withthee among the clouds, and to hear the solemn voices thou didst hear. Thouwouldst have loved me better then?"

But the old oak-tree said: "Nay, nay, my beloved; I love thee better asthou art, for with thy beauty and thy love thou comfortest mine age. "

Then would the ivy tell quaint stories to the old and brokenoak-tree, --stories she had learned from the crickets, the bees, thebutterflies, and the mice when she was an humble little vine and played atthe foot of the majestic oak-tree towering in the green-wood with nothought of the tiny shoot that crept toward him with her love. And thesesimple tales pleased the old and riven oak-tree; they were not as heroicas the tales the winds, the clouds, and the stars told, but they were farsweeter, for they were tales of contentment, of humility, of love. 

So the old age of the oak-tree was grander than his youth. 

And all who went through the greenwood paused to behold and admire thebeauty of the oak-tree then; for about his seared and broken trunk thegentle vine had so entwined her graceful tendrils and spread her fairfoliage, that one saw not the havoc of the years nor the ruin of thetempest, but only the glory of the oak-tree's age, which was the ivy'slove and ministering. 

1886

+MARGARET: A PEARL+

MARGARET: A PEARL

In a certain part of the sea, very many leagues from here, there oncelived a large family of oysters noted for their beauty and size. But amongthem was one so small, so feeble, and so ill-looking as to excite thepity, if not the contempt, of all the others. The father, a venerable, bearded oyster, of august appearance and solemn deportment, was muchmortified that one of his family should happen to be so sickly; and hesent for all the doctors in the sea to come and treat her; from whichcircumstance you are to note that doctors are an evil to be met with notalone upon _terra firma_. The first to come was Dr. Porpoise, agentleman of the old school, who floundered around in a very importantmanner and was full of imposing ceremonies. 

"Let me look at your tongue, " said Dr. Porpoise, stroking his beard withone fin, impressively. "Ahem! somewhat coated, I see. And your pulse isfar from normal; no appetite, I presume? Yes, my dear, your system issadly out of order. You need medicine. "

The little oyster hated medicine; so she cried, --yes, she actually shedcold, briny tears at the very thought of taking old Dr. Porpoise'sprescriptions. But the father-oyster and the mother-oyster chided hersternly; they said that the medicine would be nice and sweet, and that thelittle oyster would like it. But the little oyster knew better than allthat; yes, she knew a thing or two, even though she _was_ only alittle oyster. 

Now Dr. Porpoise put a plaster on the little oyster's chest and a blisterat her feet. He bade her eat nothing but a tiny bit of sea-foam on toasttwice a day. Every two hours she was to take a spoonful of cod-liver oil, and before each meal a wineglassful of the essence of distilledcuttlefish. The plaster she didn't mind, but the blister and the cod-liveroil were terrible; and when it came to the essence of distilled cuttlefish--well, she just couldn't stand it! In vain her mother reasoned with her, and promised her a new doll and a skipping-rope and a lot of other nicethings: the little oyster would have none of the horrid drug; until atlast her father, abandoning his dignity in order to maintain hisauthority, had to hold her down by main strength and pour the medicineinto her mouth. This was, as you will allow, quite dreadful. 

But this treatment did the little oyster no good; and her parents made uptheir minds that they would send for another doctor, and one of adifferent school. Fortunately they were in a position to indulge in almostany expense, since the father-oyster himself was president of one of thelargest banks of Newfoundland. So Dr. Sculpin came with his neat littlemedicine-box under his arm. And when he had looked at the sick littleoyster's tongue, and had taken her temperature, and had felt her pulse, hesaid he knew what ailed her; but he did not tell anybody what it was. Hethrew away the plasters, the blisters, the cod-liver oil, and the essenceof distilled cuttlefish, and said it was a wonder that the poor child hadlived through it all!

"Will you please bring me two tumblerfuls of water?" he remarked to themother-oyster. 

The mother-oyster scuttled away, and soon returned with two conch-shellsfilled to the brim with pure, clear sea-water. Dr. Sculpin counted threegrains of white sand into one shell, and three grains of yellow sand intothe other shell, with great care. 

"Now, " said he to the mother-oyster, "I have numbered these 1 and 2. First, you are to give the patient ten drops out of No. 2, and in an hourafter that, eight drops out of No. 1; the next hour, eight drops out ofNo. 2; and the next, or fourth, hour, ten drops out of No. 1. And so youare to continue hour by hour, until either the medicine or the child givesout. "

"Tell me, doctor, " asked the mother, "shall she continue the foodsuggested by Dr. Porpoise?"

"What food did he recommend?" inquired Dr. Sculpin. 

"Sea-foam on toast, " answered the mother. 

Dr. Sculpin smiled a smile which seemed to suggest that Dr. Porpoise'signorance was really quite annoying. 

"My dear madam, " said Dr. Sculpin, "the diet suggested by that quack, Porpoise, passed out of the books years ago. Give the child toast onsea-foam, if you wish to build up her debilitated forces. "

Now, the sick little oyster did not object to this treatment; on thecontrary, she liked it. But it did her no good. And one day, when she wasfeeling very dry, she drank both tumblerfuls of medicine, and it did notdo her any harm; neither did it cure her: she remained the same sicklittle oyster, --oh, so sick! This pained her parents very much. They didnot know what to do. They took her travelling; they gave her into the careof the eel for electric treatment; they sent her to the Gulf Stream forwarm baths, --they tried everything, but to no avail. The sick littleoyster remained a sick little oyster, and there was an end of it. 

At last one day, --one cruel, fatal day, --a horrid, fierce-looking machinewas poked down from the surface of the water far above, and with slow butintrepid movement began exploring every nook and crevice of the oystervillage. There was not a family into which it did not intrude, nor a homecircle whose sanctity it did not ruthlessly invade. It scraped along thegreat mossy rock; and lo! with a monstrous scratchy-te-scratch, themother-oyster and the father-oyster and hundreds of other oysters weretorn from their resting-places and borne aloft in a very jumbled and veryfrightened condition by the impertinent machine. Then down it came again, and the sick little oyster was among the number of those who were seizedby the horrid monster this time. She found herself raised to the top ofthe sea; and all at once she was bumped in a boat, where she lay, puny andhelpless, on a huge pile of other oysters. Two men were handling thefierce-looking machine. A little boy sat in the stern of the boat watchingthe huge pile of oysters. He was a pretty little boy, with bright eyes andlong tangled hair. He wore no hat, and his feet were bare and brown. 

"What a funny little oyster!" said the boy, picking up the sick littleoyster; "it is no bigger than my thumb, and it is very pale. "

"Throw it away, " said one of the men. "Like as not it is bad and not fitto eat. "

"No, keep it and send it out West for a Blue Point, " said the otherman, --what a heartless wretch he was!

But the little boy had already thrown the sick little oyster overboard. She fell in shallow water, and the rising tide carried her still farthertoward shore, until she lodged against an old gum boot that lay halfburied in the sand. There were no other oysters in sight; her head achedand she was very weak; how lonesome, too, she was!--yet anything wasbetter than being eaten, --at least so thought the little oyster, and so, Ipresume, think you. 

For many weeks and many months the sick little oyster lay hard by the oldgum boot; and in that time she made many acquaintances and friends amongthe crabs, the lobsters, the fiddlers, the star-fish, the waves, theshells, and the gay little fishes of the ocean. They did not harm her, forthey saw that she was sick; they pitied her--some loved her. The one thatloved her most was the perch with green fins that attended school everyday in the academic shade of the big rocks in the quiet cove about a mileaway. He was very gentle and attentive, and every afternoon he broughtfresh, cool sea-foam for the sick oyster to eat; he told her prettystories, too, --stories which his grandmother, the venerable codfish, hadtold him of the sea-king, the mermaids, the pixies, the water-sprites, andthe other fantastically beautiful dwellers in ocean depths. Now while allthis was very pleasant, the sick little oyster knew that the perch'swooing was hopeless, for she was very ill and helpless, and could neverthink of becoming a burden upon one so young and so promising as thegallant perch with green fins. But when she spoke to him in this strain, he would not listen; he kept right on bringing her more and more coolsea-foam every day. 

The old gum boot was quite a motherly creature, and anon the sick littleoyster became very much attached to her. Many times as the little invalidrested her aching head affectionately on the instep of the old gum boot, the old gum boot told her stories of the world beyond the sea: how she hadbeen born in a mighty forest, and how proud her folks were of their familytree; how she had been taken from that forest and moulded into the shapeshe now bore; how she had graced and served a foot in amphibiouscapacities, until, at last, having seen many things and having travelledmuch, she had been cast off and hurled into the sea to be the scorn ofevery crab and the derision of every fish. These stories were all new tothe little oyster, and amazing, too; she knew only of the sea, havinglived therein all her life. She in turn told the old gum boot quaintlegends of the ocean, --the simple tales she had heard in her early home;and there was a sweetness and a simplicity in these stories of the deepthat charmed the old gum boot, shrivelled and hardened and pessimisticthough she was. 

Yet, in spite of it all, --the kindness, the care, the amusements, and thedevotion of her friends, --the little oyster remained always a sick andfragile thing. But no one heard her complain, for she bore her sufferingpatiently. 

Not far from this beach where the ocean ended its long travels there was acity, and in this city there dwelt with her parents a maiden of the nameof Margaret. From infancy she had been sickly, and although she had nowreached the years of early womanhood, she could not run or walk about asothers did, but she had to be wheeled hither and thither in a chair. Thiswas very sad; yet Margaret was so gentle and uncomplaining that from aughtshe said you never would have thought her life was full of suffering. Seeing her helplessness, the sympathetic things of Nature had compassionand were very good to Margaret. The sunbeams stole across her pathwayeverywhere, the grass clustered thickest and greenest where she went, thewinds caressed her gently as they passed, and the birds loved to perchnear her window and sing their prettiest songs. Margaret loved themall, --the sunlight, the singing winds, the grass, the carolling birds. Shecommuned with them; their wisdom inspired her life, and this wisdom gaveher nature a rare beauty. 

Every pleasant day Margaret was wheeled from her home in the city down tothe beach, and there for hours she would sit, looking out, far out uponthe ocean, as if she were communing with the ocean spirits that lifted uptheir white arms from the restless waters and beckoned her to come. Oftentimes the children playing on the beach came where Margaret sat, andheard her tell little stories of the pebbles and the shells, of the shipsaway out at sea, of the ever-speeding gulls, of the grass, of the flowers, and of the other beautiful things of life; and so in time the childrencame to love Margaret. Among those who so often gathered to hear thegentle sick girl tell her pretty stories was a youth of Margaret'sage, --older than the others, a youth with sturdy frame and a face full ofcandor and earnestness. His name was Edward, and he was a student in thecity; he hoped to become a great scholar sometime, and he toiled veryzealously to that end. The patience, the gentleness, the sweet simplicity, the fortitude of the sick girl charmed him. He found in her little storiesa quaint and beautiful philosophy he never yet had found in books; therewas a valor in her life he never yet had read of in the histories. So, every day she came and sat upon the beach, Edward came too; and with thechildren he heard Margaret's stories of the sea, the air, the grass, thebirds, and the flowers. 

From her moist eyry in the surf the old gum boot descried the group uponthe beach each pleasant day. Now the old gum boot had seen enough of theworld to know a thing or two, as we presently shall see. 

"That tall young man is not a child, " quoth the old gum boot, "yet hecomes every day with the children to hear the sick girl tell her stories!Ah, ha!"

"Perhaps he is the doctor, " suggested the little oyster; and then sheadded with a sigh, "but, oh! I hope not. "

This suggestion seemed to amuse the old gum boot highly; at least she fellinto such hysterical laughter that she sprung a leak near her little toe, which, considering her environments, was a serious mishap. 

"Unless I am greatly mistaken, my child, " said the old gum boot to thelittle oyster, "that young man is in love with the sick girl!"

"Oh, how terrible!" said the little oyster; and she meant it too, for shewas thinking of the gallant young perch with green fins. 

"Well, I've said it, and I mean it!" continued the old gum boot; "now justwait and see. "

The old gum boot had guessed aright--so much for the value of worldlyexperience! Edward loved Margaret; to him she was the most beautiful, themost perfect being in the world; her very words seemed to exalt hisnature. Yet he never spoke to her of love. He was content to come with thechildren to hear her stories, to look upon her sweet face, and to worshipher in silence. Was not that a very wondrous love?

In course of time the sick girl Margaret became more interested in thelittle ones that thronged daily to hear her pretty stories, and she puther beautiful fancies into the little songs and quaint poems and tenderlegends, --songs and poems and legends about the sea, the flowers, thebirds, and the other beautiful creations of Nature; and in all there was asweet simplicity, a delicacy, a reverence, that bespoke Margaret'sspiritual purity and wisdom. In this teaching, and marvelling ever at itsbeauty, Edward grew to manhood. She was his inspiration, yet he neverspoke of love to Margaret. And so the years went by. 

Beginning with the children, the world came to know the sick girl's power. Her songs were sung in every home, and in every home her verses and herlittle stories were repeated. And so it was that Margaret came to bebeloved of all, but he who loved her best spoke never of his love to her. 

And as these years went by, the sick little oyster lay in the sea cuddledclose to the old gum boot. She was wearier now than ever before, for therewas no cure for her malady. The gallant perch with green fins was verysad, for his wooing had been hopeless. Still he was devoted, and still hecame each day to the little oyster, bringing her cool sea-foam and otherdelicacies of the ocean. Oh, how sick the little oyster was! But the endcame at last. 

The children were on the beach one day, waiting for Margaret, and theywondered that she did not come. Presently, grown restless, many of theboys scampered into the water and stood there, with their trousers rolledup, boldly daring the little waves that rippled up from the overflow ofthe surf. And one little boy happened upon the old gum boot. It was agreat discovery. 

"See the old gum boot, " cried the boy, fishing it out of the water andholding it on high. "And here is a little oyster fastened to it! Howfunny!"

The children gathered round the curious object on the beach. None of themhad ever seen such a funny old gum boot, and surely none of them had everseen such a funny little oyster. They tore the pale, knotted little thingfrom her foster-mother, and handled her with such rough curiosity thateven had she been a robust oyster she must certainly have died. At anyrate, the little oyster was dead now; and the bereaved perch with greenfins must have known it, for he swam up and down his native covedisconsolately. 

It befell in that same hour that Margaret lay upon her death-bed, andknowing that she had not long to live, she sent for Edward. And Edward, when he came to her, was filled with anguish, and clasping her hands inhis, he told her of his love. 

Then Margaret answered him: "I knew it, dear one; and all the songs I havesung and all the words I have spoken and all the prayers I have made havebeen with you, dear one, --all with _you_, in my heart of hearts. "

"You have purified and exalted my life, " cried Edward; "you have been mybest and sweetest inspiration; you have taught me the eternal truth, --youare my beloved!"

And Margaret said: "Then in my weakness hath there been a wondrousstrength, and from my sufferings cometh the glory I have sought!"

So Margaret died, and like a broken lily she lay upon her couch; and allthe sweetness of her pure and gentle life seemed to come back and restupon her face; and the songs she had sung and the beautiful stories shehad told came back, too, on angel wings, and made sweet music in thatchamber. 

The children were lingering on the beach when Edward came that day. Hecould hear them singing the songs Margaret had taught them. They wonderedthat he came alone. 

"See, " cried one of the boys, running to meet him and holding a tiny shellin his hand, --"see what we have found in this strange little shell. Is itnot beautiful!"

Edward took the dwarfed, misshapen thing, and lo! it held a beauteouspearl. 

_O little sister mine, let me look into your eyes and read aninspiration there; let me hold your thin white hand and know the strengthof a philosophy more beautiful than human knowledge teaches; let me see inyour dear, patient little face and hear in your gentle voice the untoldvalor of your suffering life. Come, little sister, let me fold you in myarms and have you ever with me, that in the glory of your faith and love Imay walk the paths of wisdom and of peace_. 

1887. 

+THE SPRINGTIME+

THE SPRINGTIME

A child once said to his grandsire: "Gran'pa, what do the flowers meanwhen they talk to the old oak-tree about death? I hear them talking everyday, but I cannot understand; it is all very strange. "

The grandsire bade the child think no more of these things; the flowerswere foolish prattlers, --what right had they to put such notions into achild's head? But the child did not do his grandsire's bidding; he lovedthe flowers and the trees, and he went each day to hear them talk. 

It seems that the little vine down by the stone wall had overheard thesouth wind say to the rose-bush: "You are a proud, imperious beauty now, and will not listen to my suit; but wait till my boisterous brother comesfrom the North, --then you will droop and wither and die, all because youwould not listen to me and fly with me to my home by the Southern sea. "

These words set the little vine to thinking; and when she had thought fora long time she spoke to the daisy about it, and the daisy called in theviolet, and the three little ones had a very serious conference; but, having talked it all over, they came to the conclusion that it was as muchof a mystery as ever. The old oak-tree saw them. 

"You little folks seem very much puzzled about something, " said the oldoak-tree. 

"I heard the south wind tell the rose-bush that she would die, " exclaimedthe vine, "and we do not understand what it is. Can you tell us what it isto die?"

The old oak-tree smiled sadly. 

"I do not call it death, " said the old oak-tree; "I call it sleep, --along, restful, refreshing sleep. "

"How does it feel?" inquired the daisy, looking very full of astonishmentand anxiety. 

"You must know, " said the old oak-tree, "that after many, many days we allhave had such merry times and have bloomed so long and drunk so heartilyof the dew and sunshine and eaten so much of the goodness of the earththat we feel very weary and we long for repose. Then a great wind comesout of the north, and we shiver in its icy blast. The sunshine goes away, and there is no dew for us nor any nourishment in the earth, and we areglad to go to sleep. "

"Mercy on me!" cried the vine, "I shall not like that at all! What, leavethis smiling meadow and all the pleasant grass and singing bees andfrolicsome butterflies? No, old oak-tree, I would never go to sleep; Imuch prefer sporting with the winds and playing with my little friends, the daisy and the violet. "

"And I, " said the violet, "I think it would be dreadful to go to sleep. What if we never should wake up again!"

The suggestion struck the others dumb with terror, --all but the oldoak-tree. 

"Have no fear of that, " said the old oak-tree, "for you are sure to awakenagain, and when you have awakened the new life will be sweeter and happierthan the old. "

"What nonsense!" cried the thistle. 

"You children shouldn't believe a word of it. When you go to sleep youdie, and when you die there's the last of you!"

The old oak-tree reproved the thistle; but the thistle maintained hisabominable heresy so stoutly that the little vine and the daisy and theviolet were quite at a loss to know which of the two to believe, --the oldoak-tree or the thistle. 

The child heard it all and was sorely puzzled. What was this death, thismysterious sleep? Would it come upon him, the child? And after he hadslept awhile would he awaken? His grandsire would not tell him of thesethings; perhaps his grandsire did not know. 

It was a long, long summer, full of sunshine and bird-music, and themeadow was like a garden, and the old oak-tree looked down upon the grassand flowers and saw that no evil befell them. A long, long play-day it wasto the little vine, the daisy, and the violet. The crickets and thegrasshoppers and the bumblebees joined in the sport, and romped and mademusic till it seemed like an endless carnival. Only every now and then thevine and her little flower friends talked with the old oak-tree about thatstrange sleep and the promised awakening, and the thistle scoffed at theold oak-tree's cheering words. The child was there and heard it all. 

One day the great wind came out of the north. Hurry-scurry! back to theirwarm homes in the earth and under the old stone wall scampered thecrickets and bumblebees to go to sleep. Whirr, whirr! Oh, but how piercingthe great wind was; how different from his amiable brother who hadtravelled all the way from the Southern sea to kiss the flowers and woothe rose!

"Well, this is the last of us!" exclaimed the thistle; "we're going todie, and that's the end of it all!"

"No, no, " cried the old oak-tree; "we shall not die; we are going tosleep. Here, take my leaves, little flowers, and you shall sleep warmunder them. Then, when you awaken, you shall see how much sweeter andhappier the new life is. "

The little ones were very weary indeed. The promised sleep came verygratefully. 

"We would not be so willing to go to sleep if we thought we should notawaken, " said the violet. 

So the little ones went to sleep. The little vine was the last of all tosink to her slumbers; she nodded in the wind and tried to keep awake tillshe saw the old oak-tree close his eyes, but her efforts were vain; shenodded and nodded, and bowed her slender form against the old stone wall, till finally she, too, had sunk into repose. And then the old oak-treestretched his weary limbs and gave a last look at the sullen sky and atthe slumbering little ones at his feet; and with that, the old oak-treefell asleep too. 

The child saw all these things, and he wanted to ask his grandsire aboutthem, but his grandsire would not tell him of them; perhaps his grandsiredid not know. 

The child saw the storm-king come down from the hills and ride furiouslyover the meadows and over the forest and over the town. The snow felleverywhere, and the north wind played solemn music in the chimneys. Thestorm-king put the brook to bed, and threw a great mantle of snow overhim; and the brook that had romped and prattled all the summer and toldpretty tales to the grass and flowers, --the brook went to sleep too. Withall his fierceness and bluster, the storm-king was very kind; he did notawaken the old oak-tree and the slumbering flowers. The little vine layunder the fleecy snow against the old stone wall and slept peacefully, andso did the violet and the daisy. Only the wicked old thistle thrashedabout in his sleep as if he dreamed bad dreams, which, all will allow, wasno more than he deserved. 

All through that winter--and it seemed very long--the child thought of theflowers and the vine and the old oak-tree, and wondered whether in thespringtime they would awaken from their sleep; and he wished for thespringtime to come. And at last the springtime came. One day the sunbeamsfluttered down from the sky and danced all over the meadow. 

"Wake up, little friends!" cried the sunbeams, --"wake up, for it is thespringtime!"

The brook was the first to respond. So eager, so fresh, so exuberant washe after his long winter sleep, that he leaped from his bed and frolickedall over the meadow and played all sorts of curious antics. Then a littlebluebird was seen in the hedge one morning. He was calling to the violet. 

"Wake up, little violet, " called the bluebird. "Have I come all thisdistance to find you sleeping? Wake up; it is the springtime!"

That pretty little voice awakened the violet, of course. 

"Oh, how sweetly I have slept!" cried the violet; "how happy this new lifeis! Welcome, dear friends!"

And presently the daisy awakened, fresh and beautiful, and then the littlevine, and, last of all, the old oak-tree. The meadow was green, and allaround there were the music, the fragrance, the new, sweet life of thespringtime. 

"I slept horribly, " growled the thistle. "I had bad dreams. It was sleep, after all, but it ought to have been death. "

The thistle never complained again; for just then a four-footed monsterstalked through the meadow and plucked and ate the thistle and thenstalked gloomily away; which was the last of the sceptical thistle, --trulya most miserable end!

"You said the truth, dear old oak-tree!" cried the little vine. "It wasnot death, --it was only a sleep, a sweet, refreshing sleep, and thisawakening is very beautiful. "

They all said so, --the daisy, the violet, the oak-tree, the crickets, thebees, and all the things and creatures of the field and forest that hadawakened from their long sleep to swell the beauty and the glory of thespringtime. And they talked with the child, and the child heard them. Andalthough the grandsire never spoke to the child about these things, thechild learned from the flowers and trees a lesson of the springtime whichperhaps the grandsire never knew. 

1885

+RODOLPH AND HIS KING+

RODOLPH AND HIS KING

"Tell me, Father, " said the child at Rodolph's knee, --"tell me of theking. "

"There is no king, my child, " said Rodolph. "What you have heard are oldwomen's tales. Do not believe them, for there is no king. "

"But why, then, " queried the child, "do all the people praise and call onhim; why do the birds sing of the king; and why do the brooks alwaysprattle his name, as they dance from the hills to the sea?"

"Nay, " answered Rodolph, "you imagine these things; there is no king. Believe me, child, there is no king. "

So spake Rodolph; but scarcely had he uttered the words when the cricketin the chimney corner chirped loudly, and his shrill notes seemed to say:"The king--the king. " Rodolph could hardly believe his ears. How had thecricket learned to chirp these words? It was beyond all understanding. Butstill the cricket chirped, and still his musical monotone seemed to say, "The king--the king, " until, with an angry frown, Rodolph strode from hishouse, leaving the child to hear the cricket's song alone. 

But there were other voices to remind Rodolph of the king. The sparrowswere fluttering under the eaves, and they twittered noisily as Rodolphstrode along, "The king, king, king!" "The king, king, king, " twitteredthe sparrows, and their little tones were full of gladness and praise. 

A thrush sat in the hedge, and she was singing her morning song. It was ahymn of praise, --how beautiful it was! "The king--the king--the king, "sang the thrush, and she sang, too, of his goodness, --it was a wondroussong, and it was all about the king. 

The doves cooed in the elm-trees. "Sing to us!" cried their little ones, stretching out their pretty heads from the nests. Then the doves nestledhard by and murmured lullabies, and the lullabies were of the king whowatched over and protected even the little birds in their nests. 

Rodolph heard these things, and they filled him with anger. 

"It is a lie!" muttered Rodolph; and in great petulance he came to thebrook. 

How noisy and romping the brook was; how capricious, how playful, howfurtive! And how he called to the willows and prattled to the listeninggrass as he scampered on his way. But Rodolph turned aside and his facegrew darker. He did not like the voice of the brook; for, lo! just as thecricket had chirped and the birds had sung, so did this brook murmur andprattle and sing ever of the king, the king, the king. 

So, always after that, wherever Rodolph went, he heard voices that toldhim of the king; yes, even in their quiet, humble way, the flowers seemedto whisper the king's name, and every breeze that fanned his brow had atale to tell of the king and his goodness. 

"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "They all conspire to plague me!There is no king--there is no king!"

Once he stood by the sea and saw a mighty ship go sailing by. The wavesplashed on the shore and told stories to the pebbles and the sands. Rodolph heard their thousand voices, and he heard them telling of theking. 

Then a great storm came upon the sea, a tempest such as never before hadbeen seen. The waves dashed mountain-high and overwhelmed the ship, andthe giant voices of the winds and waves cried of the king, the king! Thesailors strove in agony till all seemed lost. Then, when they could do nomore, they stretched out their hands and called upon the king to savethem, --the king, the king, the king!

Rodolph saw the tempest subside. The angry winds were lulled, and themountain waves sank into sleep, and the ship came safely into port. Thenthe sailors sang a hymn of praise, and the hymn was of the king and to theking. 

"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "It is a lie; there is no king!"

Yet everywhere he went he heard always of the king; the king's name andthe king's praises were on every tongue; ay, and the things that had novoices seemed to wear the king's name written upon them, until Rodolphneither saw nor heard anything that did not mind him of the king. 

Then, in great anger, Rodolph said: "I will go to the mountain-tops; thereI shall find no birds, nor trees, nor brooks, nor flowers to prate of amonarch no one has ever seen. There shall there be no sea to vex me withits murmurings, nor any human voice to displease me with itssuperstitions. "

So Rodolph went to the mountains, and he scaled the loftiest pinnacle, hoping that there at last he might hear no more of that king whom none hadever seen. And as he stood upon the pinnacle, what a mighty panorama wasspread before him, and what a mighty anthem swelled upon his ears! Thepeopled plains, with their songs and murmurings, lay far below; on everyside the mountain peaks loomed up in snowy grandeur; and overhead he sawthe sky, blue, cold, and cloudless, from horizon to horizon. 

What voice was that which spoke in Rodolph's bosom then as Rodolph's eyesbeheld this revelation?

"There is a king!" said the voice. "The king lives, and this is hisabiding-place!"

And how did Rodolph's heart stand still when he felt Silence proclaim theking, --not in tones of thunder, as the tempest had proclaimed him, nor inthe singing voices of the birds and brooks, but so swiftly, so surely, sograndly, that Rodolph's soul was filled with awe ineffable. 

Then Rodolph cried: "There is a king, and I acknowledge him! Henceforth myvoice shall swell the songs of all in earth and air and sea that know andpraise his name!"

So Rodolph went to his home. He heard the cricket singing of the king;yes, and the sparrows under the eaves, the thrush in the hedge, the dovesin the elms, and the brook, too, all singing of the king; and Rodolph'sheart was gladdened by their music. And all the earth and the things ofthe earth seemed more beautiful to Rodolph now that he believed in theking; and to the song all Nature sang Rodolph's voice and Rodolph's heartmade harmonious response. 

"There _is_ a king, my child, " said Rodolph to his little one. "Together let us sing to him, for he is _our_ king, and his goodnessabideth forever and forever. "

1885. 

+THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS+

THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS

One afternoon many years ago two little brothers named Seth and Abner wereplaying in the orchard. They were not troubled with the heat of the Augustday, for a soft, cool wind came up from the river in the valley overyonder and fanned their red cheeks and played all kinds of pranks withtheir tangled curls. All about them was the hum of bees, the song ofbirds, the smell of clover, and the merry music of the crickets. Theirlittle dog Fido chased them through the high, waving grass, and rolledwith them under the trees, and barked himself hoarse in his attempt tokeep pace with their laughter. Wearied at length, they lay beneath thebellflower-tree and looked off at the Hampshire hills, and wondered if thetime ever would come when they should go out into the world beyond thosehills and be great, noisy men. Fido did not understand it at all. Helolled in the grass, cooling his tongue on the clover bloom, and puzzlinghis brain to know why his little masters were so quiet all at once. 

"I wish I were a man, " said Abner, ruefully. "I want to be somebody and dosomething. It is very hard to be a little boy so long and to have nocompanions but little boys and girls, to see nothing but these same oldtrees and this same high grass, and to hear nothing but the samebird-songs from one day to another. "

"That is true, " said Seth. "I, too, am very tired of being a little boy, and I long to go out into the world and be a man like my gran'pa or myfather or my uncles. With nothing to look at but those distant hills andthe river in the valley, my eyes are wearied; and I shall be very happywhen I am big enough to leave this stupid place. "

Had Fido understood their words he would have chided them, for the littledog loved his home and had no thought of any other pleasure than rompingthrough the orchard and playing with his little masters all the day. ButFido did not understand them. 

The clover bloom heard them with sadness. Had they but listened in turnthey would have heard the clover saying softly: "Stay with me while youmay, little boys; trample me with your merry feet; let me feel the imprintof your curly heads and kiss the sunburn on your little cheeks. Love mewhile you may, for when you go away you never will come back. "

The bellflower-tree heard them, too, and she waved her great, strongbranches as if she would caress the impatient little lads, and shewhispered: "Do not think of leaving me: you are children, and you knownothing of the world beyond those distant hills. It is full of trouble andcare and sorrow; abide here in this quiet spot till you are prepared tomeet the vexations of that outer world. We are for _you_, --we treesand grass and birds and bees and flowers. Abide with us, and learn thewisdom we teach. "

The cricket in the raspberry-hedge heard them, and she chirped, oh! sosadly: "You will go out into the world and leave us and never think of usagain till it is too late to return. Open your ears, little boys, and hearmy song of contentment. "

So spake the clover bloom and the bellflower-tree and the cricket; and inlike manner the robin that nested in the linden over yonder, and the bigbumblebee that lived in the hole under the pasture gate, and the butterflyand the wild rose pleaded with them, each in his own way; but the littleboys did not heed them, so eager were their desires to go into and minglewith the great world beyond those distant hills. 

Many years went by; and at last Seth and Abner grew to manhood, and thetime was come when they were to go into the world and be brave, strongmen. Fido had been dead a long time. They had made him a grave under thebellflower-tree, --yes, just where he had romped with the two little boysthat August afternoon Fido lay sleeping amid the humming of the bees andthe perfume of the clover. But Seth and Abner did not think of Fido now, nor did they give even a passing thought to any of their old friends, --thebellflower-tree, the clover, the cricket, and the robin. Their hearts beatwith exultation. They were men, and they were going beyond the hills toknow and try the world. 

They were equipped for that struggle, not in a vain, frivolous way, but asgood and brave young men should be. A gentle mother had counselled them, aprudent father had advised them, and they had gathered from the sweetthings of Nature much of that wisdom before which all knowledge is asnothing. So they were fortified. They went beyond the hills and came intothe West. How great and busy was the world, --how great and busy it washere in the West! What a rush and noise and turmoil and seething andsurging, and how keenly did the brothers have to watch and struggle forvantage ground. Withal, they prospered; the counsel of the mother, theadvice of the father, the wisdom of the grass and flowers and trees, weremuch to them, and they prospered. Honor and riches came to them, and theywere happy. But amid it all, how seldom they thought of the little homeamong the circling hills where they had learned the first sweet lessons oflife!

And now they were old and gray. They lived in splendid mansions, and allpeople paid them honor. 

One August day a grim messenger stood in Seth's presence and beckoned tohim. 

"Who are you?" cried Seth. "What strange power have you over me that thevery sight of you chills my blood and stays the beating of my heart?"

Then the messenger threw aside his mask, and Seth saw that he was Death. Seth made no outcry; he knew what the summons meant, and he was content. But he sent for Abner. 

And when Abner came, Seth was stretched upon his bed, and there was astrange look in his eyes and a flush upon his cheeks, as though a fatalfever had laid hold on him. 

"You shall not die!" cried Abner, and he threw himself about his brother'sneck and wept. 

But Seth bade Abner cease his outcry. "Sit here by my bedside and talkwith me, " said he, "and let us speak of the Hampshire hills. "

A great wonder overcame Abner. With reverence he listened, and as helistened a sweet peace seemed to steal into his soul. 

"I am prepared for Death, " said Seth, "and I will go with Death this day. Let us talk of our childhood now, for, after all the battle with thisgreat world, it is pleasant to think and speak of our boyhood among theHampshire hills. "

"Say on, dear brother, " said Abner. 

"I am thinking of an August day long ago, " said Seth, solemnly and softly. "It was _so very_ long ago, and yet it seems only yesterday. We werein the orchard together, under the bellflower-tree, and our little dog--"

"Fido, " said Abner, remembering it all, as the years came back. 

"Fido and you and I, under the bellflower-tree, " said Seth. "How we hadplayed, and how weary we were, and how cool the grass was, and how sweetwas the fragrance of the flowers! Can you remember it, brother?"

"Oh, yes, " replied Abner, "and I remember how we lay among the clover andlooked off at the distant hills and wondered of the world beyond. "

"And amid our wonderings and longings, " said Seth, "how the oldbellflower-tree seemed to stretch her kind arms down to us as if she wouldhold us away from that world beyond the hills. "

"And now I can remember that the clover whispered to us, and the cricketin the raspberry-hedge sang to us of contentment, " said Abner. 

"The robin, too, carolled in the linden. "

"It is very sweet to remember it now, " said Seth. "How blue and hazy thehills looked; how cool the breeze blew up from the river; how like asilver lake the old pickerel pond sweltered under the summer sun overbeyond the pasture and broomcorn, and how merry was the music of the birdsand bees!"

So these old men, who had been little boys together, talked of the Augustafternoon when with Fido they had romped in the orchard and rested beneaththe bell-flower-tree. And Seth's voice grew fainter, and his eyes were, oh! so dim; but to the very last he spoke of the dear old days and theorchard and the clover and the Hampshire hills. And when Seth fell asleepforever, Abner kissed his brother's lips and knelt at the bedside and saidthe prayer his mother had taught him. 

In the street without there was the noise of passing carts, the cries oftradespeople, and all the bustle of a great and busy city; but, lookingupon Seth's dear, dead face, Abner could hear only the music voices ofbirds and crickets and summer winds as he had heard them with Seth whenthey were little boys together, back among the Hampshire hills. 

1885. 

+EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST+

EZRA'S THANKSGIVIN' OUT WEST

Ezra had written a letter to the home folks, and in it he had complainedthat never before had he spent such a weary, lonesome day as thisThanksgiving day had been. Having finished this letter, he sat for a longtime gazing idly into the open fire that snapped cinders all over thehearthstone and sent its red forks dancing up the chimney to join thewinds that frolicked and gambolled across the Kansas prairies that rawNovember night. It had rained hard all day, and was cold; and although theopen fire made every honest effort to be cheerful, Ezra, as he sat infront of it in the wooden rocker and looked down into the glowing embers, experienced a dreadful feeling of loneliness and homesickness. 

"I'm sick o' Kansas, " said Ezra to himself. "Here I 've been in thisplaguy country for goin' on a year, and--yes, I'm sick of it, powerfulsick of it. What a miser'ble Thanksgivin' this has been! They don't knowwhat Thanksgivin' is out this way. I wish I was back in ol'Mass'chusetts--that's the country for _me_, and they hev the kind o'Thanksgivin' I like!"

Musing in this strain, while the rain went patter-patter on thewindow-panes, Ezra saw a strange sight in the fireplace, --yes, right amongthe embers and the crackling flames Ezra saw a strange, beautiful pictureunfold and spread itself out like a panorama. 

"How very wonderful!" murmured the young man. Yet he did not take his eyesaway, for the picture soothed him and he loved to look upon it. 

"It is a pictur' of long ago, " said Ezra, softly. "I had like to forgotit, but now it comes back to me as nat'ral-like as an ol' friend. An' Iseem to be a part of it, an' the feelin' of that time comes back with thepictur', too. "

Ezra did not stir. His head rested upon his hand, and his eyes were fixedupon the shadows in the firelight. 

"It is a pictur' of the ol' home, " said Ezra to himself. "I am back therein Belchertown, with the Holyoke hills up north an' the Berkshiremountains a-loomin' up gray an' misty-like in the western horizon. Seemsas if it wuz early mornin'; everything is still, and it is so cold when weboys crawl out o' bed that, if it wuzn't Thanksgivin' mornin', we'd crawlback again an' wait for Mother to call us. But it _is_ Thanksgivin'mornin', an' we're goin' skatin' down on the pond. The squealin' o' thepigs has told us it is five o'clock, and we must hurry; we're goin' tocall by for the Dickerson boys an' Hiram Peabody, an' we've got to hyper!Brother Amos gets on 'bout half o' my clo'es, an' I get on 'bout half o'his, but it's all the same; they are stout, warm clo'es, and they're bigenough to fit any of us boys, --Mother looked out for that when she made'em. When we go down-stairs we find the girls there, all bundled up nicean' warm, --Mary an' Helen an' Cousin Irene. They're goin' with us, an' weall start out tiptoe and quiet-like so's not to wake up the ol' folks. Theground is frozen hard; we stub our toes on the frozen ruts in the road. When we come to the minister's house, Laura is standin' on the frontstoop, a-waitin' for us. Laura is the minister's daughter. She's a friendo' Sister Helen's--pretty as a dag'err'otype, an' gentle-like and tender. Laura lets me carry her skates, an' I'm glad of it, although I have myhands full already with the lantern, the hockies, and the rest. HiramPeabody keeps us waitin', for he has overslept himself, an' when he comestrottin' out at last the girls make fun of him, --all except Sister Mary, an' she sort o' sticks up for Hiram, an' we're all so 'cute we kind o'calc'late we know the reason why. 

"And now, " said Ezra, softly, "the pictur' changes; seems as if I couldsee the pond. The ice is like a black lookin'-glass, and Hiram Peabodyslips up the first thing, an' down he comes lickety-split, an' we alllaugh, --except Sister Mary, an' _she_ says it is very imp'lite tolaugh at other folks' misfortunes. Ough! how cold it is, and how myfingers ache with the frost when I take off my mittens to strap on Laura'sskates! But, oh, how my cheeks burn! And how careful I am not to hurtLaura, an' how I ask her if that's 'tight enough, ' an' how she tells me'jist a little tighter, ' and how we two keep foolin' along till the othershev gone an' we are left alone! An' how quick I get my _own_ skatesstrapped on, --none o' your new-fangled skates with springs an' plates an'clamps an' such, but honest, ol'-fashioned wooden ones with steel runnersthat curl up over my toes an' have a bright brass button on the end! How Istrap 'em and lash 'em and buckle 'em on! An' Laura waits for me an' tellsme to be sure to get 'em on tight enough, --why, bless me! after I once got'em strapped on, if them skates hed come off, the feet w'u'd ha' come with'em! An' now away we go, --Laura an' me. Around the bend--near the medderwhere Si Barker's dog killed a woodchuck last summer--we meet the rest. Weforget all about the cold. We run races an' play snap the whip, an' cutall sorts o' didoes, an' we never mind the pick'rel weed that is froze inon the ice an' trips us up every time we cut the outside edge; an' then weboys jump over the airholes, an' the girls stan' by an' scream an' tell usthey know we're agoin' to drownd ourselves. So the hours go, an' it issun-up at last, an' Sister Helen says we must be gettin' home. When wetake our skates off, our feet feel as if they were wood. Laura has losther tippet; I lend her mine, an' she kind o' blushes. The old pond seemsglad to have us go, and the fire-hangbird's nest in the willer-tree wavesus good-by. Laura promises to come over to our house in the evenin', andso we break up. 

"Seems now, " continued Ezra, musingly, --"seems now as if I could see usall at breakfast. The race on the pond has made us hungry, and Mother saysshe never knew anybody else's boys that had such capac'ties as hers. It isthe Yankee Thanksgivin' breakfast, --sausages an' fried potatoes, an'buckwheat cakes an' syrup, --maple syrup, mind ye, for Father has his ownsugar-bush, and there was a big run o' sap last season. Mother says, 'Ezryan' Amos, won't you never get through eatin'? We want to clear off thetable, for there's pies to make, an' nuts to crack, and laws sakes alive!the turkey's got to be stuffed yit!' Then how we all fly round! Mothersends Helen up into the attic to get a squash while Mary's makin' thepie-crust. Amos an' I crack the walnuts, --they call 'em hickory nuts outin this pesky country of sage-brush and pasture land. The walnuts arehard, and it's all we can do to crack 'em. Ev'ry once 'n a while one on'em slips outer our fingers an' goes dancin' over the floor or flies intothe pan Helen is squeezin' pumpkin into through the col'nder. Helen sayswe're shif'less an' good for nothin' but frivollin'; but Mother tells ushow to crack the walnuts so's not to let 'em fly all over the room, an'so's not to be all jammed to pieces like the walnuts was down at the partyat the Peasleys' last winter. An' now here comes Tryphena Foster, with hergingham gown an' muslin apron on; her folks have gone up to Amherst forThanksgivin', an' Tryphena has come over to help our folks get dinner. Shethinks a great deal o' Mother, 'cause Mother teaches her Sunday-schoolclass an' says Tryphena oughter marry a missionary. There is bustleeverywhere, the rattle of pans an' the clatter of dishes; an' the newkitch'n stove begins to warm up an' git red, till Helen loses her wits an'is flustered, an' sez she never could git the hang o' that stove'sdampers. 

"An' now, " murmured Ezra, gently, as a tone of deeper reverence crept intohis voice, "I can see Father sittin' all by himself in the parlor. Father's hair is very gray, and there are wrinkles on his honest old face. He is lookin' through the winder at the Holyoke hills over yonder, and Ican guess he's thinkin' of the time when he wuz a boy like me an' Amos, an' useter climb over them hills an' kill rattlesnakes an' huntpartridges. Or doesn't his eyes quite reach the Holyoke hills? Do theyfall kind o' lovingly but sadly on the little buryin'-ground jest beyondthe village? Ah, Father knows that spot, an' he loves it, too, for thereare treasures there whose memory he wouldn't swap for all the world couldgive. So, while there is a kind o' mist in Father's eyes, I can see he isdreamin'-like of sweet an' tender things, and a-com-munin' withmemory, --hearin' voices I never heard an' feelin' the tech of hands Inever pressed; an' seein' Father's peaceful face I find it hard to thinkof a Thanksgivin' sweeter than Father's is. 

"The pictur' in the firelight changes now, " said Ezra, "an' seems as if Iwuz in the old frame meetin'-house. The meetin'-house is on the hill, andmeetin' begins at half-pas' ten. Our pew is well up in front, --seems as ifI could see it now. It has a long red cushion on the seat, and in thehymn-book rack there is a Bible an' a couple of Psalmodies. We walk up theaisle slow, and Mother goes in first; then comes Mary, then me, thenHelen, then Amos, and then Father. Father thinks it is jest as well tohave one o' the girls set in between me an' Amos. The meetin'-house isfull, for everybody goes to meetin' Thanksgivin' day. The minister readsthe proclamation an' makes a prayer, an' then he gives out a psalm, an' weall stan' up an' turn round an' join the choir. Sam Merritt has come upfrom Palmer to spend Thanksgivin' with the ol' folks, an' he is singin'tenor to-day in his ol' place in the choir. Some folks say he singswonderful well, but _I_ don't like Sam's voice. Laura sings sopranoin the choir, and Sam stands next to her an' holds the book. 

"Seems as if I could hear the minister's voice, full of earnestness an'melody, comin' from 'way up in his little round pulpit. He is tellin' uswhy we should be thankful, an', as he quotes Scriptur' an' Dr. Watts, weboys wonder how anybody can remember so much of the Bible. Then I getnervous and worried. Seems to me the minister was never comin' to lastly, and I find myself wonderin' whether Laura is listenin' to what thepreachin' is about, or is writin' notes to Sam Merritt in the back of thetune-book. I get thirsty, too, and I fidget about till Father looks at me, and Mother nudges Helen, and Helen passes it along to me with interest. 

"An' then, " continues Ezra in his revery, "when the last hymn is given outan' we stan' up ag'in an' join the choir, I am glad to see that Laura issingin' outer the book with Miss Hubbard, the alto. An' goin' out o'meetin' I kind of edge up to Laura and ask her if I kin have the pleasureof seen' her home. 

"An' now we boys all go out on the Common to play ball. The Enfield boyshave come over, and, as all the Hampshire county folks know, they aretough fellers to beat. Gorham Polly keeps tally, because he has got thenewest jack-knife, --oh, how slick it whittles the old broom-handle Gorhampicked up in Packard's store an' brought along jest to keep tally on! Itis a great game of ball; the bats are broad and light, and the ball issmall and soft. But the Enfield boys beat us at last; leastwise they make70 tallies to our 58, when Heman Fitts knocks the ball over into AuntDorcas Eastman's yard, and Aunt Dorcas comes out an' picks up the ball an'takes it into the house, an' we have to stop playin'. Then Phineas Owensallows he can flop any boy in Belchertown, an' Moses Baker takes him up, an' they wrassle like two tartars, till at last Moses tuckers Phineas outan' downs him as slick as a whistle. 

"Then we all go home, for Thanksgivin' dinner is ready. Two long tableshave been made into one, and one of the big tablecloths Gran'ma had whenshe set up housekeepin' is spread over 'em both. We all set round, Father, Mother, Aunt Lydia Holbrook, Uncle Jason, Mary, Helen, Tryphena Foster, Amos, and me. How big an' brown the turkey is, and how good it smells!There are bounteous dishes of mashed potato, turnip, an' squash, and thecelery is very white and cold, the biscuits are light an' hot, and thestewed cranberries are red as Laura's cheeks. Amos and I get thedrumsticks; Mary wants the wish-bone to put overthe door for Hiram, butHelen gets it. Poor Mary, she always _did_ have to give up to'rushin' Helen, ' as we call her. The pies, --oh, what pies Mother makes; nodyspepsia in 'em, but good-nature an' good health an' hospitality! Pumpkinpies, mince an' apple too, and then a big dish of pippins an' russets an'bellflowers, an', last of all, walnuts with cider from the ZebrinaDickerson farm! I tell ye, there's a Thanksgivin' dinner for ye! that'swhat we get in old Belchertown; an' that's the kind of livin' that makesthe Yankees so all-fired good an' smart. 

"But the best of all, " said Ezra, very softly to himself, --"oh, yes, thebest scene in all the pictur' is when evenin' comes, when the lamps arelit in the parlor, when the neighbors come in, and when there is musican' singin' an' games. An' it's this part o' the pictur' that makes mehomesick now and fills my heart with a longin' I never had before; an'yet it sort o' mellows an' comforts me, too. Miss Serena Cadwell, whosebeau was killed in the war, plays on the melodeon, and we all sing, --allon us, men, womenfolks, an' children. Sam Merritt is there, an' he singsa tenor song about love. The women sort of whisper round that he's goin'to be married to a Palmer lady nex' spring, an' I think to myself Inever heard better singin' than Sam's. Then we play games, proverbs, buzz, clap-in-clap-out, copenhagen, fox-an'-geese, button-button-who's-got-the-button, spin-the-platter, go-to-Jerusalem, my-ship's-come-in, and all the rest. The ol' folks play with the young folks just asnat'ral as can be; and we all laugh when Deacon Hosea Cowles hez tomeasure six yards of love ribbon with Miss Hepsy Newton, and cut eachyard with a kiss; for the deacon hez been sort o' purrin' round MissHepsy for goin' on two years. Then, aft'r a while, when Mary an' Helenbring in the cookies, nut-cakes, cider, an' apples, Mother says: 'Idon't b'lieve we're goin' to hev enough apples to go round; Ezry, Iguess I'll have to get you to go down-cellar for some more. ' Then Isays: 'All right, Mother, I'll go, providin' some one'll go along an'hold the candle. ' An' when I say this I look right at Laura and sheblushes. Then Helen, jest for meanness, says: 'Ezry, I s'pose you ain'twillin' to have your fav'rite sister go down-cellar with you an' catchher death o' cold?' But Mary, who hez been showin' Hiram Peabody thephot'graph album for more 'n an hour, comes to the rescue an' makesLaura take the candle, and she shows Laura how to hold it so it won't goout. 

"The cellar is warm an' dark. There are cobwebs all between the raftersan' everywhere else except on the shelves where Mother keeps the butteran' eggs an' other things that would freeze in the butt'ry upstairs. Theapples are in bar'ls up against the wall, near the potater-bin. How freshan' sweet they smell! Laura thinks she sees a mouse, an' she trembles an'wants to jump up on the pork-bar'l, but I tell her that there sha'n't nomouse hurt her while I'm round; and I mean it, too, for the sight of Lauraa-tremblin' makes me as strong as one of Father's steers. 'What kind ofapples do you like best, Ezry?' asks Laura, --'russets or greenin's orcrow-eggs or bell-flowers or Baldwins or pippins?' 'I like the Baldwinsbest, ' says I, ''coz they've got red cheeks jest like yours. ' 'Why, EzryThompson! how you talk!' says Laura. 'You oughter be ashamed of yourself!'But when I get the dish filled up with apples there ain't a Baldwin in allthe lot that can compare with the bright red of Laura's cheeks. An' Lauraknows it, too, an' she sees the mouse ag'in, an' screams, and then thecandle goes out, and we are in a dreadful stew. But I, bein' almost a man, contrive to bear up under it, and knowin' she is an orph'n, I comfort an'encourage Laura the best I know how, and we are almost up-stairs whenMother comes to the door and wants to know what has kep' us so long. Jestas if Mother doesn't know! Of course she does; an' when Mother kissesLaura good-by that night there is in the act a tenderness that speaks moresweetly than even Mother's words. 

"It is so like Mother, " mused Ezra; "so like her with her gentleness an'clingin' love. Hers is the sweetest picture of all, and hers the bestlove. "

Dream on, Ezra; dream of the old home with its dear ones, its holyinfluences, and its precious inspiration, --mother. Dream on in thefar-away firelight; and as the angel hand of memory unfolds these sacredvisions, with thee and them shall abide, like a Divine comforter, thespirit of thanksgiving. 

1885. 

+LUDWIG AND ELOISE+

LUDWIG AND ELOISE

Once upon a time there were two youths named Herman and Ludwig; and theyboth loved Eloise, the daughter of the old burgomaster. Now, the oldburgomaster was very rich, and having no child but Eloise, he was anxiousthat she should be well married and settled in life. "For, " said he, "death is likely to come to me at any time: I am old and feeble, and Iwant to see my child sheltered by another's love before I am done withearth forever. "

Eloise was much beloved by all the youth in the village, and there was notone who would not gladly have taken her to wife; but none loved her somuch as did Herman and Ludwig. Nor did Eloise care for any but Herman andLudwig, and she loved Herman. The burgomaster said: "Choose whom youwill--I care not! So long as he be honest I will have him for a son andthank Heaven for him. "

So Eloise chose Herman, and all said she chose wisely; for Herman wasyoung and handsome, and by his valor had won distinction in the army, andhad thrice been complimented by the general. So when the brave youngcaptain led Eloise to the altar there was great rejoicing in the village. The beaux, forgetting their disappointments, and the maidens, seeing thecause of all their jealousy removed, made merry together; and it was saidthat never had there been in the history of the province an event sojoyous as was the wedding of Herman and Eloise. 

But in all the village there was one aching heart. Ludwig, the youngmusician, saw with quiet despair the maiden he loved go to the altar withanother. He had known Eloise from childhood, and he could not say when hislove of her began, it was so very long ago; but now he knew his heart wasconsumed by a hopeless passion. Once, at a village festival, he had begunto speak to her of his love; but Eloise had placed her hand kindly uponhis lips and told him to say no further, for they had always been andalways would be brother and sister. So Ludwig never spoke his love afterthat, and Eloise and he were as brother and sister; but the love of hergrew always within him, and he had no thought but of her. 

And now, when Eloise and Herman were wed, Ludwig feigned that he hadreceived a message from a rich relative in a distant part of the kingdombidding him come thither, and Ludwig went from the village and was seenthere no more. 

When the burgomaster died all his possessions went to Herman and Eloise;and they were accounted the richest folk in the province, and so good andcharitable were they that they were beloved by all. Meanwhile Herman hadrisen to greatness in the army, for by his valorous exploits he had becomea general, and he was much endeared to the king. And Eloise and Hermanlived in a great castle in the midst of a beautiful park, and the peoplecame and paid them reverence there. 

And no one in all these years spoke of Ludwig. No one thought of him. Ludwig was forgotten. And so the years went by. 

It came to pass, however, that from a far-distant province there spreadthe fame of a musician so great that the king sent for him to visit thecourt. No one knew the musician's name nor whence he came, for he livedalone and would never speak of himself; but his music was so tender andbeautiful that it was called heart-music, and he himself was called theMaster. He was old and bowed with infirmities, but his music was always ofyouth and love; it touched every heart with its simplicity and pathos, andall wondered how this old and broken man could create so much oftenderness and sweetness on these themes. 

But when the king sent for the Master to come to court the Master returnedhim answer: "No, I am old and feeble. To leave my home would weary me untodeath. Let me die here as I have lived these long years, weaving my musicfor hearts that need my solace. "

Then the people wondered. But the king was not angry; in pity he sent theMaster a purse of gold, and bade him come or not come, as he willed. Suchhonor had never before been shown any subject in the kingdom, and all thepeople were dumb with amazement. But the Master gave the purse of gold tothe poor of the village wherein he lived. 

In those days Herman died, full of honors and years, and there was a greatlamentation in the land, for Herman was beloved by all. And Eloise weptunceasingly and would not be comforted. 

On the seventh day after Herman had been buried there came to the castlein the park an aged and bowed man who carried in his white and tremblinghands a violin. His kindly face was deeply wrinkled, and a venerable beardswept down upon his breast. He was weary and foot-sore, but he heeded notthe words of pity bestowed on him by all who beheld him tottering on hisway. He knocked boldly at the castle gate, and demanded to be brought intothe presence of Eloise. 

And Eloise said: "Bid him enter; perchance his music will comfort mybreaking heart. "

Then, when the old man had come into her presence, behold! he was theMaster, --ay, the Master whose fame was in every land, whose heart-musicwas on every tongue. 

"If thou art indeed the Master, " said Eloise, "let thy music be balm to mychastened spirit. "

The Master said: "Ay, Eloise, I will comfort thee in thy sorrow, and thyheart shall be stayed, and a great joy will come to thee. "

Then the Master drew his bow across the strings, and lo! forthwith therearose such harmonies as Eloise had never heard before. Gently, persuasively, they stole upon her senses and filled her soul with anecstasy of peace. 

"Is it Herman that speaks to me?" cried Eloise. "It is his voice I hear, and it speaks to me of love. With thy heart-music, O Master, all thesweetness of his life comes back to comfort me!"

The Master did not pause; as he played, it seemed as if each tender wordand caress of Herman's life was stealing back on music's pinions to soothethe wounds that death had made. 

"It is the song of our love-life, " murmured Eloise. "How full of memoriesit is--what tenderness and harmony--and oh! what peace it brings! But tellme, Master, what means this minor chord, --this undertone of sadness and ofpathos that flows like a deep, unfathomable current throughout it all, andwailing, weaves itself about thy theme of love and happiness with itsweird and subtile influences?"

Then the Master said: "It is that shade of sorrow and sacrifice, O Eloise, that ever makes the picture of love more glorious. An undertone of pathoshas been _my_ part in all these years to symmetrize the love ofHerman and Eloise. The song of thy love is beautiful, and who shall say itis not beautified by the sad undertone of Ludwig's broken heart?"

"Thou art Ludwig!" cried Eloise. "Thou art Ludwig, who didst love me, andhast come to comfort me who loved thee not!"

The Master indeed was Ludwig; but when they hastened to do him homage heheard them not, for with that last and sweetest heart-song his head sankupon his breast, and he was dead. 

1885. 

+FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND+

FIDO'S LITTLE FRIEND

One morning in May Fido sat on the front porch, and he was deep inthought. He was wondering whether the people who were moving into the nexthouse were as cross and unfeeling as the people who had just moved out. Hehoped they were not, for the people who had just moved out had nevertreated Fido with that respect and kindness which Fido believed he was onall occasions entitled to. 

"The new-comers must be nice folks, " said Fido to himself, "for theirfeather-beds look big and comfortable, and their baskets are all ample andgenerous, --and see, there goes a bright gilt cage, and there is a plumpyellow canary bird in it! Oh, how glad Mrs. Tabby will be to see it, --sheso dotes on dear little canary birds!"

Mrs. Tabby was the old brindled cat, who was the mother of the fourcunning little kittens in the hay-mow. Fido had heard her remark verypurringly only a few days ago that she longed for a canary bird, just toamuse her little ones and give them correct musical ears. Honest old Fido!There was no guile in his heart, and he never dreamed there was in all thewide world such a sin as hypocrisy. So when Fido saw the little canarybird in the cage he was glad for Mrs. Tabby's sake. 

While Fido sat on the front porch and watched the people moving into thenext house another pair of eyes peeped out of the old hollow maple overthe way. This was the red-headed woodpecker, who had a warm, cosey nestfar down in the old hollow maple, and in the nest there were fourbeautiful eggs, of which the red-headed woodpecker was very proud. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Fido, " called the red-headed woodpecker from her highperch. "You are out bright and early to-day. And what do you think of ournew neighbors?"

"Upon my word, I cannot tell, " replied Fido, wagging his tail cheerily, "for I am not acquainted with them. But I have been watching them closely, and by to-day noon I think I shall be on speaking terms withthem, --provided, of course, they are not the cross, unkind people our oldneighbors were. "

"Oh, I do so hope there are no little boys in the family, " sighed thered-headed woodpecker; and then she added, with much determination and adefiant toss of her beautiful head: "I hate little boys!"

"Why so?" inquired Fido. "As for myself, I love little boys. I have alwaysfound them the pleasantest of companions. Why do _you_ dislike them?"

"Because they are wicked, " said the redheaded woodpecker. "They climbtrees and break up the nests we have worked so hard to build, and theysteal away our lovely eggs--oh, I hate little boys!"

"Good little boys don't steal birds' eggs, " said Fido, "and I'm sure Inever would play with a bad boy. "

But the red-headed woodpecker insisted that all little boys were wicked;and, firm in this faith, she flew away to the linden over yonder, where, she had heard the thrush say, there lived a family of fat white grubs. Thered-headed woodpecker wanted her breakfast, and it would have been hard tofind a more palatable morsel for her than a white fat grub. 

As for Fido, he sat on the front porch and watched the people moving in. And as he watched them he thought of what the redheaded woodpecker hadsaid, and he wondered whether it could be possible for little boys to beso cruel as to rob birds' nests. As he brooded over this sad possibility, his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a voice that fellpleasantly on his ears. 

"Goggie, goggie, goggie!" said the voice. "Tum here, 'ittle goggie--tumhere, goggie, goggie, goggie!"

Fido looked whence the voice seemed to come, and he saw a tiny figure onthe other side of the fence, --a cunning baby-figure in the yard thatbelonged to the house where the new neighbors were moving in. A secondglance assured Fido that the calling stranger was a little boy not morethan three years old, wearing a pretty dress, and a broad hat that crownedhis yellow hair and shaded his big blue eyes and dimpled face. The sightwas a pleasing one, and Fido vibrated his tail, --very cautiously, however, for Fido was not quite certain that the little boy meant his greeting forhim, and Fido's sad experiences with the old neighbors had made him waryabout scraping acquaintances too hastily. 

"Turn, 'ittle goggie!" persisted the prattling stranger, and, as if toencourage Fido, the little boy stretched his chubby arms through the fenceand waved them entreatingly. 

Fido was convinced now, so he got up, and with many cordial gestures ofhis hospitable tail, trotted down the steps and over the lawn to thecorner of the fence where the little stranger was. 

"Me love oo, " said the little stranger, patting Fido's honest brown back;"me love oo, 'ittle goggie!"

Fido knew that, for there were caresses in every stroke of the dimpledhands. Fido loved the little boy, too, --yes, all at once he loved thelittle boy; and he licked the dimpled hands, and gave three short, quickbarks, and wagged his tail hysterically. So then and there began thefriendship of Fido and the little boy. 

Presently Fido crawled under the fence into the next yard, and then thelittle boy sat down on the grass, and Fido put his fore-paws in the littleboy's lap and cocked up his ears and looked up into the little boy's face, as much as to say, "We shall be great friends, shall we not, little boy?"

"Me love oo, " said the little boy; "me wan' to tiss oo, 'ittle goggie!"

And the little boy did kiss Fido, --yes, right on Fido's cold nose; andFido liked to have the little boy kiss him, for it reminded him of anotherlittle boy who used to kiss him, but who was now so big that he was almostashamed to play with Fido any more. 

"Is oo sit, 'ittle goggie?" asked the little boy, opening his blue eyes totheir utmost capacity and looking very piteous. "Oo nose be so told, oomus' be sit, 'ittle goggie!"

But no, Fido was not sick, even though his nose _was_ cold. Oh, no;he romped and played all that morning in the cool, green grass with thelittle boy; and the red-headed woodpecker, clinging to the bark on thehickory-tree, laughed at their merry antics till her sides ached and herbeautiful head turned fairly livid. Then, at last, the little boy's mammacame out of the house and told him he had played long enough; and neitherthe red-headed woodpecker nor Fido saw him again that day. 

But the next morning the little boy toddled down to the fence-corner, bright and early, and called, "Goggie! goggie! goggie!" so loudly, thatFido heard him in the wood-shed, where he was holding a morning chat withMrs. Tabby. Fido hastened to answer the call; the way he spun out of thewood-shed and down the gravel walk and around the corner of the house wasa marvel. 

"Mamma says oo dot f'eas, 'ittle goggie, " said the little boy. "_Has_oo dot f'eas?"

Fido looked crestfallen, for could Fido have spoken he would haveconfessed that he indeed _was_ afflicted with fleas, --not with verymany fleas, but just enough to interrupt his slumbers and his meditationsat the most inopportune moments. And the little boy's guilelessimpeachment set Fido to feeling creepy-crawly all of a sudden, and withoutany further ado Fido turned deftly in his tracks, twisted his head backtoward his tail, and by means of several well-directed bites and plungesgave the malicious Bedouins thereabouts located timely warning to behavethemselves. The little boy thought this performance very funny, and helaughed heartily. But Fido looked crestfallen. 

Oh, what play and happiness they had that day; how the green grass kissedtheir feet, and how the smell of clover came with the springtime breezesfrom the meadow yonder! The red-headed woodpecker heard them at play, andshe clambered out of the hollow maple and dodged hither and thither as ifshe, too, shared their merriment. Yes, and the yellow thistle-bird, whosenest was in the blooming lilac-bush, came and perched in the pear-tree andsang a little song about the dear little eggs in her cunning home. Andthere was a flower in the fence-corner, --a sweet, modest flower that nohuman eyes but the little boy's had ever seen, --and she sang a littlesong, too, a song about the kind old Mother Earth and the pretty sunbeams, the gentle rain and the droning bees. Why, the little boy had never knownanything half so beautiful, and Fido, --he, too, was delighted beyond alltelling. If the whole truth must be told, Fido had such an exciting andbewildering romp that day that when night came, and he lay asleep on thekitchen floor, he dreamed he was tumbling in the green grass with thelittle boy, and he tossed and barked and whined so in his sleep that thehired man had to get up in the night and put him out of doors. 

Down in the pasture at the end of the lane lived an old woodchuck. Lastyear the freshet had driven him from his childhood's home in thecorn-field by the brook, and now he resided in a snug hole in the pasture. During their rambles one day, Fido and his little boy friend had come tothe pasture, and found the old woodchuck sitting upright at the entranceto his hole. 

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you, old Mr. Woodchuck, " said Fido. "I have toomuch respect for your gray hairs. "

"Thank you, " replied the woodchuck, sarcastically, "but I'm not afraid ofany bench-legged fyste that ever walked. It was only last week that Iwhipped Deacon Skinner's yellow mastiff, and I calc'late I can trounceyou, you ridiculous little brown cur!"

The little boy did not hear this badinage. When he saw the woodchucksolemnly perched at the entrance to his hole he was simply delighted. 

"Oh, see!" cried the little boy, stretching out his fat arms and runningtoward the woodchuck, --"oh, see, --'nuzzer 'ittle goggie! Turn here, 'ittlegoggie, --me love oo!"

But the old woodchuck was a shy creature, and not knowing what guile thelittle boy's cordial greeting might mask, the old woodchuck discreetlydisappeared in his hole, much to the little boy's amazement. 

Nevertheless, the old woodchuck, the little boy, and Fido became fastfriends in time, and almost every day they visited together in thepasture. The old woodchuck--hoary and scarred veteran that he was--hadwonderful stories to tell, --stories of marvellous adventures, of narrowescapes, of battles with cruel dogs, and of thrilling experiences thatwere altogether new to his wondering listeners. Meanwhile the red-headedwoodpecker's eggs in the hollow maple had hatched, and the proud motherhad great tales to tell of her baby birds, --of how beautiful and knowingthey were, and of what good, noble birds they were going to be when theygrew up. The yellow-bird, too, had four fuzzy little babies in her nest inthe lilac-bush, and every now and then she came to sing to the little boyand Fido of her darlings. Then, when the little boy and Fido were tiredwith play, they would sit in the rowen near the fence-corner and hear theflower tell a story the dew had brought fresh from the stars the nightbefore. They all loved each other, --the little boy, Fido, the oldwoodchuck, the redheaded woodpecker, the yellow-bird, and theflower, --yes, all through the days of spring and all through the summertime they loved each other in their own honest, sweet, simple way. 

But one morning Fido sat on the front porch and wondered why the littleboy had not come to the fence-corner and called to him. The sun was high, the men had been long gone to the harvest fields, and the heat of theearly autumn day had driven the birds to the thickest foliage of thetrees. Fido could not understand why the little boy did not come; he felt, oh' so lonesome, and he yearned for the sound of a little voice calling"Goggie, goggie, goggie. "

The red-headed woodpecker could not explain it, nor could the yellow-bird. Fido trotted leisurely down to the fence-corner and asked the flower ifshe had seen the little boy that morning. But no, the flower had not laideyes on the little boy, and she could only shake her head doubtfully whenFido asked her what it all meant. At last in desperation Fido bracedhimself for an heroic solution of the mystery, and as loudly as ever hecould, he barked three times, --in the hope, you know, that the little boywould hear his call and come. But the little boy did not come. 

Then Fido trotted sadly down the lane to the pasture to talk with the oldwoodchuck about this strange thing. The old woodchuck saw him coming andambled out to meet him. 

"But where is our little boy?" asked the old woodchuck. 

"I do not know, " said Fido. "I waited for him and called to him again andagain, but he never came. "

Ah, those were sorry days for the little boy's friends, and sorriest forFido. Poor, honest Fido, how lonesome he was and how he moped about! Howeach sudden sound, how each footfall, startled him! How he sat all thosedays upon the front door-stoop, with his eyes fixed on the fence-cornerand his rough brown ears cocked up as if he expected each moment to seetwo chubby arms stretched out toward him and to hear a baby voice calling"Goggie, goggie, goggie. "

Once only they saw him, --Fido, the flower, and the others. It was one daywhen Fido had called louder than usual. They saw a little figure in anight-dress come to an upper window and lean his arms out. They saw it wasthe little boy, and, oh! how pale and ill he looked. But his yellow hairwas as glorious as ever, and the dimples came back with the smile thatlighted his thin little face when he saw Fido; and he leaned on the windowcasement and waved his baby hands feebly, and cried: "Goggie! goggie!"till Fido saw the little boy's mother come and take him from the window. 

One morning Fido came to the fence-corner--how very lonely that spotseemed now--and he talked with the flower and the woodpecker; and theyellow-bird came, too, and they all talked of the little boy. And at thatvery moment the old woodchuck reared his hoary head by the hole in thepasture, and he looked this way and that and wondered why the little boynever came any more. 

"Suppose, " said Fido to the yellow-bird, --"suppose you fly to the window'way up there and see what the little boy is doing. Sing him one of yourpretty songs, and tell him we are lonesome without him; that we arewaiting for him in the old fence-corner. "

Then the yellow-bird did as Fido asked, --she flew to the window where theyhad once seen the little boy, and alighting upon the sill, she peered intothe room. In another moment she was back on the bush at Fido's side. 

"He is asleep, " said the yellow-bird. 

"Asleep!" cried Fido. 

"Yes, " said the yellow-bird, "he is fast asleep. I think he must bedreaming a beautiful dream, for I could see a smile on his face, and hislittle hands were folded on his bosom. There were flowers all about him, and but for their sweet voices the chamber would have been very still. "

"Come, let us wake him, " said Fido; "let us all call to him at once. Thenperhaps he will hear us and awaken and answer; perhaps he will come. "

So they all called in chorus, --Fido and the other honest friends. Theycalled so loudly that the still air of that autumn morning was strangelystartled, and the old woodchuck in the pasture 'way off yonder heard theechoes and wondered. 

"Little boy! little boy!" they called, "why are you sleeping? Why are yousleeping, little boy?"

Call on, dear voices! but the little boy will never hear. The dimpledhands that caressed you are indeed folded upon his breast; the lips thatkissed your honest faces are sealed; the baby voice that sang yourplaytime songs with you is hushed, and all about him are the fragrance andthe beauty of flowers. Call on, O honest friends! but he shall never hearyour calling; for, as if he were aweary of the love and play and sunshinethat were all he knew of earth, our darling is asleep forever. 

1885. 

+THE OLD MAN+

THE OLD MAN

I called him the Old Man, but he wuzn't an old man; he wuz a littleboy--our fust one; 'nd his gran'ma, who'd had a heap of experience in sichmatters, allowed that he wuz for looks as likely a child as she'd everclapped eyes on. Bein' our fust, we sot our hearts on him, and Lizzienamed him Willie, for that wuz the name she liked best, havin' had abrother Willyum killed in the war. But I never called him anything but theOld Man, and that name seemed to fit him, for he wuz one of your sollumbabies, --alwuz thinkin' 'nd thinkin' 'nd thinkin', like he wuz a jedge, and when he laffed it wuzn't like other children's laffs, it wuz sosad-like. 

Lizzie 'nd I made it up between us that when the Old Man growed up we'dsend him to collige 'nd give him a lib'ril edication, no matter though wehad to sell the farm to do it. But we never c'u'd exactly agree as to whatwe was goin' to make of him; Lizzie havin' her heart sot on his bein' apreacher like his gran'pa Baker, and I wantin' him to be a lawyer 'nd gitrich out'n the corporations, like his uncle Wilson Barlow. So we nevercome to no definite conclusion as to what the Old Man wuz goin' to be bimeby; but while we wuz thinkin' 'nd debatin' the Old Man kep' growin' 'ndgrowin', and all the time he wuz as serious 'nd sollum as a jedge. 

Lizzie got jest wrapped up in that boy; toted him round ever'where 'ndnever let on like it made her tired, --powerful big 'nd hearty child too, but heft warn't nothin' 'longside of Lizzie's love for the Old Man. Whenhe caught the measles from Sairy Baxter's baby Lizzie sot up day 'nd nighttill he wuz well, holdin' his hands 'nd singin' songs to him, 'nd cryin'herse'f almost to death because she dassent give him cold water to drinkwhen he called f'r it. As for me, _my_ heart wuz wrapped up in theOld Man, _too_, but, bein' a man, it wuzn't for me to show it likeLizzie, bein' a woman; and now that the Old Man is--wall, now that he hasgone, it wouldn't do to let on how much I sot by him, for that would makeLizzie feel all the wuss. 

Sometimes, when I think of it, it makes me sorry that I didn't show theOld Man some way how much I wuz wrapped up in him. Used to hold him in mylap 'nd make faces for him 'nd alder whistles 'nd things; sometimes I'dkiss him on his rosy cheek, when nobody wuz lookin'; oncet I tried to singhim a song, but it made him cry, 'nd I never tried my hand at singin'again. But, somehow, the Old Man didn't take to me like he took to hismother: would climb down outern my lap to git where Lizzie wuz; would hangon to her gownd, no matter what she wuz doin', --whether she wuz makin'bread, or sewin', or puttin' up pickles, it wuz alwuz the same to the OldMan; he wuzn't happy unless he wuz right there, clost beside his mother. 

'Most all boys, as I've heern tell, is proud to be round with theirfather, doin' what _he_ does 'nd wearin' the kind of clothes_he_ wears. But the Old Man wuz different; he allowed that his motherwas his best friend, 'nd the way he stuck to her--wall, it has alwuz beena great comfort to Lizzie to recollect it. 

The Old Man had a kind of confidin' way with his mother. Every oncet in awhile, when he'd be playin' by hisself in the front room, he'd call out, "Mudder, mudder;" and no matter where Lizzie wuz, --in the kitchen, or inthe wood-shed, or in the yard, she'd answer: "What is it, darlin'?" Thenthe Old Man 'u'd say: "Turn here, mudder, I wanter tell you sumfin'. "Never could find out what the Old Man wanted to tell Lizzie; like 's nothe didn't wanter tell her nothin'; maybe he wuz lonesome 'nd jest wantedto feel that Lizzie wuz round. But that didn't make no diff'rence; it wuzall the same to Lizzie. No matter where she wuz or what she wuz a-doin', jest as soon as the Old Man told her he wanted to tell her somethin' shedropped ever'thing else 'nd went straight to him. Then the Old Man wouldlaff one of his sollum, sad-like laffs, 'nd put his arms round Lizzie'sneck 'nd whisper--or pertend to whisper--somethin' in her ear, 'nd Lizziewould laff 'nd say, "Oh, what a nice secret we have atween us!" and thenshe would kiss the Old Man 'nd go back to her work. 

Time changes all things, --all things but memory, nothin' can change_that_. Seems like it was only yesterday or the day before that Iheern the Old Man callin', "Mudder, mudder, I wanter tell you sumfin', "and that I seen him put his arms around her neck 'nd whisper softly toher. 

It had been an open winter, 'nd there wuz fever all around us. The Baxterslost their little girl, and Homer Thompson's children had all been takendown. Ev'ry night 'nd mornin' we prayed God to save our darlin'; but oneevenin' when I come up from the wood-lot, the Old Man wuz restless 'nd hisface wuz hot 'nd he talked in his sleep. Maybe you've been through ityourself, --maybe you've tended a child that's down with the fever; if so, maybe you know what we went through, Lizzie 'nd me. The doctor shook hishead one night when he come to see the Old Man; we knew what that meant. Iwent out-doors, --I couldn't stand it in the room there, with the Old Manseein' 'nd talkin' about things that the fever made him see. I wuz too biga coward to stay 'nd help his mother to bear up; so I went out-doors 'ndbrung in wood, --brung in wood enough to last all spring, --and then I satdown alone by the kitchen fire 'nd heard the clock tick 'nd watched theshadders flicker through the room. 

I remember Lizzie's comin' to me and sayin': "He's breathin' strange-like, 'nd his little feet is cold as ice. " Then I went into the front chamberwhere he lay. The day wuz breakin'; the cattle wuz lowin' outside; a beamof light come through the winder and fell on the Old Man's face, --perhapsit wuz the summons for which he waited and which shall some time come tome 'nd you. Leastwise the Old Man roused from his sleep 'nd opened up hisbig blue eyes. It wuzn't me he wanted to see. 

"Mudder! mudder!" cried the Old Man, but his voice warn't strong 'nd clearlike it used to be. "Mudder, where _be_ you, mudder?"

Then, breshin' by me, Lizzie caught the Old Man up 'nd held him in herarms, like she had done a thousand times before. 

"What is it, darlin'? _Here_ I be, " says Lizzie. 

"Tum here, " says the Old Man, --"tum here; I wanter tell you sumfin'. "

The Old Man went to reach his arms around her neck 'nd whisper in her ear. But his arms fell limp and helpless-like, 'nd the Old Man's curly headdrooped on his mother's breast. 

1889. 

+BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR+

BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR

Bill wuz alluz fond uv children 'nd birds 'nd flowers. Ain't it kind o'curious how sometimes we find a great, big, awkward man who loves sechthings? Bill had the biggest feet in the township, but I'll bet my walletthat he never trod on a violet in all his life. Bill never took no slackfrom enny man that wuz sober, but the children made him play with 'em, andhe'd set for hours a-watchin' the yaller-hammer buildin' her nest in theold cottonwood. 

Now I ain't defendin' Bill; I'm jest tellin' the truth about him. NothinkI kin say one way or t'other is goin' to make enny difference now; Bill'sdead 'nd buried, 'nd the folks is discussin' him 'nd wond'rin' whether hisimmortal soul is all right. Sometimes I _hev_ worried 'bout Bill, butI don't worry 'bout him no more. Uv course Bill had his faults, --I neverliked that drinkin' business uv his'n, yet I allow that Bill got more goodout'n likker, and likker got more good out'n Bill, than I ever see beforeor sence. It warn't when the likker wuz in Bill that Bill wuz at his best, but when he hed been on to one uv his bats 'nd had drunk himself sick 'ndwuz comin' out uv the other end of the bat, then Bill wuz one uv themeekest 'nd properest critters you ever seen. An' po'try? Some uv the mostbeautiful po'try I ever read wuz writ by Bill when he wuz recoverin'himself out'n one uv them bats. Seemed like it kind uv exalted an'purified Bill's nachur to git drunk an' git over it. Bill c'u'd drink morelikker 'nd be sorrier for it than any other man in seven States. Therenever wuz a more penitent feller than he wuz when he wuz soberin'. Thetrubble with Bill seemed to be that his conscience didn't come on watchquite of'n enuff. 

It'll be ten years come nex' spring sence Bill showed up here. I don'tknow whar he come from; seemed like he didn't want to talk about his past. I allers suspicioned that he had seen trubble--maybe, sorrer. I reecollectthat one time he got a telegraph, --Mr. Ivins told me 'bout itafterwards, --and when he read it he put his hands up to his face 'ndgroaned, like. That day he got full uv likker 'nd he kep' full uv likkerfor a week; but when he come round all right he wrote a pome for thepaper, 'nd the name uv the pome wuz "Mary, " but whether Mary wuz hissister or his wife or an old sweetheart uv his'n I never knew. But itlooked from the pome like she wuz dead 'nd that he loved her. 

Bill wuz the best lokil the paper ever had. He didn't hustle around much, but he had a kind er pleasin' way uv dishin' things up. He c'u'd be mightycomical when he sot out to be, but his best holt was serious pieces. Nobody could beat Bill writing obituaries. When old Mose Holbrook wuzdyin' the minister sez to him: "Mr. Holbrook, you seem to be sorry thatyou're passin' away to a better land?"

"Wall, no; not exactly _that_, " sez Mose, "but to be frank with you, I _hev_ jest one regret in connection with this affair. "

"What's that?" asked the minister. 

"I can't help feelin' sorry, " sez Mose, "that I ain't goin' to hev thepleasure uv readin' what Bill Newton sez about me in the paper. I knowit'll be sumthin' uncommon fine; I loant him two dollars a year ago lastfall. "

The Higginses lost a darned good friend when Bill died. Bill wrote a pome'bout their old dog Towze when he wuz run over by Watkins's hay-wagonseven years ago. I'll bet that pome is in every scrap-book in the county. You couldn't read that pome without cryin', --why, that pome w'u'd hevbrought a dew out on the desert uv Sary. Old Tim Hubbard, the meanest manin the State, borrered a paper to read the pome, and he wuz so 'fected byit that he never borrered anuther paper as long as he lived. I don'tmore'n half reckon, though, that the Higginses appreciated what Bill haddone for 'em. I never heerd uv their givin' him anythink more'n a basketuv greenin' apples, and Bill wrote a piece 'bout the apples nex' day. 

But Bill wuz at his best when he wrote things about the children, --aboutthe little ones that died, I mean. Seemed like Bill had a way of his ownof sayin' things that wuz beautiful 'nd tender; he said he loved thechildren because they wuz innocent, and I reckon--yes, I know he did, forthe pomes he writ about 'em showed he did. 

When our little Alice died I started out for Mr. Miller's; he wuz theundertaker. The night wuz powerful dark, 'nd it wuz all the darker to me, because seemed like all the light hed gone out in my life. Down near thebridge I met Bill; he weaved round in the road, for he wuz in likker. 

"Hello, Mr. Baker, " sez he, "whar be you goin' this time o' night?"

"Bill, " sez I, "I'm goin' on the saddest errand uv my life. "

"What d' ye mean?" sez he, comin' up to me as straight as he c'u'd. 

"Why, Bill, " sez I, "our little girl--my little girl--Allie, youknow--she's dead. "

I hoarsed up so I couldn't say much more. And Bill didn't say nothink atall; he jest reached me his hand, and he took my hand and seemed like inthat grasp his heart spoke many words of comfort to mine. And nex' day hehad a piece in the paper about our little girl; we cut it out and put itin the big Bible in the front room. Sometimes when we get to fussin', Martha goes 'nd gets that bit of paper 'nd reads it to me; then us twokind uv cry to ourselves, 'nd we make it up between us for the deadchild's sake. 

Well, you kin see how it wuz that so many uv us liked Bill; he had soothedour hearts, --there's nothin' like sympathy after all. Bill's po'try hedheart in it; it didn't surprise you or scare you; it jest got down inunder your vest, 'nd before you knew it you wuz all choked up. I know allabout your fashionable po'try and your famous potes, --Martha took Godey'sfor a year. Folks that live in the city can't write po'try, --not the real, genuine article. To write po'try, as I figure it, the heart must havesomethin' to feed on; you can't get that somethin' whar there ain't trees'nd grass 'nd birds 'nd flowers. Bill loved these things, and he fed hisheart on 'em, and that's why his po'try wuz so much better than anybodyelse's. 

I ain't worryin' much about Bill now; I take it that everythink is for thebest. When they told me that Bill died in a drunken fit I felt that hisend oughter have come some other way, --he wuz too good a man for that. Butmaybe, after all, it was ordered for the best. Jist imagine Billa-standin' up for jedgment; jist imagine that poor, sorrowful, shiverin'critter waitin' for his turn to come. Pictur', if you can, how full ofpenitence he is, 'nd how full uv po'try 'nd gentleness 'nd misery. TheLord ain't a-goin' to be too hard on that poor wretch. Of course we can'tcomprehend Divine mercy; we only know that it is full of compassion, --acompassion infinitely tenderer and sweeter than ours. And the more I thinkon 't, the more I reckon that Bill will plead to win that mercy, for, likeas not, the little ones--my Allie with the rest--will run to him when theysee him in his trubble and will hold his tremblin' hands 'nd twine theirarms about him, and plead, with him, for compassion. 

You've seen an old sycamore that the lightnin' has struck; the ivy hasreached up its vines 'nd spread 'em all around it 'nd over it, coverin'its scars 'nd splintered branches with a velvet green 'nd fillin' the airwith fragrance. You've seen this thing and you know that it is beautiful. 

That's Bill, perhaps, as he stands up f'r jedgment, --a miserable, tremblin', 'nd unworthy thing, perhaps, but twined about, all over, withsingin' and pleadin' little children--and that is pleasin' in God's sight, I know. 

What would you--what would _I_--say, if we wuz settin' in jedgmentthen?

Why, we'd jest kind uv bresh the moisture from our eyes 'nd say: "Misterrecordin' angel, you may nolly pros this case 'nd perseed with thedocket. "

1888. 

+THE LITTLE YALLER BABY+

THE LITTLE YALLER BABY

I hev allus hed a good opinion uv the wimmin folks. I don't look at 'em assome people do; uv course they're a necessity--just as men are. Uv courseif there warn't no wimmin folks there wouldn't be no men folks--leastwisethat's what the medikil books say. But I never wuz much on discussin'humin economy; what I hev allus thought 'nd said wuz that wimmin folks wuza kind uv luxury, 'nd the best kind, too. Maybe it's because I hain't hedmuch to do with 'em that I'm sot on 'em. Never did get real wellacquainted with more'n three or four uv 'em in all my life; seemed like itwuz meant that I shouldn't hev 'em round me as most men hev. Mother diedwhen I wuz a little tyke, an' Aunt Mary raised me till I wuz big enuff tomake my own livin'. Down here in the Southwest, you see, most uv the girlsis boys; there ain't none uv them civilizin' influences folks talkuv, --nothin' but flowers 'nd birds 'nd such things as poetry tells about. So I kind uv growed up with the curi's notion that wimmin folks wuz toogood for our part uv the country, 'nd I hevn't quite got that notion out'nmy head yet. 

One time--wall, I reckon 't wuz about four years ago--I got a letter frumol' Col. Sibley to come up to Saint Louey 'nd consult with him 'bout somestock int'rests we hed together. Railroad travellin' wuz no new thing tome. I hed been prutty prosperous, --hed got past hevin' to ride in acaboose 'nd git out at every stop to punch up the steers. Hed money in theHoost'n bank 'nd used to go to Tchicargo oncet a year; hed met Fill Armer'nd shook hands with him, 'nd oncet the city papers hed a colume articleabout my bein' a millionnaire; uv course 't warn't so, but a feller kinduv likes that sort uv thing, you know. 

The mornin' after I got that letter from Col. Sibley I started for SaintLouey. I took a bunk in the Pullman car, like I hed been doin' for sixyears past; 'nd I reckon the other folks must hev thought I wuz a heap uva man, for every haff-hour I give the nigger ha'f a dollar to bresh meoff. The car wuz full uv people, --rich people, too, I reckon, for theywore good clo'es 'nd criticized the scenery. Jest across frum me there wuza lady with a big, fat baby, --the pruttiest woman I hed seen in a month uvSundays; and the baby! why, doggone my skin, when I wuzn't payin' money tothe nigger, darned if I didn't set there watchin' the big, fat littlecuss, like he wuz the only baby I ever seen. I ain't much of a hand atbabies, 'cause I hain't seen many uv 'em, 'nd when it comes to handlin''em--why, that would break me all up, 'nd like 's not 't would break thebaby all up too. But it has allus been my notion that nex' to the wimminfolks babies wuz jest about the nicest things on earth. So the more Ilooked at that big, fat little baby settin' in its mother's lap 'cross theway, the more I wanted to look; seemed like I wuz hoodooed by the littletyke; 'nd the first thing I knew there wuz water in my eyes; don't knowwhy it is, but it allus makes me kind ur slop over to set 'nd watch a babycooin' 'nd playin' in its mother's lap. 

"Look a' hyar, Sam, " says I to the nigger, "come hyar 'nd bresh me offag'in! Why ain't you 'tendin' to bizness?"

But it didn't do no good 't all; pertendin' to be cross with the niggermight fool the other folks in the car, but it didn't fool me. I wuz deadstuck on that baby--gol durn his pictur'! And there the little tyke set inits mother's lap, doublin' up its fists 'nd tryin' to swaller 'em, 'ndtalkin' like to its mother in a lingo I couldn't understan', but which themother could, for she talked back to the baby in a soothin' lingo which Icouldn't understand, but which I liked to hear, 'nd she kissed the baby'nd stroked its hair 'nd petted it like wimmin do. 

It made me mad to hear them other folks in the car criticizin' the scenery'nd things. A man's in mighty poor bizness, anyhow, to be lookin' atscenery when there's a woman in sight, --a woman _and_ a baby!

Prutty soon--oh, maybe in a hour or two--the baby began to fret 'ndworrit. Seemed to me like the little critter wuz hungry. Knowin' thatthere wuz no eatin'-house this side of Bowieville, I jest called thetrain-boy, 'nd says I to him: "Hev you got any victuals that will do for ababy?"

"How is oranges 'nd bananas?" says he. 

"That ought to do, " says I. "Jist do up a dozen uv your best oranges 'nd adozen uv your best bananas 'nd take 'em over to that baby with mycomplerments. "

But before he could do it, the lady hed laid the baby on one uv her arms'nd hed spread a shawl over its head 'nd over her shoulder, 'nd all uv asuddint the baby quit worritin' and seemed like he hed gone to sleep. 

When we got to York Crossin' I looked out'n the winder 'nd seen some mencarryin' a long pine box up towards the baggage-car. Seein' their hatsoff, I knew there wuz a dead body in the box, 'nd I couldn't help feelin'sorry for the poor creetur that hed died in that lonely place uv YorkCrossin'; but I mought hev felt a heap sorrier for the creeters that hedto live there, for I'll allow that York Crossin' is a _leetle_ thedurnedest lonesomest place I ever seen. 

Well, just afore the train started ag'in, who should come into the car butBill Woodson, and he wuz lookin' powerful tough. Bill herded cattle for methree winters, but hed moved away when he married one uv the waiter-girlsat Spooner's Hotel at Hoost'n. 

"Hello, Bill, " says I; "what air you totin' so kind uv keerful-like inyour arms there?"

"Why, I've got the baby, " says he; 'nd as he said it the tears come upinto his eyes. 

"Your own baby, Bill?" says I. 

"Yes, " says he. "Nellie took sick uv the janders a fortnight ago, 'nd--'ndshe died, 'nd I'm takin' her body up to Texarkany to bury. She livedthere, you know, 'nd I'm goin' to leave the baby there with its gran'ma. "

Poor Bill! it wuz his wife that the men were carryin' in that pine box tothe baggage-car. 

"Likely-lookin'baby, Bill, " says I, cheerful like. "Perfect pictur' uv itsmother; kind uv favors you round the lower part uv the face, tho'. "

I said this to make Bill feel happier. If I'd told the truth, I'd 've saidthe baby wuz a sickly, yaller-lookin' little thing, for so it wuz; lookedhaff-starved, too. Couldn't help comparin' it with that big, fat baby inits mother's arms over the way. 

"Bill, " says I, "here's a ten-dollar note for the baby, 'nd God blessyou!"

"Thank ye, Mr. Goodhue, " says he, 'nd he choked all up as he moved offwith that yaller little baby in his arms. It warn't very fur up the roadhe wuz goin', 'nd he found a seat in one uv the front cars. 

But along about an hour after that back come Bill, moseyin' through thecar like he wuz huntin' for somebody. Seemed like he wuz in trubble andwuz huntin' for a friend. 

"Anything I kin do for you, Bill?" says I, but he didn't make no answer. All uv a suddint he sot his eyes on the prutty lady that had the fat babysleepin' in her arms, 'nd he made a break for her like he wuz crazy. Hetook off his hat 'nd bent down over her 'nd said somethin' none uv therest uv us could hear. The lady kind uv started like she wuz frightened, 'nd then she looked up at Bill 'nd looked him right square in thecountenance. She saw a tall, ganglin', awkward man, with long yaller hair'nd frowzy beard, 'nd she saw that he wuz tremblin' 'nd hed tears in hiseyes. She looked down at the fat baby in her arms, 'nd then she lookedout'n the winder at the great stretch uv prairie land, 'nd seemed like shewuz lookin' off further 'n the rest uv us could see. Then at last sheturnt around 'nd said, "Yes, " to Bill, 'nd Bill went off into the frontcar ag'in. 

None uv the rest uv us knew what all this meant, but in a minnit Bill comeback with his little yaller baby in his arms, 'nd you never heerd a babysquall 'nd carry on like that baby wuz squallin' 'nd carryin' on. Fact is, the little yaller baby wuz hungry, hungrier 'n a wolf, 'nd there wuz itsmother dead in the car up ahead 'nd its gran'ma a good piece up the road. What did the lady over the way do but lay her own sleepin' baby down onthe seat beside her 'nd take Bill's little yaller baby 'nd hold it on onearm 'nd cover up its head 'nd her shoulder with a shawl, jist like she haddone with the fat baby not long afore. Bill never looked at her; he tookoff his hat and held it in his hand, 'nd turnt around 'nd stood guard overthat mother, 'nd I reckon that ef any man bed darst to look that way jistthen Bill would 've cut his heart out. 

The little yaller baby didn't cry very long. Seemed like it knowed therewuz a mother holdin' it, --not its own mother, but a woman whose life hedbeen hallowed by God's blessin' with the love 'nd the purity 'nd thesanctity uv motherhood. 

Why, I wouldn't hev swapped that sight uv Bill an' them two babies 'ndthat sweet woman for all the cattle in Texas! It jest made me know thatwhat I'd allus thought uv wimmin was gospel truth. God bless that lady! Isay, wherever she is to-day, 'nd God bless all wimmin folks, for they'reall alike in their unselfishness 'nd gentleness 'nd love!

Bill said, "God bless ye!" too, when she handed him back his poor littleyaller baby. The little creeter wuz fast asleep, 'nd Bill darsent speakvery loud for fear he'd wake it up. But his heart wuz 'way up in his mouthwhen he says "God bless ye!" to that dear lady; 'nd then he added, like hewanted to let her know that he meant to pay her back when he could: "I'lldo the same for you some time, marm, if I kin. "

1888. 

+THE CYCLOPEEDY+

THE CYCLOPEEDY

Havin' lived next door to the Hobart place f'r goin' on thirty years, Icalc'late that I know jest about ez much about the case ez anybody elsenow on airth, exceptin' perhaps it's ol' Jedge Baker, and he's so plaguyold 'nd so powerful feeble that _he_ don't know nothin'. 

It seems that in the spring uv '47--the year that Cy Watson's oldest boywuz drownded in West River--there come along a book-agent sellin' volyumes'nd tracks f'r the diffusion uv knowledge, 'nd havin' got the recommend ofthe minister 'nd uv the selectmen, he done an all-fired big business inour part uv the county. His name wuz Lemuel Higgins, 'nd he wuz ez likelya talker ez I ever heerd, barrin' Lawyer Conkey, 'nd everybody allowedthat when Conkey wuz round he talked so fast that the town pump 'u'd haveto be greased every twenty minutes. 

One of the first uv our folks that this Lemuel Higgins struck wuz LeanderHobart. Leander had jest marr'd one uv the Peasley girls, 'nd had movedinto the old homestead on the Plainville road, --old Deacon Hobart havin'give up the place to him, the other boys havin' moved out West (like a loto' darned fools that they wuz!). Leander wuz feelin' his oats jest aboutthis time, 'nd nuthin' wuz too good f'r him. 

"Hattie, " sez he, "I guess I'll have to lay in a few books f'r readin' inthe winter time, 'nd I've half a notion to subscribe f'r a cyclopeedy. Mr. Higgins here says they're invalerable in a family, and that we orter have'em, bein' as how we're likely to have the fam'ly bime by. "

"Lor's sakes, Leander, how you talk!" sez Hattie, blushin' all over, ezbrides allers does to heern tell uv sich things. 

Waal, to make a long story short, Leander bargained with Mr. Higgins for aset uv them cyclopeedies, 'nd he signed his name to a long printed paperthat showed how he agreed to take a cyclopeedy oncet in so often, whichwuz to be ez often ez a new one uv the volyumes wuz printed. A cyclopeedyisn't printed all at oncet, because that would make it cost too much;consekently the man that gets it up has it strung along fur apart, so asto hit folks oncet every year or two, and gin'rally about harvest time. SoLeander kind uv liked the idee, and he signed the printed paper 'nd madehis affidavit to it afore Jedge Warner. 

The fust volyume of the cyclopeedy stood on a shelf in the old seckertaryin the settin'-room about four months before they had any use f'r it. Onenight Squire Turner's son come over to visit Leander 'nd Hattie, and theygot to talkin' about apples, 'nd the sort uv apples that wuz the best. Leander allowed that the Rhode Island greenin' wuz the best, but Hattieand the Turner boy stuck up f'r the Roxbury russet, until at last a happyidee struck Leander, and sez he: "We'll leave it to the cyclopeedy, b'gosh! Whichever one the cyclopeedy sez is the best will settle it. "

"But you can't find out nothin' 'bout Roxbury russets nor Rhode Islandgreenin's in _our_ cyclopeedy, " sez Hattie. 

"Why not, I'd like to know?" sez Leander, kind uv indignant like. 

"'Cause ours hain't got down to the R yet, " sez Hattie. "All ours tellsabout is things beginnin' with A. "

"Well, ain't we talkin' about Apples?" sez Leander. "You aggervate meterrible, Hattie, by insistin' on knowin' what you don't know nothin''bout. "

Leander went to the seckertary 'nd took down the cyclopeedy 'nd hunted allthrough it f'r Apples, but all he could find wuz "Apple--See Pomology. "

"How in thunder kin I see Pomology, " sez Leander, "when there ain't noPomology to see? Gol durn a cyclopeedy, anyhow!"

And he put the volyume back onto the shelf 'nd never sot eyes into itag'in. 

That's the way the thing run f'r years 'nd years. Leander would 've gin upthe plaguy bargain, but he couldn't; he had signed a printed paper 'nd hadswore to it afore a justice of the peace. Higgins would have had the lawon him if he had throwed up the trade. 

The most aggervatin' feature uv it all wuz that a new one uv them cussidcyclopeedies wuz allus sure to show up at the wrong time, --when Leanderwuz hard up or had jest been afflicted some way or other. His barn burntdown two nights afore the volyume containin' the letter B arrived, andLeander needed all his chink to pay f'r lumber, but Higgins sot back onthat affidavit and defied the life out uv him. 

"Never mind, Leander, " sez his wife, soothin' like, "it's a good book tohave in the house, anyhow, now that we've got a baby. "

"That's so, " sez Leander, "babies does begin with B, don't it?"

You see their fust baby had been born; they named him Peasley, --PeasleyHobart, --after Hattie's folks. So, seein' as how it wuz payin' f'r a bookthat told about babies, Leander didn't begredge that five dollars so verymuch after all. 

"Leander, " sez Hattie one forenoon, "that B cyclopeedy ain't no account. There ain't nothin' in it about babies except 'See Maternity'!"

"Waal, I'll be gosh durned!" sez Leander. That wuz all he said, and hecouldn't do nothin' at all, f'r that book-agent, Lemuel Higgins, had thedead wood on him, --the mean, sneakin' critter!

So the years passed on, one of them cyclopeedies showin' up now 'ndthen, --sometimes every two years 'nd sometimes every four, but allus at atime when Leander found it pesky hard to give up a fiver. It warn't no usecussin' Higgins; Higgins just laffed when Leander allowed that thecyclopeedy was no good 'nd that he wuz bein' robbed. Meantime Leander'sfamily wuz increasin' and growin'. Little Sarey had the hoopin' coughdreadful one winter, but the cyclopeedy didn't help out at all, 'cause allit said wuz: "Hoopin' Cough--See Whoopin' Cough"--and uv course therewarn't no Whoopin' Cough to see, bein' as how the W hadn't come yet!

Oncet when Hiram wanted to dreen the home pasture, he went to thecyclopeedy to find out about it, but all he diskivered wuz:

"Drain--See Tile. " This wuz in 1859, and the cyclopeedy had only got downto G. 

The cow wuz sick with lung fever one spell, and Leander laid her dyin' tothat cussid cyclopeedy, 'cause when he went to readin' 'bout cows it toldhim to "See Zoology. "

But what's the use uv harrowin' up one's feelin's talkin' 'nd thinkin'about these things? Leander got so after a while that the cyclopeedydidn't worry him at all: he grew to look at it ez one uv the crosses thathuman critters has to bear without complainin' through this vale uv tears. The only thing that bothered him wuz the fear that mebbe he wouldn't liveto see the last volyume, --to tell the truth, this kind uv got to be hishobby, and I've heern him talk 'bout it many a time settin' round thestove at the tarvern 'nd squirtin' tobacco juice at the sawdust box. Hiswife, Hattie, passed away with the yaller janders the winter W come, andall that seemed to reconcile Leander to survivin' her wuz the prospect uvseein' the last volyume of that cyclopeedy. Lemuel Higgins, thebook-agent, had gone to his everlastin' punishment; but his son, Hiram, had succeeded to his father's business 'nd continued to visit the folkshis old man had roped in. By this time Leander's children had growed up;all on 'em wuz marr'd, and there wuz numeris grandchildren to amuse theol' gentleman. But Leander wuzn't to be satisfied with the common thingsuv airth; he didn't seem to take no pleasure in his grandchildren likemost men do; his mind wuz allers sot on somethin' else, --for hours 'ndhours, yes, all day long, he'd set out on the front stoop lookin'wistfully up the road for that book-agent to come along with a cyclopeedy. He didn't want to die till he'd got all the cyclopeedies his contractcalled for; he wanted to have everything straightened out before he passedaway. When--oh, how well I recollect it--when Y come along he wuz soovercome that he fell over in a fit uv paralysis, 'nd the old gentlemannever got over it. For the next three years he drooped 'nd pined, andseemed like he couldn't hold out much longer. Finally he had to take tohis bed, --he was so old 'nd feeble, --but he made 'em move the bed upag'inst the winder so he could watch for that last volyume of thecyclopeedy. 

The end come one balmy day in the spring uv '87. His life wuz a-ebbin'powerful fast; the minister wuz there, 'nd me, 'nd Dock Wilson, 'nd JedgeBaker, 'nd most uv the fam'ly. Lovin' hands smoothed the wrinkled forehead'nd breshed back the long, scant, white hair, but the eyes of the dyin'man wuz sot upon that piece uv road down which the cyclopeedy man alluscome. 

All to oncet a bright 'nd joyful look come into them eyes, 'nd ol' Leanderriz up in bed 'nd sez, "It's come!"

"What is it, Father?" asked his daughter Sarey, sobbin' like. 

"Hush, " says the minister, solemnly; "he sees the shinin' gates uv the NooJerusalum. "

"No, no, " cried the aged man; "it is the cyclopeedy--the letter Z--it'scomin'!"

And, sure enough! the door opened, and in walked Higgins. He totteredrather than walked, f'r he had growed old 'nd feeble in his wickedperfession. 

"Here's the Z cyclopeedy, Mr. Hobart, " sez Higgins. 

Leander clutched it; he hugged it to his pantin' bosom; then stealin' onepale hand under the piller he drew out a faded banknote 'nd gave it toHiggins. 

"I thank Thee for this boon, " sez Leander, rollin' his eyes up devoutly;then he gave a deep sigh. 

"Hold on, " cried Higgins, excitedly, "you've made a mistake--it isn't thelast--"

But Leander didn't hear him--his soul hed fled from its mortal tenement'nd hed soared rejoicin' to realms uv everlastin' bliss. 

"He is no more, " sez Dock Wilson, metaphorically. 

"Then who are his heirs?" asked that mean critter Higgins. 

"We be, " sez the family. 

"Do you conjointly and severally acknowledge and assume the obligation ofdeceased to me?" he asked 'em. 

"What obligation?" asked Peasley Hobart, stern like. 

"Deceased died owin' me f'r a cyclopeedy!" sez Higgins. 

"That's a lie!" sez Peasley. "We all seen him pay you for the Z!"

"But there's another one to come, " sez Higgins. 

"Another?" they all asked. 

"Yes, the index!" sez he. 

So there wuz, and I'll be eternally gol durned if he ain't a-suin' theestate in the probate court now f'r the price uv it!

1889

+DOCK STEBBINS+

DOCK STEBBINS

Most everybody liked Dock Stebbins, fur all he wuz the durnedest critterthat ever lived to play jokes on folks! Seems like he wuz born jokin' 'ndkep' it up all his life. Ol' Mrs. Stebbins used to tell how when the Dockwuz a baby he used to wake her up haff a dozen times uv a night cryin'like he wuz hungry, 'nd when she turnt over in bed to him he w'u'd laff'nd coo like he wuz sayin', "No, thank ye--I wuz only foolin'!"

His mother allus thought a heap uv the Dock, 'nd she allus put up with hisjokes 'nd things without grumblin'; said it warn't his fault that he wuzso full uv tricks 'nd funny business; kind uv took the responsibility uvit onto herself, because, as she allowed, she'd been to a circus jestafore he wuz born. 

Nothin' tickled the Dock more 'n to worry folks, --not in a mean way, butjest to sort uv bother 'em. Used to hang round the post-office 'nd pertendto have fits, --sakes alive! but how that scared the wimmin folks. One daywho should come along but ol' Sue Perkins; Sue wuz suspicioned uv takin' anip uv likker on the quiet now 'nd then, but nobody had ever ketched herat it. Wall, the Dock he had one uv his fits jest as Sue hove in sight, 'nd Lem Thompson (who stood in with Dock in all his deviltry) leant overDock while he wuz wallerin' 'nd pertendin' to foam at the mouth, and Lemcried out: "Nothink will fetch him out'n this turn but a drink uv brandy. "Sue, who wuz as kind-hearted a' old maid as ever super'ntended astrawbeiry festival, whipped a bottle out'n her bag 'nd says: "Here yoube, Lem, but don't let him swaller the bottle. " Folks bothered Sue a heap'bout this joke till she moved down into Texas to teach school. 

Dock had a piece uv wood 'bout two inches long, --maybe three: it wuz black'nd stubby 'nd looked jest like the butt uv a cigar. Nobody but Dock w'u'dever hev thought uv sech a fool thing, but Dock used to go round with thatthing in his mouth like it wuz a cigar, and when he 'd meet a man who wuzsmokin' he'd say: "Excuse me, but will you please to gimme a light?" Thenthe man w'u'd hand over his cigar, and Dock w'u'd plough that wood stub uvhis'n around in the lighted cigar and would pertend to puff away till hehad put the real cigar out, 'nd then Dock w'u'd hand the cigar back, sayin', kind uv regretful like: "You don't seem to have much uv a lightthere; I reckon I'll wait till I kin git a match. " You kin imagine howthat other feller's cigar tasted when he lighted it ag'in. Dock tried iton me oncet, 'nd when I lighted up ag'in seemed like I wuz smokin' a pieceuv rope or a liver-pad. 

One time Dock 'nd Lem Thompson went over to Peory on the railroad, 'ndwhile they wuz settm' in the car in come two wimmin 'nd set in the seatahead uv 'em. All uv a suddint Dock nudged Lem 'nd says, jest loud enufffur the wimmin to hear: "I didn't git round till after it wuz over, but Inever see sech a sight as that baby's ear wuz. "

Lem wuz onto Dock's methods, 'nd he knew there wuz sumthin' ahead. So hesays: "Tough-lookin' ear, wuz it?"

"Wall, I should remark, " says Dock. "You see it wuz like this: the motherhad gone out into the back yard to hang some clo'es onto the line, 'nd shelaid the baby down in the crib. Baby wa'n't more 'n six weeksold, --helpless little critter as ever you seen. Wall, all to oncet themother heerd the baby cryin', but bein' busy with them clo'es she didn'tmind much. The baby kep' cryin' 'nd cryin', 'nd at last the mother comeback into the house, 'nd there she found a big rat gnawin' at one uv thebaby's ears, --had e't it nearly off! There lay that helpless littleinnocent, cryin' 'nd writhin', 'nd there sat that rat with his long tail, nippin' 'nd chewin' at one uv them tiny coral ears--oh, it wuz offul!"

"Jest imagine the feelinks uv the mother!" says Lem, sad like. 

"Jest imagine the feelinks uv the _baby_, " says Dock. "How'd you liketo be lyin' helpless in a crib with a big rat gnawin' your ear?"

Wall, all this conversation wuz fur from pleasant to those two wimmin inthe front seat, fur wimmin love babies 'nd hate rats, you know. It wuznuts fur Dock 'nd Lem to see the two wimmin squirm, 'nd all the way toPeory they didn't talk about nuthink but snakes 'nd spiders 'nd mice 'ndcaterpillers. When the train got to Peory a gentleman met the two wimmin'nd says to one uv 'em: "I'm 'feered the trip hain't done you much good, Lizzie, " says he. "Sakes alive, John, " says she, "it's a wonder we hain'tdead, for we've been travellin' forty miles with a real live Beadle dimenovvell!"

'Nuther trick Dock had wuz to walk 'long the street behind wimmin 'nd tellabout how his sister had jest lost one uv her diamond earrings while outwalkin'. Jest as soon as the wimmin heerd this they'd clap their han's upto their ears to see if their earrings wuz all right. Dock never laffednor let on like he wuz jokin', but jest the same this sort uv thingtickled him nearly to de'th. 

Dock went up to Chicago with Jedge Craig oncet, 'nd when they come backthe jedge said he'd never had such an offul time in all his born days. Said that Dock bought a fool Mother Goose book to read in the hoss-carsjest to queer folks; would set in a hoss-car lookin' at the pictur's 'ndreadin' the verses 'nd laffin' like it wuz all new to him 'nd like he wuza child. Everybody sized him up for a' eject, 'nd the wimmin folks shooktheir heads 'nd said it was orful fur so fine a lookin' feller to be sucha torn fool. 'Nuther thing Dock did wuz to git hold uv a bad quarter 'ndgive it to a beggar, 'nd then foller the beggar into a saloon 'nd git himarrested for tryin' to pass counterf'it money. I reckon that if Dock hadstayed in Chicago a week he'd have had everybody crazy. 

No, I don't know how he come to be a medikil man. He told me oncet thatwhen he found out that he wuzn't good for anythink he concluded he'd be adoctor; but I reckon that wuz one uv his jokes. He didn't have much uv apractice: he wuz too yumorous to suit most invalids 'nd sick folks. We hadhim tend our boy Sam jest oncet when Sam wuz comin' down with the measles. He looked at Sam's tongue 'nd felt his pulse 'nd said he'd leave a pillfor Sam to take afore goin' to bed. 

"How shell we administer the pill?" asked my wife. 

"Wall, " says Dock, "the best way to do is to git the boy down on the floor'nd hold his mouth open 'nd gag him till he swallers the pill. After thepill gits into his system it will explode in about ten minnits, 'nd thenthe boy will feel better. "

This wuz cheerful news for the boy. No human power c'u'd ha' got that pillinto Sam. We never solicited Dock's perfeshional services ag'in. 

One time Dock 'nd Lem Thompson drove over to Knoxville to help DockParsons cut a man's leg off. About four miles out uv town 'nd right in themiddle uv the hot peraroor they met Moses Baker's oldest boy trudgin'along with a basket uv eggs. The Dock whoaed his hoss 'nd called to theboy, --

"Where be you goin' with them eggs?" says he. 

"Goin' to town to sell 'em, " says the boy. 

"How much a dozen?" asked the Dock. 

"'Bout ten cents, I reckon, " says the boy. 

"Putty likely-lookin' eggs, " says the Dock; 'nd he handed the lines overto Lem, 'nd got out'n the buggy. 

"How many hev you got?" he asked. 

"Ten dozen, " says the boy. 

"Git out!" says Dock. "There hain't no ten dozen eggs in that basket!"

"Yes, there is, " says the boy, "fur I counted 'em myself. "

The Dock allowed that he wuzn't goin' to take nobody's count on eggs; sohe got that fool boy to stan' there in the middle uv that hot peraroor, claspin' his two hands together, while he, the Dock, counted them eggsout'n the basket one by one into the boy's arms. Ten dozen eggs is a heap;you kin imagine, maybe, how that boy looked with his arms full uv eggs!When the Dock had got about nine dozen counted out he stopped all uv asuddint 'nd said, "Wall, come to think on 't, I reckon I don't want noeggs to-day, but I'm jest as much obleeged to you fur yer trubble. " And sohe jumped back into the buggy 'nd drove off. 

Now, maybe that fool boy wuzn't in a peck uv trubble! There he stood inthe middle uv that hot--that all-fired hot--peraroor with his arms full uveggs. What wuz there fur him to do? He wuz afraid to move, lest he shouldbreak them eggs; yet the longer he stood there the less chance there wuzuv the warm weather improvin' the eggs. 

Along in the summer of '78 the fever broke out down South, 'nd one dayDock made up his mind that as bizness wuzn't none too good at home he'd godown South 'nd see what he could do there. That wuz jest like one ofDock's fool notions, we all said. But he went. In about six weeks alongcome a telegraph sayin' that Dock wuz dead, --he'd died uv the fever. Theminister went up to the homestead 'nd broke the news gentle like to Dock'smother; but, bless you! she didn't believe it--she wouldn't believe it. She said it wuz one uv Dock's jokes; she didn't blame him, nuther--it wuz_her_ fault, she allowed, that Dock wuz allus that way about makin'fun uv life 'nd death. No, sir; she never believed that Dock wuz dead, butshe allus talked like he might come in any minnit; and there wuz allus hisold place set fur him at the table 'nd nuthin' wuz disturbed in his littleroom up-stairs. And so five years slipped by 'nd no Dock come back, 'ndthere wuz no tidin's uv him. Uv course, the rest uv us knew; but hismother--oh, no, _she_ never would believe it. 

At last the old lady fell sick, and the doctor said she couldn't hold outlong, she wuz so old 'nd feeble. The minister who wuz there said that sheseemed to sleep from the evenin' uv this life into the mornin' uv thenext. Jest afore the last she kind uv raised up in bed and cried out likeshe saw sumthin' that she loved, and she held out her arms like there wuzsome one standin' in the doorway. Then they asked her what the matter wuz, and she says, joyful like: "He's come back, and there he stan's jest as heused ter: I knew he wuz only jokin'!"

They looked, but they saw nuthin'; 'nd when they went to her she wuz dead. 

1888. 

+THE FAIRIES OF PESTH+

THE FAIRIES OF PESTH [1]

An old poet walked alone in a quiet valley. His heart was heavy, and thevoices of Nature consoled him. His life had been a lonely and sad one. Many years ago a great grief fell upon him, and it took away all his joyand all his ambition. It was because he brooded over his sorrow, andbecause he was always faithful to a memory, that the townspeople deemedhim a strange old poet; but they loved him and they loved his songs, --inhis life and in his songs there was a gentleness, a sweetness, a pathosthat touched every heart. "The strange, the dear old poet, " they calledhim. 

Evening was coming on. The birds made no noise; only the whip-poor-willrepeated over and over again its melancholy refrain in the marsh beyondthe meadow. The brook ran slowly, and its voice was so hushed and tinythat you might have thought that it was saying its prayers before going tobed. 

The old poet came to the three lindens. This was a spot he loved, it wasso far from the noise of the town. The grass under the lindens was freshand velvety. The air was full of fragrance, for here amid the grass grewviolets and daisies and buttercups and other modest wild-flowers. Underthe lindens stood old Leeza, the witchwife. 

"Take this, " said the poet to old Leeza, the witchwife; and he gave her asilver piece. 

"You are good to me, master poet, " said the witchwife. "You have alwaysbeen good to me. I do not forget, master poet, I do not forget. "

"Why do you speak so strangely?" asked the old poet. "You mean more thanyou say. Do not jest with me; my heart is heavy with sorrow. "

"I do not jest, " answered the witchwife. "I will show you a strange thing. Do as I bid you; tarry here under the lindens, and when the moon rises, the Seven Crickets will chirp thrice; then the Raven will fly into thewest, and you will see wonderful things, and beautiful things you willhear. "

Saying this much, old Leeza, the witch-wife, stole away, and the poetmarvelled at her words. He had heard the townspeople say that old Leezawas full of dark thoughts and of evil deeds, but he did not heed thesestories. 

"They say the same of me, perhaps, " he thought. "I will tarry here beneaththe three lindens and see what may come of this whereof the witch wifespake. "

The old poet sat amid the grass at the foot of the three lindens, anddarkness fell around him. He could see the lights in the town away off;they twinkled like the stars that studded the sky. The whip-poor-will toldhis story over and over again in the marsh beyond the meadow, and thebrook tossed and talked in its sleep, for it had played too hard that day. 

"The moon is rising, " said the old poet. "Now we shall see. "

The moon peeped over the tops of the far-off hills. She wondered whetherthe world was fast asleep. She peeped again. There could be no doubt; theworld was fast asleep, --at least so thought the dear old moon. So shestepped boldly up from behind the distant hills. The stars were glad thatshe came, for she was indeed a merry old moon. 

The Seven Crickets lived in the hedge. They were brothers, and they madefamous music. When they saw the moon in the sky they sang "chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp, " three times, just as old Leeza, the witchwife, said they would. 

"Whir-r-r!" It was the Raven flying out of the oak-tree into the west. This, too, was what the old witchwife had foretold. "Whir-r-r" went thetwo black wings, and then it seemed as if the Raven melted into the night. Now, this was strange enough, but what followed was stranger still. 

Hardly had the Raven flown away, when out from their habitations in themoss, the flowers, and the grass trooped a legion of fairies, --yes, rightthere before the old poet's eyes appeared, as if by magic, a mighty troopof the dearest little fays in all the world. 

Each of these fairies was about the height of a cambric needle. The ladyfairies were, of course, not so tall as the gentleman fairies, but allwere of quite as comely figure as you could expect to find even among realfolk. They were quaintly dressed; the ladies wearing quilted silk gownsand broadbrim hats with tiny feathers in them, and the gentlemen wearingcurious little knickerbockers, with silk coats, white hose, ruffledshirts, and dainty cocked hats. 

"If the witchwife had not foretold it I should say that I dreamed, "thought the old poet. But he was not frightened. He had never harmed thefairies, therefore he feared no evil from them. 

One of the fairies was taller than the rest, and she was much more richlyattired. It was not her crown alone that showed her to be the queen. Theothers made obeisance to her as she passed through the midst of them fromher home in the bunch of red clover. Four dainty pages preceded her, carrying a silver web which had been spun by a black-and-yellow gardenspider of great renown. This silver web the four pages spread carefullyover a violet leaf, and thereupon the queen sat down. And when she wasseated the queen sang this little song:

 "From the land of murk and mist Fairy folk are coming To the mead the dew has kissed, And they dance where'er they list To the cricket's thrumming. 

 "Circling here and circling there, Light as thought and free as air, Hear them ciy, 'Oho, oho, ' As they round the rosey go. 

 "Appleblossom, Summerdew, Thistleblow, and Ganderfeather! Join the airy fairy crew Dancing on the swaid together! Till the cock on yonder steeple Gives all faery lusty warning, Sing and dance, my little people, -- Dance and sing 'Oho' till morning!"

The four little fairies the queen called to must have been loitering. Butnow they came scampering up, --Ganderfeather behind the others, for he wasa very fat and presumably a very lazy little fairy. 

"The elves will be here presently, " said the queen, "and then, littlefolk, you shall dance to your heart's content. Dance your prettiestto-night, for the good old poet is watching you. "

"Ah, little queen, " cried the old poet, "you see me, then? I thought towatch your revels unbeknown to you. But I meant you no disrespect, --indeed, I meant you none, for surely no one ever loved the little folkmore than I. "

"We know you love us, good old poet, " said the little fairy queen, "andthis night shall give you great joy and bring you into wondrous fame. "

These were words of which the old poet knew not the meaning; but we, wholive these many years after he has fallen asleep, --we know the meaning ofthem. 

Then, surely enough, the elves came trooping along. They lived in thefurther meadow, else they had come sooner. They were somewhat larger thanthe fairies, yet they were very tiny and very delicate creatures. The elfprince had long flaxen curls, and he was arrayed in a wonderful suit ofdamask web, at the manufacture of which seventy-seven silkworms hadlabored for seventy-seven days, receiving in payment therefor as manymulberry leaves as seven blue beetles could carry and stow in seven timesseven sunny days. At his side the elf prince wore a sword made of thesting of a yellow-jacket, and the hilt of this sword was studded with theeyes of unhatched dragon-flies, these brighter and more precious than themost costly diamonds. 

The elf prince sat beside the fairy queen. The other elves capered aroundamong the fairies. The dancing sward was very light, for a thousand andten glowworms came from the marsh and hung their beautiful lamps over thespot where the little folk were assembled. If the moon and the stars werejealous of that soft, mellow light, they had good reason to be. 

The fairies and elves circled around in lively fashion. Their favoritedance was the ring-round-a-rosey which many children nowadays dance. Butthey had other measures, too, and they danced them very prettily. 

"I wish, " said the old poet, "I wish that I had my violin here, for then Iwould make merry music for you. "

The fairy queen laughed. "We have music of our own, " she said, "and it ismuch more beautiful than even you, dear old poet, could make. "

Then, at the queen's command, each gentleman elf offered his arm to a ladyfairy, and each gentleman fairy offered his arm to a lady elf, and so, allbeing provided with partners, these little people took their places for awaltz. The fairy queen and the elf prince were the only ones that did notdance; they sat side by side on the violet leaf and watched the others. The hoptoad was floor manager; the green burdock badge on his breastshowed that. 

"Mind where you go--don't jostle each other, " cried the hoptoad, for hewas an exceedingly methodical fellow, despite his habit of jumping atconclusions. 

Then, when all was ready, the Seven Crickets went "chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp, chirp-chirp, " three times, and away flew that host of littlefairies and little elves in the daintiest waltz imaginable:--

[Illustration: Musical notation]

The old poet was delighted. Never before had he seen such a sight; neverbefore had he heard so sweet music. Round and round whirled the spritedancers; the thousand and ten glowworms caught the rhythm of the musicthat floated up to them, and they swung their lamps to and fro in timewith the fairy waltz. The plumes in the hats of the cunning little ladiesnodded hither and thither, and the tiny swords of the cunning littlegentlemen bobbed this way and that as the throng of dancers swept nowhere, now there. With one tiny foot, upon which she wore a lovely shoemade of a tanned flea's hide, the fairy queen beat time, yet she heardevery word which the gallant elf prince said. So, with the fairy queenblushing, the mellow lamps swaying, the elf prince wooing, and the throngof little folk dancing hither and thither, the fairy music went on andon:--

[Illustration: Musical notation]

"Tell me, my fairy queen, " cried the old poet, "whence comes this fairymusic which I hear? The Seven Crickets in the hedge are still, the birdssleep in their nests, the brook dreams of the mountain home it stole awayfrom yester morning. Tell me, therefore, whence comes this wondrous fairymusic, and show me the strange musicians that make it. "

[Illustration: Musical notation]

"Look to the grass and the flowers, " said the fairy queen. "In every bladeand in every bud lie hidden notes of fairy music. Each violet and daisyand buttercup, --every modest wild-flower (no matter how hidden) gives gladresponse to the tinkle of fairy feet. Dancing daintily over this quietsward where flowers dot the green, my little people strike here and thereand everywhere the keys which give forth the harmonies you hear. "

Long marvelled the old poet. He forgot his sorrow, for the fairy musicstole into his heart and soothed the wound there. The fairy host sweptround and round, and the fairy music went on and on. 

[Illustration: Musical Notation]

"Why may I not dance?" asked a piping voice. "Please, dear queen, may Inot dance, too?"

It was the little hunchback that spake, --the little hunchback fairy who, with wistful eyes, had been watching the merry throng whirl round andround. 

"Dear child, thou canst not dance, " said the fairy queen, tenderly; "thylittle limbs are weak. Come, sit thou at my feet, and let me smooth thyfair curls and stroke thy pale cheeks. "

"Believe me, dear queen, " persisted the little hunchback, "I can dance, and quite prettily, too. Many a time while the others made merry here Ihave stolen away by myself to the brookside and danced alone in themoonlight, --alone with my shadow. The violets are thickest there. 'Let thyhalting feet fall upon us, Little Sorrowful, ' they whispered, 'and weshall make music for thee. ' So there I danced, and the violets sang theirsongs for me. I could hear the others making merry far away, but I wasmerry, too; for I, too, danced, and there was none to laugh. "

"If you would like it, Little Sorrowful, " said the elf prince, "I willdance with you. "

"No, brave prince, " answered the little hunchback, "for that would wearyyou. My crutch is stout, and it has danced with me before. You will saythat we dance very prettily, --my crutch and I, --and you will not laugh, Iknow. "

Then the queen smiled sadly; she loved the little hunchback and she pitiedher. 

"It shall be as you wish, " said the queen. The little hunchback wasoverjoyed. 

"I have to catch the time, you see, " said she, and she tapped her crutchand swung one little shrunken foot till her body fell into the rhythm ofthe waltz. 

Far daintier than the others did the little hunchback dance; now one tinyfoot and now the other tinkled on the flowers, and the point of the littlecrutch fell here and there like a tear. And as she danced, there creptinto the fairy music a tenderer cadence, for (I know not why) the littlehunchback danced ever on the violets, and their responses were full of themusic of tears. There was a strange pathos in the little creature's grace;she did not weary of the dance: her cheeks flushed, and her eyes grewfuller, and there was a wondrous light in them. And as the littlehunchback danced, the others forgot her limp and felt only the heart-cryin the little hunchback's merriment and in the music of the voicefulviolets. 

[Illustration: Musical notation]

Now all this saw the old poet, and all this wondrously beautiful music heheard. And as he heard and saw these things, he thought of the pale face, the weary eyes, and the tired little body that slept forever now. Hethought of the voice that had tried to be cheerful for his sake, of thethin, patient little hands that had loved to do his bidding, of thehalting little feet that had hastened to his calling. 

"Is it thy spirit, O my love?" he wailed, "Is it thy spirit, O dear, deadlove?"

A mist came before his eyes, and his heart gave a great cry. 

But the fairy dance went on and on. The others swept to and fro and roundand round, but the little hunchback danced always on the violets, andthrough the other music there could be plainly heard, as it crept in andout, the mournful cadence of those tenderer flowers. 

And, with the music and the dancing, the night faded into morning. And allat once the music ceased and the little folk could be seen no more. Thebirds came from their nests, the brook began to bestir himself, and thebreath of the new-born day called upon all in that quiet valley to awaken. 

So many years have passed since the old poet, sitting under the threelindens half a league the other side of Pesth, saw the fairies dance andheard the fairy music, --so many years have passed since then, that had theold poet not left us an echo of that fairy waltz there would be none nowto believe the story I tell. 

[Illustration: Musical notation]

Who knows but that this very night the elves and the fairies will dance inthe quiet valley; that Little Sorrowful will tinkle her maimed feet uponthe singing violets, and that the little folk will illustrate in theirrevels, through which a tone of sadness steals, the comedy and pathos ofour lives? Perhaps no one shall see, perhaps no one else ever did see, these fairy people dance their pretty dances; but we who have heard oldRobert Volkmann's waltz know full well that he at least saw that strangesight and heard that wondrous music. 

And you will know so, too, when you have read this true story and heardold Volkmann's claim to immortality. 

1887.