APPLES, RIPE AND ROSY, SIR, AND OTHER STORIES, FOR BOYS AND GIRLS, MARY CATHERINE CRAWLEY, REPRINTED FROM THE "AVE MARIA. "

OFFICE OF THE "AVE MARIA:"

NOTRE DAME, IND. 

COPYRIGHT:

D. E. HUDSON, C. S. C. 

1893. 

BECKTOLD & Co. , Printers and Binders, ST. Louis, Mo. 

CONTENTS. 

Apples, Ripe and Rosy, Sir

Better than Riches

Building a Boat

A May-Day Gift

Tilderee

A Little White Dress

A Miser's Gold

That Red Silk Frock

A Lesson with a Sequel

Uncle Tom's Story

Hanging May-Baskets

APPLES, RIPE AND ROSY, SIR. 

"APPLES, RIPE AND ROSY, SIR. "

I. 

What a month of March it was! And after an unusually mild season, too. Old Winter seemed to have hoarded up all his stock of snow and coldweather, and left it as an inheritance to his wild and rollicking heir, that was expending it with lavish extravagance. 

March was a jolly good fellow though, in spite of his bluster andboisterous ways. There was a wealth of sunshine in his honest heart, and he evidently wanted to render everybody happy. He appeared to haveentered into a compact with Santa Claus to make it his business to seethat the boys and girls should not, in the end, be deprived of theirfair share of the season's merrymaking; that innumerable sleds andtoboggans and skates, which had laid idle since Christmas, and been theobjects of much sad contemplation, should have their day, after all. 

And he was not really inconsiderate of the poor either; for though, very frequently, in a spirit of mischief, he and his chum Jack frostdrew caricatures of spring flowers on their window-panes, knocked attheir doors only to run away in a trice, and played other pranks uponthem, they did not feel the same dread of all this that they would havefelt in December. He would make up for it by being on his best andbalmiest behavior for some days following; would promise that milderweather, when the need and the price of coal would be less, was surelycoming; and that both the wild blossoms of the country fields, and thestray dandelions which struggle into bloom in city yards, would be ontime, as usual. 

On the special day with which we have to do, however, March was not in"a melting mood. " On the contrary, the temperature was sharp andfrosty, the ground white, the clouds heavy with snow. The storm of thenight before had only ceased temporarily; it would begin againsoon, --indeed a few flakes were already floating in the air. At fouro'clock in the afternoon the children commenced to troop out of theschools. How pleasant to watch them!--to see the great doors swingopen and emit, now a throng of bright-eyed, chattering little girls, ingay cloaks and hoods and mittens; or again a crowd of sturdy boys, --afew vociferating and disputing, others trudging along discussing gamesand sports, and others again indulging in a little random snowballingof their comrades, by the way. Half an hour later the snow was fallingthick and fast. The boys were in their element. A number of them hadgathered in one of the parks or squares for which the garden-like cityof E------ is noted, and were busy completing a snow-fort. The jingleof sleigh-bells became less frequent, however; people hurried home; itwas sure to be a disagreeable evening. 

These indications were dolefully noted by one person in particular, towhom they meant more than to others in general. This was the good oldIrishwoman who kept the apple and peanut stand at the street corner, and was the centre of attraction to the children on their way to andfrom school. 

"Wisha, this is goin' to be a wild night, I'm thinkin'!" sighed she, wrapping a faded and much-worn "broshay" shawl more securely about her, and striving to protect both herself and her wares beneath the shelterof a dilapidated umbrella, one of the ribs of which had parted companywith the cotton covering, --escaped from its moorings, as it were, andstood out independently. "Glory be to God, but what bad luck I've hadthe day!" she continued under her breath, from habit still scanning thefaces of the passers-by, though she had now faint hope that any wouldpause to purchase. "An' it's a bigger lot than usual I laid in, too. The peanuts is extry size; an' them Baldwins look so fine and rosy, Ithought it ud make anybody's mouth water to see them. I counted uponthe schoolb'ys to buy them up in a twinklin', by reason of me markin'them down to two for a cent. An' so they would, but they're so takenup with sportin' in the snow that they can think of nothin' else. An'now that it's turned so raw, sure I'm afraid it's cold comfort any onebut a lad would think it, settin' his teeth on edge tryin' to eat them. I'll tarry a bit longer; an' then, if no better fortune comes, I'lltake meself to me little room, even though I'll have to drink me teawithout a tint of milk or a dust of sugar the night, and be thankfulfor that same. "

Patiently she waited. The clock struck five. As no other customersappeared, the old woman, who was known as Widow Barry, concluded thatshe would be moving. "Though it is too bad, " she murmured; "an' thisthe best stand anywhere hereabouts. "

In reality, the stand consisted of a large basket, a camp-seat, thetiresome privilege of leaning against two feet of stone-wall, and theaforesaid umbrella, which was intended to afford, not only a roof, butan air of dignity to the concern, and was therefore always open, rainor shine. 

To "shut up shop, " though it meant simply to lower the umbrella, gatherup the goods and depart, was to the apple-vender a momentous affair. Every merchant who attempts, as the saying is, to carry hisestablishment, finds it no easy task; yet this is what the widow wasobliged literally to do. To make her way, thus laden, in the midst ofa driving snowstorm was indeed a difficult matter. Half a dozen timesshe faltered in discouragement. The street led over a steep hill; howwas she to reach the top? She struggled along; the wind blew throughher thin garments and drove her back; the umbrella bobbed wildly about;her hands grew numb; now the basket, again the camp-seat, kept slippingfrom her grasp. Several persons passed, but no one seemed to think ofstopping to assist her. A party of well-dressed boys were coastingdown the middle of the street; what cared they for the storm? Several, who were standing awaiting their turn, glanced idly at the grotesquefigure. 

"What a guy!" cried Ed Brown, with a laugh, sending a well-aimedsnowball straight against the umbrella, which it shook with a thud. Hewas on the point of following up with another. 

"Oh, come!" protested a carelessly good-natured companion. "That's nofun. But here--look out for the other double-runner! Now we go, hurray!"

And, presto, they whizzed by, without another thought of the agedcreature toiling up the ascent. No one appeared to have time to helpher. 

Presently, however, she heard a firm, light step behind her. The nextmoment a pair of merry brown eyes peered under the umbrella; a face asround and ruddy as one of her best Baldwins beamed upon her with thesmile of old friendship, and a gay, youthful voice cried out:

"Good afternoon, Missis Barry! It's hard work getting on to-day, isn'tit?"

A singularly gentle expression lighted up the apple-woman'sweather-beaten features as she recognized the little fellow in thehandsome overcoat, who was evidently returning from an errand, as hecarried a milk can in one hand while drawing a sled with the other. 

"Indade an' it is, Masther Tom!" she replied, pausing a second. 

"Let us see if we can't manage differently, " he went on, taking herburden and setting it upon the sled. "There, that is better. Now giveme your hand. "

She had watched him mechanically; but, thus recalled to herself, sheanswered hastily:

"Oh, thank ye kindly, sir! It's too much for ye to be takin' thistrouble; but I can get along very well now, with only the umbrelly tocarry. "

"No trouble at all, " said he. "Look, then, --follow me; I'll pick outthe best places for you to walk in, --the snow is drifting so!"

He trudged on ahead, glancing back occasionally to see if the basketand camp-seat were safe, or to direct her steps, --as if all this werethe most natural thing in the world for him to do, as in truth it was;for, though he thought it a great joke that she should call him "sir, "will not any one admit that he deserved the title which belongs to agentleman? He and Widow Barry had been good friends for some time. 

"Sure, an' didn't he buy out me whole supply one day this lastJanuary?" she would say. "His birthday it was, and the dear creaturewas eleven years old. He spent the big silver dollar his grandfathergave him like a prince, a treatin' all the b'ys of the neighborhood toapples an' peanuts, an' sendin' me home to take me comfort. "

Tom, moreover, was a regular patron of "the stand. " He always declaredthat "she knew what suited him to a T. " During the selection he wasaccustomed to discuss with her many weighty questions, especially Irishpolitics, in which they both took a deep if not very well-informedinterest. 

"Guess I'll have that dark-red one over there. Don't you think Mr. Gladstone is the greatest statesman of the age, Missis Barry?--what?That other one is bigger? Well!--and your father knew Daniel O'Connellyou say?--ah, I tell you that's a fine fellow!"

Whether he meant the patriot or the pippin it might be difficult todetermine. This, however, is but a specimen of their conversation. Then in the end she would produce the ripest and rosiest of herstock--which she had been keeping for him all the while, --and, leavinga penny in her palm, he would hurry away in order to reach St. Francis'School before the bell rang. 

This particular afternoon, when he had helped her over the worst partof the way, she glanced uneasily at the can which he carried, and said:

"Faith, Masther Tom, it's afraid I am that they'll be waitin' at homefor the milk ye were sent for. Sure I wouldn't want ye to be blamedfor not makin' haste, avick! An' all because of yer doin' a kindlyturn for a poor old woman. "

"No fear of that, ma'am, " answered Tom, confidently. "There is nohurry; the milk won't be needed till supper time. "

Then, noticing that she was tired and panting for breath, he took outthe stopper and held the can toward her, saying impulsively, "Have a drink, Missis Barry, --yes, it will do you good. "

A suspicious moisture dimmed the widow's faded eyes for a moment, andher heart gave a throb of grateful surprise at the child's ingenuousfriendliness; but she drew back with a deprecating gesture, saying, "Well, well, Masther Tom, ye're the thoughtfullest young gentleman thatever I see! An' I'm sure I thank ye kindly. It isn't for the likes ofme to be tellin' ye what is right an' proper, but what would yer mothersay to yer not bringin' the milk home just as ye got it from the store, an' to ye givin' a poor creature like me a drink out of the can?"

"Oh, she wouldn't care!" replied Tom. "Didn't she say you were welcomeat the house any time, to have a cup of tea and get warm by the kitchenfire? Do you think she'd grudge you a sup of milk?"

"It isn't that; for I know she wouldn't, God bless her!" said theapple-woman, heartily. "Still, asthore, take heed of what I say. Never meddle with what's trusted to ye, but carry it safe an' whole tothe person it's meant for, or the place ye are told to fetch it to. It's the best plan, dear. "

"I suppose it is, Missis Barry, generally, " agreed Tom. "I rememberonce Ed Brown and I made away with half of a big package of raisinsthat mother sent me for, and she scolded me about it. But that wasdifferent, you know. Pshaw! I didn't mean to tell you it was Ed. Here we are at your door, ma'am. I'll put your things inside--oh, no!Never mind. I was glad to come. Really I oughtn't to take it. Well, thank you. Good-bye!"

And Tom scampered off with an especially toothsome-looking apple, whichthe woman forced into his hand. 

"Ah, but he's the dear, blithe, generous-hearted b'y!" she exclaimed, with a warmth of affectionate admiration, as she stood looking afterhim. "There's not a bit of worldly pride or meanness about him. Maythe Lord keep him so! The only thing I'd be afraid of is that, likemany such, he'd be easily led. There's that Ed Brown now, --Heavenforgive me, but somehow I don't like that lad. Though he's the son ofthe richest man in the neighborhood, an' his people live in grandstyle, he's no fit companion for Masther Tom Norris, I'm thinkin'. "

II. 

Tom lost no time now in getting home. A little later he had entered aspacious brick house on Florence Street, deposited the milk can on thekitchen table, set the cook a laughing by some droll speech, and, passing on, sought his mother in her cheerful sitting-room. 

"Why, my son, what delayed you so long?" she inquired, folding away hersewing; for it was becoming too dark to work. 

"Oh, I went home with Missis Barry!" he answered, with thematter-of-fact air with which he might have said that he had beenescorting some particular friend of the family. 

Mrs. Norris smiled and drew nearer to the bright fire which burned inthe grate. Tom slipped into a seat beside her upon the wide, old-fashioned sofa, which was just the place for one of those cosytwilight chats with mother, which boys especially love so much, and thememory of which gleams, star-like, through the mists of years, exertingeven far greater influence than she dreams of upon their lives. Tomconsidered this quiet half hour the pleasantest of the day. Mrs. Norris, with a gentle wisdom worthy of wider imitation, encouraged himto talk to her about whatever interested him. She was seldom too tiredor too preoccupied at this time to hear of the mechanism of thesteam-engine, the mysteries of the printing-press, or the feats thatmay be performed with a bicycle, --of which "taking a header, " or themethod by which the rider learns to fly off the machine head foremostinto a ditch with impunity, appeared to be the most desirable. Herpatience in this respect was rewarded by that most precious possessionto a mother, a son's confidence. 

Tom liked to tell her of various things that happened during the day;to compare notes, and get her opinions of matters in general; at thesame time giving his own, which were often quaint and entertaining. 

"Really, mother, Missis Barry knows a lot!" he now exclaimed, abruptly, clasping his knee and staring at the fire in a meditative manner. 

Mrs. Norris looked amused, but she did not venture to question theapple-vender's wisdom. One or two kindly inquiries about the oldwoman, however, prompted him to speak of her further, --of his meetingher as she struggled along with her burden, his drawing it on the sled, and last of her refusal of the drink he offered. 

"You would not have minded, would you, mother?" he asked. 

"No, not for the sake of the milk, certainly, " responded Mrs. Norris, laughing; "but--" then she hesitated. How could she hamper the mind ofthis ingenuous little lad of hers with false and finical ideas ofrefinement and delicacy! Why should she suggest to him that it is atleast not customary to go about giving the poor to drink out of our ownespecial milk cans? There came to her mind the noble lines which butframe as with jewels the simple Christian precept, --the words spoken toSir Launfal when, weary, poverty-stricken, and disheartened, the knightreturns from his fruitless search for the Holy Grail; when humbly heshares his cup and crust with the leper at the gate, --the leper whostraightway stands before him glorified, a vision of Our Lord, andtells him that true love of our neighbor consists in, "Not what we give, but what we share; For the gift without the giver is bare. "

And then the mother's hands rested lovingly a moment upon Tom's head, as again she repeated more softly: "No, certainly. "

 * * * * *

As Widow Barry had surmised, the keynote of Tom's nature was that hewas easily led, and therein rested the possibilities of great good orevil. The little confidential chats with his mother were a strongsafeguard to him, and laid the foundation of the true principles bywhich he should be guided; but, as he mingled more with other boys, hewas not always steadfast in acting up to his knowledge of what wasright, and was apt to be more influenced by his companions than hisbest friends cared to see him. At present he was inclined to make achum of Ed Brown, who, though only a year older, was so precociouslyshrewd, and what the world calls "smart, " that, according to good WidowBarry's opinion, "he could buy and sell Masther Tom any day. "

The old woman had, indeed, many opportunities for observation; for isnot sometimes so simple a transaction as the buying of an apple a realtest of character? If a boy or man is tricky or mean or unjust in hisbusiness dealings, is it likely that we shall find him upright andhonorable in other things? Though Mrs. Norris was not as well postedas the apple-vender, one or two occurrences had caused her topositively forbid Tom to have any more to do with Ed, --a command whichhe grumbled a good deal about, and, alas! occasionally disobeyed. 

But to continue our story. The following Saturday morning the skieswere blue, the sun shone bright, the gladness of spring was in theair, --all promised a long, pleasant holiday. The apple stand at thecorner had a prosperous aspect. The umbrella, though shabbier and morerakish-looking than ever, wore a cheery, hail-fellow-well-metappearance. Widow Barry had, as she told a neighbor, "spruced up herold bonnet a bit, "--an evidence of the approach of spring, which theboys recognized and appreciated. Now she was engaged in polishing upher apples, and arranging the peanuts as invitingly as possible; anumber of pennies already jingled in the small bag attached to herapron-string, in which she kept her money. 

"Ah, here comes Masther Tom!" she exclaimed, presently. "An' rightglad I am; for he always brings me a good hansel. "

"Hello, Missis Barry!" cried he. "How's trade to-day? Too early totell yet? Well, see if I can't boom it a little. Give me a dozenapples, and one--yes, two quarts of nuts. "

Pleased and flustered at this stroke of fortune, she busied herself ingetting out two of the largest of her paper bags, and filling themunificent order. But Tom was not like himself this morning. He hadplenty to say, to be sure; but he talked away with a kind of recklessgaiety that appeared a trifle forced, and he was eager to be off. 

The old woman paused a second, as if suddenly impressed by thedifference in his manner; then, by a shake of the head, she strove tobanish the thought, which she reproached herself for as an unworthysuspicion, and smiled as if to reassure herself. With a pleasant wordshe put the well-filled bags into Tom's hands, and received the silverhe offered in payment--three bright new dimes. At that moment shecaught a glimpse of Ed Brown lurking in the area way of a house at theother end of the block. The sight filled her with a vague misgivingwhich she could not have explained. She glanced again at Tom; he wasnervous and excited. 

"Wait a bit, " said she, laying a restraining hand upon his arm. 

"What is the matter? Didn't I give you just the price?" he inquired, somewhat impatiently. 

The old woman bent forward and peered anxiously into his face; her kindbut searching eyes seemed to look down into his very soul, as, in avoice trembling with emotion, she replied: "Yes: but tell me, asthore, where did ye get the money?"

Tom's countenance changed; he tried to put her off, saying, "Pshaw!Why do you want to ask a fellow such a question? Haven't I bought morethan this of you before?"

"Troth an' ye have, dear; but not in this way, I'm thinkin', " sheanswered. 

"It's all right. Do let me go, Missis Barry!" cried he, vexed andbeginning to feel decidedly frightened. 

"Hi, Tom, come on!" called Ed Brown, emerging from the area. 

"Look here, Masther Tom, darlin'! You'll not move a step with themthings, an' I'll not put up that money till I know where it came from. "

"Well, then, " said Tom, doggedly, seeing that escape was impossible, "Igot it at home, off the mantel in the sitting-room. "

"Oh, yes!" ejaculated Mrs. Barry, raising her eyes toward heaven, as ifpraying for the pardon of the offence. 

"Why, that's nothing!" he went on. "Ed Brown says lots of boys do it. Some take the change out of their father's pockets even, if they get achance. His father don't mind a bit. He always has plenty of cash, Edhas. "

"Ah, yes, that ne'er-do-well, Ed Brown!" said the old woman, shakingher fist at the distant Ed, who, realizing that Tom had got intotrouble, disappeared in a twinkling. 

"An' his father don't mind! Then it's because he knows nothin' aboutit. They'll come a day of reckonin' for him. An' you--"

"Oh, the folks at home won't care!" persisted Tom, thoroughly ashamed, but still anxious to excuse himself. "Mother always says thateverything in the house is for the use of the family. If we childrenshould make a raid on the pantry, and carry off a pie or cake, shemight punish us for the disobedience, but she wouldn't call itstealing. " He blushed as he uttered the ugly word. 

"Yes, but to take money is different, ye know, " continued hisrelentless mentor, whose heart, however, was sorrowing over him withthe tenderness of a mother for her child. 

Tom was silent; he did know, had really known from the first, thoughnow his fault stood before him in its unsightliness; all the pretextsby which he had attempted to palliate it fell from it like a veil, andshowed the hateful thing it was. He could not bring himself toacknowledge it, however. Sullenly he set down the apples and peanuts, murmuring, "I never did it before, anyhow!"

"No, nor never will again, I'm sure, avick! This'll be a lifelonglesson to ye, " returned the old woman, with agitation, as she put thedimes back into his hand. "Go right home with them now, an' tell yerfather all about it. "

"My father!" faltered Tom, doubtful of the consequences of such aconfession. 

"Well, yer mother, then. She'll be gentle with ye, never fear, if yeare really sorry. "

"Indeed I am, Missis Barry, " declared Tom, quite breaking down at last. 

"I'm certain ye are, asthore!" continued the good creature, heartily. "An', whisper, when ye get home go to yer own little room, an' there onyer bended knees ask God to forgive ye. Make up yer mind to shun badcompany for the future; an' never, from this hour, will we speakanother word about this--either ye to me or I to ye, --save an' exceptye may come an' say: 'I've done as ye bid me, Missis Barry. It's allhunkey dory!'"

The old woman smiled with grim humor as she found herself quoting theboy's favorite slang expression. 

Tom laughed in spite of himself, so droll did it sound from her lips;but at the same time he drew his jacket sleeve across his eyes, whichhad grown strangely dim, and said:

"I will, Missis Barry. You may trust me: I will. "

And Tom did. From that day he and the honest old apple-woman werebetter friends than ever. Meanwhile her trade improved so much thatbefore long she was able to set up a more pretentious establishment, --agenuine stand, with an awning to replace the faithful umbrella, whichwas forthwith honorably retired from service. Here she carried on athriving business for several years, Tom, though now a student at St. Jerome's College, often bought apples and peanuts of her. 

"You see that old woman?" said he to a comrade one day. "Don't lookmuch like an angel, does she?"

His friend, glancing at the queer figure and plain, ordinary features, was amused at the comparison. 

"And yet, " continued Tom, earnestly, "she proved a second GuardianAngel to me once, and I'll bless her all my life for it. "

"BETTER THAN RICHES. "

I. 

"Cash! Cash! here!" cried an attendant at the stationery counter ofone of New York's great shopping emporiums. At the summons adelicate-looking little girl came wearily up, and held out a smallwicker basket for the goods and the money. "Be quick now: the lady'sin a hurry. "

Notwithstanding the injunction, the child started off with no specialattempt at haste. The same words were dinned into her ears a hundredtimes a day. She did not see why ladies should be in a hurry. Theladies of her world seemed to have nothing to do but to wear prettyclothes, and to shop, which meant principally the buying of more prettyclothes. It was all very well to make an extra effort to oblige oneoccasionally; but if she did it every time she was exhorted to, surelyher tired feet would give out before the end of the day. 

"Cash is so poky!" complained the salesgirl to her companion behind thecounter. 

"Hie you, Cash! Hustle I say!" called the floor-walker peremptorily, as he passed. 

Thus warned, the child skurried away, and reappeared after a very briefinterval. As she rushed up with the parcel, an awkward accidentoccurred. The lady heedlessly stepped backward. Cash dodged; but, alas! before she could stop herself, she had dashed into a pyramid ofnote-paper that stood upon the end of the counter, and sent the boxesscattering over the floor in dire confusion. 

"Oh!--oh, my!" exclaimed the salesgirl, distressed, as she contemplatedthe wreck of the architectural display. 

The disturbance at once brought the floor-walker to the spot. "Stupid!" he muttered, taking poor Cash by the shoulder. "Why don'tyou look where you're going? If you can't mind what you're about, wehave no use for you here; remember that!"

"Please do not blame the child, " interposed the lady who hadunwittingly caused the trouble. "It was my fault: I carelessly got inher way. I am very sorry. "

"Don't mention it, Mrs. M----. It is not of the slightestconsequence, " said the floor-walker, with a bland smile and a bow. (Mrs. M---- was a desirable customer, and he would have said the samething if she had happened to tip the show-case over. ) "We have to keepour employees up to the mark, you know, " he added in a low tone, by wayof apology for his brusqueness. "The best of them become careless. But Cash has found a friend this time, so we'll let it pass. "

Cash, who was busily picking up the boxes, made a little grimace toherself at his change of manner. The lady politely inclined her headby way of acknowledgment, and the floor-walker left abruptly, havingsuddenly discovered that something required his immediate attention inanother part of the store. 

When he had disappeared, the little girl looked up and falteredgratefully: "Thank you, ma'am!"

Mrs. M---- now for the first time took notice of the individual to whomshe had just rendered a service. She glanced down upon a freckled faceof the complexion described as pasty, a pair of greyish-blue eyes, anda tangle of reddish curls just long enough to admit of being tied backwith the bit of crumpled ribbon which kept them tidy. Cash was not ofprepossessing appearance; yet perhaps because, the grateful glancetouched a chord common to humanity in the heart of the stranger, orbecause one naturally warms to any creature whom one has befriended, orperhaps simply from the sweet womanliness which finds all childhoodattractive, --whatever the motive, upon the impulse of the moment thelady did a very graceful thing. Taking a rose from the bunch ofjacqueminots she wore, she fastened it to the breast of the child'sblack apron, and was gone before the latter could recover from herastonishment. 

It was only a little incident, but it changed the whole aspect ofCash's day. The beautiful flower glowed against the dark uniform, likea bit of joy vouchsafed to a sombre life. 

"How lovely!" exclaimed the salesgirl. "Aren't you lucky, Cash! Don'tyou want to exchange with me? I'll give you a delicious orange Ibrought with my lunch for that posie. "

Cash shook her head. As soon as she could, she stole away to the roomwhere the girls kept their cloaks and hats. Here, after a furtive lookaround to see that ho one was by who might snatch, it away, sheunpinned the rose and slipped it into a small card-board box, havingfirst carefully wrapped the stem in a piece of well moistened paper. Then she tucked the box into the pocket of her jacket, and randownstairs to the store again. 

For the next two or three hours it happened that Cash was kept runningto and fro almost without intermission; but she did not mind it now. The kindly word spoken in her behalf by the truly gracious lady, thesimple gift of a flower, had given her new spirit. Her heart, like alittle bird, kept singing a cheery song to itself; while, as shejourneyed hither and thither, her feet seemed to keep time to itsgladness. 

"Why, Cash, you're getting smart! What has waked you up?" said thesalesgirl, when, well on in the afternoon, the child sat down by thecounter for a few seconds. Then, without waiting for a reply, shecontinued: "Now, aren't you sorry you did not exchange with me? See, you've lost your rose!"

"Oh, 'taint losted, " answered the girl. 

"You did not give it to any one after I made the first bid?" (Theinquiry was in a sharper tone. )

"No: I'm keeping it for Ellie. "

"Oh, sure enough! Poor Ellie! how is she? Cash, you're a good littlething to remember her so kindly. Here, I have the orange still; takeit to her, too. "

The child's eyes sparkled with pleasure as the salesgirl put the goldenball into her hand. "Ellie'll be awful pleased. I'll tell her yousent it, Julia, " she said. 

Cash had, of course, another name: it was Katy Connors. Katy lived wayover on the east side of the city, in a house which was once a handsomedwelling, but had long since been divided into tenements and given upto ruin. The Connors were known among their neighbors as arespectable, hard-working family. The father was a day-laborer; themother went out washing; Joe, a boy of fourteen, was in the districtmessenger service; after him came Katy, who was employed inMcNaughton's store; and then Ellie, the little invalid. Two youngerchildren had died in infancy. 

Poor Ellie was fast becoming helpless. How different it had been a fewmonths before! What a sturdy, active, child she was, when one morningshe set out in gay spirits "to earn money for mother!" Like Katy, shehad obtained a position as cashgirl in McNaughton's. And how quick andsmart she was about her duties! The floor-walker commended her twiceduring the week, and said he would speak for an increase in her wages. How proud she felt when Saturday came, and she knew she would have twodollars and a half to take home! Unfortunately, it was to be dearlygained. 

Saturday afternoon it happened that the store was unusually crowded;everything was stir and confusion. Little Ellie and her companionsdashed now here, now there, in response to the unceasing cry of "Cash!Cash!" In the midst of the hurry, the floor-walker gave Ellie amessage to deliver to one of the clerks in the basement. "Don'tdelay!" he called after her. Eager to please, the child made her waythrough the throng, and was on the point of darting down the stairs, when, alas! her foot caught, she tripped, gave a little scream, and wasprecipitated down the entire flight. In an instant several employeesfrom the neighboring counters rushed to pick her up; but, to theiralarm, though she strove to be brave, when they attempted to move hershe could not repress a low moan of anguish. The superintendent sentat once for a doctor, who discovered that she had sustained a severeinjury, having struck against the edge of one of the iron steps. 

Where was now the proud home-coming? Ellie was taken to the hospital, whither frightened Mrs. Connors was summoned. Upon one of the cots inthe accident ward lay the child, her small face wan with pain, and inher eyes the startled expression noticeable in those of a person whohas had a serious fall. In one feverish hand she held somethingtightly clasped--something for which she had asked before being carriedfrom the store. When the doctor turned aside she beckoned to hermother, and, with a pathetic little smile, folded into the palm of theweeping woman a small yellow envelope. The next moment she faintedaway, Mrs. Connors' tears flowed faster as she beheld the preciousoffering--Ellie's first wages, and the last which she was likely everto earn. 

The firm of McNaughton & Co. Investigated the accident, to see if theycould by any means be liable to an action for damages brought by anemployee. But there was no loose nail in the stairway, not the leastobstruction. The proprietors were not to blame; it was simply thechild's heedlessness, they said. In fact, the fault was with Ellie'sshoes: the sole of one, being broken, caught on the top step and causedher fall. 

And she was to have had a new pair that very evening. Mrs. Connors hadquietly determined that her first earnings should be expended in thisway. Poor Ellie! she would not need shoes now: the doctors feared shewould never walk again. The firm sent a twenty-dollar bill to thechild's mother, another "Cash" was engaged to take Ellie's place, andthe matter was speedily forgotten. 

II. 

Not growing better at the hospital, Ellie begged to be taken home. Rather than live apart from those she loved, she strove to be contentto remain alone day after day, propped up by an inverted chair upon awretched bed. Or, when she felt stronger, with the aid of a pair ofrude crutches, she would drag herself to the window to watch patientlyfor the return of the dear bread-winners, whose toil she would sowillingly have shared. 

There, in a little stuffy room, upon the top floor of the old house, she spent the long, sultry summer; there she remained when autumn came;there the approaching Christmas holidays were likely to find her. 

How was it, then, that Ellie was generally cheery and blithe? Perhapsher mother's prayer each morning, as she bade her good-bye to go towork, had most to do with it. "May Jesus and His Blessed Mother watchover you, mavourneen!" the good woman would say, with a sigh at thenecessity for leaving her. 

Frequently, when the child could have wept for loneliness, the wordswould keep echoing in her heart. She was a well-disposed littlecreature, and those hours spent alone often brought serious thoughts, which molded and beautified her character. But Ellie was a thoroughlynatural child: there was none of the story-book goodness about her. She was keenly interested in everything that went on. She thoughtthere was no one like mother, but it was Katy who represented the worldto her, --the world of McNaughton's store, with its brightness andbeautiful wares, and its ever-changing crowd of handsomely costumedladies intent upon the pleasures of shopping. Any scrap of news whichone fagged out little cashgirl brought home at the close of the day waseagerly listened to by the other; who found her enforced idleness soirksome. 

Katy had a great deal to narrate at the close of the day upon which ourstory opened. Sitting upon the foot of Ellie's bed, she told how sheupset the pyramid of note-paper; and what trouble she would have beenin, but for the kind lady who so promptly came to the rescue. ToEllie's quick imagination the story had all the charm of a fairy tale. And when, at the close, her sister placed in her hands the orange andthe tiny box wherein lay the rose, still quite fresh and fragrant, herface beamed with delight; and Katy went to bed very happy, feelingherself more than repaid for having treasured them so carefully. 

The next morning, when Katy reached the store, she found everybody in astate of pleasurable excitement over the opening of the holiday goods;for it wanted but three weeks to Christmas. At the end of thestationery counter, where the pyramid of note-paper had been, animmense stack of dolls was now attractively displayed. The littlecashgirl stood before it, lost in admiration. There were little dollsand big ones; dolls with blue eyes, and others with brown; some withlight hair, and some with dark; _bebee Jumeau_ and _bebee Brue_; rubberdolls, and rag dolls with _papier-mache_ faces. 

"How lovely they are!" she murmured to herself, including even theplainest and least among them in her appreciation of the gorgeouscompany. "Don't I wish Ellie could see them!" she continued. "I'llhave to count them, so as to tell her how many there are; for I don'tbelieve that by herself she could imagine such a lot of dolls together. "

Katy and Ellie had never had a doll in their lives, --that is, a real_boughten_ one, as they called those not of home manufacture. 

The kind salesgirl who had sent the orange to Ellie, from her postbehind the counter, noticed the child's wonderment. 

"Will you look at Cash!" she said to a companion. Katy was obliviousof them, however. After watching her a few moments, Julia called out:

"Well, Cash, which do you like best?"

The little girl looked the dolls over again with much deliberation; andfinally, pointing to a good-sized one, with golden hair and large eyes, said:

"This. "

"Oh, one of those ninety-seven cent dolls!" responded Julia. "They_are_ handsome for the price. Sawdust bodies, to be sure; but whatfine heads?--red cheeks, splendid eyes, and hair that will comb out aswell as that of some costlier ones, I'll be bound. "

"Ninety-seven cents!" repeated Katy, with a sigh. It was anunattainable sum, as far as she was concerned. The salesgirl remarkedthe sigh. 

"Say, Cash, why don't you buy it?" she urged. "Your mother'll let youkeep part of your wages for yourself Christmas week, won't she? Andyou wouldn't get such another bargain in a doll if you hunted a yearand a day. You'd better speak for it quick, though; for when the rushof trade comes, there's no knowing how long the lot will last. "

Katy shook her head. "I wouldn't want to buy a Christmas present formyself, " she answered. "But I was wishing--only there is really no usein wishing; still, just supposing there was--I was thinking if I couldonly get that doll for Ellie, how happy she would be. You know she hasto be alone so much, and she gets awful blue sometimes; though shewon't let on, 'cause it would fret mother. But the doll would be greatcompany for her. We've neither of us ever had one. "

She continued to gaze longingly at the rosy beauty, while the salesgirlmeditatively dusted the show-case. 

"Stop! I'll tell you how you can manage to get it, " Julia said, suddenly. "It's the rule of this store that on Christmas Eve, afterall the customers are gone, each employee may choose as a present fromthe firm some article worth a quarter of his or her wages for the week. Let's see: you're paid three dollars, aren't you?"

Katy nodded. 

"That would count for seventy-five cents on the doll; then all youwould have to put to it would be twenty-two cents. Couldn't you dothat somehow?"

"Yes!" cried Katy, delighted. "Sometimes I run errands for adressmaker who lives in the block below us, and she gives me pennies, or once in a while a nickel. And when my aunt's husband comes to seeus--he's a widder man and sorter rich; he drives a truck, --well, whenhe comes 'casionally, he gives each of us children as much as tencents; and I guess he'll be round about Christmas time. Oh, yes, I'malmost sure I can make up the twenty-two cents!"

"But, then, when the doll is yours, won't you hate to give it away?"queried Julia; for Katy already began to assume an air of possession. 

"Oh, not to Ellie! And, you know, she'll be sure to let me hold itsometimes" was the ingenuous reply. 

The quick tears sprang to the salesgirl's eyes, and she turned abruptlyaway, to arrange some dolls upon the shelves behind her. 

"After all, love is better than riches, " she reflected, as the pictureof the crippled child in the humble home arose in her mind, and shegave a sidelong glance at Katy's thin face and shabby dress. 

"You will be sure to save this very doll for me, won't you?" pleadedthe child. 

"I can't put it aside for you, " she explained, "because thefloor-walker would not allow that; but I'll arrange so you will haveone of the lot, never fear. "

"But I want this one, " declared Katy. 

"My goodness gracious, you foolish midget! They're all as much alikeas rows of peas in a pod, " exclaimed her friend, a trifle impatiently. 

"No, " insisted the little girl. "All the others have red paintedbuckles on their shoes, but this doll has blue buckles; and I'm sureEllie would prefer blue buckles, 'cause we've often talked about itwhen we played choosing what we'd like best. "

"Well, well!" laughed Julia. "All right, Katy: I'll save it, if I can. "

Satisfied by this promise, the child ran away; for customers began tocome in, and to loiter would be to lessen her chance of gaining thetreasure which to herself she already called Ellie's. 

McNaughton & Co. Did a great business within the next two weeks; theemployees were "fearfully rushed, " as they expressed it. Katy had noopportunity for further conversation with the sociable attendant at theend of the stationery counter, now given over to toys, upon the subjectoftenest in her thoughts. She had been transferred to anotherdepartment; but every day she took occasion to go around and look atthe doll, to make sure that it was still there; and the kindlysalesgirl always found time to give her an encouraging nod and a smile. 

One afternoon, however, a few days before Christmas, when Juliareturned from her lunch she met Katy, who was crying bitterly. Thecause of her distress was soon told. A new girl had been put at thecounter that morning; she knew nothing about Katy's doll, and now, asluck would have it, was just in the act of selling it to a big, bluff-looking man, who said he wanted it for his little daughter. 

Julia rushed to her post. The man was upon the point of paying for thedoll, and had decided that he would take the parcel with him. 

"Have you seen the brown-eyed dolls?" she interposed, pleasantly. Theother girl scowled at the interference with 'her sale, ' but shepersisted. "The brown-eyed ones are considered the most desirable. "

"Are they?" the man hesitated. "Well, I believe I'll take one, then, instead of this. My little maid likes brown eyes. "

Katy's doll was saved. The child, in a fever of suspense, had watchedthe transaction from behind a pile of dry-goods. Now she turned towardher friend a face bright with gratitude, as she hurried away inresponse to the imperative call of "Cash. "

When Julia recovered from her flurry, she explained matters to herassociate. The girl's ill-humor quickly vanished once she understoodthe situation, and she willingly agreed to help retain the doll ifpossible. 

III

On the morning of the day before Christmas, Katy appeared at thecounter and offered the twenty-two cents which she had succeeded ingetting together--the balance to be paid on her present. 

"Can't I take the doll now, please?" she begged. 

"You will have to ask the floor-walker, " replied Julia. 

She did so, but he said she must wait until evening; he could not makeany exceptions. So she was obliged to control her impatience. 

Scarcely five minutes afterward a crash was heard. The equilibrium ofthe rack of dolls had been disturbed, and the whole collection wasdashed to the floor. Fortunately, only three or four of the dolls werebroken; but, alas! among them was the one Katy had set her heart upongiving to her sick sister. 

The commotion brought her to the scene at once. Poor Katy! She didnot burst out crying, as Julia expected; but just clasped her hands andstood looking at the wreck of the doll, with an expression of hopelessdisappointment, which would have seemed ludicrous, considering thecause, had it not been so pathetic. It aroused the ready sympathy ofJulia. 

"Don't feel so bad, midget!" she whispered, picking up the pieces. "See: only the head is spoiled. There's another with the feet knockedoff. I'll get permission to take the two dolls up to the toy-mender'sroom, and have the head of the other put on your doll; that will makeit as good as new. "

When order was restored, she made her request of the floor-walker. 

"All right, " he answered. "It will cut down the loss by ninety-sevencents; so you may have it done, if they can spare the time upstairs. That is an awkward corner, anyhow; it will have to be left free infuture. "

At noon Julia snatched a few moments from the short interval allowedher to get her lunch, and hurried up to the toy-mender's quarters. Sheprevailed upon him to have the doll repaired in the course of an houror two; he promised to do so, and it was sent back to her early in theafternoon. 

That day Katy's duties, fortunately for her peace of mind, brought herfrequently into the vicinity of the doll counter. Now she hastened toit, in a quiver of excitement, to witness the success of the process. When the cover was taken off the box, her cheeks crimsoned withindignation and her eyes blazed, as she turned inquiringly to Julia. 

"Indeed, Katy, it is none of my doings, " protested the salesgirl;though the result of the experiment was so funny she had not the heartto laugh. The doll with the beautiful blue buckles on her shoes hadnow a mop of darky wool, and a face as black as the ace of spades. 

Julia's quick wit at once jumped at the correct conclusion regardingthe apparent blunder. The toy-mender's two thoughtless apprentices hadplayed a joke upon the little cashgirl. 

"It is only the nonsense of those rogues upstairs. I'll take the dollback and tell them they must fix it to-night, or I'll complain of themfor their fooling at this busy time, " she announced, energetically; forshe noted the twitching around the corners of Katy's mouth, notwithstanding the child's brave effort at self-control. 

Katy went off partially comforted. 

"It's mean to tease a child in that way, " added Julia, in an audibleaside, as she laid the doll on the shelf behind, and wished that thelady to whom she was showing some very handsome dolls would finish herchoice, so that she might get a free minute to run up to the mendingroom again. But the interest of the customer had been awakened by thelittle drama enacted before her. 

"What is the matter?" she inquired, cordially. 

Julia looked disconcerted; but the lady had such a sweet and nobleface, and her manner was so winning, that the girl found herselftelling briefly not only the history of Katy's doll, but of Katy andEllie too. It was not a waste of time either; for while she talked thepurchaser made one or two additional selections, and then, after givingdirections concerning them, passed on. 

"Do you know who that was?" asked Katy, rushing up as the lady turnedinto another aisle of the store. 

"Yes: Mrs. M----, of 34th Street. Of course she left her address forthe parcels, " replied Julia. 

"It's my Rose-lady, as I call her, --don't you remember the one who gaveme the pretty flower?" cried the child. 

"Why, so it is!" rejoined Julia. "Well, she's a lovely lady certainly. She happened to ask what the trouble was about the doll; and was sointerested I couldn't help telling how you had saved and planned to getit for Ellie, and all about it. "

"Mercy! did you?" answered the child, in confusion. "My, but you'rethe talker, Julia! What would the likes of her care to hear aboutthat!"

The store kept open till half-past eleven Christmas Eve; but at lengththe last customer was gone, and the employees were allowed to choosetheir presents. Katy skipped around with joy when the doll was putinto her arms. After a moment, however, Julia whisked it away again, and sent it to be packed in a box. The box proved to be large andclumsy, but this was accounted for upon the plea of haste. 

"Well, good-night and merry Christmas, Julia!" said the littlecashgirl, gratefully. "I don't know how to thank you enough for beingso good, and helping me so much, --indeed I don't!"

"Never mind trying, " answered Julia, brightly, but with an earnestnessunusual to her. "Isn't this Christmas Eve, and didn't the Infant Jesuscome to help us, and teach us to do what we can for one another? Justsay a prayer for me at Mass to-morrow; that is all I ask. "

"You may be sure I will, " Katy responded, heartily. 

"Good-night! Merry Christmas to you all, and especially to Ellie!"added Julia, hurrying away. 

Katy's father was waiting for her at one of the entrances of the store. After a slight demur, she allowed him to carry the package, while shetrudged along at his side. The stores were closed, the gay throng ofshoppers had disappeared. People were still abroad upon the greatthoroughfares; but the side streets were deserted, except when, now andagain, overtaxed workers like herself were to be met making their wayhome. The lamps burned dim, save where, occasionally, an electriclight flared up with a spectral glare. The glitter of the world haddeparted. It was past midnight; in the deep blue of the winter's skythe stars glowed with a peaceful radiance. Looking up at them, Katybegan to think, in her own simple fashion, of the meaning of Christmasand of Christmas gifts; of Bethlehem, the Virgin Mother, and the DivineChild; of the Love that came into the world on that holy night of longago, to kindle in all hearts a spirit of kindliness and helpfulnesstoward one another, making it more blessed to give than to receive. The little girl realized the happiness of making others happy, when shehanded to Ellie the bulky package over which she had kept watch all theway to the house. 

The usually pale face of the young invalid flushed with excitement, while, with trembling fingers, she unfastened the wrappings and openedthe box. 

"O Katy!" she exclaimed, as she beheld the hard-won present, --"O Katy!"It was all she could say, but the tone and the look which accompaniedit were quite enough. 

At first neither of the children could think of anything besides thedoll; but after a while Ellie made another discovery. As she trifledwith the box, she cried:

"Why, there's something else here!"

The next moment she drew out a doll precisely like the first, exceptthat its shoes had red buckles; at the sight of which Katy immediatelyconcluded that, for herself, she liked red buckles better. Attached toit was a card on which was written: "For an unselfish little sister. "

"It did not get there by mistake: it's for you, Katy, " said Ellie, ecstatically. 

"Then the Rose-lady must have sent it, " declared Katy, feeling as ifshe were in a dream. 

That her conjecture was correct was evident the next day; for aboutnoon a carriage stopped at the door of the dilapidated house in ----street; and a visitor, who seemed to bring with her an additional shareof Christmas sunshine, was shown up to the Connors' tenement. She wasfollowed by a tall footman, who quietly deposited upon the table agenerous basket of the season's delicacies. 

"The Rose-lady, mother!" cried Katy, pinching her own arm to see if shecould possibly be awake. 

It was all true, however; and that day the Connors family found adevoted friend. Henceforth the Rose-lady took a special interest inEllie. She induced a celebrated doctor to go and see her. The greatman said there was a chance that the crippled child might be cured byelectricity; and it was arranged that the mother should take herregularly to his office for treatment, Mrs. M---- offering the use ofher carriage. 

Now Ellie can walk almost as well as ever. She is growing strongerevery day, and will probably before long be able to attain herambition--"to earn money to help mother. "

"And to think, Katy, " the little girl often says, affectionately, "itall came about through your wanting to give me that Christmas doll!"

BUILDING A BOAT. 

I. 

"Oh, if we only had a boat, what jolly fun we might have!" exclaimedJack Gordon regretfully, following with his eyes the bright waters asthey rushed along, --now coursing smoothly, now leaping in the sunshine;again darkened for the moment, and eddying beneath the shade of theoverhanging branches of a willow tree; then in the distance comingalmost to a standstill, and expanding into the clear, floating mirrorof the mill-pond. 

"That's so, " answered Rob Stuart, laconically. The two boys werelounging on the bank of the creek, which, though dignified by the nameof Hohokus River and situated in New Jersey, is not considered ofsufficient importance to be designated on the map of that State, evenby one of those wavering, nameless lines which seem to be hopelesslyentangled with one another for the express purpose of confusing afellow who has neglected his geography lesson until the last moment. 

"Yes, if we had a boat we might explore this stream from source tomouth, " continued Jack, who was always in search of adventures. 

"A canoe?" suggested Rob. 

"That would be just the thing, " agreed Jack. "But a regular canoe, made of birch bark or paper, would cost too much. I'll tell you whatit is, Rob. Jim and I have next to nothing in the treasury at present. We haven't had a chance to earn much lately. "

"I'm about dead broke, too, " replied Rob. 

"I say, " exclaimed Jack, after a moment of silence, "suppose we makeone?"

"Make one!" echoed Rob, surprised. 

"Why, yes. All we need is a flat-bottomed boat; and it ought not to behard to put one together. Uncle Gerald promised to give me some boardsfor my chicken-coops; perhaps he would add a few more if he knew whatwe wanted them for. Let's go over and see if he is at home now, "

"All right, " answered Rob, preparing to start. 

Jack and Rob might almost always be found together. They were of aboutthe same age, --Jack being fourteen on his last birthday, the 22d ofJanuary, and Rob on the 30th of the following March. They lived withina stone's-throw of each other, and had been friends from the time theywere little chaps. 

Mr. Gerald Sheridan was a merchant who did business in New York, but hewas now taking a few days' vacation, to look a little after the workupon his farm, which was in charge of a hired man. His house, situateda short distance down the road, was large and spacious. The boyswalked briskly toward it, planning as they went. 

At Uncle Gerald's the latch string was always out--that is, if the doorwas not standing hospitably open, as was usually the case in pleasantspring or summer weather; one had only to turn the knob and walk in. Just as they were about to enter the square, home-like hall, lined withold-fashioned settles and adorned with fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, tennis rackets, and the like, Jack's cousin, eleven-year-old Leo, cameout of an adjoining room and said;

"Hello! You want to see father? Well, he's over yonder"--pointing toa sunny patch of ground toward the south, --"showing Michael how hewants the vegetable garden planted. Wait a minute and I'll go withyou. "

Leo's hat having been discovered in a corner where he had tossed it anhour or two earlier, they started on a race to the garden, and broughtup suddenly in front of Uncle Gerald, who now, in a dark blue flannelshirt, trousers to match, and a broad-brimmed hat of grey felt, wasevidently dressed for the _role_ of a farmer. He was a pleasant man, tall and slight in figure, with blue eyes, a brown beard, and a cheery, kindly manner, which made him a favorite with everybody, and especiallywith boys, in whose projects he was always interested. 

"Give you the wood to build a boat?" he repeated, when told what Jackand Rob wanted to accomplish. "Willingly. I am glad to have youattempt something of the kind. I have always maintained that boysshould be taught to work with their hands. Every youth ought to learnthe use of tools, just as a girl learns to sew, to cook, and help hermother in household duties. Then we should not have so many awkward, stupid, bungling fellows, who can not do anything for themselves. Itis as disgraceful for a lad not to be able to drive a nail straightwithout pounding his fingers or thumb as it is for a girl not to knowhow to stitch on a button. But I am letting my hobby run away with me, and no doubt you are anxious to be off. You will find the lumber piledin the storeroom of the barn. Take what you need. Perhaps Leo willlend you his pony to draw the load home. "

"Thank you, sir!" answered Jack, heartily. 

Now that the means of carrying out his plan were insured to him, he didnot feel in such a hurry; and, furthermore, though quite satisfied thathe should have no trouble about it, he would not have objected to a fewhints as to how to begin. 

"Can you tell me, Uncle, " asked the boy, half jocosely, "if any of thedistinguished men you are thinking of ever attempted to make a boat?"

"To be sure, " returned the gentleman. "There was Peter the Great, who, though a tyrannical ruler, might have earned fair wages as aship-builder. But we shall have to talk about him another time, when Ihave leisure; for I see that at present Michael wants me to devote allmy attention to tomato plants, peas, beans, and seed potatoes. If youwait till tomorrow, I will show you how to set to work. "

"Oh, I guess we can get on!" returned Jack, becoming impatient again, and feeling that it would be impossible to delay, with the whole brightday before them. Rob seemed to be of the same opinion. 

Uncle Gerald smiled, reflecting that, since manual training does notbegin with boat-building, they would soon discover the task soconfidently undertaken to be a far greater one than they realized. Hemade no comment, however; and the boys started for the barn-loft, wherethey selected the wood best suited to their purpose, and carried itdown to the yard, where Leo had dragged out the pony wagon. 

"Here, " said he, "you may stow the boards into this; and I'll lend youWinkie to draw them home, if you'll promise to let Jim and me see youbuild the boat. "

Jack's brother Jim was a year older than Leo; but the two chummedtogether, and were accustomed to stand up for each other, and thus holdtheir own against the big boys, who were sometimes rather too muchinclined to adopt a patronizing tone toward them. 

Jack and Rob now exchanged significant glances, which said plainly thatthey would prefer the loan of the pony without any conditions. Itwould be annoying to have the little fellows "tagging after them. " Butthere was no help for it. The pony belonged to Leo, and they could nottake it without his permission. 

"Oh--ahem--I suppose so! Hey, Rob?" said Jack, shutting one eyeexpressively. 

"Well--yes, " agreed Rob, appreciating the situation. 

They went round to the front of Winkie's stall. Immediately a shaggyhead protruded through the window-like opening, a pair of bright eyespassed over the other visitors and rested upon Leo, with a look whichmight well be interpreted as one of affection; and a rough nose rubbedup against the boy's arm, this being Winkle's way of expressing delightat seeing his master. He rather resented any attempt at petting fromJack or Rob, however; which led them to tease him, much as they wouldplay with a dog, --for he was only a little Shetland pony, hardly largerthan a good-sized Newfoundland. 

"Kittelywink!" exclaimed Rob, giving him his full name, which had beenshortened for the sake of euphony. "What in the world did you call himthat for?"

"Well, I can't exactly say, " replied Leo; "but somehow it's a namethat's all jumbled up and confused like, and, that is just about howyou feel when he gets playing his pranks. Presto, change! you know. Now you're here, and now you don't know where you are, but most likelyit is in the middle of a dusty or muddy road. Oh, you don't mind thefall, 'cause he has an accommodating way of letting you down easy; butit hurts your feelings awful, especially if there's anybody round. Youdon't seem as big as you were a few moments before. He doesn't actthat way with me now, because I try to be always kind and gentle withhim. But you just attempt to really plague him, and see who'll get thebest of it. "

"Thank you, I guess I won't mind, " responded Rob, in a dry tone, whichmade the others laugh. He already knew by experience something of thepony's capers, though it had been in Leo's possession only a few weeks;while Jack, having been away on a visit, had never driven Winkie. 

"Perhaps if you changed his name he would behave better, " suggested Rob. 

"I did think of that, " answered Leo, seriously. "I had half a mind tocall him Cream Puff; you see he's just the color of those lovely onesthey sell at the baker's. "

Both the boys laughed heartily. 

"Crickey! that is an odd name, sure enough, and would suit himsplendidly!" said Rob. 

"Yes, and he'd have to be sweet and nice all the time, in order to liveup to it, " added Jack. 

"Oh, you must not think he is ugly or vicious!" continued Leo. "Henever tried to run away, and most of his antics are nothing but sport. He is not really bad, only a bit contrary occasionally, as Michaelsays. Mother declares that he reminds her sometimes of a boy who hasforgotten to say his prayers in the morning, 'cause then he (the boy, you know) is apt to be fractious, and keeps getting into trouble allday. "

"Ha, Leo, what a dead give away!" exclaimed Jack, in a badgeringmanner. "That's the way it is with you, is it?"

"That's the way with most fellows, I'll wager!" mumbled Leo, growingred, and wishing he had not been quite so communicative. 

Neither of the others replied to this, but each secretly admitted thatthere was a good deal of truth in what he said. 

They all assisted in harnessing Kittelywink, who appeared to think thisgreat fun. However, when it became evident that he was expected todraw the little wagon laden with the lumber, he protested decidedly. 

"He doesn't want to be used as a dray-horse, " observed Leo, sympathetically. 

Whether Winkie's pride was indeed hurt at being put to menialemployment, or whether he simply felt it an imposition to require himto carry a pile of boards and three sturdy lads in addition, it isimpossible to say. At all events, he refused to budge. 

"Pshaw!" said Jack. "You fellows had better get off. I'll drive. "

There was nothing to be done but for Rob and Leo to scramble down. 

"Geet a-a-p!" cried Jack, giving the pony a sharp lash with the whip. 

Winkle bounded forward, and darted up the road at what may be calledliterally a rattling speed; for the boards clattered away at everyrevolution of the wheels, and the driver found some difficulty inkeeping his seat. Jack became excited. He sawed at the pony's mouthand drew him up so suddenly as to pull him back on his haunches. Winkie resolutely objected to these proceedings, and forthwithabsolutely declined to go a step farther. 

Rob and Leo came running up. 

"Jingo, but he's a beauty!", exclaimed Rob, with admiring sincerity. 

Winkie, in truth, looked very handsome and roguish as he stood there, with his head bent doggedly, his shaggy mane blown about by the wind, and his bright eyes mischievously asking as plainly as they could:"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Huh! Handsome is that handsome does!" grumbled Jack. "But I'll teachhim to behave himself. "

He raised the whip once more, but Leo caught his arm, crying, "No, you must not whip him. Father says a horse can be managed bykindness better than in any other way. "

"Oh, I _must_ not!" repeated Jack, ironically; but, glancing at Leo'sface, he saw that his cousin looked flushed and determined. It wouldnot do to quarrel with such a little fellow as Leo, so he checked thesharp words that rose to his lips, and answered with an effort to begood-natured: "Try it yourself, then. I'll just sit here and hold thereins, and you can reason with him all you have a mind to. "

Leo went up to the pony's head, patted and spoke gently to him. Winkiearched his neck, then put down his nose and coolly rubbed it all overhis young master's face, as if deprecating his misconduct, while makinghis complaint, as it were, that he had not been fairly treated. 

"If he isn't the cutest chap!" ejaculated Rob, delighted at hissagacity. 

Jack could not help being amused also. 

"Come now, Kittelywink, go 'long!" said he. "You shall have some sugarwhen I get home. "

Most horses are very fond of sugar, and Winkie was no exception. Heturned his ears back, with what Rob called "a pleased expression, " atthis propitiatory tone. But, although he enjoyed the petting nowlavished upon him from all quarters, his sensibilities had apparentlybeen too deeply wounded to admit of his being at once conciliated. 

"I know!" suggested Jack, unwilling to relinquish the reins. "SupposeI ride on his back?"

Leo demurred till he saw that the pony did not oppose Jack's endeavorto mount. Winkie appeared to be under the impression that they werenow to leave the wagon and the despised load behind. To the surpriseof the boys he started ahead willingly, and Jack's spirits rose. 

"Ha-ha! that's a good fellow!" he began. 

Winkie went on a few rods. Presently he discovered that hisexpectations were not to be realized. The wagon was unusually heavystill; the clattering boards set up a racket every time he moved. Hecould not get away from them. It might be a good plan to try again, though. He capered and danced, then plunged onward. Jack did not looklike a model horseman at this juncture. The boys screamed at him, giving contrary advice; though this made no difference, for his utmostexertions were directed to clinging to his refractory steed. 

The pony was only annoyed, not frightened. He seemed to find Jack'sefforts to keep from falling off quite entertaining. Suddenly a newidea occurred to him. What a wonder that he did not think of itbefore! He veered toward the side of the way, stopped abruptly, and, bending his head, sent Jack flying over it into the ditch. A grandsuccess! With a satisfied air Winkie followed up his victory, approached his prostrate antagonist, regarded him for a moment, and--for he wore no check-line--putting down that clever nose of his, by a playful push with it he rolled the boy fairly over, and then setoff in a steady trot along the highway. 

II. 

Winkie had just reached the gate of Jack's home, when our young friendscaught up with him. Leo was now allowed to assume control, and, bydint of much coaxing and encouragement, at length succeeded in leadinghim to Mr. Gordon's barn. The wagon was here unloaded, after which Leoleaped into it, crying, "Come on, old fellow; that's all!" And Winkie, shaking his mane, as if felicitating himself that the disagreeable taskwas over, started off with much satisfaction. 

"I'll be back again this afternoon, " his little master shouted to theothers as he drove away; "but--I think I'll walk!"

For the next fortnight the lads spent the greater part of the time inthe Gordon barn. Such a hammering and sawing as went on there! Atfirst the proceedings were enveloped in an air of mystery. Jack'sfather suspected that they were preparing for an amateur circusperformance. His mother wondered at the interest manifested in therepair of the chicken-coops. Some experiment was in progress, she wassure; but what? At last the secret came out. They were building aboat!

Jack and Rob did it all. "The little boys"--as they were accustomed tocall Jim and Leo, much to the chagrin of the latter--were not permittedto have anything to say. They were to keep their eyes open and learnby observation. This they did, though not with exactly the result thathad been intended. Before long they understood very well what not todo in building a boat. But we are all liable to make mistakes; and arewe not continually teaching others, at least by our experience?

In season and out of season the work went on. Little Barbara Stuartwas constantly coming over to ask: "Is Rob here? Mother wants him; hehasn't half finished what he had to do at home. " Leo kept getting intotrouble because he would stop at his cousin's, instead of goingdirectly home from school as his father wished him to do. Jim, who hada decided, but, alas! entirely uncultivated, taste for drawing, spoiledhis new writing-book with extraordinary sketches meant to representevery kind of boat, from a punt or dory to an ocean steamer; and inconsequence was not on good terms with the schoolmaster, who did notappreciate such evidences of genius. 

Jack--well, everything seemed to go wrong with him. "Where isJack?"--"Oh, bother, over at the barn!" The answer soon became abyword. The barn was at some distance from the house, and what a timethere was in summoning the boy! The method was sufficiently telling, one would think, since it informed the whole neighborhood when he waswanted. It consisted in blowing the horn for him. Now, this was nocommon horn, but the voice of a giant imprisoned in a cylinder. Jackcould have explained it upon the principle of compressed air, for hewas studying natural philosophy; but Mr. Sheridan's Michael oncedescribed it in this way:

"Sure, it's the queerest thing that ever ye saw! Ye just jam one pieceof tin pipe into another piece of tin pipe, as hard as ye can; an' itlets a wail out of it that ye'd think would strike terror to the heartof a stone and wake the dead!"

Whatever effect it might have upon granite or ghosts, however, Jack wasusually so engrossed with the boat as to be deaf to its call. If Mrs. Gordon wanted him to harness a horse for her in a hurry, there was nouse in sounding a bugle blast; she might try again and again, but inthe end she would have to send some one over to him with the message. If he was sent up to the village on an errand, or told to do anythingwhich took him away from his work, he either objected, or complied witha very bad grace. 

"I'll tell ye one thing, " said Mary Ann the cook, one day when neitherJack nor Jim would go to the store for her, though it would only havetaken a few minutes to make the trip on the bicycle, --"I'll tell ye onething, young sirs. Ye can't expect to have a bit of luck with thatboat ye're buildin'. "

"No luck! Why not, I'd like to know?" inquired Jack. 

"Because all four of ye boys are neglectin' what ye ought to do, andtakin' for this the time which by right should be spent on otherthings; because ye've given yer fathers and mothers more cause to findfault with ye durin' the last two or three weeks than for long before, all on account of it; because ye're none of ye so good-natured as yeused to be. I've heard that havin' a bee in the bonnet spoils a body;but faith I think a boat on the brain is worse. There's one thing, though, that my mind's made up to. I'll make no more cookies for younggentlemen that are not polite and obligin'. "

Here was a threat! But, though the boys were secretly somewhatdisconcerted, they would not give Mary Ann the satisfaction of seeingthat either her prophecy or warning had any effect upon them. 

"Pshaw, Mary Ann, you're so cross to-day!" declared Jim. 

"It isn't always the good people who seem to have the best luck, "continued Jack, braving it out. "And how can you tell whether we'llsucceed or not? You are not a fortune-teller. "

"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Mary Ann, devoutly. "And, to be sure, there's plenty of people that gets on very successfully in the world, that don't seem to deserve to prosper half as much as others we knowof. But God sees what we don't, and this much we may be certain of:wrong-doin' is always punished sooner or later; while we know that, inthe end, those that tries to do right gets their full share ofblessin's and a good bit over and above. I'm not sayin' indeed that yewon't build yer boat, only that if ye neglect yer duty ye'll havereason to regret it. "

"Well, don't cast an 'evil eye' on the boat, anyway, " said Jim; "for ifwe don't finish it, how can we ever give you a row on the creek?"

"Is it _I_ ride in yer boat!" exclaimed Mary Ann, who was stout andshort-breathed. The idea of trusting herself to the tender mercies ofthe lads, and venturing into any craft of their construction, was soludicrous that she forgot her vexation and laughed heartily. "Faith, it's fine ballast I'd be for ye!" she said. "And is it in the middleof the river ye'd be landin' me? Thank ye kindly, but I'll not go apleasurin' with ye. And as for an 'evil eye, ' troth ye're but makin'game of my want of book-larnin'. But well I know there's no suchthing; and if there was, it could never harm ye or yer work if ye weredoin' right. So now be off with ye to the store, and bring me fivepounds of sugar, quick as ye can. And if ye take the molasses jugalong and get it filled--well, this once I'll beat up a batch ofcookies, so ye can have some for yer lunch at school to-morrow. "

III. 

At last the wonderful boat was pronounced finished. It had obviouslynot been modeled with an eye to beauty--was flat as the barn floor, square at both ends, and entirely lacking in the curves whichconstitute the grace of the seabird-like craft which are the delight ofyachtmen. Nevertheless, the boys were proud of it. It was their own:they had built it themselves. 

"There she is, complete from bow to stern!" exclaimed Jack, with asatisfied air. 

"Yes, " responded Leo, admiringly. "But"--hesitating--"but--which isthe bow and which the stern, you know--eh?"

"Why, this end, stupid! Don't you see I've marked it with a cross?"answered Jack. 

"Perhaps I _am_ stupid, " thought Leo; "for I don't understand now howone end can be both. I wish Jack would be a little more particularabout explaining a thing. It's queer how few fellows are! They jumbletheir words all up, and think that because _they_ know what they mean, you ought to understand, of course. "

"Well, " observed Jim, quizzically, "she isn't quite as handsome as thebarges on the lake in the park, that float up and down, looking likewhite swans. Yes, I guess she'll do. "

"We didn't set out to build a gondola, to paddle children and nurserymaids around in, " retorted Rob, with a withering glance. "She's agood, serviceable boat, and safe--"

"Oh, safe as a tub!" agreed Jim, hastily, intending the remark asconciliatory. 

"Huh! Perhaps you never tried to pilot a tub, " interposed Leo. "I didthe other day, just for practice, so I'd know how to row when the timecame to use this here punt--if that's what you call it. Jimminy! Igot tipped over into the creek, and a scolding besides when I wenthome! I'd be sorry to have her act like that. "

"A tub is a tub and a boat is a boat, " said Jack, sententiously. "Thisone couldn't tip over if it tried. Don't you see it's most square? Infact, we didn't mean to get it quite so wide; but, after all, it isbetter than those canoe-like things, which are always rocking from oneside to the other. "

"What are you going to name it?" asked Jim. 

Jack looked nonplussed. This necessity had not occurred to him before. He appealed to Rob. 

"Suppose, " replied the latter, after mature deliberation, --"suppose wecall it the Sylph? There's a, story in the _Boys' Own_ about abeautiful boat called the Sylph. "

"Cricky! it looks about as much like a sylph as--well, as Mary Anndoes!" said Jim. Since the stout, good-natured cook was heavy, andnearly square in figure, the comparison was amusingly apt. 

"Do you remember the tents at Coney Island in summer, where a regularwooden circus procession goes round in a ring, keeping time to themusic?" asked Leo. 

"Yes, and by paying five cents you can take your choice, and ride on azebra or a lion or a big gold ostrich, or anything that's there. Andonce we chose a _scrumptious_ boat, all blue and silver, and drawn bytwo swans, " responded Jim. 

"Well, what was the name of that?" said Leo. 

"I think the man told us she was known as the _Fairy_, " answered Jim. 

Again they looked at the boat and shook their heads. It would not do. 

"I did not mean the name of the blue and silver barge, but of the wholething--the ring and all?" added Leo. 

"Oh, the _Merry-go-Round_, " said Jack. 

"Why would not that be a good name?" argued Rob, pleased with thesound, and, like many a person whose fancy is caught by the jingle of aword, paying little attention to its sense. 

"That is what I thought, " began Leo, delighted to find his motionseconded, as he would have explained in the language of the juveniledebating society, which met periodically in that very barn. 

"Why! do you expect this boat to keep going round and round when we getit out into the middle of the creek?" said practical Jack, pretendingto be highly indignant at the imputation. 

"No indeed, " disclaimed Rob. "Only that she would go aroundeverywhere--up and down the stream, you know; and on an exploringexpedition, as we proposed. "

"That is not so bad, " Jack admitted. "Still, I think we could get abetter name. Let us see! The Merry Sailor, --how's that?"

"N--no--hardly, " murmured Bob. 

"The Jolly Sail--I have it: the Jolly Pioneer!"

"Hurrah!" cried Jim. "The very thing!"

"Yes, I guess that fits pretty well, " acknowledged Rob. 

"It's capital!" volunteered Leo. 

And so the matter was finally settled. The _Jolly Pioneer_ was stilldestitute of paint, but the boys were in so great a hurry to launch herthat they decided not to delay on this account. They carried her downto the creek, and by means of a board slid her into the water. Jackgot into the boat first, while the others held the side close to thebank. After him came Rob. Jim and Leo were to follow, but the _JollyPioneer_ seemed to have dwindled in size, and did not look half so bigor imposing as when in the barn. 

"Hold on!" cried Jack. "I'm afraid you will be too heavy. It won't doto crowd at first. We'll just row gently with the current a shortdistance, and then come back and let you have a turn. "

Though disappointed, the little fellows did not demur, but handed himthe oars, and waited to see the two boys glide away. But, alas!though the _Jolly Pioneer_ moved a little, it was not with the freedomand confidence which was to be expected of her in her native element. She seemed to shrink and falter, "as if afraid of getting wet, " as Jimlaughingly declared. 

"Hello! what's that?" exclaimed Rob, as he felt something cold at hisfeet. He looked down: his shoes were thoroughly wet; the water wascoming in through the crevices of the boat. 

"Pshaw!" cried Jack. "That is because it is new yet; when the wood issoaked it will swell a bit. Hurry and bail out the water, though. "

"But we haven't anything to do it with, " returned Rob, helplessly. 

"Oh, take your hat, man! A fine sailor you'd make!" Jack answered, setting the example by dipping in his own old felt. Rob's was a newstraw yet. Unfortunately for its appearance during the remainder ofthe summer, he did not think of this, but immediately went to work. Their efforts were of no use: the _Jolly Pioneer_ sank slowly butsurely. 

"Don't give up the ship!" cried Jack, melodramatically. 

So as neither of the boys attempted to get out, and thus lessen theweight, down, down it went, till it reached the pebbly bed of thecreek, and they found themselves--still in the boat to be sure, butstanding up to their waists in water. The worst of the mortificationwas that the little fellows, high and dry on the bank, were chokingwith laughter, which finally could no longer be suppressed, and brokeforth in a merry peal. 

"What do you want to stand there guffawing for?" called Jack, ill-naturedly. "Why don't you try to get the oars?"

Thus made to realize that they might be of some assistance, Jim and Leowaded in heroically, unmindful of the effect upon shoes, stockings, andclothing generally, and rescued the oars, of which poor Jack hadcarelessly relaxed his hold in the effort to bail out the boat, andwhich were being carried swiftly away by the current. 

In the meantime Jack and Rob succeeded in raising the _Jolly Pioneer_and hauling her up on the bank. While they stood there, contemplatingher in discouragement, and regardless of their own bedraggledcondition, who should come along but Uncle Gerald. 

"Hie! what is the matter?" he called from the road, suspecting thesituation at once. 

"Something is wrong with the blamed boat, after all!" Jack shoutedback, impatiently. 

Uncle Gerald leaped over the low wall, which separated the highway fromthe meadow, and was presently among them, surveying the unfortunate_Pioneer_, which now did not look at all jolly, but wore a dejectedappearance, one might fancy, as if out of conceit with itself at havingproved such a miserable failure. 

"There! I suppose he'll say, 'If you had not been so positive that youknew all about boatbuilding--if you had come to me for the advice Ipromised you, --this would not have happened, '" thought Jack; feelingthat (like the story of the last straw placed upon the overladenpack-horse, which proved too much for its strength) to be thus remindedwould make the burden of his vexations greater than he could bear. 

Uncle Gerald might indeed have moralized in some such fashion, but heconsiderately refrained, and only remarked, kindly:

"Do not be disheartened. This is not such bad work for a firstattempt. The boat would look better if it were painted, and that wouldfill up a few of the cracks too. As some of the boards are notdovetailed together, you should have calked the seams with oakum. "

"To be sure!" responded Jack. "How could we have had so littlegumption as not to have thought of it?"

"Oakum is hemp obtained from untwisting old ropes, " continued UncleGerald. "In genuine ship-building, calking consists in crowdingthreads of this material with great force into the seams between theplanks. When filled, they are then rubbed over with pitch, or what isknown as marine glue, --a composition of shellac and caoutchouc. Itwill not be necessary for you to do all this, however. Oakum is oftenused for packing goods also. I dare say if you hunt around in the barnyou will find a little lying about somewhere. But, bless me, you youngrogues! Here you are all this time in your wet clothes. Leo, yourmother will be worried for fear you may take cold. Run home as fast asyou can and get into a dry suit. And you other fellows, come! We'lltake the _Jolly Pioneer_ back to the workshop without delay; and thenyou must hurry and do the same. "

IV. 

Many days had not passed before the boys succeeded in making the puntwater-tight. Yet the carpentering still went on at the barn. 

"What is all the hammering for now?" asked Mr. Gordon one afternoon. "I thought the _Jolly Pioneer_ was in splendid trim and doing goodservice. "

"So she is, " answered Jack. "But--well, she doesn't quite come up toour expectations; so Rob and I have given her to the little boys. Weare building a larger boat for ourselves. "

Upon the principle "Never look a gift-horse in the mouth, " Jim and Leowere not disposed to find anything amiss with the present. In thefirst flush of their pride of possession they were quite jubilant. 

It was shortly after this that Jim came in to dinner one day, tattooedin a manner which would remind one of a sachem in full Indianwar-paint. There was a patch of blue low down on one cheek, a daub ofred high up on the other, a tip of chrome-yellow on the end of hisnose, and a fair share of all three upon his hands, and the sleeve ofhis jacket as well. 

"Why, my son!" exclaimed Mrs. Gordon, as this vision met her eyes. 

"Can't help it, mother, --it won't come off. I've scrubbed andscrubbed!" the little fellow protested, apologetically. 

"Plenty of hot water and soap will prove effectual. But you mustpersevere, " she went on, good-naturedly. "But what is the reason ofthis extraordinary decoration? Do you want to be taken for the'missing link'?"

Mrs. Gordon was always good friends with her boys. She had a bright, cheery way of talking to them, of entering into their plans. Shethoroughly appreciated a joke, even a practical one, when it was notperpetrated at the expense of anybody's feelings. And the lads couldalways count upon her interest and sympathy. It was not easy to imposeupon her, though. "I tell you, if a fellow tries, he is always sure toget the worst of it!" Jim used to say. 

"Ah, that is better!" said she, when Jim returned to the dining-room, his face at last restored to its usual sunburnt hue, and shining fromthe effect of a liberal lather of soap-suds, and his hands also of acomparatively respectable color. "Now, do tell us what you have beenattempting. "

"Haven't been attempting anything, " he mumbled. "Leo and I werepainting our boat, that is all. We hurried so as to finish it beforedinner. I suppose that is the reason the paint got splashed around alittle. "

Jim's temper had manifestly been somewhat ruffled by the necessity ofrepeating the soap and water process. He frowned like a thundercloud. 

Mrs. Gordon, however, always had great consideration for a hungry boy. Without appearing to notice that Jim was out of sorts, she merelyremarked, while helping him bountifully to beefsteak: "You have paintedthe _Jolly Pioneer_? How well she must look! I believe I'll walk overto the barn after dinner and see her. "

"Will you really, mother?" he exclaimed, brightening at once. 

"Yes, certainly. What color did you choose?"

"Blue, with red and yellow trimmings, " answered the boy, exultingly. 

His mother smiled. She had inferred so. But Jim's ill-humor hadvanished like mists before the sun. The next moment he was explainingto her the merits of various kinds of paint, and discussing thequestion with Jack, in the best possible spirits. 

V. 

Jack and Rob took counsel with Mr. Sheridan in the construction of thenew boat, and very creditable and satisfactory was the result. Theceremonies of the launch were now to be observed with as much formalityas if she were the crack yacht of the season, --"Barrin' the traditionalbottle of champagne, which it is customary to break over the bows ofthe new skiff as she plunges into the sea, " laughed Uncle Gerald; "andthat would not do at all for you, boys. "

"No, sir, " answered Jack, decidedly. "If it was as cheap and asplentiful as soda-water, we wouldn't have it. "

"I am glad to hear you say that, " continued Leo's father, warmly. "Itis one of the best resolutions to start in life with. "

"You know, we have joined the temperance cadet corps which FatherMartin is getting up, " explained Rob. 

"An excellent plan. I had not heard of it, " responded the gentleman. "Persevere, and you will find that by encouraging you in this, FatherMartin has proved one of the truest friends you are ever likely tohave. However, the old custom of christening a boat, as it is called, may be carried out quite as effectively with a bottle of ginger-pop, which Leo has stowed away somewhere in that basket. It is the part ofcommon-sense to unite true poetry and prose, just as we now propose tocombine a picturesque custom with temperance principles. So, boys, hurrah for ginger-pop, say I!"

The lads entered into the spirit of his mood with great gusto, andcheered hilariously. The basket was produced, and at this moment Mrs. Gordon was seen coming across the meadow. "Just in time, mother!"cried Jack, starting off to meet her. 

"You must christen the boat!" vociferated all. 

"And is that the reason why Uncle Gerald sent for me, and brought meaway from my morning's mending?" she exclaimed, in a tone which wasintended to be slightly reproachful, though she looked prepared foranything that might be required of her; for Mrs. Gordon, somehow, managed never to be so busy as to be unable to enter into the pleasuresof her boys. 

"Yes, " acknowledged Uncle Gerald; "and I have been doing my utmost todelay the proceedings, so that you would not miss them. You see, Leoand I have prepared a little surprise for the company. "

After a comprehensive glance at the basket, which certainly appearedwell packed, she asked:

"And what is to be the name of the boat?"

"We have not quite decided yet, Mrs. Gordon, " began Rob. 

"No, " interposed Jack. "We think _this_ ought to be the _JollyPioneer_. We let Jim and Leo have the other boat, but we didn't meanto give them the name too. We chose it, and we can't think of any welike so well. "

"Oh, keep it, then!" answered Jim, with a wave of the hand like that ofa stage hero resigning a fortune. (It was evident that the subject hadbeen broached before. ) "We are quite able to choose a name ourselves;we could think of half a dozen others if we wanted to, so you arewelcome to call your boat whatever you please. "

The permission might, indeed, have been more graciously expressed; butas Jim's words were accompanied by a good-natured smile. Jack wonderedif he might not accept it. 

Mrs. Gordon stood, with the bottle in her hand, waiting for thedecision, but wisely refraining from comment; the boys always settledtheir little disputes for themselves. 

"Well, what shall it be? Speak!" she said. 

"The _Jolly Pioneer_!" cried both. 

The next moment there was a crash of broken glass and a dash ofginger-pop on what was called by courtesy the bow. 

"Bravo! The Jolly Pioneer is a new recruit enlisted into thetemperance cadet corps, " said Uncle Gerald, laughing. 

There was a shifting of planks by Rob and Jack, and in another momentthe little craft was dancing gaily upon the bright waters. 

"Hurrah, hurrah!" cried the boys in chorus. 

By turns they rowed a short distance down the stream and back. Therewas no danger of sinking this time. Then they gathered under the tree, where Mrs. Gordon and Uncle Gerald had unpacked the basket and setforth a tempting lunch upon a tablecloth on the grass. As hunger issaid to be the best sauce, so good-humor sweetens the simplest fare. Our friends enjoyed their sandwiches and doughnuts, and milk rich withcream, as much as if a banquet had been spread before them. There wasplenty of fun, too; and though the wit was not very brilliant, it wasinnocent and kindly, and served its purpose; for the company were quiteready to be pleased at any one's effort to be entertaining or amusing. 

After an hour or more, Mrs. Gordon announced her intention of returningto the house. 

"And I must be off also; for I have to drive two or three miles upcountry, about some business, " added her brother. 

"We shall all have to leave now, " said Jack. "Father Martin is goingto drill the cadets for a short time in the early part of theafternoon. "

"What arrangements have you made for fastening your boat?" asked UncleGerald. "To guard against its being tampered with by meddlesomepersons, as well as to prevent its drifting away, you ought to secureit to a stake near the bank by means of a padlock. "

"We forgot to get one, " returned Jack. "No one will touch it here. I'll tie it to a tree with this piece of rope, so that it won't gofloating off on an exploring expedition on its own account. "

The next day was Sunday, and the boys had no chance to use the boatagain until Monday after school. When they hurried to the spot whereit had been moored, alas! the _Jolly Pioneer_ was nowhere to be seen. 

"Do you think she broke away?" asked Leo. 

"Pshaw! The _Jolly Pioneer_ isn't a pony!" impatiently answered Jack. 

"But the rope might have snapped, " said Jim. 

"No: the boat has been stolen, " muttered Bob, gloomily. 

"I don't believe that, " continued Jim. "Perhaps some of the fellowsaround have hidden her, just to plague us. "

"I bet it was those Jenkins boys!" declared Jack. "Don't you remember, Rob, how we made them stop badgering little Tommy Casey in theschool-yard the other day, and how mad they were about it?"

"Yes, and they swore they'd be even with us, " answered Rob. 

The Jenkins boys were the children of a drunken father, a slatternlymother. Brought up in a comfortless, poverty-stricken home, withoutany religious teaching or influences, what wonder that they becameaddicted to most of the petty vices, --that they acquired an unenviablereputation for mischief, mendacity, and thieving in a small way?

Jack's inference could hardly be called a rash judgment. A glimpse ofa derisive, grinning face among the neighboring bushes confirmed hissuspicions. Without a word he made a dash toward the thicket. Hiscompanions understood, however, and were not slow to follow hisexample. There was a crackling of the brambles, succeeded by astampede. Jack, with all his alertness, had not been quite quickenough. With a jeering whoop, two shabby figures escaped into the road. 

"The question is, where's the boat?" said Rob, as the party paused forbreath, finding that pursuit was useless. 

They searched about in the vicinity without avail, but after some timethe _Jolly Pioneer_ was finally discovered half a mile farther down thestream, entangled among a clump of willows, where the pirates, as Jimdesignated the Jenkins boys, had abandoned it. To return to the placefrom which they had taken the boat, in order to enjoy the discomfitureand dismay of those against whom they had a grudge, was characteristicof them. 

"Good! I knew we'd find the boat all right!" began Leo, joyfully. 

"By Jove! pretty well damaged, I should say!" cried Jack. 

"Well, the paint is a good deal scratched, and the seats have beenloosened; but, after all, there is no great harm done, " said Rob, morehopefully. 

Upon further examination, his view of the case proved to be correct. He and Jack experienced but little difficulty in rowing back to theoriginal moorings, Jim and Leo following along the bank and applaudingtheir skill. 

After this occurrence the _Jolly Pioneer_ and the _Merry-go-Round_ wereeach fastened to a sapling, that grew near the water's edge, by chainand padlock, which rendered them secure from interference. 

And what merry times our friends had with them upon the creek thatsummer! The _Jolly Pioneer_ proved worthy of its name, was always thebest of company, and led the way in many pleasant excursions up anddown the stream. The _Merry-go-Round_ was never far behind, and sharedthe honors of all its adventures. 

"I tell you now, " exclaimed Leo, admiringly, one day when the lads werepreparing for a row, "I don't believe you'd find two such boats in allthe country about here. "

A critical observer might have facetiously agreed with him, but theboys were content with what they had, not being able to obtain anythingbetter; and is not that one way to be happy?

"Well, they may not be beauties, " continued Jim; "and you can't exactlycall them racers; but, somehow, they keep afloat, and one can managethem first-rate. "

"And we've had enough fun with them to repay us for all the trouble wehad in making them, " added Rob. 

Jack laughed at the recollection. 

"Yes, " remarked Uncle Gerald, who had just come up, on his way to themeadow pasture. "And I think, boys, you will all acknowledge that youlearned a good many useful things while building a boat. "

A MAY-DAY GIFT. 

I. 

Early on the morning of the 1st of May, Abby Clayton ran downstairs, exclaiming by way of greeting to the household:

"A bright May Day! A bright May Day!"

"It isn't very _bright_, I'm sure!" grumbled her little brother Larry, who clattered after her. "There's no sunshine; and the wind blows sohard I sha'n't be able to sail my new boat on the pond in the park. It's mighty hard lines! I don't see why it can't be pleasant on aholiday. Think of all the shiny days we've had when a fellow had to bein school. Now, when there's a chance for some fun, it looks as if itwere going to rain great guns!"

"Well, it won't, " said Abby, pausing in the hall to glance back at him, as he perched upon the baluster above her. "It won't rain great guns, nor pitchforks, nor cats and dogs, nor even torrents. It's going toclear up. Don't you know that some people say the sun generallyshines, for a few minutes anyhow, on Saturdays in honor of the BlessedVirgin?"

"This isn't Saturday, " objected Larry, somewhat indignantly. 

"Yes, but it is the 1st of May; and if that is not our Blessed Mother'sday too, I'd like to know what is!" said his sister. 

"I don't believe that about the sun shining, " continued Larry. "If youare ten--only two years older than I am, --you don't know everything. I'm going to ask mother. "

The children entered the breakfast room, greeted their father andmother, and then slipped into their places. 

"Mother, " began Larry, as he slowly poured the maple syrup over thecrisp, hot pancakes upon his plate, "is it true that the sun alwaysshines on Saturday in honor of the Blessed Virgin?"

"It is a pious and poetic saying, " replied Mrs. Clayton. "But alegendary sentiment of this kind often hides a deeper meaning. Forthose who are devoted to the Blessed Virgin, there is never a day sodark but that the love of Our Lady shines through the gloom like asunbeam, changing to the rosy and golden tints of hope the leadenclouds that shadowed their happiness; and blessing the closing day oflife, which, to look back upon, seems but as the ending of a week. "

Mrs. Clayton had hardly finished speaking, when a long ray of yellowlight fell upon the tablecloth. 

"There! the sun's out now, anyway! Crickey, I'm so glad!" exclaimedLarry. 

"The clouds were only blown up by the wind, " said his father. "I donot think we shall have rain to-day. "

"Mother, may I put on a white dress and go to buy my May wreath?" askedAbby. 

"The air is too cold for you to change your warm gown for a summer one, dear, " returned Mrs. Clayton. "You may get the wreath, though; but besure that you wear it over your hat. "

Abby seemed to think it was now her turn to grumble. 

"Oh, dear!" she murmured. "All the girls wear white dresses, and gowithout hats on May Day. I don't see why I can't!"

Her complaint made no impression, however; so she flounced out of theroom. 

"My mother is the most exaggerating person!" exclaimed the little girl, as she prepared for her shopping excursion. She meant aggravating;but, like most people who attempt to use large words the meaning ofwhich they do not understand, she made droll mistakes sometimes. 

Abby had fifteen cents, which her grandma had given her the day before. 

"I'll hurry down to the Little Women's before the best wreaths aregone, " she said to herself. 

The place was a fancy store, kept by two prim but pleasant spinstersisters. Besides newspapers, stationery, thread and needles, and soforth, they kept a stock of toys, candies, and pickled limes, whichinsured them a run of custom among the young folk, who always spoke ofthem as the Little Women. Not to disappoint the confidence placed inthem by their youthful patrons, they had secured an excellentassortment of the crowns of tissue-paper flowers which, in those days, every little girl considered essential to the proper observance of MayDay. 

Abby selected one which she and the Little Women made up their mindswas the prettiest. It usually took both of the Little Women to sell athing. If one showed it, the other descanted upon its merits, orwrapped it up in paper when the bargain was completed. Neither of themappeared to transact any business, even to the disposal of "a picklelime" (as the children say), quite on her own responsibility. 

After Abby had fully discussed the matter with them, therefore, shebought her wreath. It was made of handsome white tissue-paper roses, with green tissue-paper leaves, and had two long streamers. There wasanother of pink roses, which she thought would be just the thing forLarry to buy with the fifteen cents which he had received also. ButLarry had said:

"Pshaw! I wouldn't wear a wreath!" Abby didn't see why, because someboys wore them. 

On the way home she met a number of her playmates. Several of themshivered in white dresses, and all were bareheaded except for theirpaper wreaths. Not one of the wreaths was so fine as Abby's, however. But, then, few little girls had fifteen cents to expend upon one. Abbyperceived at a glance that most of those worn by her companions were ofthe ten-cent variety. The Little Women had them for eight; and evenfive copper pennies would buy a very good one, although the roses ofthe five-cent kind were pronounced by those most interested to be"little bits of things. "

Abby talked to the girls a while, and then went home to exhibit herpurchase. Her mother commented approvingly upon it; and the littlegirl ran down to the kitchen to show it to Delia the cook, who hadlived with the family ever since Larry was a baby. 

Delia was loud in her admiration. 

"Oh, on this day they do have great doings in Ireland!" said she; "butnowadays, to be sure, it's nothing to what it was in old times. It wason May eve, I've heard tell, that St. Patrick lit the holy fire atTara, in spite of the ancient pagan laws. And in the days when thecountry was known as the island of saints and of scholars, surethroughout the length and breadth of the land the monastery bells rangin the May with praises of the Holy Mother; and the canticles in herhonor were as ceaseless as the song of the birds. And 'twas thefairies that were said to have great power at this season--"

"Delia, you know very well there are no fairies, " interrupted Abby. 

"Well, some foolish folk thought there were, anyhow, " answered Delia. "And in Maytide the children and cattle, the milk and the butter, werekept guarded from them. Many and many an evening I've listened to mymother that's dead and gone--God rest her soul!--telling of an oldwoman that, at the time of the blooming of the hawthorn, always put aspent coal under the churn, and another beneath the grandchild'scradle, because that was said to drive the fairies away; and howprimroses used to be scattered at the door of the house to prevent thefairies from stealing in, because they could not pass that flower. Butyou don't hear much of that any more; for the priest said 'twassuperstition, and down from the heathenish times. So the old peoplecame to see 'twas wrong to use such charms, and the young peoplelaughed at the old women's tales. Now on May Day the shrines in thechurches are bright with flowers, of course. And as for the innocentmerrymakings, instead of a dance round the May or hawthorn bush, as inthe olden times, in some places there's just perhaps a frolic on thevillage green, when the boys and girls come home from the hills anddales with their garlands of spring blossoms--not paper flowers likethose, " added Delia, with a contemptuous glance at Abby's wreath, forgetting how much she had admired it only a few moments before. 

Somehow it did not now seem so beautiful to Abby either. She took itoff, and gazed at it with a sigh. 

"Here in New England the boys and girls go a-Maying, " she said. "Lastyear, when we were in the country, Larry and I went with our cousins. We had such fun hanging May-baskets! I got nine. But, " she went on, regretfully, "I don't expect any this year; for city children do nothave those plays. "

She went upstairs to the sitting-room, where Larry was rigging his boatanew. He had been to the pond, but the wind wrought such havoc withthe little craft that he had to put into port for repairs. 

Half an hour passed. Abby was dressing her beloved doll for an airingon the sidewalk, --a promenade in a carriage, as the French say. Whilethus occupied she half hummed, half sang, in a low voice, to herself, apopular May hymn. When she reached the refrain, Larry joined, andDelia appeared at the door just in time to swell the chorus with honestfervor:

 "See, sweet Mary, on thy altars Bloom the fairest flowers of May. Oh, may we, earth's sons and daughters, Grow by grace as fair as they!"

"If you please, " said Delia at its close, "there's a man below stairswho says he has something for you both. "

"For us!" exclaimed the children, starting up. 

"Yes: your mother sent me to tell you. He says he was told to say ashow he had a May-basket for you. "

"A May-basket, Delia? What! All lovely flowers like those I told youabout?" cried the little girl. 

"Sure, child, and how could I see what was inside, and it so carefullydone up?" answered Delia, evasively. 

They did not question further, but rushed downstairs to see forthemselves. 

In the kitchen waited a foreign-looking man, with swarthy skin, andthin gold rings in his ears. On the floor beside him was a large, rough packing-basket. 

"_That_ a May-basket!" exclaimed Abby, hardly able to restrain thetears of disappointment which started to her eyes. 

"_Si, signorita_, " replied the man. 

Her frown disappeared. It was certainly very nice to be addressed byso high-sounding a title. She wished she could get Delia to call her_signorita_. But no; she felt sure that Delia never would. 

"Pshaw! It's only a joke!" said Larry, after a moment. "Somebodythinks this is April-fool Day, I guess. "

"Have patience for a leetle minute, please, " said the man, as he castaway the packing bit by bit. The children watched him with eagerinterest. By and by he took out a little bunch of lilies of thevalley, which he handed to Abby with a low bow. Next he came tosomething shrouded in fold after fold of tissue-paper. 

"And here is the fairest lily of them all, " he said, in his poeticItalian fashion. 

"What can it be, mother?" asked the little girl, wonderingly. 

Mrs. Clayton smiled. "It is from Sartoris', the fine art store whereyou saw the beautiful pictures last week; that is all I know about it, "she replied. 

The man carefully placed the mysterious object on the table. 

"It is some kind of a vase or an image, " declared Larry. 

"Why, so it is!" echoed Abby. 

In another moment the tissue veil was torn aside, and there stoodrevealed a beautiful statue of the Blessed Virgin. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Larry, in delight. 

"How lovely!" added his sister. 

The image was about two feet high, and of spotless Parian, which wellsymbolized the angelic purity it was intended to portray. To many, perhaps, it might appear simply a specimen of modeling, but littlebetter than the average. However, those who looked on it with the eyesof faith saw before them, not so much the work itself, as the ideal ofthe artist. 

The graceful figure or Our Lady at once suggested the ethereal andcelestial. The long mantle, which fell in folds to her feet, signifiedher modesty and motherly protection; the meekly folded hands were asilent exhortation to humility and prayer; the tender, spiritual faceinvited confidence and love; the crown upon her brow proclaimed hersovereignty above all creatures and her incomparable dignity as Motherof God. 

"And is this beautiful statue really ours--just Larry's and mine?"asked Abby. 

"So the messenger says, " returned Mrs. Clayton. 

"Who could have sent it, I wonder?" inquired Larry. 

The Italian pointed to the card attached to the basket. Abby took itoff and read:

"To my little friends, Abby and Larry Clayton, with the hope that, especially during this month, they will try every day to do some littlething to honor our Blessed Mother. 

"FATHER DOMINIC. "

"From Father Dominic!" exclaimed the boy, in delight. 

"How very good of him!" added Abby, gratefully. 

Father Dominic--generally so called because his musical Italian surnamewas a stumbling-block to our unwieldy English speech--was a particularfriend of Mr. And Mrs. Clayton, who appreciated his culture andrefinement, and admired his noble character and devotion to hispriestly duties. He was an occasional visitor at their house, and tooka great interest in the children. 

"How nice of him to send us something we shall always have!" Abby ranon. "Now I can give the tiny image in my room to some one who hasn'tany. "

"May we make an altar for our statue, mother?" asked Larry. 

Although as a rule a lively, rollicking boy, when it came to anythingconnected with his prayers, he was unaffectedly and almost comicallysolemn about it. 

"Yes, " responded Mrs. Clayton. "And I think it would be a good planalso to frame the card and hang it on the front of the altar, so thatyou may not forget Father Dominic's words: 'Try every day to do somelittle thing to honor our Blessed Mother. '"

II. 

"O mother!" cried Abby, the day after the arrival of the uniqueMay-basket from Father Dominic, "now that we have such a lovely statueof the Blessed Virgin, don't you think we ought to make a regularaltary. "

"A what!" exclaimed Mrs. Clayton, at a loss to understand what herlittle daughter could possibly mean. "I told you that you might havean altar, dear. And you may arrange it whenever you please. "

"No, but an altary, " persisted Abby. "The Tyrrells have an altary intheir house, and I wish we could have one too. Why, you must know whatit is, mother, --just a little room fitted up like a chapel; and thefamily say their prayers there night and morning, and at other times ifthey wish. "

"Oh, an oratory!" observed Mrs. Clayton, trying to repress a smile. 

"Perhaps that _is_ the name, " admitted Abby, a trifle disconcerted. "Anyhow, can't we have one?"

"Well--yes, " said her mother, after a few moments' reflection. "Thesmall room next to the parlor might be arranged for that purpose. "

"That would make a beautiful al--chapel!" exclaimed Abby. She did notventure to attempt the long word again. 

"I think I could get enough out of the carpet that was formerly on theparlor to cover the floor, " mused Mrs. Clayton aloud. "The squaretable, draped with muslin and lace, would make a pretty altar. Then, with the pictures of the Sacred Heart and the Bouguereau Madonna tohang on the walls, and my _prie-dieu_--yes, Abby, I think we can manageit. "

"Oh, how splendid!" cried the little girl. "When shall we begin to getit ready?"

"Perhaps to-morrow, " answered her mother; "but I can not promise tohave the preparations completed at once. It will take some time toplan the carpet and have it put down. "

Abby was not only satisfied, but delighted. She told Larry the minutehe came into the house. He had been over to the pond with his boatagain. 

"That will be grand!" said he. "When you get everything fixed, I'llbring you the little vase I got for Christmas, and my prayer-book, and--oh, yes, my rosary, to put on the altar. And, then, " he went on, quite seriously, "there's my catechism, and the little chalk angel, and--"

"The little chalk angel!" repeated Abby, scornfully. "Why, that haslost its head!"

"But it's a little chalk angel all the same, " argued Larry. "And if Ifind the head, it can be glued on. "

"Oh--well; we don't want any trash like that on our altar!" rejoinedhis sister. "And the books and rosary can be kept on the shelf in thecorner. It would be nice to have the vase, though. "

Larry, who at first had been rather offended that his offerings werenot appreciated, brightened up when he found he could at least furnishsomething to adorn the shrine. 

The following day was Saturday. There was, of course, no school, andAbby was free to help her mother to get the little room in order. Shewas impatient to begin. But alas for her plans! About nine o'clock inthe morning Mrs. Clayton suddenly received word that grandma was notfeeling well, and she at once prepared to visit the dear old lady. 

"I may be away the greater part of the day, Delia, " she said, as shetied the strings of her bonnet; "but I have given you all necessarydirections, I think, --Larry, do not go off with any of the boys, butyou may play in the park as usual. --And, Abby, be sure that you do notkeep Miss Remick waiting when she comes to give you your music lesson. "

"But what about the altary--oh, oratory I mean?" asked Abby, dejectedly. 

"There is a piece of muslin in the linen press which you may take tocover the altar, " said her mother; "but do not attempt to arrangeanything more. I will attend to the rest next week. I am sorry todisappoint you and Larry; but, you see, I can not help it. "

She harried away; and the children ran up to the parlor, which was onthe second story of the house, to take another look at their preciousstatue, which had been placed on the marble slab in front of one of thelong mirrors. Then they went into the small room which was to be theoratory. The only furniture it contained was the square table whichthey had brought there the evening before. Abby got the muslin, andbegan to drape the table to resemble an altar; Larry looking onadmiringly, volunteering a suggestion now and then. She succeededpretty well. Larry praised her efforts; he was prouder than ever ofhis sister, --although, as he remarked, "the corners _would_ look alittle bunchy, and the cloth was put on just a _teenty_ bit crooked. "

Presently the little girl paused, took several pins out of hermouth--which seemed to be the most available pincushion, --and glanceddisconsolately at the pine boards of the floor. 

"What is the use of fixing the altar before the floor is covered!" shesaid. "I am almost sure I could put down the carpet myself. "

"Oh, no, you couldn't!" said Larry. "You'd be sure to hammer yourfingers instead of the tacks--girls always do. But if you get thecarpet all spread out, _I'll_ nail it down for you. "

The roll of carpet stood in the corner. It had been partially rippedapart, and there were yards and yards of it; for it had covered theparlor, which was a large room. Mrs. Clayton intended to have it madeover for the dining-room, and estimated that there would be enough leftfor the oratory. She had not thought it necessary to explain thesedetails to Abby, however. 

"We'll do it, " declared the latter. "Mother said to wait, but I don'tbelieve she'll care. "

"Course she won't, " agreed Larry. 

Both the children felt that what they had decided upon was not exactlyright, --that it would be better to observe strictly their mother'sinstructions. But, like many people who argue themselves into thedelusion that what they want to do is the best thing to be done, Abbytried to compromise with the "still small voice" which warned her notto meddle, by the retort: "Oh, it will spare mother the trouble! Andshe'll be glad to have it finished. " As for Larry, the opportunity topound away with the hammer and make as much noise as he pleased, was atemptation hard to resist. 

Abby opened the roll. 

"What did mother mean by saying she thought she could get enough out ofthis carpet to cover the floor?" said the little girl, with a laugh. "She must have been very absent-minded; for there's lashin's of ithere, as Delia would say. "

"Oh, my, yes--lashin's!" echoed Larry. 

Abby was what is called "a go-ahead" young person. She was domestic inher tastes, and, for her years, could make herself very useful aboutthe house when she chose. Now, therefore, she had no diffidence abouther ability to carry out her undertaking. And Larry, although hefrequently reminded her that she did not know _every_thing, had aflattering confidence in her capacity. 

"I'll have it done in less than no time, " she said, running to get hermother's large scissors. 

Click, click went the shears as she slashed into the carpet, taking offbreadth after breadth, without attempting to match the pattern, andwith little regard for accuracy of measurement. Instead of laying italong the length of the room, she chose to put it crosswise, thuscutting it up into any number of short pieces. 

"No matter about its not being sewed, " she went on; "you can nail ittogether, can't you, Larry?"

"Oh, yes!" said Larry. 

The more hammering the better for him. He hunted up the hammer and twopapers of tacks, and as fast as Abby cut he nailed. 

Delia was unusually busy; for it was house-cleaning time, and she wasgetting the diningroom ready for the new carpet. Therefore, althoughshe heard the noise upstairs, she gave herself no concern about it;supposing that Larry was merely amusing himself, for he was continuallytinkering at one thing or another. 

By and by Larry remarked: "Say, Abby, you've got two of these piecestoo short. "

Abby went over and looked at them. "Gracious, so I have!" she said. "Well, put them aside, and I'll cut two more. "

Click went the scissors again, and the carpet was still furthermutilated. Then, as a narrow strip was required, a breadth was slitdown the centre. Finally the boards were covered. 

"There!" she cried triumphantly. "It is all planned. Now, I'll nail. "

Larry demurred at first, but Abby was imperious. Moreover, theconstant friction of the handle of the hammer had raised a blister inthe palm of his hand. Abby had an ugly red welt around her thumb, caused by the resistance of the scissors; for it had been very hardwork to cut the heavy carpet. But she did not complain, for she feltthat she was a martyr to industry. 

At last the work was completed; and, flushed and tired, with herfingers bruised from frequent miscalculated blows from the hammer, andher knuckles rubbed and tingling, she paused to admire the result ofher toil. The carpeting was a curious piece of patchwork certainly, but the children were delighted with their achievement. 

The lunch bell rang. 

"Don't say anything about it to Delia, " cautioned Abby. 

Larry agreed that it would be as well not to mention the subject. Theydid not delay long at the meal, but hastened back to their self-imposedtask. 

"Now let's hurry up and finish the altar, " said Abby. 

Having completed the adornment of the table, by throwing over themuslin a fine lace curtain, from the linen press also, and decking itwith some artificial flowers found in her mother's wardrobe, Abbybrought the statue from the parlor, and set it upon the shrine whichshe and Larry had taken so much trouble to prepare. Larry placedbefore the lovely image his little vase containing a small bunch ofdandelions he had gathered in the yard. He was particularly fond ofdandelions. Abby had nothing to offer but her May wreath, which shelaid beside it. But the decorations appeared too scanty to satisfy her. 

"I'll get the high pink vases from the parlor, " said she. 

"Yes, " added Larry. "And the candlesticks with the glass hanging allround them like a fringe, that jingles when you touch them. "

The little girl brought the vases. Then she carried in the candelabra, the crystal pendants ringing as she walked in a way that delightedLarry. She knew perfectly well that she was never allowed to tamperwith the costly ornaments in the parlor; but she excused herself by theplea: "I'm doing it for the Blessed Virgin. " Larry also had a certainuneasiness about it, but he said to himself: "Oh, it must be all rightif Abby thinks so! She is a great deal older than I am, and ought toknow. "

The shrine was certainly elaborate now. The children were so engrossedwith admiring it that they did not hear the house door open and close. A step in the hall, however, reminded the little girl of her musiclesson. 

"Gracious, that must be Miss Remick!" she said, in confusion. 

She quietly opened the door of the oratory, intending to peep into theparlor to see if the teacher was there. To her surprise sheencountered her mother, who had just come up the stairs. But Mrs. Clayton was much more astonished by the sight which greeted, her eyeswhen she glanced into the oratory. 

"O Abby, " she exclaimed, in distress and annoyance, "how could you beso disobedient! O Larry, why did you help to do what you must haveknown I would not like?"

Larry grew very red in the face, looked down, and fumbled with one ofthe buttons of his jacket, "But, mother, " began Abby, glibly, "it was for the Blessed Virgin, youknow. I was sure I could put down the carpet all right, and I thoughtyou would be glad to be saved the trouble. "

"Put it down all right!" rejoined her mother. "Why, you have ruinedthe carpet, Abby!"

Both children looked incredulous and astonished. 

"Don't you see that you have cut it up so shockingly that it isentirely spoiled? What is left would have to be so pieced that I cannot possibly use it for the dining-room, as I intended. "

Abby was mortified and abashed. Larry grew more and more uncomfortable. 

"And, then, the vases and candelabra!" continued Mrs. Clayton. "Haveyou not been forbidden to lift or move them, daughter?"

"Yes, mother, " acknowledged the little girl. "But I thought youwouldn't mind when I wanted them for the altar. I didn't suppose you'dthink anything you had was too good for the Blessed Virgin. "

"Certainly not, " was the reply. "I had decided to place the candelabraon your little shrine. The pink vases are not suitable. But theseornaments are too heavy for you to carry. It was only a happy chancethat you did not drop and break them. And, then, the statue! Do younot remember that I would not permit you to move it yesterday? Howwould you have felt if it had clipped from your clasp and been dashedto pieces?"

A few tears trickled down Abby's cheeks. Larry blinked hard and staredat the wall. 

"My dear children, that is not the way to honor our Blessed Mother, "Mrs. Clayton went on to say. "Do you think that she looked down withfavor upon your work to-day? No. But if you had waited as I toldyou, --if each of you had made a little altar for her in your heart andoffered to her the beautiful flowers of patience, and the votive lightsof loving obedience, --then indeed you would have won her blessing, andshe would have most graciously accepted the homage of such a shrine. As it is, you see, you have very little, if anything, to offer her. "

III. 

For two or three days Mrs. Clayton suffered the oratory to remain asthe children had arranged it. They said their prayers there morningand evening; and to Abby especially the ridges and patches in thecarpet, which now seemed to stare her out of countenance, the pinkvases, and the candelabra, were a constant reproach for herdisobedience. Larry, too, grew to hate the sight of them. He oftenrealized poignantly also that it is not well to be too easilyinfluenced by one's playmates; for if he happened to be late and raninto the room and popped down on his knees in a hurry, he was almostsure to start up again with an exclamation caused by the prick of oneof the numerous tacks which he had inadvertently left scattered overthe floor. 

When the good mother thought that the admonition which she wished toconvey was sufficiently impressed, she had the carpet taken up, repaired as much as possible, and properly laid. Then she hung softlace curtains at the window, draped the altar anew, took away the pinkvases, and put the finishing touches to the oratory. It was now alovely little retreat. Abby and Larry never tired of admiring it. They went in and, out of the room many times during the day; and theimage of the Blessed Virgin, ever there to greet them, by its verypresence taught them sweet lessons of virtue. For who can look upon astatue of Our Lady without being reminded of her motherly tenderness, her purity and love; without finding, at least for a moment, histhoughts borne upward, as the angels bore the body of the dead St. Catherine, from amid the tumult of the world to the holy heights, thevery atmosphere of which is prayer and peace?

Whenever Abby felt cross or disagreeable, she hid herself in theoratory until her ill-humor had passed. This was certainly a greatimprovement upon her former habit, under such circumstances, ofprovoking a quarrel with Larry, teasing Delia, and taxing her mother'spatience to the utmost. She liked to go there, too, in the afternoonwhen she came in from play, when twilight crept on and deepened, andthe flame of the little altar lamp that her father had given her shonelike a tiny star amid the dusk of the quiet room. Larry liked itbetter when, just after supper, the candles of the candelabra were alllighted, and the family gathered around the shrine and said the Rosarytogether. 

To Abby belonged the welcome charge of keeping the oratory in order;while Larry always managed to have a few flowers for his vase, even ifthey were only dandelions or buttercups. He and his sister differedabout the placing of this offering. 

"What a queer boy you are!" said Abby to him one day. "Your vase has apretty wild rose painted on it, yet you always set it with the plainside out. Nobody'd know it was anything but a plain white vase. Youought to put it round this way, " she added, turning it so that the rosewould show. 

"No, I won't!" protested Larry, twisting it back again. "The prettiestside ought to be toward the Blessed Virgin. "

"Oh--well--to be sure, in one way!" began Abby. "But, then, the shrineis all for her, and this is only a statue. What difference does itmake which side of the vase is toward a statue? And it looks so funnyto see the wrong side turned to the front. Some day we'll be bringingAnnie Conwell and Jack Tyrrell, and some of mother's friends, up here;and just think how they'll laugh when they see it. "

Larry flushed, but he answered firmly: "I don't care!--the prettiestside ought to be toward the Blessed Virgin. "

"But it is only a statue!" persisted Abby, testily. 

"Of course I know it is only a statue, " replied her brother, raisinghis voice a trifle; for she was really too provoking. "I know it justas well as you do. But I think Our Lady in heaven understands that Iput the vase that way because I want to give her the best I have. AndI don't care whether any one laughs at it or not. That vase isn't hereso Annie Conwell or Jack Tyrrell or anybody else will think it lookspretty, but only for the Blessed Virgin, --so there!"

Larry, having expressed himself with such warmth, subsided. Abby didnot venture to turn the vase again. She was vaguely conscious that shehad been a little too anxious to "show off" the oratory, and hadthought rather too much of what her friends would say in regard to herarrangement of the altar. 

It was about this time that Aunt Kitty and her little daughter Clairecame to stay a few days with the Claytons. Claire was only four yearsold. She had light, fluffy curls and brown eyes, and was so dainty andgraceful that she seemed to Abby and Larry like a talking doll when shewas comparatively quiet, and a merry, roguish fairy when she rompedwith them. 

"How do you happen to have such lovely curls?" asked Abby of thefascinating little creature. 

"Oh, mamma puts every curl into a wee nightcap of its own when I go tobed!" answered the child, with a playful shake of the head. 

Larry thought this very droll. "Isn't she cunning?" he said. "Butwhat can she mean?"

"Your mother puts your hair into a nightcap!" cried Abby. "Those arecurl papers, I suppose. "

"No, nightcaps, " insisted the little one. "That's the right name. "

The children puzzled over it for some time; but finally Aunt Kitty cameto the rescue, and explained that she rolled them on bits of muslin orcotton, to give them the soft, pretty appearance which Abby so muchadmired; because Claire's father liked her to have curls, and the poorchild's hair was naturally as straight as a pipe stem. 

"Come and see our chapel, Claire, " said Abby; the word oratory did notyet come trippingly to her tongue. 

Claire was delighted with the beautiful image, and behaved asdecorously as if she were in church. Afterward the children took herto walk. They went into the park, in which there were many handsomeflower-pots, several fountains, and a number of fine pieces of marblestatuary. Claire seemed to be much impressed with the latter. 

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, pointing to them reverently. "Look at all theBlessed Virgins!"

The children laughed. She stood looking at them with a little frown, not having quite made up her mind whether to join in their mirth, or tobe vexed. When her mistake was explained to her, she said, with a pout:

"Well, if they are not Blessed Virgins, then I don't care about them, and I'm going home. "

The children had promptly sent a note to Father Dominic thanking himfor his appropriate May-Day gift. Each had a share in the compositionof this acknowledgment, but it had been carefully copied by Abby. Later they had the satisfaction of showing him the oratory. WhileClaire was with them, he happened to call again one evening just as theyoung people were saying good-night. 

"Larry, " whispered Abby, when they went upstairs and she knelt with herbrother and cousin before the little altar, --"Larry, let's say ourprayers real loud, so Father Dominic will know how good we've got to besince we've had the lovely statue. "

"All right, " said Larry, obediently. 

They began, Abby leading off in clear, distinct accents, and Larryfollowing in a heavy alto; for his voice was unusually deep andsonorous for such a little fellow. Baby Claire listened wonderingly. Then, apparently making up her mind that the clamor was due to theintensity of their fervor, she joined with her shrill treble, andprayed with all her might and main. 

To a certain extent, they succeeded in their object. The din of theirdevotions soon penetrated to the library, where their friend FatherDominic was chatting with Mr. And Mrs. Clayton. In a few moments thelatter stepped quietly into the lower hall. 

"Abby!" she called, softly. 

The little girl pretended not to hear, and kept on. 

"Abby!"--there was a decision in the tone which was not to be trifledwith. 

"What is it, mother?" she asked, with an assumption of innocence, breaking off so suddenly as to startle her companions. 

"Not so loud, dear. You can be heard distinctly in the library. "

Abby and Larry snickered; Claire giggled without knowing why. ThenAbby applied herself with renewed earnestness and volubility to thelitany. She did not intend any disrespect: on the contrary, she meantto be very devout. But she not only believed in the injunction "Letyour light shine before men, " but felt that it behooved her to attractFather Dominic's attention to the fact that it _was_ shining. Clearerand higher rose her voice; deeper and louder sounded Larry's; moreshrilly piped Claire. 

"Abby!" called Mrs. Clayton again, with grave displeasure. "That willdo. Children, go to your rooms at once. "

The others stole off without another word, but Abby lingered a minute. Father Dominic was going, and she could not resist the impulse to waitand learn what impression their piety had made. Leaning over thebalusters, she saw him laughing in an amused manner. Then he said toher mother:

"Tell Abby she has such a good, strong voice, I wish I could have herread the prayers for the Sodality. She would surely be heard all overthe church. "

He went away, and Abby crept upstairs with burning cheeks and anunpleasant suspicion that she had made herself ridiculous. 

Mrs. Clayton suspected that her little daughter had overheard themessage. She therefore spared the children any reference to thesubject. But the next time they met Father Dominic he alluded, as ifcasually, to the devotions suitable for May, and then quite naturallywent on to speak of the virtues of the Blessed Virgin, especially ofher humility and love of retirement; saying how, although the Mother ofGod, she was content to lead a humble, hidden life at Nazareth, with nothought or wish to proclaim her goodness from the house-tops. Thelesson was gently and kindly given, but Abby was shrewd enough andsufficiently well disposed to understand. She felt that she was indeedlearning a great deal during this Month of Mary. 

About the middle of the month there was a stir of pleasurableexcitement at St. Mary's School. 

"Suppose we get up a May drama among the younger pupils?" suggestedMarion Gaines, the leading spirit of the graduating class. 

The proposition was received with enthusiasm, and Mother Rosalie wasapplied to for permission. 

"Yes, " she answered, "you have my consent to your plan; but on onecondition--that you arrange the drama and drill the childrenyourselves. It will be good practice for you in the art ofcomposition; and, by teaching others, you will prove whether or not youhave profited by Professor Willet's lessons in elocution. "

The Graduates were delighted. 

"That is just like Mother Rosalie, " said Marion. "She is willing totrust us, and leaves us to our own resources, so that if we succeed allthe credit will be ours. Now we must draw up a plan. Shall we decideupon a plot, and then each work out a portion of it?"

"Oh, dear, I never could think of anything!" declared one. 

"I should not know how to manage the dialogue. My characters would beperfect sticks, " added a second. 

"I can't even write an interesting letter, " lamented some one else. 

"I respectfully suggest that Marion and Ellen be requested to composethe drama, " said the first speaker, with mock ceremony. 

"I agree with all my heart!" cried one. 

"And I, "--"and I!" chimed in the others. 

"It is a unanimous vote, " continued their spokesman, turning to theyoung ladies in question, with a low bow. 

"But we shall have all the work, " objected Marion. 

"No: we will take a double share at the rehearsals, and they will be nosmall part of the trouble. "

"I'll do it if you will, Ellen, " began Marion. 

"I don't mind trying, " agreed Ellen. 

Thus the matter was settled. 

"Let us first select the little girls to take part in our drama, "Marion continued. 

"There's Annie Conwell, " said one. 

"And Lucy Caryl, " interposed another. 

So they went on, till they had chosen ten or twelve little girls. 

"As it is to be a May piece, of course we must have a Queen, " saidEllen. 

"Yes; and let us have Abby Clayton for the Queen, " rejoined Marion. "Abby is passably good-looking and rather graceful; besides, she has aclear, strong voice, and plenty of self-confidence. She would not beapt to get flustered. Annie Conwell, now, is a dear child; but perhapsshe would be timid, and it would spoil the whole play if the Queenshould break down. "

After school the little girls were invited into the Graduates'class-room; and, although not a word of the drama had yet been written, the principal parts were then and there assigned. Lucy Caryl was tohave the opening address, Annie as many lines as she would undertake, and so on. 

Abby was delighted to find that she was chosen for the most prominent_role_. She ran all the way home, and skipped gaily into the house andup to the sitting-room, where Mrs. Clayton was sewing. 

"O mother!" she exclaimed, tossing off her hat and throwing her booksupon the table, "we are to have a lovely drama at our school, and I'mto be the May-Queen!"

IV

"Just think, Larry!" said Abby to her brother, when he came home aftera game of ball, "I'm to be Queen of May!"

"You!" he cried, in a disdainful tone. 

"Yes, indeed! And why not? I'm sure I don't see why you should lookso surprised. I've been chosen because I can speak and act the best inour division. "

"But the Blessed Virgin is Queen of May, " objected Larry. 

"Oh, of course!" Abby said. "But this will be only make believe, youknow. We are going to have a drama, and I'm to be Queen, --that is all. "

"I should think you would not even want to play at taking away whatbelongs to the Blessed Virgin, " persisted Larry, doggedly. "She is theQueen of May, and no one ought to pretend to be Queen besides. "

"Oh, you silly boy! There is no use in trying to explain anything toyou!" cried Abby, losing patience. 

For the next half hour she was not so talkative, however, and after awhile she stole away; for in spite of her petulance at Larry's words, they had suggested a train of thought which made her want to be byherself. She went up to the oratory and stayed there a long time, amidthe twilight shadows. Finally the ringing of the supper bell put anend to her musings. She knelt a few minutes before the statue, andthen ran down to the dining-room. She was very quiet all the evening;and, to Mrs. Clayton's surprise, the family heard no more of the Maydrama. 

The next day, at school, Abby waylaid Marion Gaines in one of thecorridors. 

"I want to speak to you, " she began. 

"Well, what's the matter, Abby? What makes you so serious thismorning?" inquired Marion. 

"Nothing--only I've been thinking about the May piece, and I want totell you that I'd rather not be Queen, " faltered the little girl, "You'd rather not be Queen!" repeated Marion, in astonishment. "Whynot? I thought you were delighted to be chosen. "

"So I was--yesterday, " the little girl hastened to say; for she wouldnot have Marion think she did not appreciate the compliment. 

"Then what has caused you to change your mind so suddenly?" Marion wenton. "What a fickle child you are, to be sure!"

"It is not that, " stammered poor Abby, a good deal confused;"but--but--well, you know the Blessed Virgin is Queen of May, and itseems as if we ought not even to play at having any other Queen. "

Marion stared at her incredulously. "And so missy has a scruple aboutit?" she said, smiling. 

"No, " returned Abby; "but my brother Larry thought so. And if it looksthat way even to a little boy like him, I think I would rather notpretend to be Queen. "

"A May piece without a Queen! Why, it would be like the play of Hamletwith Hamlet left out!" declared Marion. "Did you not think that if youdeclined the part we might give it to some one else?"

Abby colored and was silent. This had, indeed, been the hardest partof the struggle with herself. But there was an element of the heroicin her character. She never did anything by halves; like the littlegirl so often quoted, "when she was good, she was very, _very_, good. "

Marion stood a moment looking at her. "And do you really mean, " shesaid at length, "that you are ready to give up the _role_ you were sodelighted with yesterday, and the satisfaction of queening it over yourcompanions if only for an hour?--that you are willing to make thesacrifice to honor the Blessed Virgin?"

With some embarrassment, Abby admitted that this was her motive. 

A sudden thought occurred to Marion. "Then, Abby, you shall!" saidshe. "I'll arrange it; but don't say a word about it to any one. Letthe girls think you are to be Queen, if they please. Why, missy, " shewent on, becoming enthusiastic, "it is really a clever idea for ourdrama. We shall have a lovely May piece, after all. "

Marion hastened away, intent upon working out the new plan which herquick fancy had already sketched in outline. To be sure, she and Ellenhad devised a different one, and agreed that each should write certainscenes. Ellen had taken the first opportunity that morning to whisperthat she had devoted to the drama all the previous evening and an hourbefore breakfast. Marion, indeed, had done the same. 

"But it will not make any difference. We can change the lines alittle, " she said to herself, after reading the manuscript, which Ellenpassed to her at the hour of German study, --a time they were allowed totake for this particular composition. 

Ellen, however, thought otherwise. 

"What! another plan for the May piece!" she said, when Marionmentioned the subject. "Why, see all I've written; and in rhyme, too!"

"But it can be altered without much trouble, " explained her friend. 

"No, it can't. You will only make a hodge-podge of my verses, " sheanswered, excitedly. "I do think, Marion, that once we agreed upon theplan, you ought to have kept to it, instead of changing everything justbecause of a notion of a little girl like Abby Clayton. Here I've beenworking hard for nothing, --it was just a waste of time!"

Marion pleaded and reasoned, but without avail. Ellen's vanity waswounded. She chose to imagine that her classmate, and sometimes rival, did not care whether her lines were spoiled or not. 

"No, no!" she reiterated. "I'll have nothing to do with your new plan. You can get up the whole piece yourself. "

"At least give me what you have written, " urged Marion. "We are sohurried, and the children ought to have their parts as soon aspossible. "

But Ellen remained obdurate. 

Marion consulted the others of the class, and, after some discussion, they decided in favor of the later design. For the next few days shedevoted every spare moment to the work. By the end of the week she hadnot only finished the portion she had been expected to write, but alsomuch of what Ellen was to have done; and the parts were distributedamong the children. There were still wanting, however, the openingaddress and a dialogue, both of which Ellen had completed. 

"Oh, dear, " cried Marion, "that address of Ellen's is so pretty andappropriate! If she would only let us have it! As we planned ittogether, if I write one the principal ideas will be the same; andthen, likely as not, she will say I copied from hers. How shall Imanage?"

Ellen remained on her dignity. She would have nothing to do eitherwith Marion or the drama, and kept aloof from her classmates generally. 

The intelligence had spread through the school that the two graduateshad differed over the May piece. The exact point in dispute was notknown, however: for Marion wished to keep her design a secret, andEllen would not condescend to explain. In fact, she did not clearlyunderstand it herself; for she had been too vexed at the proposal tochange the plan to listen to what Marion said upon the subject. 

During this state of affairs poor Abby was very unhappy. She felt thatshe was the cause of all the trouble; and it seemed hard that what shehad done with the best of intentions should have made so muchill-feeling. This disastrous occurrence was followed by another, whichmade her think herself a very unfortunate little girl. 

As has already been explained, it was Larry's delight to keep always afew fresh blossoms in his pretty vase before the beloved statue of theBlessed Virgin. This he attended to himself, and no one everinterfered with the vase. On the day referred to Abby had beenrehearsing with Marion, and thus it happened that they walked part ofthe way home together. Marion stopped at a florist's stand and boughta little bunch of arbutus. 

"Here, put this on your altar, " she said, giving it to Abby. She hadheard all about the oratory. 

When the little girl reached the house Larry had not yet come in, andthe flowers had not been renewed that day. 

"I'll surprise him, " she said to herself. "How pleased he will be tosee this nice little bouquet!"

She took the vase, threw away the withered violets it contained, replaced them with the May-flowers, and put it back. But, alas! beingtaken up with admiring the delicate pink arbutus, and inhaling itsfragrance, she did not notice that she had set the vase in an unsteadyposition. The next moment it tipped over, fell to the floor, and layshattered at the foot of the altar. Abby stood and gazed at ithopelessly, too distressed even to gather up the fragments. 

"Oh, what will Larry say!" she cried, wringing her hands. "He thoughtso much of that vase! What shall I do?"

While she was thus lamenting she heard Larry's voice. He was comingstraight up to the oratory. In another minute he threw open the door;he had a little cluster of buttercups in his hand, and was so intentupon putting them in the vase that he was half-way across the roombefore he noticed the broken pieces on the floor. When he did so, hestopped and glared at his sister. 

"O Larry, " she stammered, contritely, "it was an accident! See!Marion Gaines gave me those lovely May-flowers, and I thought you'd bepleased to have them in your vase. Just as I went to put it back, itfell over. I'm awfully sorry!"

Larry's eyes flashed angrily, and his face grew crimson. 

"Abby Clayton, " he broke out, "you are always meddling! Why can't youlet things that don't belong to you alone?"'

A storm of reproaches would no doubt have followed, but just then hisangry glance turned toward the statue. There stood the image of OurLady, so meek and beautiful and mild. And there, in a tiny frame atthe front of the altar, hung father Dominic's words of advice: "Tryevery day to do some little thing to honor our Blessed Mother. "

Larry paused suddenly; for his indignation almost choked him. But inthat moment of silence he had time to reflect. What should he doto-day to honor the Blessed Virgin, now that his little vase wasbroken? He looked again at the statue. The very sight of the sweetface suggested gentler thoughts, and counselled kindness, meekness, andforbearance. 

"Well, Abby, " he blurted out, "I suppose I'll have to forgive you; but, oh, how I wish I were only six years old, so that I could cry!"

So saying, Larry laid the buttercups at the feet of Our Lady's statue, and rushed from the room. 

The next day it happened that Ellen discovered Abby in tears at thewindow of the class-room. Ellen, although quick-tempered andimpulsive, was kind-hearted. 

"What is the trouble now, child?" she asked, gently, taking Abby's handin hers. 

"Oh, " sobbed Abby, "I feel so dreadfully to think that you and Mariondon't speak to each other! And it's all my fault; because fromsomething I said to Marion she thought that, instead of taking oneamong ourselves, it would be much nicer to choose the Blessed Virginfor our May-Queen. "

"And was that Marion Gaines' plan?" asked Ellen, in surprise. 

"Why, yes! But surely she must have told you!" said the little girl. 

"I see now that she tried to, " replied Ellen, with a sigh at her ownimpetuosity. "But I was too vexed to listen. I did not reallyunderstand before. Dry your tears, Abby; I'll do my best to makeamends now. How foolish I've been!" she ejaculated, as Abby ran off ingay spirits. "And how I must have disedified the other girls! I musttry to make up for it. "

She found the verses she had written; and, on looking them over, concluded that, after all, they needed only the change of a few wordshere and there. Then she wrote a little note to Marion, as follows:

"DEAR MARION:--I did not realize until today what you wanted to doabout the May piece. If my verses would be of any use at this latehour, you are welcome to them. I should like to do all I can to helpnow, to make up for lost time. "

 "ELLEN. "

Marion gladly accepted the overtures of peace. The May drama was dulyfinished, the rehearsals went on smoothly, and on the last day of theMonth of Mary the performance took place. 

It had been rumored in the school that Abby was not to be Queen, andthere was much speculation as to which of the little girls had beenselected instead. As the drama progressed, and the plan was unfolded, the audience was taken completely by surprise. Everyone had been eagerto see the May-Queen; but there was a general murmur of appreciationwhen, at the close, the curtain rose upon a beautiful tableau; a shrineglittering with many lights, in the midst of which was enthroned alovely image of Our Lady, at whose feet the children laid their crownsof flowers--a crown to honor each transcendent virtue, --and paid theirhomage to their beautiful Queen of May. 

A few days later Father Dominic called at the Claytons. 

"Well, children, " he asked, incidentally, "have you done anything toplease the Blessed Virgin during the past month?"

Abby and Larry were silent, but their mother kindly answered:

"I think they have tried, Father Dominic. And as for your lovelyMay-Day gift, the presence of the statue seems to have drawn down ablessing upon the house. "

TILDEREE. 

I. 

Quite happy indeed was the home of Tilderee Prentiss, though it wasonly a rough log house on a ranch, away out in Indian Territory. Herfather was employed by the owner of the ranch. He had, however, asmall tract of land for himself, and owned three horses and severalcows. Her mother's duties included the management of a small dairy andpoultry yard, the products of which were readily sold at the militarypost some miles distant. 

There were two other children: Peter, thirteen years old; and Joanna, or Joan as she was called, who had just passed her eleventh birthday. They took care of the fowl, and were proud when at the end of the weekthey could bring to their mother a large basket of eggs to carry to theFort. 

The only one of the family who could afford to do nothing wassix-year-old Tilderee, though they thought she did a good deal--thatis, all except Joan; for she seemed to make everybody's else burdenlighter by her merriness, her droll sayings, and sweet, loving littleways. 

Yet she was continually getting into mischief; and to see her trottingto and fro, eager to be of use, but always lending a little hinderinghand to everything, one would hardly consider her a help. "How shouldI ever get on without the child!" her mother would often exclaim; whileat the same moment Tilderee might be dragging at her gown andinterfering with her work at every step. 

How frequently Mrs. Prentiss laughed, though with tears in her eyes, asshe thought of the time when Tilderee, a toddling baby, was nearlydrowned by tumbling head-foremost into a pailful of foaming milk, andno one would have known and rushed to save her but for the barking ofthe little terrier Fudge! Then there was the scar still to be foundbeneath the soft ringlets upon her white forehead, a reminder of theday when she tried to pull the spotted calf's tail. How frightened"papa" was at the discovery that his mischievous daughter had been athis ammunition chest, played dolls with the cartridges, and complainedthat gunpowder did not make as good mud pies as "common dirt!"

Peter and Joan could add their story, too. Peter might tell, forinstance, how Tilderee and Fudge, the companion of most of her pranks, frightened off the shy prairie-dogs he was trying to tame; saying theyhad no right to come there pretending to be dogs when they were onlybig red squirrels, which indeed they greatly resembled. Still he wasvery fond of his little sister. He liked to pet and romp with her, tocarry her on his back and caper around like the friskiest of ponies. When he paused for breath she patted his sun-burned cheek with herdimpled hand, saying, in her cooing voice, "Good brother Pippin!" whichwas her nickname for him. Then he forgot that she delighted to teasehim, --that her favorite pastime was to chase the young chicks and causea tremendous flutter in the poultry yard; and how vexed he had beenwhen she let his mustang out of the enclosure, "because, " she said, "Twinkling Hoofs needs a bit of fun and a scamper as well as anybody;and he was trying to open the gate with his nose. " It took two days tofind the mustang and coax him back again. Tilderee was penitent forfully ten minutes after this escapade; but she endeavored to consoleherself and Peter by declaring, "I know, Pippin, that the Indians musthave Twinkling Hoofs by this time. And he's so pretty they'll keep himfor a chief to ride; a big, fat chief, with a gay blanket and a featherheaddress, and red and blue paint on his face. Won't Twinkling Hoofsbe s'prised at all that? But never mind, Pippin; papa will let youride the old grey horse!"

No one knew better than Joan, however, just how tantalizing Tildereecould be, --how she dallied in the morning playing hide-and-seek, refusing to have her face washed and her tangled hair brushed intoshining curls; this, too, when Joan was in the greatest hurry to go andgive the fluffy chicks and the grave old fowl their breakfast. It wasvery well for Peter to say, "What should we do without Tilderee?" Ifshe bothered him he could take his rifle and go shooting with Abe, theold scout; or jump upon Twinkling Hoofs and gallop all over the ranch. How would he like the midget to tag after him all day, to have the careof her when mother went to the Fort to sell the butter and eggs?"Indeed I could get on very well without the little plague, " Joansometimes grumbled--"just for a _teenty_ bit of a while, " she generallyadded, hastily; for she really loved her little sister dearly. Joantried hard to be patient, but she had a quick temper, and occasionallyforgot her good resolutions. This happened one day when her mother hadgone to dispose of the dairy products. The provocation was certainlygreat. 

Joan had a lovely French doll--the only French doll in the Territory, and probably the most beautiful one to be found within many hundredmiles. Mrs. Miller, the wife of one of the officers at the Fort, brought it to her from Chicago; and the little girl regarded it as moreprecious than all the family possessions combined. What, then, was herconsternation this morning to see Fudge dash around the corner of thehouse dangling the fair Angelina by the blue silk dress, which he heldbetween his teeth, and Tilderee following in wild pursuit! Joan rushedout and rescued her treasure; but, alas! it was in a sadly dilapidatedcondition. She picked up a stick and started after the dog, butTilderee interfered. 

"Oh, please, dear Joan!" she cried, holding her back by the apronstrings. "Fudge isn't the most to blame. I took Angelina. I s'posehe pulled off the wig and broke the arm, but I pushed the eyes in;didn't mean to, though--was only trying to make them open and shut. Tilderee's so sorry, Joan!"

The explanation ended with a contrite sob and what Mr. Prentiss called"a sun shower. " But the sight of the child's tears, instead ofappeasing, only irritated Joan the more. Giving her a smart shake, shesaid excitedly:

"Tilderee Prentiss, you're a naughty, naughty girl! I wish you didn'tlive here. I wish mother had let you go with the lady at the Fort whowanted to adopt you. I wish I hadn't any little sister at all!"

Tilderee stopped crying, and stood gazing at the angry girl inastonishment; then, swallowing a queer lump that came in her throat, she drew herself up with a baby dignity which would have been funny butfor the pathetic expression of her sweet face, as she lisped slowly:"Very well. P'rhaps some day Tilderee'll go away and never come backagain!"

She turned and went into the house, with Fudge at her heels. As hepassed Joan his tail, which had drooped in shame at his conduct, erected itself defiantly, and he uttered a growl of protest. 

Joan remained disconsolately hugging and weeping over the ill-fatedAngelina. But, somehow, she did not feel any better for having yieldedto her anger. "Tilderee deserved a good scolding, " she said to herselfover and over again. Still there was a weight upon her heart, notcaused by the ruin of the doll; for, notwithstanding all the excusesshe could muster, her conscience reproached her for those unkind, bitter words. After a while, remembering that she had been cautionednot to let Tilderee out of her sight, she started to look for her. Theculprit was soon discovered in the corner of the kitchen cupboard, which she called-her "cubby-house, " engaged in lecturing Fudge forrunning away with Angelina. 

"Never meddle with what does not belong to you!" she said, laying downthe law with her mite of a forefinger; and, to make her words moreimpressive, giving him an occasional tap on the nose. He listeneddutifully, as if he were the sole transgressor; but interrupted thehomily now and then by lapping the hand of his little mistress with histiny red tongue, as a token of the perfect understanding between them. 

When they looked up and saw Joan, both glanced at her deprecatingly, but quite ready to assume a defensive attitude. Ashamed of havingallowed her indignation to carry her so far, she was, however, inclinedto be conciliatory; and therefore, with an effort, managed to say, asif nothing had happened:

"Come, Tilderee! Watch at the window for father, while I get dinnerready. "

Tilderee at once sprang to her feet gaily, threw her arms around Joan'swaist, and held up her rosy mouth for the kiss of mutual forgiveness, Fudge wriggling and wagging his tail. 

Joan now busied herself about the mid-day meal, for which her motherhad made the principal preparation before setting out. She saidnothing about the tragedy of the morning when her father came in, partly because she felt that nobody could appreciate the depth of hergrief but mother, and because she had made up her mind not to complainof Tilderee, --a conclusion which she secretly felt entitled her to rankas a heroine. But Tilderee related the occurrence herself as soon asher mother returned. 

"Fudge and me broke Joan's beauty doll. We didn't mean to, and we'reawful sorry, --honest and true we are!"

"But that will not mend Angelina, " said Mrs. Prentiss, gravely. 

Tilderee hung her head. She now realized for the first time, that nomatter how grieved we are, we can not always repair the wrong we havedone. The mother, though a plain, uneducated woman, had plenty of goodsense, and did her best to train her children well. She now talkedvery seriously to her little daughter, and Tilderee promised to be lessmeddlesome and more obedient in the future. 

"Fudge and me wants to be good, " she said, penitently; "but we forgets. P'rhaps if we were other folks, and our names were something else'sides Tilderee and Fudge, we might be better. "

"I'm afraid Fudge is a hard case, " sighed her mother, restraining asmile; "and I should not like to see my little girl changed into anyone else. But I expect we ought to call you as you were christened, and that is Matilda. It is a saint's name, you know; and you can prayto your name saint to help you. "

The little lass was delighted to have the question settled in thismanner, and from that time strove to insist upon her proper title. Butit was not easy to drop the pet name, and Tilderee she was oftenestcalled, till long after the date of this story. For several days shetried very hard to be good; she said her prayers night and morning withspecial earnestness, always closing with: "Please, God, take care ofTilderee, and keep her and Fudge out of mischief. "

Joan, on her part, endeavored to be more gentle with her little sister;for, while every day she lamented the fate of the doll, she could notthink of it without feeling a trifle uncomfortable about the way shehad spoken to Tilderee. 

The two little girls were not allowed to go beyond the enclosure whichsurrounded the house, unless accompanied by their father or mother. The few Indians in the vicinity had hitherto been peaceable andfriendly; but it was considered well to be cautious, and the countrywas too sparsely settled to render it safe for one to wander aboutalone. When Mrs. Prentiss, mounted on the old grey horse, rode to theFort to sell her butter and eggs, Peter went with her on TwinklingHoofs; and each took the precaution to carry a pistol for self-defencein case of attack. 

This being the state of affairs, great was the alarm of all one day asit became evident that Tilderee was missing. The ranch was a scene ofintense excitement when, after an exploration of the neighborhood, thechild was not found. The news spread like a prairie fire. Thesettlers for miles around joined the party which set out to continuethe search. The poor mother was frantic. The father went abouthelplessly, like a man dazed by a terrible blow. Peter galloped wildlyto and fro upon Twinkling Hoofs, without an idea where he was going. Joan cried as though her heart would break. 

Fudge had disappeared also. Had he gone with Tilderee? There was agrain of comfort in the suggestion; yet, even so, what could a poorbaby do, astray and with no other defender? Evening came, and stillthere was no trace of the child. All through the night they continuedto seek her, guided by the light of the stars and the glimmer of theirpine torches. But in vain. 

II. 

On that memorable day, shortly after dinner, if mother had not been soabsorbed by the discovery that certain wee, blundering fingers hadsprinkled sugar instead of salt over her new batch of butter; or ifJoan, instead of going for the third time since morning to the lowestdrawer of the deal clothes-press which contained the family wardrobe, to take an aggrieved look at Angelina, --if either had glanced out ofthe doorway, she would have seen a diminutive figure tripping down thetrail in happy unconcern, with Fudge gambolling along in front. 

Tilderee did not mean to be disobedient: she had no intention ofrunning away; but it was so easy to forget that she had passed thebounds which love had set for her, when the May breezes, like eagerplaymates, seemed to beset her to frolic with them, catching at herfrock, tip-tilting her pretty print sunbonnet (the one with the tinypink roses scattered over a blue ground), ruffling her chestnut curls, and whisking her little plaid shawl awry. A patch of yellow wildflowers by the way appeared all at once endowed with wings, as fromtheir midst arose a flight of golden butterflies. What fun to chasethem! Fudge thought so too, and a merry pursuit followed. Tired andout of breath, Tilderee paused at last. Fudge returned with a bound toher side, and stood panting and wagging his tail, as if to ask: "Well, what shall we play next?" They were now half a mile from home, butneither turned to look back. 

"Fudge, I'm going to pick a lovely bouquet for mother, " Tildereeconfided to him, patting his shaggy head. He sniffed his approval, andtrotted after her as she flitted hither and thither culling the brightblossoms. Now she left the lowlands called the prairie, and climbedSunset Hill in search of prettier posies. Beyond this rocky knoll wasan oak wood, from the direction of which came the noise of runningwater. At the sound Tilderee remembered that she was thirsty. "Theremust be a brook in yonder, " she said. "Come, Fudge, let us go andsee. " Trampling among the brambles, the little girl pushed on, and sooncame to a small stream dashing along over a stony course. Forming anoak leaf into a cup, as she had often seen Joan do, Tilderee dipped itinto the clear current; and by this means, and the sips between timeswhich she took up in the hollow of her hand, succeeded in obtaining arefreshing drink; while from the opposite bank Fudge put down his headand took his share with less ceremony. 

Tilderee chose a seat upon a log and rested. To amuse herself shebroke off pieces of the underbrush and began to strip them of theirleaves. "To make horsewhips, you know, " she explained, with a teasingglance at Fudge. He understood very well, and shrank away a trifle;but the next minute the baby hands caressed his rough coat, and sheadded lovingly: "No, no, Fudge! Nobody shall touch such a good dog!"Throwing aside the sticks, she tried to weave the leaves into garlands, as Joan had taught her. The attempt was hardly a success. As thewreath with which Fudge submitted to be crowned speedily fell apart, she concluded that, instead of making a chain for herself, it would benicer to carry the oak twig for a sun-shade. At present, however, shelaid it carefully on the ground beside her flowers, and proceeded toplay in the stream, with bits of bark for boats. Fudge enjoyed thistoo for a while, but soon he grew restless. 

All at once the child became aware that the woods had grown darker; thesunlight no longer glanced in among the green boughs; through thefoliage she caught a glimpse of the western sky, which was flecked withflame and beryl and amber. Next she realized that it must be a greatwhile since dinner. With the sense of hunger came a feeling of dismay. Where was she, and how should she get home? "It must be most suppertime, Fudge, " she said, choking down a sob. The little dog looked upinto her face with affectionate concern, and thrust his cold nose intoher hand, as if to say encouragingly: "Trust me, and I will lead youback. " He began to sniff the ground; and, having found the scent, endeavored to prevail upon his young mistress to follow his guidance. But Tilderee was sure that she knew best. "No, Fudge, " she called;"not that way. This is the right path, I'm sure. Come quick!" Vainlythe sagacious animal used all his dumb arts to induce her to rely uponhim; vainly he crouched and whined, and begged her to go _his_ way. Tilderee obstinately stumbled on in the opposite direction. Fudge laiddown and watched her despairingly for a few moments; then, with a sighalmost like that of a human being, he sprang after her. If actionsspeak louder than words, could he have said more plainly: "Well, if you_will_ get lost, I must go with you to take care of you?"

They wandered on, far beyond the source of the stream, emerged from thewood, and strayed along the side of a deep gorge or canon. At everystep the surroundings grew wilder, the way more rocky and precipitous. If she had been older, what terrors would have affrighted the child!An appalling dread of the Indians, fear of the wild cattle of thewilderness, the apprehension of countless dangers. But in her babyinnocence, Tilderee knew nothing of these perils. She only felt thatshe was weary and chilled, and faint for want of food. "Oh Fudge, ifwe could only get home to mother!" she moaned. "Tilderee's so tiredand sleepy, and it will be dark night soon. " At the thought she threwherself on the ground and began to cry bitterly. 

Fudge looked disconsolate. A second he stood irresolute anddistressed, but presently drew nearer, and, with unobtrusive sympathy, licked away the salt tears that rolled down her chubby cheeks. Then heroused himself, as if he comprehended that something must be done, andran to and fro, barking with all his might, and poking about with hisnose to the earth. At length he came upon a nook under a projectingrock, which seemed to promise a slight shelter from the cold night air. Perhaps it was the instinct of self-preservation which led him toattract the attention of his helpless companion to it. Several timeshe returned to her, looked beseechingly into her face, then ran back tothe rock. 

"You want me to go in there, Fudge?" she faltered at last, noticing hisantics. "Well, I will. P'rhaps it'll be warmer. And I'm afraidnobody'll come now till morning. "

Dispirited, Tilderee dragged herself to the refuge he had found. "I'xpect it's time for night prayers, " she said, with a tremor in hervoice; "and I always say them with mother or Joan. " Now she knelt uponthe damp mould, made the Sign of the Cross, and, clasping herbrier-scratched hands, repeated the "Our Father" and "Hail Mary" moredevoutly than ever before. When she came to the special littlepetition at the close, "Please, God, take care of Tilderee, and keepher and Fudge out of mischief, " she broke down again, and, weepingconvulsively, threw her arms around the neck of her obstreperous butloyal playmate and friend, exclaiming, "Oh Fudge! if we ever get safehome we'll never be naughty again, will we?"

Yet exhausted nature stills even the cry of grief and penitence. Tilderee, moreover, felt wonderfully comforted by her prayer. To thepure heart of a child Heaven is ever "close by. " From her rude asylumunder the cliff the little wanderer looked across at the sky. It wasclear and bright with myriad stars. Suddenly one flashed across thebroad expanse, blazed from the very zenith, and sped with incrediblevelocity down, down, till it disappeared in the depths of the ravine. "Ah, " said she, with eyes still fixed upon the spot whence had gleamedthe meteor, "p'rhaps it was an angel flying down to me! I won't beafraid, 'cause I know God will take care of me. " Drawing the smallplaid shawl from her shoulders, she spread it over herself like ablanket; sparing a corner for Fudge, however, who stationed himselfupon it, prepared to ward off all dangers from his charge. And thusshe fell asleep, cheered by the presence and warmed by the breath ofthe faithful little dog, her sole protector, humanly speaking, in thatlonely wilderness. 

 * * * * *

During the long night, while the searching party was scouring thecountry, Mrs. Prentiss remained at home, keeping a bright light in thewindow, a fire on the kitchen hearth, the kettle on the crane, andeverything ready to gladden and revive her darling in case, as shepersisted in hoping, the dear little rover should, with the aid offudge, find her way back of her own accord. How many times she startedup, thinking she heard the patter of childish feet! How many times sherushed to the door at some sound which to her eager heart seemed like acry of "Mother!" But Joan, who now kept as close to her as Tildereewas accustomed to do, would murmur sadly, after they had listened awhile: "It is only the wind or the call of a bird. " At which theunhappy woman, with a great effort to be calm, would sigh: "Let us saythe Rosary again. " Joan, whose face was stained with tears, and hereyes swollen and red from weeping, responded as best she could betweenher sobs. 

Poor Joan learned in those hours what a terrible punishment is that ofremorse. Amid all her thoughts of Tilderee one scene was ever beforeher: the picture of a rosy culprit, with tangled curls and beseechingeyes, grieved at the mischief she had done, and stammering, "I'm sosorry, Joan!" And then herself, as she snatched up the doll andanswered harshly: "You naughty girl! I wish you didn't live here! Iwish I hadn't any little sister at all!" Well, her wish had come true:Tilderee was gone. Perhaps she would never live in the log houseagain. There was no "little plague" to vex or bother Joan now. Thelighter chores, which were her part of the housework, could be finishedtwice as soon, and afterward she would have plenty of time to do as sheliked: to play with and sew for Angelina, for instance. Angelina!--howshe hated the very name! She never wanted even to see the doll again. Tilderee might get up a "make-believe" funeral, and bury it under thewhite rosebush. Yes, that would be the prettiest spot; and for oldaffection's sake the thing should be done properly if she came back, --ah, _if_! And then Joan would put her head down upon the table or achair, whichever happened to be near, or hide her face in the folds ofher apron, and cry: "What _shall_ I do without Tilderee! Oh, if Godwill only give her back to us, I will never say a cross or angry wordagain!"

Dawn brought no news of the lost child, and the dreary night ofsuspense was succeeded by a day of anguish. At intervals the seekerssent a message back to the desolate home. Sometimes it was: "Keep upyour courage; we trust all will be well. " Or, "Though we have not yetfound the child, please God we will soon restore her to you, " and soon. But, soften it as they could, the fact remained--their expeditionhad been fruitless: Tilderee was still lost. They at length despairedof gaining trace or tidings of her, and agreed that it was useless tocontinue the search. 

"She must have fallen over a precipice, " maintained one of the men. 

"If so, we should have met with some sign--" argued another, hesitatingat the thought of what that sign might be. 

"It is probable that she has been stolen by the Indians, " saidLieutenant Miller, of the Fort; "and we must adopt other means torecover her. "

Once more dusk was approaching, and they were about to turn back, when--hark! there was a shout from the borders of the canon beyond. Afew moments before, Abe, the old scout, had disappeared in thatdirection. As he pressed onward he presently discovered that, in awavering line, the brambles seemed to have been recently trodden down. A little farther on, almost hidden among the briers and dry leaves, laya withered wild flower, like those that grew in the plain below; andfarther still, caught upon a bush, was a bit of the fringe of a shawl, so small that it might have escaped any but his "hunter's eye. " As hestood still, with senses alert, he heard a sound amid the brush; and, turning quickly, saw that which made him send forth the ringing hallooto his comrades. It was a little dog crawling down toward a hollow, where a spring of water gushed from the ground. 

"Fudge!" he called, softly. The dog started, fawned upon him with alow whine; and, with many backward glances to make sure that he wasfollowing, led the way to a high rock which shelved inward, forming asort of canopy above the bank. There, in the rude recess, as he feltconfident would be the case, was the lost child. At first he fearedshe might be dead, so pale and motionless she lay; but when hewhispered gently, "Tilderee!" the white eyelids fluttered, thenunclosed; the dull eyes lighted up in recognition, and she smiled awan, weak little smile. Once more Abe's cheery voice rang out, calling, "Found! found!" and the woods and cliffs made merry with theechoes. His companions hastened toward the ravine; but he met themhalf way, carrying the little one in his arms. 

What a shout of joy greeted the sight! What a feeling of thankfulnessfilled each heart! Mr. Prentiss, strong man though he was, at therelaxing of the terrible tension, fainted like a woman. For a secondPeter felt his brain in a whirl, then he leaped upon Twinkling Hoofs, whom he had been leading by the bridle, breathed a word in the ear ofthe clever mustang, and sped away like the wind, "to tell them athome. " Who could describe the emotions of the fond mother when, halfan hour later, she clasped her darling to her breast?

What a happy stillness reigned in the house for hours, while Tildereewas tenderly brought back from the verge of starvation! In thebeginning she was too feeble to speak; but after a while Mrs. Prentissnoticed that she wanted to say something, and, bending over her, caughtthe tremulous words: "Oh mother, I'll never be disobedient any more!"It was then that the good woman, who, as the saying is, "had kept up"wonderfully, was overcome, and wept unrestrainedly. 

As for Joan, it seemed to her that there could never be any mourning orsadness again. When she had done everything possible for Tilderee, shelavished attentions upon Fudge, and announced to him that henceforth hewas to be called Fido (faithful); at which he wagged his tail, as if hefound the _role_ of hero quite to his liking. Joan's heart was solight that she wished everyone in the world could share her happiness;but whether she laughed or chattered, or hummed a little song toherself, the refrain of all this gladness was "Oh, how good God is!How good God is!"

A LITTLE WHITE DRESS. 

"Only three weeks more, Constance. Aren't you glad?" said Lillie toher little companion and neighbor as they hurried to school. 

"Indeed I am. But it's so long in coming!" sighed Constance. "Thedays never seemed to go so slowly before. "

"I have made a calendar, and every morning I cross off a date; thereare already seven gone since the 1st of May, " explained Lillie, with asatisfied air, as if she had discovered the secret of adding "speed tothe wings of time. " "We shall not have a great while to wait now. "

Was it a grand holiday that our young friends were anticipating soeagerly, or the summer vacation, now drawing near? One might supposesomething of the kind. But not at all. On the approaching Feast ofthe Ascension they were to make their First Communion; and, beingconvent-bred little girls, every thought and act had been directed topreparation for this great event, to which they looked forward with theartless fervor natural to innocent childhood. No one must imagine, however, that they were diminutive prudes, with long faces. Is not agirl or boy gayest when his or her heart has no burden upon it? Infact, it would have been hard to find two merrier folk, even upon thisbright spring morning. 

Lillie was a sprightly creature, who, somehow, always reminded SisterAgnes of one of the angels in Murillo's picture, "The ImmaculateConception, "--a lively, happy-go-lucky, rollicking angel, who playshide-and-seek among the folds of Our Lady's mantle, and appears almostbeside himself with the gladness of heaven's sunlight. Yet Lillie wasby no means an angel. She had her faults of course, and these oftensadly tried the patience of the good Sister. She was quick-tempered, volatile, inclined to be a trifle vain. Alas that it is so hard tokeep a child's heart like a garden enclosed as with a fragrant hedge, laden with the blossoms of sweet thoughts, --safely shut in from thechilling winds of worldliness! She was lovable withal, generous, affectionate, and would make a fine woman if properly trained. 

Constance, a year older, was more sedate, though with plenty of quietfun about her. But, as a general thing, she knew when to be seriousand when to play, --a bit of wisdom which Sister Agnes frequently wishedshe could manage to impart to the others of the band of aspirants, ofwhom the gentle nun had special charge. 

Constance and Lillie were nearly always together. Now, as theytripped, onward, they were as happy as the birds in the trees abovethem, and their voices as pleasant to hear. Having turned the corner, they began to meet a company of children, who came along, sometimes ingroups, again in detachments of twos and threes, all clad in white, with white veils upon their heads and floating about them as theypassed joyously on, as if keeping time to the music of their own happyhearts. Poor children they were, most of them, with plain, ordinaryfaces, but upon which now shone a light that made one think of oldsweet stories, --of St. Ursula and her throng of spotless maidens; ofGenevieve, the child-shepherdess of Nanterre. Who that has everwitnessed such a scene can forget it!--this flock of fair, spotlessdoves amid the dust or mire of the city streets, that by their verypassing bring even to the indifferent spectator a thought above gain ortraffic, --a memory perhaps of guileless days and noble aspirations, as, looking up at the blue, calm sky, perchance he likens them to the snowycloudlets that gather nearest to the sun and are irradiated by itsbrightness. 

"Why, " exclaimed Constance, "here come the first communicants of St. Joseph's parish! They must be just going home from Mass. How happythey all are, and how pretty in their white dresses!"

"They do look lovely, " assented Lillie, readily. "How could they helpit? And some of the dresses are nice, but surely you see, Connie, thatothers are made of dreadfully common material, and the veils are coarsecotton stuff. "

"Well, I suppose they couldn't afford any better, " returned Constance, regretfully. 

"I declare there's Annie Brogan, whose mother works for us!--don't youknow?" cried Lillie, darting toward a girl who had parted with severalothers at a cross-street and was walking on alone. 

As Constance did know, she hastened to greet her, and to vie withLillie in congratulating her. "O Annie, what a happy day foryou!"--"What a favored girl you are!"--"I almost envy you!"--"We havethree whole weeks to wait yet!" This is about what they said, again andagain, within the next few minutes; while Annie turned from one to theother, with an added gentleness of manner, a smile upon her lips, and amore thoughtful expression in her grey eyes. 

Yes, she was happy; she felt that this was indeed the most beautifulday of her life. To be almost envied, too, by such girls as LillieDavis and Constance Hammond! This was almost incredible; and so shecontinued to smile at them, putting in a word now and then, while theychattered on like a pair of magpies, and all three were in perfectsympathy. 

Presently Lillie chanced to glance at the little communicant's whitegown, which, though fresh and dainty as loving hands could make it, wasunmistakably well worn, and in some places had evidently been carefullydarned; indeed, her sharp eyes discovered even a tiny tear in theskirt, as if Annie had unwittingly put her fingers through it whensearching for the pocket. 

"Why, Annie Brogan, " she exclaimed, thoughtlessly, "you did not wearthat dress to make your First Communion!"

"Yes, to be sure. Did not mother do it up nicely?" answered Annie, with naive appreciation of the patient, painstaking skill which hadlaid the small tucks so neatly, and fluted the thin ruffles withoutputting a hole through them. "And mother was saying, when she was atwork on it, how thankful we ought to be to have it; since, much as shewished to buy a dress for me, she would not have been able to do so, with the rent and everything to pay; and how good your mamma was togive it to me. "

"Pshaw!" rejoined Lillie. "I could have given you a dress ten timesbetter than that if I had only remembered. Mamma just happened to putthat in with a bundle of some of my last summer's clothes, which shehoped Mrs. Brogan might find useful. But she never dreamed you wouldwear it to-day. "

"I thought it was so nice!" said Annie, coloring, while a few tears ofchagrin and disappointment sprang to her eyes; somehow, a shadow seemedto have unaccountably arisen to dim the brightness of this fairest ofdays, --a wee bit of a shadow, felt rather than defined. 

"So it is nice!" declared Constance, frowning at impulsive Lillie, towarn her that she had blundered. "It is ironed perfectly; your motherhas made it look beautiful. And what a pretty veil you have!"

"Yes, I did buy that, " replied Annie, in a more cheerful tone. 

"Oh, it's all right! And Our Lord must have welcomed you gladly, Annie, you are so good and sweet, " added Lillie. "I didn't mean anyharm in noticing your dress; it was only one of my stupid speeches. "

Lillie looked so sorry and vexed with herself that Annie laughed. Theshadow was lifted; the children wished one another good-bye; Annie wenthomeward, while the others quickened their pace, fearing that theywould be late for school. 

But the circumstance had made an impression, especially upon Lillie;and at the noon recreation, which the first communicants spenttogether, she hastened to tell her companions about it. 

"Just imagine!" she cried; "Annie Brogan made her First Communion thismorning, and she wore an old dress of mine, --an old dress, all mendedup, that mamma gave her!"

"The idea!"--"What was she thinking of?" etc. , etc. ; such were theexclamations with which this announcement was greeted. Most of thegirls did not know in the least of whom Lillie was speaking, but it wasthe fact which created such a sensation. 

"Why didn't she get a new one?" inquired Eugenia Dillon, a girl of ahaughty disposition, who attached a great deal of importance to costlyclothes. 

"Hadn't any money, " responded Lillie, nibbling at a delicious pickledlime which she had produced from a corner of her lunch basket. 

"Then I'd wait till I had--"

"Oh, not put off your First Communion!" protested one of the group. 

"Why, yes, " returned Eugenia, conscious that she had scandalized them alittle and trying to excuse herself. "It is not respectful or propernot to be fitly dressed for such a great occasion. "

"But Annie was as neat as could be, " said Constance; "and looked aspretty as a picture, too. I'm sure Our Lord was as pleased with her asif she were dressed like a princess, because she is such a good littlething. "

"Come, Connie, don't preach!" objected Eugenia, impatiently. "Besides, how could she have looked pretty in a mended dress? I wish you couldsee the one I'm going to have! It's to be of white silk, --the bestthat can be got at Brown's. "

"It won't be any more beautiful than mine. I'm to have tulle, " saidLillie. 

"And I--" continued Constance. 

"Mine is to be trimmed with point-lace, " broke in another. 

"And I'm to wear mamma's diamonds, " boasted somebody else. 

"You can't, " demurred a quiet girl, who had not spoken before. "SisterAgnes said that we are not to be allowed to wear jewelry or silkeither; and that, though the material for the dresses may be of as finea quality as we choose, they ought not be showy or elaborate. "

"That is all very well to say, " answered Eugenia. "The nuns canenforce these rules in their boarding-schools, but hardly in aday-school like this. We'll wear what we please, or what our mothersselect. Mamma has decided to get the white silk for me, because somany of our friends will be present, and she wants my dress to be thehandsomest of any. "

This information was received without comment, but it aroused in somefoolish little hearts a feeling of envy, and in others a desire ofemulation. 

Eugenia Dillon was the richest girl in the school. Her father, aplain, sensible man, who had lacked early advantages, had within a fewyears amassed a considerable fortune, which he would gladly haveenjoyed in an unostentatious, unpretending manner. This, however, didnot suit his wife at all. Mrs. Dillon, though a kind-hearted, charitable woman, was excessively fond of style, lavishly extravagant, and inclined to parade her wealth upon all occasions. She did notrealize that the very efforts she made to attain the position insociety which would have come to her naturally if she had but thepatience to wait, caused her to be sneered at as a _parvenu_ by thosewhose acquaintance she most desired. Unconscious of all this, shepursued her way in serene self-satisfaction, --a complacency shared byEugenia, who delighted in the good fortune and bad taste whichpermitted her to wear dresses of silk or velvet to school every day inthe week, and caused her to be as much admired as a little figure in afashion-plate by those of her companions who were too unsophisticatedto know that vain display is a mark of vulgarity. 

"Oh children, children!" exclaimed Sister Agnes, who caught the driftof the conversation as she came into the room. "Do not be troublingyour precious little heads about the fashions. We must all trustsomething to the good sense of your mammas that you will be suitablygowned. Certainly it is eminently fitting that one should bebeautifully attired to honor the visit of the King of kings. Considered in this light, no robe could be too rich, no ornament toosplendid. But, lest a small thought of vanity should creep in to spoilthe exalted motive, the custom is to adopt a lovely simplicity. If younotice, we never think of the angels as weighed down with jewels. Bestow some of this anxiety upon the preparation of your hearts; seethat you are clothed in the royal robes of grace; deck yourself withthe jewels of virtue, --rubies for love, emeralds for hope, pearls forcontrition, diamonds for faith, and purity. It was with gems likethese that the holy maidens, Saints Agnes, Philomena, and Lucy, choseto adorn themselves, rather than with the contents of their trinketcaskets. "

Thus the nun continued to speak to the band of little girls, who hadeagerly gathered around her; thus was she wont to teach them lessons ofwisdom in a sprightly, gay, happy-hearted way, as if generosity, unselfishness and self-denial were the most natural traits imaginable, and the whole world fair because it is God's world, and we are all Hischildren. Was it this spirit of joyousness which attracted youngpeople especially to her, and gave her such an influence with them?

"Somehow, when Sister Agnes talks to me, " even so flighty a littlepersonage as Lillie Davis said one day, "I feel as if I could make anysacrifice quite as a matter of course, and without a speck of fussabout it. "

"Yes, " agreed Connie. "She seems to take your hand in her strong oneand to lead you up a stony, hilly path; and then, when you come to theroughest, steepest places, she almost carries you onward; and you areashamed to complain that you are tired, because, though she is sogentle with you, she does not mind such trifles at all herself--"

"She makes me think, " interrupted Lillie, "of the pleasant, sunshinybreeze that comes up sometimes on a cloudy morning, and chases away themists through which everything looks so queerly, and lets us see thingsas they really are. "

Lillie's quaint comparison was an apt one, as was proved in the presentinstance. 

When Sister Agnes had gone the subject which the girls had beendiscussing presented a different aspect, and the keynote of hercharacter which always impressed them--"Do noble deeds, not dream themall day long, "--caused them now to feel dissatisfied with themselvesand to cast about for something to do. This reminded Constance againof Annie Brogan and the white dress that Lillie had regarded with somuch scorn. 

"Girls, " said she, "wouldn't it be nice if we could give a dress andveil, and whatever is necessary, to some poor child who is to make herFirst Communion on the same day as ourselves? Perhaps, too, we couldarrange to have her make it with us. Don't you think this would makeus happy, and be a good way to prepare?"

"It's a grand idea, Connie!" proclaimed Lillie, with ready enthusiasm. 

"How could we do it?" asked the quiet girl, coming to the practicalquestion at once. 

"By giving up some of our ribbons and candies and knickknacks duringthe next few weeks, maybe, " continued Constance earnestly, thinking itout as she went along. "Suppose we all agree to get the pretty dressesthe nuns wish us to wear on that day, instead of the showy ones wewant? They would not cost as much, and our mothers would, I am sure, let us use the extra money in this way. "

"What! give up the white silk! Oh, I couldn't!" objected Eugenia, disconcerted. "Anyhow, I don't believe mamma would like to have me doit. "

"Tulle is so lovely!" sighed Lillie. "And I never did like plain mull. "

On the whole, the proposal was not received with favor. It wasdiscussed with much animation, but the bell rang before any decisionhad been arrived at. Later, however, after a consultation with SisterAgnes, who promised her cordial co-operation, the children concluded toadopt Connie's suggestion, if their mothers would consent. 

"I must acknowledge that I am disappointed, " remarked Mrs. Davis to herhusband that evening. "To-day I ordered the material for Lillie'sFirst Communion dress, --an exquisite tulle. But she came home fromschool with a story about furnishing an outfit for a poor child, andshe assures me that her companions are to wear plain dresses for theoccasion. " Thereupon the lady proceeded to give the details of the planas she had understood it. 

"A very creditable determination, " said Lillie's papa, approvingly. "Iendorse it heartily. If attired simply, the children will not bedistracted by the thought of their gowns, while at the same time somedeserving little girl will be provided with an appropriate costume. Iadvise you to send back the tulle by all means, my dear, and apply thedifference in price between it and the fabric agreed upon to the fundthe children are trying to make up. "

"Well, I suppose it will be best to do so, " decided his wife. "Anyhow, tulle is so delicate a tissue, and Lillie is such a heedless littlecreature, that it would probably be badly torn before the end of theceremonies. "

"I am sorry, " soliloquized Connie's mother when she heard of theproject. "Connie's First Communion will be so important an event forher that I feel as if I could not do enough in preparation for it. Ishould like to dress her more beautifully than on any day in her life. If she were grown and about to enter society, or if I were buying herwedding-dress, I would select the handsomest material procurable, --whynot now, for an occasion so great that I ought hardly mention it incomparison? But, after all, " mused she, later, "the children'sarrangement is the best. I am happy that Constance is so free fromfrivolity, and has shown so edifying a spirit. "

For Eugenia Dillon, the giving up of the white silk was, as the girlsgenerously agreed, "the biggest act of all. " At first Mrs. Dillonwould not hear of it; "though, " said she, "I am quite willing to buythe dress for the poor child myself, if you wish, Eugenia. " ButEugenia explained that this would not do, unless she carried out theplan like the others. In fact, she found that one of the hardestthings in the world is to argue against what we want very muchourselves. At last, however, her mother good-naturedly yielded thepoint, saying, with a laugh, "Oh, very well, child! But I never beforeknew you to object to having a pretty dress. " And Eugenia was verysure she never had. 

The great day finally arrived. To picture it, or to describe the joywhich filled the soul of each of our first communicants, is not thepurpose of this story. But as the white-robed band entered the conventchapel, to the incongruous throng of fashionable people there assembledtheir appearance was the strongest possible sermon against vanity. Their soft white gowns were as simple as the most refined taste couldmake them, and as beautiful; their fleecy veils enfolded them as withholy thoughts; their wreaths of spotless blossoms signified a fairercrown. They numbered seven originally, but now among them walkedanother. Which little girl was the stranger, however, only one motherknew, --a humble woman, who, as she knelt amid the congregation, silently invoked a blessing upon the children who by theirthoughtfulness had made possible her pious desire that her child mightbe appropriately and respectfully attired to welcome the coming of OurLord. 

The first communicants remained at the convent till dusk. During theafternoon somebody noticed, indeed, that Eugenia's dress, though ofmull like the rest, was more fanciful, and her satin sash twice as wideas that of any one else. But the discovery only caused a smile ofgood-humored amusement; for it was hardly to be expected that Eugeniawould conform absolutely to the rule they had laid down for themselves. 

After Benediction, as they prepared to go home, they said to oneanother: "What a truly happy day this has been! How often we shallthink of it during our lives!"

A MISER'S GOLD. 

I. 

"Never mind, mother! Don't fret. We'll get on all right. This littlehouse is much more comfortable than the miserable flat we have beenliving in. The air is good, and the health of the children will bebetter. It is quite like having a home of our own again. Now thatCrosswell & Wright have raised my wages, we shall be able to make bothends meet this winter, --you'll see!"

"Yes, dear, I'm sure we shall, " Mrs. Farrell forced herself to respond, though her tone did not express the absolute conviction which the wordsimplied. But Bernard was in great spirits, and for his sake she assumeda cheerfulness which she was far from feeling, as she bade him good-bye, and from the window watched him hasten away to his work. 

"God bless his brave heart!" she murmured. "He is a good boy anddeserves to succeed. It worries me that he has such a burden upon hisyoung shoulders; but Father Hamill says this will only keep him steady, and will do him no harm if he does not overtax his strength. What ashabby, contracted house this is! Well, I must try to make it as brightand pleasant as possible. I wish the girls were older and able to earn atrifle; every penny helps nowadays. Mary, indeed, might find a place torun errands for a dressmaker, or something of the kind; but I can notbear to think of her going around alone down town, becoming pert andforward. Besides, she is so bright and smart that it seems a pity tointerfere with her studies. She will need all the advantages she canget, poor child!"

With a sigh the mother returned to her duties, prepared breakfast for theother children and in the course of an hour hurried them off to school. There were three: Mary, just twelve years old; Lizzie, ten; and Jack, whohad attained the precocious and mischief-loving age of seven. Bernardwas eighteen, and the head of the family, --a fact which Mrs. Farrellstrove to impress upon the minds of the younger members, as entitling himto special respect and affection. He was also the principalbread-winner, and had ten dollars a week, which was considered a finebeginning for one so young. Still, it was not a great deal for them allto rely on, and his mother endeavored to eke out their scanty livelihoodby taking sewing, and in various other ways. 

Life had not always been such a struggle for the Farrells. Before thedeath of the husband and father they had been in good circumstances. Mr. Farrell held for years a responsible position as book-keeper andaccountant in one of the largest mercantile establishments of the city. He had a fair salary, which enabled him to support his familycomfortably. But, alas! how much often depends upon the life and effortsof one person! An attack of pneumonia, the result of a neglected cold, carried him out of the world in three days. There had been only time toattend to his religious duties, and no opportunity to provide for thedear ones he was about to leave, even if any provision had been possible. When the income derived from the father's daily labor ceased, they foundthemselves suddenly plunged into comparative poverty. His life-insurancepolicy had not been kept up; the mortgage on the pretty home had neverbeen paid off, and was now foreclosed. The best of the furniture wassold to pay current expenses, and the widow removed with her children tothe third floor of a cheap apartment house, --one of those showy, aggressively genteel structures so often seen in our Eastern cities, withwalls of questionable safety and defective drainage and ventilation. 

Mrs. Farrell was now obliged to dismiss her maid-of-all-work, and attendto the household duties herself. This was a hardship, for she was not astrong woman; but she did not complain. Bernard, fortunately, had takentwo years of the commercial course at St. Stanislaus' College, and wastherefore in a measure fitted for practical affairs. He obtained a placeas clerk in the law office of Crosswell & Wright. As he tried to keephis mind on his duties, and was willing and industrious, his employerswere well pleased with him, and he had been several times advanced. Butthe means of the family grew more and more straitened. The followingyear the rent of the flat was found to be higher than they could afford. They sought other quarters, and settled at last, just as winter wasapproaching, in the little house where we have discovered them, in ahumble neighborhood and unpaved streets, with no pretensionswhatever, --in fact, it did not appear to have even the ambition to beregarded as a street at all. 

The young people took possession of the new dwelling in high glee. Theydid not see the drawbacks to comfort which their mother could havepointed out; did not notice how much the house needed painting andpapering, how decidedly out of repair it was. Only too glad of theirsatisfaction, she refrained from comment, tried to make the best ofeverything, and succeeded in having a cosey home for them, despite alldifficulties. For there was not a room of the small house into which atleast a ray of sunlight did not find its way sometime during the day. Itshone upon threadbare carpets and painted floors; upon sofas theupholstering of which had an unmistakable air of having been experimentedwith; and chairs which Mrs. Farrell had recaned, having learned the artfrom a blind boy who lived opposite. Yet the sunlight revealed as wellan air of thrift and cheeriness; for the widow, despite her days ofdiscouragement, aimed to train her children to look upon the bright sideof life, and to trust in Providence. 

"Bernard, " said she one evening, "I have been thinking that if I couldhire a sewing-machine I might get piecework from the shops, and earn morethan by looking to chance patronage. I have a mind to inquire about one. "

The boy was silent. She began to doubt if he had heard, and was about torepeat the remark when he answered:

"No, mother, don't. There are too many women doing that kind of sewingat starvation prices. But I'll tell you what would be a fine thing ifyou really had the time for it, though I do not see how you could, --itseems to me we keep you busy. "

"What is your idea?" inquired Mrs. Farrell eagerly, paying no heed to thelatter part of his speech. 

"Well, if we could manage to pay the rent of a type-writing machine, Icould probably get you copying from the firm as well as from some of theother lawyers in the building. I was wondering the other day if I coulddo anything at it myself, and thus pick up an additional dollar or two inthe week. Of course, you would accomplish more than I could, and itwould be a hundred times better than stitch! stitch! How I hate the whirof the thing!" And Bernard, with his juggler gift of mimicry, proceededforthwith to turn himself into a sewing-machine, jerking his feet up anddown in imitation of the motion of the treadle, and making an odd noisein his throat. 

Mrs. Farrell laughed, as she replied: "I do not know that there is muchchoice between this and the click of the type-writer. But, anyhow, yourplan, though it sounds plausible, would not do, because I should not beable to work the type-writer. "

"There would be no difficulty about that, " argued Bernard. "You know howto play the piano, and the fingering is very much easier. It will comenaturally. "

His mother laughed again, yet she sighed as well. Her father had givenher a piano as a wedding present, but this had been the first article ofvalue to be dispensed with when the hard times came. Bernard was sosanguine, however, that she consented to his project. He spoke to Mr. Crosswell on the subject; that gentleman became interested, succeeded inobtaining a type-writer for Mrs. Farrell on easy terms, and promised tosend her any extra copying he might have. The manipulation of themachine did not, indeed, come quite as naturally as Bernard predicted, but after a few weeks of patient practice she mastered it sufficiently toproduce a neat-looking page. Bernard brought her all the work she coulddo; it was well paid for, and a more prosperous season seemed to havedawned upon the little home. 

Just at this time the children took scarlet fever at school. They hadthe disease lightly, but what anxiety the mother endured! Thank God, they got through it safely; but there was the doctor's bill to besettled, and funds were at a low ebb once more. To cap the climax, whenthe house had been thoroughly fumigated by the board of health, and Mrs. Farrell was prepared to take up her occupation again, an attack ofrheumatism crippled her fingers and rendered them almost powerless. Thenit was that, worn out and disheartened, she broke down and cried:

"Oh! why does not God help us?"

Her son's usually happy face wore an expression of discouragement also asshe turned to him with the appeal. His lips twitched nervously; but in amoment the trustfulness which she had taught him was at hand to comforther. 

"Indeed, mother, He will--He _does_, " said Bernard tenderly, though inthe matter-of-fact manner which he knew would best arouse her. "You areall tired out, or you would not speak in that way. You must have a goodrest. Keep the rooms warm, so that you will not take any more cold, andbefore long you will be able to rattle the type-writer at a greater speedthan ever. That reminds me, mother, " he continued--seeing that she wasbeginning to recover herself, and wishing to divert her thoughts, --"oneof the things we have to be thankful for is that this house is easilyheated. It beats all the way coal does last here! The ton we got twomonths ago isn't gone yet, "

"That is the way coal lasts when there is not any one to steal it, asthere was in the flat, where the cellars were not properly divided off, "answered Mrs. Farrell, brightening up. 

"No, there's nobody living immediately around here whom I'd suspect ofbeing mean enough to steal coal, " returned Bernard, carelessly, --"except, perhaps, Stingy Willis, I don't think I'd wager that old codger wouldn't, though. "

"I am afraid I should not have entire confidence in him, either, " agreedMrs. Farrell. 

But the intelligence that there was still coal in the bin had cheered herwonderfully. Repenting of her rash conclusion, she hastened to qualifyit by adding, "That is, if half of what the neighbors say is true. But, then, we have no right to listen to gossip, or to judge people. "

Stingy Willis, the individual who apparently bore an unenviablereputation, was a small, dried-up looking old man, who lived next door tothe Farrells, --in fact, under the same roof; for the structure consistedof two houses built together. Here he dwelt alone, and attended to hishousehold arrangements himself, except when, occasionally, a woman wasemployed for a few hours to put the place in order. He was accustomed toprepare his own breakfast and supper; his dinner he took at a cheaprestaurant. He dressed shabbily, and was engaged in some mysteriousbusiness down town, to and from which he invariably walked; not even aheavy rain-storm could make him spend five cents for a ride in ahorse-car. And yet he was said to be very wealthy. Persons declaredthey knew "upon good authority" that he held the mortgage which coveredthe two connecting houses; that, as the expression is, he "had more moneythan he knew what to do with. " Others, who did not profess to be soscrupulously exact in their determination to tell only a plain, unvarnished tale, delighted in fabulous stories concerning his riches. They said that though the floor of his sitting-room was carpetless, andthe bay-window curtainless but for the cobwebs, he could cover the onewith gold pieces and the other with bank-notes, if he pleased. Many wereconvinced he had a bag of treasure hidden up the chimney or buried in thecellar; this they asserted was the reason he would not consent to havingthe upper rooms of the house rented, and so they remained untenantedseason after season. Thus, according to the general verdict (andassuredly the circumstantial evidence was strong), he was a miser of themost pronounced type, --"as stingy as could be, " everybody agreed; and isnot what everybody says usually accepted as the truth?

Certain it is that Stingy Willis acted upon the principle, "a penny savedis a penny gained, "--denied himself every luxury, and lived with extremefrugality, as the man who kept the meat-market and grocery at the cornerfrequently testified. Even in the coldest weather, a fire was neverkindled in the house till evening; for over its dying embers the solitaryman made his coffee the following morning. A basket of coal lasted him aweek, and he sifted the cinders as carefully as if he did not know whereto find a silver quarter to buy more fuel. He had nothing to do with hisneighbors, who really knew very little about him beyond what they couldsee of his daily life. They were almost all working people, blessed withsteady employment; though they had not more than enough of this world'sgoods, there was no actual poverty among them. They were respectable, honest, and industrious; as Bernard said, not one of the dwellers in thestreet would ever be suspected of being "mean enough to steal coal, "unless indeed Stingy Willis. 

II. 

Gloomy days continued for the Farrells; yet the outside world neverdreamed of the straits to which they were reduced, for a spirit of worthyindependence and pardonable pride led them to keep their trouble tothemselves. Mrs. Farrell would have died, almost, rather than revealtheir need to any one; nothing save the cry of her children asking invain for bread would bring her to it. Well, they still had bread andoatmeal porridge, but that was all. 

Who would have imagined it! The little house was still distinguishedfrom the others of the row by an appearance of comfort. Although Mrs. Farrell could not do any type-writing, the children were neat and trimgoing to school; Bernard's clothes were as carefully brushed, his bootsas shining, linen as fresh, his mien as gentlemanly as ever. And theyfound great satisfaction in the reflection that no one was aware of thetrue state of affairs. The mother and Bernard agreed, when they beganhousekeeping under their changed circumstances, to contract no bills;what they could not afford to pay for at the time they would do without. So now no butcher nor baker came clamoring for settlement of his account. The doctor was willing to wait for his money; all they owed besides wasthe rent. Only the landlord knew this, and he was disposed to belenient. Mrs. Farrell still tried to hope for the best, but sometimesshe grew dejected, was sorely tempted to repine. 

"Mother, " little Jack once asked, "aren't people who, as you say, 'haveseen better days' and become poor, much poorer than people who havealways been poor?"

"It seems to me they are, my child, " answered the widow, dispiritedly. "But why do you think so?"

"Because, " replied the young philosopher, "we are much poorer than thewoman who used to wash for us. She appeared to have everything shewanted, but we have hardly anything. "

It was unreasonable, to be sure, but sometimes Mrs. Farrell used towonder how her neighbors could be so hard-hearted as to go pastunconcernedly, and not notice the necessities which, all the while, shewas doing her best to keep from their knowledge. Often, too, as StingyWillis went in and out of the door so close to her own, she thought: "Howhard it is that this man should have riches hidden away, while I havescarcely the wherewith to buy food for my children! Walls are said tohave ears, --why have they not also tongues to cry out to him, to tell himof the misery so near? Is there nothing which could strike a spark ofhuman feeling from his flinty heart?" Then, reproaching herself for therebellious feeling, she would murmur a prayer for strength and patience. 

The partition between the two houses was thin. She and Bernard couldfrequently hear the old man moving about his dreary apartments, or goingup or down the stairs leading to the cellar. "Old Willis is counting hismoney-bags again, I guess!" Bernard would say lightly, as the familiarshuffling to and fro caught his ear; while his mother, to banish theshadow of envious discontent, quietly told a decade of her Rosary. 

The conversation anent the subject of the coal kept recurring to her mindwith odd persistency. Repeatedly of late she had awakened in the nightand heard the miser stumbling around; several times she was almostcertain he was in her cellar, and--yes, surely, _at thecoal_, --purloining it piece by piece, probably. Then just as, fullyaroused, she awaited further proof, the noise would cease, and she wouldconclude she must have been mistaken. At last, however, it would seemthat her suspicions were confirmed. 

On this occasion Mrs. Farrell had not retired at the usual hour. It wasafter midnight, yet she was still occupied in a rather hopeless effort topatch Jack's only pair of trousers; for he evinced as remarkable anability to wear out clothes as any son of a millionaire. The work wastedious and progressed slowly, for her fingers were stiff and the effortof sewing painful. Finally it was finished. With a sigh of relief sherested a moment in her chair. Just then the silence was broken by apeculiar sound, like the cautious shifting of a board. That it proceededfrom the cellar was beyond question. A singular rattling followed. Sherose, went into the hall and listened. Yes, there was no delusion aboutit: somebody was at the coal, --that coal which, she remembered bitterly, was now but a small heap in the bin. That the culprit was Stingy Willisthere could be little doubt. 

Bernard had fallen asleep on the sofa an hour or more before. His motherstole to his side, and in a low voice called him. He stirred uneasily. She called again, whereupon he opened his eyes and stared at her inbewilderment. 

"Hark!" she whispered, signalling to him not to speak. 

Once more came the noise, now more distinct and definable. The heartlessintruder had become daring; the click of a shovel was discernible; he wasevidently helping himself liberally. 

Bernard looked at his mother in perplexity and surprise. 

"Stingy Willis?" he interrogated. 

She nodded. 

"And at the coal, by Jove!" he exclaimed, suddenly realizing thesituation, and now wide awake. 

He started up, and presently was creeping down the stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Farrell heard him open the cellar door with the least possiblecreak. She knew he was on the steps which led below, but he made nofurther sound. She had no other clue to his movements, and could onlydistinguish the rumble of the coal. She waited, expecting momentarilythat it would cease, dreading the altercation which would follow, andregretting she had aroused her son. 

"He is quick-tempered, " she soliloquized. "What if words should lead toblows, --if he should strike the old man! How foolish I was to let him goalone!"

The suspense was ominous. What was the boy going to do? Why all thisdelay? Why did he not promptly confront the fellow and order him to begone? In reality, only a few minutes had elapsed since she first heardthe noise, but it seemed a quarter of an hour even since he left her. Should she go down herself, or call out to him? While she hesitatedBernard suddenly reappeared. She leaned over the banisters to questionhim; but, with a gesture imploring her to be silent, the astonished boysaid, hardly above his breath: "Mother, come here!"

Cautiously she descended to the entry. He led her through the kitchen tothe cellar steps. All the time the shovelling continued. Whispering"Don't be afraid, " Bernard blew out the candle he carried, and, takingher hand, added: "Look!"

From the corner of the cellar in which the coal-bin was situated came thelight of a lantern. Crouching down, Mrs. Farrell could see that itproceeded from a hole in the wall which separated the two houses. Therewas no one upon her premises, after all; but at the other side of thepartition was Stingy Willis, sure enough! Through the opening she couldjust catch a glimpse of his grey head and thin, sharp features. Trembling with indignation, she peered forward to get a better view. Yes, there was Stingy Willis certainly; but--oh, for the charity, theneighborliness which "thinketh no evil!"--he was shovelling coal from hisown _into_ the Farrells' bin! As this fact dawned upon her she felt asif she would like to go through the floor for shame. Drawing backabruptly, she groped her way to the kitchen, and sank into a chair, quiteovercome by emotion. Bernard, having relighted the candle, stood gazingat her with an abashed air. In a moment or two the shovelling ceased, and they could hear the old man, totally unconscious of the witnesses tohis good deed, slowly ascending to his cheerless rooms again. 

Stingy Willis alone had discovered their need. With a delicacy whichrespected their reticence, and shrank from an offer of aid which mightoffend, he had hit upon this means of helping them. Clearly, he had beenthus surreptitiously supplying them with fuel for weeks, --a little at atime, to avoid discovery. And Mrs. Farrell, in her anxiety andpreoccupation, had not realized that, with the steady inroads made uponit, a ton of coal could not possibly last so long. 

"That, of all people, Stingy Willis should be the one to come to ourassistance!" exclaimed the widow. 

"And to think he is not _Stingy_ Willis at all! That is the mostwonderful part of it!" responded Bernard. 

"Often lately, " continued the former, "when I happened to meet him goingin or out, I fancied that his keen old eyes darted a penetrating glanceat me; and the fear that they would detect the poverty we were trying tohide so irritated me that sometimes I even pretended not to hear hisgruff 'Good-morning!'"

"Well, he's a right jolly fellow!" cried Bernard, enthusiastically, His mother smiled. The adjective was ludicrously inappropriate, but sheunderstood Bernard's meaning, and appreciated his feelings as he went on:

"Yes, I'll never let anybody say a word against him in my hearing afterthis, and I'll declare I have proof positive that he's no miser. "

"He is a noble-hearted man certainly, " said Mrs. Farrell. "I wish weknew more about him. But, for one thing, Bernard, this experience hastaught us to beware of rash judgments; to look for the jewels, not theflaws, in the character of our neighbor. "

"Yes, indeed, mother, " replied the youth, decidedly. "You may be surethat in future I'll try to see what is best in everyone. "

The next morning Mrs. Farrell went about her work in a more hopeful mood. Bernard started for the office in better spirits than usual, hummingsnatches of a song, a few words of which kept running in his mind all day:

 "God rules, and thou shall have more sun When clouds their perfect work have done. "

That afternoon Mr. Crosswell, the head of the firm, who seemed suddenlyto have become aware that something was wrong, said to him:

"My lad, how is it that your mother has not been doing the extratype-writing lately? I find a great deal of it has been given to someone else. "

"She has been sick with rheumatism, sir, " answered the boy; "and herfingers are so stiff that she cannot work the machine. "

"Tut! tut!" cried the lawyer, half annoyed. "You should have told methis before. If she is ill, she must need many little luxuries" (herefrained from saying _necessaries_). "She must let me pay her inadvance. Here are twenty-five dollars. Tell her not to hesitate to usethe money, for she can make up for it in work later. I was, you know, amartyr to rheumatism last winter, but young Dr. Sullivan cured me. I'llsend him round to see her; and, remember, there will be no expense to youabout it. "

"I don't know how to thank you, sir!" stammered Bernard, gratefully. Then he hurried home to tell his mother all that had happened, and to putinto her hands the bank-notes, for which she could find such ready use. 

Doctor Sullivan called to see Mrs. Farrell the following day, "Why, " said he, "this is a very simple case! You would not have beentroubled so long but for want of the proper remedies. "

He left her a prescription, which wrought such wonders that in afortnight she was able to resume her occupation. 

From this time also Mr. Crosswell gave Bernard many opportunities bywhich he earned a small sum in addition to his weekly salary, and soonthe Farrells were in comfortable circumstances again. 

By degrees they became better acquainted with old Willis; but it was nottill he began to be regarded, and to consider himself, as an intimatefriend of the family that Bernard's mother ventured to tell him they knewof his kind deed done in secret, --a revelation which caused him muchconfusion. Bernard had discovered long before that their eccentricneighbor, far from being a parsimonious hoarder of untold wealth, was, infact, almost a poor man. He possessed a life-interest in the house inwhich he dwelt, and the income of a certain investment left to him by thewill of a former employer in acknowledgment of faithful service. It wasa small amount, intended merely to insure his support; but, in spite ofhis age, he still worked for a livelihood, distributing the annuity incharity. The noble-hearted old man stinted himself that he might begenerous to the sick, the suffering, the needy; for the "miser's gold"was only a treasure of golden deeds. 

THAT RED SILK FROCK. 

I. 

You could not help liking little Annie Conwell; she was so gentle, andhad a half shy, half roguish manner, which was very winning. And, then, she was so pretty to look at, with her pink cheeks, soft blueeyes, and light, wavy hair. Though held up as a model child, like mostpeople, including even good little girls, she was fond of her own way;and if she set her heart upon having anything, she wanted it withoutdelay--right then and there. And she usually got it as soon aspossible; for Mr. Conwell was one of the kindest of fathers, and ifAnnie had cried for the moon he would have been distressed because hecould not obtain it for her; while, as the two older children, Walterand Josephine, were away at boarding-school, Mrs. Conwell, in herloneliness at their absence, was perhaps more indulgent toward herlittle daughter than she would otherwise have been. 

Annie's great friend was Lucy Caryl. Lucy lived upon the next block;and every day when going to school Annie called for her, or Lucy randown to see if Annie was ready. Regularly Mrs. Conwell said:"Remember, Annie, I want you to come straight from school, and not stopat the Caryls'. If you want to go and play with Lucy afterward, I haveno objection, but you _must_ come home first. "

"Yes, um, " was the docile answer she invariably made. 

But, strange as it may seem, although Annie Conwell was consideredclever and bright enough in general, and often stood head of her class, she seemed to have a wretched memory in regard to this partinginjunction of her mother, or else there were ostensibly many goodreasons for making exceptions to the rule. When, as sometimeshappened, she entered the house some two hours after school wasdismissed, and threw down her books upon the sitting-room table, Mrs. Conwell reproachfully looked up from her sewing and asked: "What timeis it, dear?"

And Annie, after a startled glance at the clock, either stammered, "Omother, I forgot!" or else rattled off an unsatisfactory excuse. 

"Very well!" was the frequent warning. "If you stay at Lucy Caryl'swithout permission, you must remain indoors on Saturday as a punishmentfor your disobedience. "

Nevertheless, when the end of the week came, Annie usually managed toescape the threatened penalty. For Saturday is a busy day in thedomestic world; and Mrs. Conwell was one of the fine, old-fashionedhousekeepers--now, unfortunately, somewhat out of date--who looked wellafter the ways of her household, which was in consequence pervaded byan atmosphere of comfort and prosperity. 

One especial holiday, however, she surprised the little maid by saying, "Annie, I have told you over and over again that you must come directlyhome from school, and yet for several days you have not made yourappearance until nearly dusk. I am going down town now, and I forbidyou to go out to play until I return. For a great girl, going on tenyears of age, you are too heedless. Something must be done about it. "

Annie reddened, buried her cheeks in the fur of her mother's sable muffwith which she was toying, and gave a sidelong glance at Mrs. Conwell'sface. The study of it assured her that there was no use in "beggingoff" this time; so she silently laid down the muff and walked to thewindow. 

Mrs. Conwell, after clasping her handsome fur collar--or tippet, as itwas called--over the velvet mantle which was the fashion in those days, and surveying in the mirror the nodding plumes of her bonnet of royalpurple hue, took up the muff and went away. 

"A great girl!" grumbled Annie, as she watched the lady out of sight. "She always says that when she is displeased. 'Going on ten years ofage!' It is true, of course; but, then, I was only nine last month. At other times, when persons ask me how old I am, if I answer 'Mostten, ' mother is sure to laugh and say, 'Annie's just past nine. ' Itmakes me so mad!"

There was no use in standing idly thinking about it though, especiallyas nothing of interest was occurring in the street just then; so Annieturned away and began to wonder what she should do to amuse herself. In the "best china closet" was a delicious cake. She had discoveredthat the key of the inner cupboard, where it was locked up, was kept inthe blue vase on the dining-room mantel. She had been several times"just to take a peep at the cake, " she said to herself. Mrs. Conwellhad also looked at it occasionally, and it had no appearance of havingbeen interfered with. Yet, somehow, there was a big hole scooped inthe middle of it from the under side. The discovery must be made someday, and then matters would not be so pleasant for the meddler; but, inthe meantime, this morning Annie concluded to try "just a crumb" of thecake, to make sure it was not getting stale. 

Having satisfied herself upon that point, and being at a loss foroccupation, she thought she would see what was going on out of doorsnow. (If some little girls kept account of the minutes they spend inlooking out of the window, how astonished they would be at the result!)At present the first person Annie saw was Lucy Caryl, who from theopposite sidewalk was making frantic efforts to attract her attention. 

"Come into my house and play with me, " Lucy spelled with her fingers inthe deaf and dumb alphabet. 

Annie raised the sash. "I can't, Lucy!" she called. "Mother said Imust stay in the house. "

"Oh, do come--just for a little while!" teased naughty Lucy. "Yourmother will never know. She has gone away down town: I saw her takethe car. We'll watch the corner; when we see her coming, you can runaround by the yard and slip in at the gate before she reaches the frontdoor. "

The inducement was strong. Annie pretended to herself that she did notunderstand the uneasy feeling in her heart, which told her she was notdoing right. The servants were down in the kitchen, and would not missher. She ran for her cloak and hood--little girls wore good, warmhoods in those days, --and in a few moments was scurrying along thesidewalk with Lucy. 

The Caryls lived in a spacious brown stone house, which exteriorly wasprecisely like the residence of the Conwells. The interior, however, was very different. Contrasted with the brightness of Annie's home, itpresented an appearance of cheerless and somewhat dingy grandeur. Theparlors, now seldom used, were furnished in snuff-colored damask, atrifle faded; the curtains, of the same heavy material, had a stuffylook, and made one long to throw open the window to get a breath offresh air. The walls were adorned with remarkable tapestries in greatgilt frames, testimonials to the industry of Mrs. Caryl during hergirlhood. Here and there, too, hung elaborate souvenirs of departedmembers of the family, in the shape of memorial crosses and wreaths ofwaxed flowers, also massively framed. They were very imposing; butAnnie had a nervous horror of them, and invariably hurried past thatparlor door. 

The little girls usually played together in a small room adjoining thesitting-room. They had by no means the run of the house. Annie, indeed, felt a certain awe of Lucy's mother, who was stern and severewith children. 

"I'm sure I shouldn't care to go to the Caryls', except that Lucy is soseldom allowed to come to see me, " she often declared. 

On this particular afternoon Mrs. Caryl had also gone out. 

"My Aunt Mollie sent me some lovely clothes for my doll, " said Lucy. "The box is up on the top story. Come with me to get it. "

Remembering the "funeral flowers, " as Annie called them, she had anidea that Lucy's mother kept similar or even more uncanny treasuresstored away "on the top story, " which her imagination invested with anair of mystery. So she hesitated. 

"Come!" repeated Lucy, who forthwith tripped on ahead, and looked overthe baluster to see why she did not follow. 

Annie hesitated no longer, but started up the steps. Just at thatmoment a peculiar sound, like the clanging of a chain, followed by astrange, rustling noise, came from one of the rooms above. A foolishterror seized upon her. 

"O gracious! what's that?" she panted; and, turning, would have fleddown the stairs again, had not Lucy sprung toward her and caught herdress. 

"It's nothing, goosie!" said she, "except Jim. He's been a naughtyboy, and is tied up in the front room. Ma thought she'd try that planso he could not slip out to go skating. I suppose I ought to have toldyou, though. Maybe you thought we had a crazy person up here. "

Annie forced herself to laugh. Reassured in a measure, and still morecurious, she ventured to go on. When she reached the upper hall, shesaw that the door of the front room was open, and, looking in, beheld acomical spectacle. Fastened by a stout rope to one of the high postsof an old-fashioned bedstead was a rollicking urchin of about eightyears of age, who seemed to be having a very good time, notwithstandinghis captivity. Upon his shoes were a pair of iron clamps resemblingspurs, such as were used for skates. It was the clank of these againstthe brass balls, of which there was one at the top of each post, whichmade the sound that had so frightened Annie. 

"Hello!" he called out as he caught sight of her. And, fascinated bythe novelty of the situation, she stood a moment watching his antics, which were similar to those of a monkey upon a pole. Again and againhe climbed the post, indulged in various acrobatic performances uponthe foot-board, and then turned a double somersault right into thecentre of the great feather-bed. And all the while his villainouslittle iron-bound heels made woful work, leaving countless dents andscratches upon the fine old mahogany, and catching in the meshes of thehandsome knitted counterpane. 

"You'd better stop that!" Lucy called to him. 

In response to her advice, he clambered over and seated himself uponthe mantel. 

"Oh! oh!" she expostulated in alarm, lest the shelf should fall beneathhis weight. 

As that catastrophe did not occur, he coolly shifted his position, madea teasing grimace at her, and when she turned away slipped down andresumed his gymnastic exercises. 

There was nothing else on the top story to excite Annie's surprise, butshe was glad when Lucy secured the box and led the way downstairs. 

II. 

"When the little friends were again in their accustomed play corner, Lucy, with much satisfaction, displayed her present. 

"Your Aunt Mollie must be awful nice!" exclaimed Annie. "How lucky youare! Three more dresses for your doll! Clementina has not had any newclothes for a long time. I think that red silk dress is the prettiest, don't you?"

"I haven't quite decided, " answered Lucy. "Christabel looks lovely init; but I think the blue one is perhaps even more becoming. "

They tried the various costumes upon Lucy's doll, and admired theeffect of each in turn. 

"Still, I like the red silk dress best, " said Annie. 

"It would just suit Clementina, wouldn't it?" suggested Lucy. 

"Yes, " sighed Annie, taking up the little frock, and imagining she sawher own doll attired in its gorgeousness. After regarding it enviouslyfor a few moments, she said: "Say, Lucy, give it to me, won't you?"

"Why, the idea!" cried Lucy, aghast at the audacity of the proposal. 

"I think you might, " pouted Annie. "You hardly ever give me anything, although you are my dearest friend. I made you a present ofClementina's second best hat for Christabel, and only yesterday I gaveyou that sweet bead ring you asked me for. "

These unanswerable arguments were lost upon Lucy, however. Shesnatched away the tiny frock, and both little girls sulked a while. 

"Lucy's real mean!" said Annie to herself. "She ought to give it tome, --she knows she ought! Oh, dear, I want it awfully! She owes mesomething for what I've given her. --I am going home, " she announcedaloud. 

"Oh, no!" protested Lucy, aroused to the sense of her duties ashostess. "Let us put away the dolls and read. There is a splendid newstory this week in the _Young Folks' Magazine_. "

Taking Annie's silence for assent, she packed Christabel and herbelongings away again, and went to get the book. Annie waitedsullenly. Then, as her friend did not come back immediately, she beganto fidget. 

"Lucy need not have been in such a hurry to whisk her things into thebox, " she complained. "To look at the red dress won't spoil it, Isuppose. I _will_ have another look at it, anyhow!"

She raised the cover of the box and took out the dainty dress. StillLucy did not return. A temptation came to Annie. Why not keep thepretty red silk frock? Lucy would not miss it at once; afterward shewould think she had mislaid it. She would never suspect the truth. Annie breathed hard. If she had quickly put the showy bit of trumperyback into the box and banished the covetous wish, all would have beenwell; but instead, she stood deliberating and turning the little dressover and over in her hands. Meantime a hospitable thought had occurredto Lucy. She remembered that there was a new supply of apples in thepantry, and had gone to get one for Annie and one for herself. On herway through the dining-room she happened to look out of the window. 

"Goodness gracious!" she exclaimed; for there was Mrs. Conwell gettingout of the car at the corner!

At Lucy's call of, "Annie, here comes your mother!" Annie started, hesitated, glanced at the box, and, alas! crammed the red silk frockinto her pocket. Then she caught up her cloak and hood, and rusheddown the stairs. Lucy ran to open the yard gate for her, and thrustthe apple into her hand as she passed. 

Flurried and short of breath, she reached home just as Mrs. Conwellrang the door-bell. She did not hasten as usual to greet her mother;but, hurrying to her own little room, shut herself in, and sat down onthe bed to recover from her confusion. 

It happened that the cook claimed Mrs. Conwell's attention in regard tosome domestic matter, and thus she did not at once inquire for herlittle daughter, supposing that the child was contentedly occupied. Annie, therefore, had some time in which to collect her thoughts. Asher excitement gradually died away, she found that, instead of feelingthe satisfaction she expected in having spent the afternoon as shepleased and yet escaped discovery, she was restless and unhappy. Uponher neat dressing-table lay the apple which Lucy had given her. It wasripe and rosy, but she felt that a bite of it would choke her. Abovethe head of the bed hung a picture of the Madonna with the DivineChild. Obeying a sudden impulse, she jumped up and turned it inward tothe wall. Ah, Annie, what a coward a guilty conscience can make of thebravest among us!

Glancing cautiously around, as if the very walls had eyes and couldreveal what they saw, she drew from her pocket the red silk frock. Shesat and gazed at it as if in a dream. It was as pretty as ever, yet itno longer gave her pleasure. She did not dare to try it on Clementina;she wanted to hide it away in some corner where no one would ever findit. Tiny as it was, she felt that it could never be successfullyconcealed; Remorse would point it out wherever it was secreted. Anniebegan to realize what she had done. She had stolen! She, proud AnnieConwell, who held her head so high, whom half the girls at schoolenvied, had taken what did not belong to her! How her cheeks burned!She wondered if it had been found out yet. What would Lucy say? Wouldshe tell all the girls, and would they avoid her, and whisper togetherwhen she was around, saying, "Look out for Annie Conwell! She is notto be trusted. "

She covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears. And all thewhile a low voice kept whispering in her heart with relentlesspersistency, till human respect gave way to higher motives. Sheglanced up at the picture, turned it around again with a feeling ofcompunction, and, humbled and contrite, sank on her knees in a littleheap upon the floor. 

A few moments afterward her mother's step sounded in the hall. Whenone finds a little girl's cloak flung on the baluster, stumbles over ahood on the stairs, and picks up an odd mitten somewhere else, theevidences are strong that the owner has come home in a hurry. Mrs. Conwell had, therefore, discovered Annie's disobedience. She threwopen the door, intending to rebuke her severely; but the sight of thechild's flushed and tear-stained face checked the chiding words uponher lips. 

"What is the matter, Annie?" she inquired, somewhat sternly. 

"O mother, please don't scold me! I'm unhappy enough already, "faltered Annie, beginning to cry again. 

Then, as the burden of her miserable little secret had becomeunendurable, she told the whole story. Mrs. Conwell looked pained andgrave, but her manner was very gentle as she said:

"Of course, the first thing for you to do is to return what you haveunjustly taken. "

Annie gave a little nervous shudder. "What! go and tell Lucy I stoleher doll's red silk dress?" she exclaimed. "How could I ever!"

"I do not say it is necessary to do that, " answered her mother; "butyou are certainly obliged to restore it. I should advise you to takeit back without delay, and have the struggle over. "

She went away, and left the little girl to reflect upon the matter. But the more Annie debated with herself, the more difficulty she had incoming to a decision. Finally she started up, exclaiming, "The longer I think about it the harder it seems. I'll just _do it_right off. "

She picked up the dress, darted down the stairs, hurriedly prepared togo out, and in a few moments was hastening down the block to theCaryls'. Lucy saw her coming, and met her at the door. 

"Did you get a scolding? Was your mother very much displeased?" sheasked; for she perceived immediately that Annie had been crying, andmisinterpreted the cause of her tears. 

"Oh, no!--well, I suppose she was, " hesitated Annie. "But she did notsay much. "

"How did she happen to let you come down here again?" continued Lucy, leading the way to the sitting-room. 

Annie cast a quick glance at the table. The box which containedChristabel and her wardrobe was no longer there. It was useless, then, to hope for a chance to quietly slip the red dress into it again. 

Lucy repeated the question, wondering what had set her playmate'sthoughts a-wool-gathering. 

"I'm not going to stay, " began Annie. 

Lucy's clear eyes met hers inquiringly. To her uneasy conscience theyseemed to accuse her and to demand the admission of her fault. Hercheeks grew crimson; and, as a person in a burning building ventures aperilous leap in the hope of escape, so Annie, finding her presentposition intolerable, stammered out the truth. 

"I only came to bring back something. Don't be vexed, will you, atwhat I'm going to tell you? I took that red silk dress home with me;but here it is, and I'm sorry, Lucy, --indeed I am!"

A variety of expressions flitted across Lucy's face as she listened. Incredulity, surprise, and indignation were depicted there. Annie hadstated the case as mildly as possible, but Lucy understood. After thefirst surprise, however, she began to comprehend dimly that it musthave required a good deal of moral courage thus openly to bring backthe little dress. She was conscious of a new respect for Annie, whostood there so abashed. For a few moments there was an awkward pause;then she managed to say:

"Oh, that is all right! Of course I should have been vexed if you hadnot brought it back, because I should have missed it as soon as Iopened the box. I was mean about it, anyway. I might have let youtake it to try on Clementina. Here, I'll give it to you now, to makeup for being stingy. "

Annie shook her head, and refused to take the once coveted gift fromher companion's outstretched hand. 

"Then I'll lend it to you for ever and ever, " continued Lucy, impulsively. 

"No, I don't want it now, " answered Annie. "Good-bye!"

"Will you go to walk with me to-morrow after Sunday-school?" urgedLucy, as she followed her to the door. 

"P'rhaps!" replied her little friend, hastening away. 

The inquiry brought her a feeling of relief, however. Lucy evidentlyhad no thought of "cutting" her acquaintance. The sense of having doneright made her heart light and happy as she ran home. The experiencehad taught her that one must learn to see many pretty things withoutwishing to possess them; and also that small acts of disobedience and ahabit of meddling may lead further than one at first intends. 

Annie became a lovely woman, a devoted daughter, a mostself-sacrificing character, and one scrupulously exact in her dealingswith others; but she never forgot "that red silk frock. "

"A LESSON WITH A SEQUEL. "

"How strange that any one should be so superstitious!" said EmilyMahon. Rosemary Beckett had been telling a group of girls of theridiculous practices of an old negro woman employed by her mother as alaundress. 

"People must be very ignorant to believe such things, " declared AnnaShaw, disdainfully. 

"Yet, " observed Miss Graham, closing the new magazine which she hadbeen looking over, "it is surprising how many persons, who ought toknow better, are addicted to certain superstitions, and cannot be madeto see that it is not only foolish but wrong to yield to them. "

"Well, " began Rosemary, "I am happy to say that is not a failing ofmine. "

"I think everything of the kind is nonsensical, " added Kate Parsons. 

"I'm not a bit superstitious either, " volunteered Emily. 

"Nor I, " interposed Anna. 

"I despise such absurdities, " continued May Johnston. 

"My dear girls, " laughed Miss Graham, "I'll venture to say that eachone of you has a pet superstition, which influences you more or less, and which you ought to overcome. "

This assertion was met by a chorus of indignant protests. 

"Why, Cousin Irene!" cried Emily. 

"O, Miss Graham, how _can_ you think so!"

"The very idea!" etc. , etc. , chimed in the others. 

Everybody liked Miss Irene Graham. She lived with her cousins, theMahons, and supported herself by giving lessons to young girls who forvarious reasons did not attend a regular school. Her classes werepopular, not only because she was bright and clever, and had thefaculty of imparting what she knew; but because, as parents soondiscovered, she taught her pupils good, sound common-sense, as well as"the shallower knowledge of books. " Cousin Irene had not forgotten howshe used to think and feel when she herself was a young girl, andtherefore she was able to look at the world from a girl's point ofview, to sympathize with her dreams and undertakings. She did not lookfor very wise heads upon young shoulders; but when she found that herpupils had foolish notions, or did not behave sensibly, she tried tomake them see this for themselves; and we all know from experience thatwhat we learn in that way produces the most lasting impression. 

The girls now gathered around her were members of the literature class, which met on Wednesday and Saturday mornings at the Mahons'. As theyconsidered themselves accomplished and highly cultivated for theiryears, it was mortifying to be accused of being so unenlightened as tobelieve in omens. 

"No, I haven't a particle of superstition, " repeated Rosemary, decidedly. "There's one thing I won't do, though. I won't give oraccept a present of anything sharp--a knife or scissors, or even apin, --because, the saying is, it cuts friendship. I've found it so, too. I gave Clara Hayes a silver hair-pin at Christmas, and a fewweeks after we quarrelled. "

"There is the fault, popping up like a Jack-in-the box!" said MissIrene. "But, if I remember, Clara was a new acquaintance of yours inthe holidays, and you and she were inseparable. The ardor of suchextravagant friendship soon cools. Before long you concluded you didnot like her so well as at first; then came the disagreement. But isit not silly to say the pin had anything to do with the matter? Wouldit not have been the same if you had given her a book or a picture?"

"If I'm walking in the street with a friend, I'm always careful neverto let any person or thing come between us, " admitted Kate Parsons. "It's a sure sign that you'll be disappointed--"

"Oh, it will be all right if you remember to say 'Bread and butter!'"interrupted Anna, eagerly. 

They all laughed; but Miss Irene saw by the tell-tale faces of severalthat they clung to this childish practice. 

"We used to do so in play when we were little girls, " said Emily, apologetically; "and I suppose it became a habit. "

"The other day, " Miss Graham went on, "I heard a young lady say: 'Ifyou are setting out upon a journey, or even a walk, and have to go backto the house for anything, be sure you sit down before starting offagain. ' It is bad luck not to do so. '"

Emily colored. 

"Yes, we are very particular about that!" cried Rosemary, impulsively, as her companions did not contradict the avowal; it was evident thatshe knew what she was talking about. 

The conversation turned to other subjects. Presently Anna and Rosemarywere planning an excursion to a neighboring town. 

"To visit Elizabeth Harris, who was at the convent with us last year, "explained the latter. "Suppose we go to-morrow?"

"I have an engagement with the dentist, " was the doleful reply. 

"Well, the day after?"

"Let me see, " mused Anna. "Oh, no!" she added, hastily. "I could notstart on a journey or begin any work on a Friday; it would not belucky, you know!" Then she flushed and looked toward Miss Irene, whoshook her head significantly and wrote in her note-book, "Superstitiouspractice No. 4. "

As it was Emily's birthday, the girls had been invited to stay forluncheon. Emily now led the way to the dining-room, where a prettytable was spread. Everything was as dainty as good taste and handsomeauxiliaries could make it: the snowy damask, fine glass, and old familysilver; the small crystal bowls filled with chrysanthemums, and at eachplate a tiny bouquet. 

Mr. Mahon was down town at his business, but there stood Mrs. Mahon, sokind and affable; and the boys and girls of the family were waiting totake their seats. The party paused, while, according to the goodold-fashioned custom (now too often neglected), grace was said; andCousin Irene, contemplating the bright faces and pleasant surroundings, thought she had seldom seen a more attractive picture. But now shenoticed that May, after a quick look around, appeared startled andanxious. The next moment the foolish girl exclaimed:

"O Mrs. Mahon, there are thirteen of us here! You do not like to havethirteen persons at your table, do you? Pardon me, but I'm so nervousabout it!"

A shadow of annoyance flitted across Mrs. Mahon's motherly countenance, but she answered gently: "My dear, I never pay any attention to thesuperstition. Still a hostess will not insist upon making a guestuncomfortable. Tom, " she continued, addressing her youngest son, "youwill oblige me by taking your luncheon afterward. "

Tom scowled at May, flung himself out of his chair, mumbled somethingabout "stuff and nonsense;" and, avoiding his mother's reprovingglance, went off in no amiable humor. 

May was embarrassed, especially as she felt Miss Irene's grave eyesfixed upon her. But Mrs. Mahon was too courteous to allow any one toremain disconcerted at her hospitable board. With ready tact shemanaged that the little incident should seem speedily forgotten. Aftera momentary awkwardness the girls began to chatter merrily again, andharmony was restored. 

On their return to the drawing-room, May whispered to Miss Graham: "Ihope Mrs. Mahon will excuse me for calling her attention to the numberat table. I did not mean to be rude, and I suppose it is silly to beso superstitious; but, indeed, I can not help it. "

"Do not say that, dear; because you can help it if you wish, " was thegentle reply, "Mrs. Mahon understood, I am sure, that you did notintend to be impolite; but I know she must have felt regret that youshould give way to such folly. " Then, turning to the others, MissIrene continued: "Well, girls, considering the revelations of thismorning, perhaps you will admit that you have, after all, a fair shareof superstition. "

"I'm afraid so, " acknowledged Rosemary; and no one demurred. 

"Do you know how these superstitions originated, Miss Graham?" askedAnna, who was of an inquiring mind. 

"Many of them are very ancient, " replied Cousin Irene. "That whichpredicts that the gift of anything sharp cuts friendship probably datesback farther than the days of Rome and Greece, and is almost as old asthe dagger itself. No doubt it originated in an age of frequent warsand quarrels, when for a warrior to put a weapon in the hands of acompanion was perhaps to find it forthwith turned against himself. Inthose days of strife also, when men were more ready in action than inthe turning of phrases, and so much was expressed by symbolism, theoffering of a sword or dagger was frequently in itself a challenge, anda declaration of enmity. Thus, you see, that what was a naturalinference in other times is meaningless in ours. The adage whichadvises the person obliged to turn back in his journey to be careful tosit down before setting out anew, was at first simply a metaphoricalway of saying that having made a false start toward the accomplishmentof any duty, it is well to begin again at the beginning. The customwhich restrained comrades in arms, or friends walking or journeyingtogether, from allowing anything to come between them, had also afigurative import. It was a dramatic manner of declaring, 'Nothingshall ever part us, --no ill-will nor strife, not even this accidentalbarrier, shall interrupt our friendly intercourse. ' In the times, too, when there were few laws but that of might, when danger often lurked bythe wayside, it was always well for a traveller to keep close to hiscompanion, and not to separate from him without necessity. 

"Many other superstitions, as well, have a symbolical origin. But thenineteenth century does not deal with such picturesque methods ofexpression. We pride ourselves upon saying in so many words just whatwe mean; therefore much of the poetic imagery of other days has nosignificance in ours. And is it not symbolism without sense whichconstitutes one of the phases of superstition? As for yourbread-and-butter exorcism, Anna, I presume it was simply the expressionof a hope that nothing might interfere between hungry folk and theirdinner. This is, indeed, but a bit of juvenile nonsense; just aschildren will 'make believe' that some dire mishap will befall one whosteps on the cracks of a flagged sidewalk; and so on through a score offunny conceits and games, innocent enough as child's play, but hardlyworthy of sensible girls in their teens. 

"You know, the practice of refraining from beginning a journey orundertaking on Friday, " continued Miss Irene, "arose from a religiousobservance of the day upon which Our Lord was crucified. As the earlyChristians were accustomed to devote this day to meditation and prayer, it followed that few went abroad at that time, or set about newtemporal ventures. Superstition early perverted the import of thispious custom. As on that day Satan marshalled all the powers of evilagainst the Son of God, so, said the soothsayers, he would beset withmisfortune and danger the path of those who set forth on a Friday. Asregards the case in point, since we do not go into retreat once a week, I presume Anna and Rosemary have not this reason for refusing to visittheir young friend on Friday. "

There was a general laugh, after which Miss Irene went on:

"For the rest, we know God's loving providence carefully watches overus at all times, and constantly preserves us from countless dangers;that nothing can betide us without His permission, and that He blessesthe work of every day if we ask Him. Far from being influenced by thecommon superstition with regard to Friday, it would seem as if weshould piously prefer to begin an undertaking (and in this spirit seeka special blessing on the work thus commenced) on the day of the weekwhich commemorates that most fortunate of all days for us, on which wasconsummated the great act of Redemption. 

"The superstition with reference to thirteen at table dates from theLast Supper, of which Our Lord partook with His twelve Apostles on theeve of His crucifixion. Hence the saying that of thirteen persons whosit down together to a repast, one will soon die. I think it wasoriginally the custom to avoid having thirteen at the festive or familyboard, not so much from this notion, as to express a horror of thetreachery of Judas. Such would be, for instance, the chivalrous spiritof the Crusaders. We can understand how, in feudal times, a knightwould consider it an affront to his fellows to bid them to a banquetspread for thirteen. In those days, when a feast was so apt to end ina fray, --when by perfidy the enemy so often entered at the castle gatewhile the company were at table, and frequently a chief was slain erehe could rise from his place, --the circumstance would point an analogywhich it has not with us, suggesting not merely mortality but betrayal;a breach of all the laws of hospitality; impending death by violence. Since we can not live forever, among every assemblage of individualsthere is likely to be one at least whose life may be nearly at itsclose. The more persons present, the greater the probability;therefore there is really a greater fatality in the numbers fourteen, twenty, thirty, than in thirteen. 

"But to return to the point from which we started--no, Emily, it is notnecessary to sit down. You will observe that many persons who declareemphatically that they are not superstitious, are neverthelessinfluenced by old-time sayings and practices; some of which, thoughperhaps beautiful originally, have now lost all significance; otherswhich are simply relics of paganism. Men are often as irrational inthis respect as women; and, notice this well, you will findsuperstition much more common among non-Catholics than among Catholics. As we have seen, however, some of us do not realize that what we arepleased to call certain harmless eccentricities, are very like thesuperstitious practices forbidden by the First Commandment. "

Kate and Emily were not giving to this little homily the attention itdeserved. They had begun to trifle as girls are wont to do. Catchingat the tiny bisque cupid that hung from the chandelier, Emilysportively sent it flying toward Kate, who swung it back again. Thusthey kept it flitting to and fro, faster and faster. Finally, Emilyhit it with a jerk. The cord by which it was suspended snapped; thedainty bit of bric-a-brac sped across the room, and, striking with fullforce against a mirror in a quaint old secretary that had belonged toMr. Mahon's uncle, shivered the glass to pieces. Instantly every traceof color fled from her face, and she stood appalled, gazing at themischief she had done. There was, of course, an exclamation from hercompanions, who remained staring at her, and appeared almost asdisturbed as herself. 

Cousin Irene went over and patted her on the shoulder, saying, "Do notbe so distressed, child. I know you are sorry to have damaged the oldsecretary, which we value so much for its associations. But there isno need of being so troubled. We can have a new mirror put in. "

"It is not only that, " faltered the silly girl; "but to break alooking-glass! You know it is a sure sign that a great misfortune willbefall us--that there will probably be a death in the family beforelong. "

"Oh, but such sayings don't always come true! There are oftenexceptions, " interposed Kate, anxious to say something consolatory, andheartily wishing they had let the little cupid alone. 

"Too bad; for it really is dreadfully unlucky to have such a thinghappen!" sighed Rosemary, with less tact. 

"I know it, " murmured May. 

"Yes, indeed, " added Anna. 

Miss Graham drew back astonished. "Young ladies, I am ashamed of you!"she said, reproachfully, and went out of the room. 

There were a few moments of discomfiture, and presently the girlsconcluded, one after another, that it was time to be going home. 

Left alone, Emily approached the secretary and examined the ruinedmirror. It was cracked like an egg-shell, --"smashed to smithereens, "Tom said in telling the story later; but only one or two bits hadfallen out. Idly attempting to fit these into place again, Emilycaught sight of what she supposed was a sheet of note-paper, that hadapparently made its way in between the back of the mirror and the frame. 

"An old letter of grandpa's, probably, " she said aloud, taking hold ofthe corner to draw it out. It stuck fast; but a second effort releasedit, amid a shower of splintered glass; and to her amazement she foundin her possession a time-stained document that had a mysteriously legalair. Trembling with excitement she unfolded it, and, without stoppingto think that it might not be for her eyes, began to read the queerwriting, which was somewhat difficult to decipher:

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. I, Bernard Mahon, being of sound and disposing mind, do herebydeclare this to be my last will and testament. "

"Uncle Bernard's will!" gasped Emily. "It must be the one fatheralways said uncle told him about, but which never could be found. Perhaps he slipped it in here for safe-keeping. " Eagerly she scannedit, crying at last, "Yes, yes! Hurrah! O Cousin Irene!" she calledout, hearing the latter's step in the hall. 

When Miss Graham entered Emily was waltzing around the room, waving thedocument ecstatically. "See what I've found!" she cried, dartingtoward her with an impulsive caress. 

Cousin Irene took the paper, and, as she perused it, became, though ina less demonstrative fashion, as agitated as Emily. "Your father!" shestammered. 

Mr. Mahon had come into the house and was now in the little study, which he called his den. Cousin Irene and Emily almost flew thither, and a few minutes later his voice, with a glad ring in it, was heardcalling first his wife and then the children to tell them the joyfulnews. 

The will so long sought, so strangely brought to light, made a greatchange in the family fortunes. By it Bryan, the old man's son, who wasunmarried and dissipated, was entitled to merely a certain income andlife-interest in the estate, which upon his demise was to go to thetestator's nephew William (Mr. Mahon) and Cousin Irene. In fact, however, at his father's death, Bryan, as no will was discovered, hadentered into full possession of the property; and when within a yearhis own career was suddenly cut short, it was learned that he hadbequeathed nothing to his relatives but a few family heirlooms. 

"I did not grudge Bryan what he had while he lived, " said Mr. Mahon;"but when, after the poor fellow was drowned, we heard that he had leftall his money to found a library for 'the Preservation of the Recordsof Sport and Sportsmen, ' I did feel that, with my boys and girls toprovide for and educate, I could have made a better use of it. AndCousin Irene would have been saved a good deal of hard work if shecould have obtained her share at the time. Thank God it is all rightnow, and the library with the long name will have to wait for anotherfounder. "

The girls of the literature class soon heard of their friends' goodfortune, and were not slow in offering their congratulations. 

One day, some two years after, when Anna and Rosemary happened to callat the Mahons', a chance reference was made to the discovery of thewill. "Only think, " exclaimed Rosemary, "how much came about throughthe spoiling of that mirror! Emily, you surely can never again believeit unlucky to break a looking-glass?"

"No, indeed!" replied Emily, thinking of the uninterrupted happinessand prosperity which the family had enjoyed since then. 

"It was a fortunate accident for us, " said Cousin Irene; "but I shouldnot advise any one to go around smashing all the looking-glasses in hisor her house, hoping for a similar result. It certainly would be anunlucky sign for the person who had to meet the bill for repairs. "

"Miss Graham, how do you suppose this superstition originated?" askedAnna, as eager for information as ever. After a general laugh at herexpense, Cousin Irene said:

"The first mirrors, you must remember, were the forest pools andmountain tarns. As the hunter stooped to one of these to slake histhirst, if perchance so much as a shadow should break the reflection ofhis own image in its tranquil depths, he had reason to fear that dangerand perhaps death were at hand; for often in some such dark mirror avictim caught the first glimpse of his enemy, who had been waiting inambush and was now stealing upon him from behind; or of the wild beastmaking ready to leap upon him. But the popular augury that the merefact of breaking a looking-glass portends death, is, you must see, senseless and absurd. And so, as I think you have become convinced, are all superstitions. It is true we sometimes remark coincidences, and are inclined to make much of them; without noting, on the contrary, how many times the same supposed omens and signs come to nought. WhenGod wills to send us some special happiness or trial, be assured Hemakes use of no such means to prepare us for it; since He directs ourlives not by chance, but by His all-wise and loving Providence. "

UNCLE TOM'S STORY. 

I. 

Some pine logs burned brightly upon the andirons in the wide, old-fashioned chimney; and the Tyrrell children were comfortably seatedaround the fire, roasting chestnuts and telling stories. 

"Come, Uncle Tom, it is your turn!" cried Pollie, breaking in upon thereverie of their mother's brother, who, seated in the old redarm-chair, was gazing abstractedly at the cheery flames. 

"Yes, please let us have something about the war, " put in Rob. 

"But everybody has been telling war stories for the last twenty-fiveyears. Do you not think we have had enough of them?" said thegentleman. 

"One never tires of hearing of deeds of bravery, " answered Rob, dramatically. 

"Or of romantic adventures, " added Pollie. 

Uncle Tom looked amused; but, after some hesitation, said; "Well, Iwill tell you an incident recalled by this pine-wood fire. It may seemextraordinary; but, having witnessed it myself, I can vouch for itstruth. You consider me an old soldier; yet, though I wore the blueuniform for more than a year and saw some fighting, I was only a youthof eighteen when the war closed; and, in spite of my boyish anxiety todistinguish myself and become a hero, I probably would never haveattained even to the rank of orderly, had it not come about in thefollowing manner:"

Our regiment was stationed at A------, not far from the seat of war. Near our quarters was a Catholic church, attended by the ------Fathers. I early made the acquaintance of one of them, who waspopularly known as Father _Friday_, this being the nearest approach tothe pronunciation of his peculiar German name to which the majority ofthe people could arrive. In him I recognized my ideal of a Christiangentleman, and as such I still revere his memory. 

He was one of the handsomest men I ever saw--tall and of splendidphysique, with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a complexion naturallyfair, but bronzed by the sun. Though in reality he was as humble andunassuming as any lay-brother in his community, his bearing was simplyregal. 

He could not have helped it any more than he could help the impress ofnobility upon his fine features. The youngsters used to enjoy seeinghim pass the contribution box in church at special collections. Itmust have been "an act" (as you convent girls say, Pollie). He wouldmove along in his superb manner, looking right over the heads of thecongregation, and disdaining to cast a glance at the "filthy lucre"that was being heaped up in the box which from obedience he carried. What were silver and gold, let alone the cheap paper currency of thetimes, to him, who had given up wealth and princely rank to become areligious! Yet, in fact, they were a great deal, since they meant helpfor the needy--a church built, a hospital for the sick poor. In thissense none appreciated more the value of money. 

Father Friday was accustomed to travel about the country for miles, hunting up those of his flock who, from the unsettled state of affairs, either could not or would not come into the town to church. Like thetypical missionary, from necessity he always walked; though, in myyouthful enthusiasm, I used to think how grandly he would look upon acharger and in the uniform of a general. In his old cassock, andwearing a hat either of plain brown straw or black felt, according tothe season, he was as intrepid as a general, however; and went aboutalone as serenely as if the times were most peaceful. Our coloneloften remonstrated with him for doing so, and finally insisted uponappointing an orderly to attend him. Father Friday at first declined;but upon hearing that the duty had been assigned to me, he in the endassented--partly, I suppose, to keep me from bad company and out ofmischief. Many a pleasant tramp I had with him; for he would beguilethe way with anecdotes and jokes, and bits of information upon geology, botany, the birds of that section--everything likely to interest a boy. What wonder that I regarded a day with him as a genuine holiday?

One October afternoon he said: "To-morrow morning, Captain Tom" (thetitle was a pleasantry of his), --"to-morrow morning I shall be glad ofyour company. I am going some five miles back into the country tovisit an invalid. "

"Very well, Father, " I answered. "I shall be ready. "

Accordingly, the next day, at the appointed hour, I joined him at thegate of the convent, and we set out--this time in silence, for hecarried the Blessed Sacrament. At first our course was through theopen plain; but later it led, for perhaps a mile, across a corner ofthe pine forest, which extended all along the ridge and shut the valleyin from the rest of the world. We entered the wood confidently, andfor half an hour followed the windings of the path, which graduallybecame less defined. After a while it began to appear that we weremaking but little headway. 

Father Friday stopped. "Does it not seem to you that we are merelygoing round and round, Tom?" he asked. 

I assented gloomily. 

"Have you a compass?"

I shook my head. 

"Nor have I, " he added. "I did not think of bringing one, being sosure of the way. How could we have turned from it so inadvertently?Well, we must calculate by the sun. The point for which we are boundis in a southerly direction. "

Having taken our bearings, we retraced our steps a short distance, thenpushed forward for an hour or more, without coming out upon thebridle-path which we expected to find. Another hour passed; the sunwas getting high. Father Friday paused again. 

"What time is it?" he inquired. 

I looked at the little silver watch my mother gave me when I left home. "Nine o'clock!" I answered, with a start. 

"How unfortunate!" he exclaimed. "There is now no use in pressing onfarther. We should arrive too late at our destination. We may as wellrest a little, and then try to find our way home. It is unaccountablethat I should have missed the way so stupidly. "

But it was one thing to order a retreat, as we soldiers would call it, and quite another to go back by the route we had come. We followedfirst one track and then another; but the underbrush grew thicker andthicker, and at length the conviction was forced upon us that we werecompletely astray. I climbed a tree--it was no easy task, as any onewho has ever attempted to climb a pine will agree. I got up somedistance, after a fashion; but the branches were so thick and the treesso close together that there was nothing to be discerned, except that Iwas surrounded by what seemed miles of green boughs, which swayed inthe breeze, making me think of the waves of an emerald sea. 

I scrambled down and submitted my discouraging report. The sun was nowoverhead: it must therefore be noon. We began to feel that even afrugal meal would be welcome. I had managed to get a cup of coffeebefore leaving my quarters; but Father Friday, I suspected, had takennothing. We succeeded in finding some berries here and there; and, farther on, a spring of water. However, this primitive fare was oflittle avail to satisfy one's appetite. 

Well, after wandering about, and shouting and hallooing till we weretired, in the effort to attract the attention of any one who mightchance to be in the vicinity, we rested at the foot of a tree. FatherFriday recited some prayers, to which I made the responses. Then hewithdrew a little, and read his Office as serenely as if he were in thegarden of the convent; while I, weary and disheartened, threw myself onthe ground and tried again to determine by the sun where we were. Imust have fallen asleep; for the next thing I knew the sun wasconsiderably lower, and Father Friday was waiting to make another start. 

"How strange, " he kept repeating as we proceeded, "that we should be soentirely astray in a wood only a few miles in extent, and within such ashort distance from home! It is most extraordinary. I cannotunderstand it. "

It was, indeed, singular; but I was too dispirited to speculate uponthe subject. Soldier though I prided myself upon being, and strong, active fellow that I certainly was, Father Friday was as far ahead ofme in his endurance of the hardship of our position as in everythingelse. 

Dusk came, and we began to fear that we should have to remain where wewere all night. Again I climbed a tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of alight somewhere. All was dark, however; and I was about to descendwhen--surely there was a faint glimmer yonder! As the diver peers amidthe depths of the sea in search of buried jewels, so I eagerly lookeddown among the green branches. Yes, now it became a ray, and probablyshone from some dwelling in the heart of the wood. I called the goodnews to Father Friday. 

"_Deo gratias_!" he exclaimed. "Where is it?"

"Over there, " said I, pointing in the direction of the light. 

I got to the ground as fast as I could, and we made our way toward it. Soon we saw it plainly, glowing among the trees; and, following itsguidance, soon came to a cleared space, where stood a rude log cabin, in front of which burned a fire of pine knots. Before it was a man ofthe class which the darkies were wont to designate as "pore whitetrash. " He was a tall, gawky countryman, rawboned, with long, unkempthair. His homespun clothes were decidedly the worse for wear; histrousers were tucked into the tops of his heavy cowhide boots, andperched upon his head was the roughest of home-woven straw-hats. 

At the sound of our footsteps he turned, and to say that he wassurprised at our appearance would but ill describe his amazement. Father Friday speedily assured him that we were neither raiders norbush-rangers, but simply two very hungry wanderers who had been astrayin the woods all day. 

"Wa-all now, strangers, them is raither hard lines, " said the man, good-naturedly. "Jest make yerselves ter home hyere ternight, an' inthe mornin' I'll put yer on the right road to A------. Lors, but yermust a-had a march! Been purty much all over the woods, Ireckon. --Mirandy!" he continued, calling to some one inside the cabin. "Mirandy!"

"I'm a-heedin', Josh. What's the matter?" inquired a _scrawny_, sandy-haired woman, coming to the door, with her arms akimbo. "Mussyme!" she ejaculated upon seeing us. 

"Hyere's two folks as has got lost in this hyere forest, an' is plumtired out an' powerful hongry, " explained her husband. 

"Mussy me!" she repeated, eyeing my blue coat askance, and regardingFather Friday with suspicious wonder. She had never seen a uniformlike that long black cassock. To which side did he belong, Federal orConfederate?

"Mirandy's Secesh, but I'm for the Union, " explained Josh, with a winkto us. "Sometimes we have as big a war as any one cyares ter see, right hyere, on 'ccount of it. But, Lors, Mirandy, yer ain't a-goin'ter quarrel with a man 'cause the color of his coat ain't ter yerlikin' when he ain't had a bite of vittles terday!"

"No, I ain't, " answered the woman, stolidly. Glancing again at FatherFriday's kind face, she added, more graciously: "Wa-all, yer jest inthe nick of time; the hoe-cake's nyearly done, and we war about havin'supper. Hey, Josh?"

"Sartain sure, " said Josh, ushering us into the kitchen, which was theprincipal room of the cabin, though a door at the side apparently ledinto a smaller one adjoining. He made us sit down at the table, andMirandy placed the best her simple larder afforded before us. 

As we went out by the fire again, our host said, with someembarrassment: "Now, strangers, I know ye're fagged out, an' for sureye're welcome to the tiptop of everythin' we've got. But I'm blessedif I can tell whar ye're a-goin' ter sleep ternight. We've company, yer see, in the leetle room yonder; an' that's the only place we've gotter offer, ordinar'ly. "

Father Friday hastened to reassure him. "I propose to establish myselfoutside by the fire. What could be better?" said he. 

Father Friday, you remember, had the Blessed Sacrament with him; and Iknew that, weary as he was, he would pass the night in prayer. 

"I am actually too tired to sleep now, " I began. "But when I aminclined to do so, what pleasanter resting-place could a soldier desirethan a bit of ground strewn with pine needles?"

"Wa-all, I allow I'm glad yer take it the right way, " declared Josh;then, growing loquacious, he continued: "Fact is, this is mightycur'ous company of ourn--"

"Josh, come hyere a minute, can't yer?" called Mirandy from within. 

"Sartain, " he answered, breaking off abruptly, and leaving us toconjecture who the mysterious visitor might be. 

II. 

"Yes, I allow I'm right glad yer don't mind passin' the night out hyereby the fire, " said Josh, taking up the thread of the conversation againupon his return, shortly after. "Wa-all, I was a-tellin' about thisqueer company of ourn. Came unexpected, same as you did; 'peared allof a sudden out of the woods. It's a leetle girl, sirs; says she'stwelve year old, but small of her age--nothin' but a child, though Ireckon life's used her hard, pore creetur! Yer should a-seen her whenshe 'rived. Her shoes war most wore off with walkin', an' her purtyleetle feet all blistered an' sore. Mirandy 'marked to me arterwardthat her gown war a good deal tore with comin' through the brambles, though she'd tried to tidy it up some by pinnin' the rents togetherwith thorns. But, land sakes, I did not take notice of that: my eyeswere jest fastened on her peaked face. White as a ghost's, sirs; an'her dull-lookin', big black eyes, that stared at us, yet didn't seemter see nothin'. 

"Wa-all, that's the way the leetle one looked when she stepped out ofthe shadders. Mirandy was totin' water from the spring yonder, an'when she see her she jest dropped the bucket an' screamed--thought itwas a spook, yer know. I war a-pilin' wood on the fire, an' when thegirl saw me she shrank back a leetle; but when she ketched sight o'Mirandy she 'peared to muster up courage, tuk a step forward, an' thensank down all in a heap, with a kinder moan, right by the bench thar. She 'peared miserable 'nough, I can tell yer: bein' all of a shiver an'shake, with her teeth chatterin' like a monkey's. 

"Mirandy stood off, thinkin' the creetur was wild or half-witted, likely; but I says: 'Bullets an' bombshells, Mirandy'--escuse me, gentlemen, but that's a good, strong-soundin' espression, that relievesmy feelin's good as a swear word, --bullets an' bombshells, woman, don'tyer see the girl's all broke up with the ague?'--'Why, sur 'nough!'cried she, a-comin' to her senses. 'I'd oughter known a chill withhalf an eye; an' sartain this beats all I ever saw, ' With that shewent over an' tuk the girl in her arms, an' sot her on the bench, sayin', 'You pore honey, you! Whar'd you come from?' At this theleetle one began to cry--tried to speak, then started to cry again. 'Wa-all, never mind a-talkin' about it now, ' says Mirandy, settin' toquiet her, an' pettin' an' soothin' her in a way that I wouldn'ta-believed of Mirandy if I hadn't a-seen it; for she hasn't had much totetch the soft spot in her heart sence our leetle Sallie died, which isnigh onto eight year ago. 'Come, Josh, ' she called ter me, 'jest youcarry this hyere child inter the house an' lay her on the bed. Ireckon she can have the leetle room, an' you can sleep in the kitchenternight. '--'I'm agreeable, ' answers I; so I picked her up (she war aslimp an' docile as could be), an' carried her in, an' put her down onthe bed. That was three weeks come Sunday, an' thar she's been eversince. "

Our host had finished his story, yet how much remained untold! All thecare and kindness which the stranger had received at the hands of thesegood simple people was passed over in silence, as if not worthmentioning. 

Josh rose and went to the fire to relight his brier-wood pipe, whichhad gone out during the recital. 

"And is the little girl still very ill?" asked Father Friday, withgentle concern. 

"Yes; an' the trouble is, she gets wus an' wus, " was the reply. "Thecomplaint's taken a new turn lately. She's been in a ragin' fever an'kind of flighty most of the time. Yer see, she'd had a sight oftrouble afore she broke down, an' that's what's drivin' her distracted. She'd lost her folks somewhar way down South, --got separated from themin the hurly-burly of a flight from a captured town; an', childlike, she set about travellin' afoot all over the land to find them. How shegot through the lines I can't make out, unless she got round 'em someway, comin' through the woods. Anyway she's here, and likely never toget any farther in her search, pore honey! But what's her name, or whoher people are, is more nor I can say; for, cur'ous as it seems, shehas plum forgotten these two things. 

"Thar's another matter, too, that bothers us some. She keeps a-callin'for somebody, an' beggin' an' prayin' us not to let her die withoutsomethin', in a way that would melt the heart of a rock. It makes megrow hot an' then cold all in a minute, jest a-listenin' to her. To-day she war plum out of her head, an' war goin' to get right up an'go off through the woods after it herself. Mirandy had a terrible timewith her; an' it wasn't till she got all wore out from sheer weaknessthat she quieted down an' fell asleep, jest a leetle before yer'peared, strangers. What it is she keeps entreatin' an' beseechin' forwe never can make out, though I'd cut my hand off to get it for her, she's sech a patient, grateful leetle soul. But"--Josh started up; asudden hope had dawned upon him as he looked across at Father Friday'sstrong, kind face--"perhaps you could tell. Bullets an' bombshells, that's a lucky idee! I'll go an' ask Mirandy about it. "

That any one was ill or disquieted in mind was a sufficient appeal tothe sympathy and zeal of Father Friday. He put his hand to his breasta moment, and I knew that he was praying for the soul so sorely tried. 

In a few moments Josh returned, saying, "Mirandy says the leetle girlis jest woke up, an' seems uncommon sensible an' clear-headed. Perhapsif yer war ter ask her now, she could tell yer it all plain. "

Father Friday rose, and I followed too, as the man led the way to thelittle room, the door of which was immediately opened by his wife, whomotioned to us to enter. Never shall I forget the sight that greetedmy eyes. Upon the bed lay a childish form, with a small, refined face, the pallor of which was intensified by contrast with the large darkeyes, that now had a half startled, expectant, indescribableexpression. The sufferer had evidently reached the crisis of amalarial fever; reason had returned unclouded; but from that strange, bright look, I felt that there was no hope of recovery. 

How shall I find words to portray what followed! The others waitedbeside the door; but Father Friday advanced a few steps, then paused, so as not to frighten her by approaching abruptly. As he stood therein his cassock, with his hand raised in benediction, and wearing, as Iknew, the Blessed Sacrament upon his breast, I realized more fully thanever before the grandeur of the priestly mission to humanity. Thegirl's roving glance was arrested by the impressive figure; but howlittle were any of us prepared for the effect upon her! The dark eyeslighted up with joyful recognition, her cheek flushed, and with a gladcry she started up, exclaiming, "Thank God, my prayer is granted! Godhas sent a priest to me before I die!"

Had a miracle been wrought before us we could not have been moreastounded. Instinctively I fell upon my knees. Mirandy followed myexample; and Josh looked as if he would like to do so too, but was notquite sure how to manage it. 

Father Friday drew nearer. 

"I knew you would come, Father, " she continued, with a happy smile. "This is what I have prayed for ever since I have been lying here. Ithought you would come to-day; for since early morning I have beenimploring the Blessed Virgin to obtain this favor for me. "

She sank back on the pillow exhausted, but after a few minutes revivedonce more. 

It was apparent, however, that there was no time to be lost. Ibeckoned Josh and his wife out into the kitchen, and left Father Fridayto hear her confession. Soon he recalled us. I have but to close myeyes to see it all as if it were yesterday: the altar hastily arrangedupon a small deal table; the flickering tallow dips, the only light todo homage to the divine Guest; the angelic expression of the dying girlas she received the Holy Viaticum. 

After that we all withdrew, Father Friday and I going out by the fireagain. He resumed his breviary, and I remained silently musing uponall that had passed within the last hour. After a few moments hepaused, with, his finger and thumb between the leaves of the book, andlooked toward me. I hastened to avail of the opportunity to speak mythoughts. 

"This, then, is the meaning of our strange wandering in the woods allday, Father, " said I. "You were being providentially led from the pathand guided to the bedside of this poor girl, that she might not diewithout the consolations of religion. "

"I cannot but believe so, " he replied, gravely. "We missionarieswitness strange things sometimes. And what wonder? Is not the mercyof God as great, the intercession of Mary as powerful, as ever? To methis incident is but another beautiful example of the efficacy ofprayer. "

Before long Father Friday was again summoned within, and thus all nighthe watched and prayed beside the resigned little sufferer, whose lifewas slipping so fast away. In the grey of the early morning she died. 

"Mussy me, I feel like I'd lost one of my own!" sobbed Mirandy. 

"Yes, it's cur'ous how fond of her we grew; though she jest lay thereso uncomplainin', an' never took much notice of nothin', " said Josh, drawing his brawny arm across his eyes. 

An hour later he led the way before Father Friday and myself, andconducted us to the bridle-path, which joined the turnpike severalmiles below the town. By noon we were safely at home. 

Two days after, however, I again accompanied Father Friday to theforest, when, with blessing, the little wanderer was laid to rest amongthe pines. One thing he had vainly tried to discover. Though duringthat night her mind had been otherwise clear and collected, memory hadutterly failed upon one point: she could not remember her name. As weknew none to put upon the rude cross which we placed to mark her grave, Father Friday traced on the rough wood, with paint made by Josh fromburnt vine twigs, the simple inscription: "A Child of Mary. "

HANGING MAY-BASKETS. 

I. 

"I am so glad May-day is coming!" exclaimed Ellen Moore. "What sportwe shall have hanging May-baskets!"

"What do you mean?" inquired Frances, who lived in Pennsylvania, buthad come to New England to visit her cousins. 

"Never heard of May-baskets?" continued Ellen, in astonishment. "Doyou not celebrate the 1st of May in Ridgeville?"

"Of course. Sometimes we go picking wild flowers; and at St. Agnes'Academy, where I go to school, they always have a lovely procession inhonor of the Blessed Virgin. "

"We have one too, in the church, " replied Ellen; "but hangingMay-baskets is another thing altogether--"

"That is where the fun and frolic come in, " interrupted Joe, looking upfrom the miniature boat which he was whittling out with his jackknife. 

"You see, " explained Ellen, "the afternoon before we make up a party, and go on a long jaunt up hill and down dale, through the woods andover the meadows, picking all the spring blossoms we can find. Finally, we come home with what we have succeeded in getting, and putthem in water to keep fresh for the following day. Then what anexcitement there is hunting up baskets for them! Tiny ones are best, because with them you can make the flowers go farther. Strawberrybaskets--the old-fashioned ones with a handle--are nice, especially ifyou paint or gild them. Burr baskets are pretty too; and those made offir cones. Joe has a knack of putting such things together. He madesome elegant ones for me last year. "

"Are you trying to kill two birds with one stone?" asked her brother, with a laugh. "Your compliment is also a hint that you would like meto do the same now, I suppose?"

"I never kill birds, " rejoined Ellen, taking the literal meaning of hiswords, for the purpose of chaffing him. "Nor do you; for you told methe other day you did not understand how some boys could be so cruel. "

"No, but you do not mind their being killed if you want their wings foryour hat, " continued Joe, in a bantering tone. 

"Not at all, " said Ellen, triumphantly. "In future I am going to wearonly ribbons and artificial flowers on my _chapeau_. I have joined theSociety for the Prevention of the Destruction of the Native Birds ofAmerica. "

"Whew!" ejaculated Joe, with a prolonged whistle. "What a name! Ishould think that by the time you got to the end of it you'd be so oldthat you wouldn't care any more for feathers and fixings. I suppose itis a good thing though, " he went on, more seriously. "It is just ascruel to kill birds for the sake of fashion as it is for thesatisfaction of practising with a sling; only you girls have somebodyto do it for you; and you don't think about it, because you can juststep into a store and buy the plumes--"

"But what about the May-baskets?" protested Frances, disappointed atthe digression. 

"Oh, I forgot!" said Ellen. "Bright and early May-morning almost everyboy and girl in the village is up and away. The plan is to hang abasket of wild flowers at the door of a friend, ring the bell or rattlethe latch, and then scamper off as fast as you can. You have to bevery spry so as to be back at home when your own baskets begin toarrive; then you must be quick to run out and, if possible, catch thefriend who knocks, and thus find out whom to thank for the flowers. "

"How delightful!" cried Frances, charmed at the prospect. 

"It is so strange that you did not know about it!" added Ellen. 

"Not at all, " said Mrs. Moore, who had come out on the veranda wherethe young folks were chatting, --Frances swinging in the hammock, Ellenensconced in a rustic chair with her fancy-work, and Joe leaningagainst a post, and still busy whittling. "Not at all, " repeatedEllen's mother. "In America it is but little observed outside of theEastern States. This is one of the beautiful traditionary customs ofCatholic England, which even those austere Puritans, the Pilgrims, could not entirely divest themselves of; though among them it lost itsformer significance. Perhaps it was the gentle Rose Standish or fairPriscilla, or some other winsome and good maiden of the early colonialdays, who transplanted to New England this poetic practice, sweet asthe fragrant pink and white blossoms of the trailing arbutus, which isespecially used to commemorate it. In Great Britain, though, it mayhave originated in the observances of the festivals which ushered inthe spring. On the introduction of Christianity it was retained, andcontinued up to within two or three hundred years, --no doubt as agraceful manner of welcoming the Month of Our Lady. That it wasconsidered a means of honoring the Blessed Virgin, as well as ofexpressing mutual kindness and good-will, we can see; since Englishhistorians tell us that up to the sixteenth century it was usual toadorn not only houses and gateways, but also the doors as well as theinterior of churches, with boughs and flowers; particularly theentrances to shrines dedicated to the Mother of God. "

"And the 1st of May will be the day after to-morrow!" remarked Frances, coming back to the present. 

"Yes. And to-morrow, right after school--that will be about threeo'clock, you know, --we shall start on our tramp, " said Ellen. "As youdo not have to go to school, Frances, you will be able to prepare thebaskets during the morning. Come into the house with me now, and I'llshow you some which I have put away. "

II. 

The next afternoon many merry companies of young people explored thecountry round about Hazelton in quest of May-flowers. That in which weare interested numbered Frances, Ellen, her brother Joe, their littlesister Teresa, and their other cousins, Elsie and Will Grey. 

"I generally have to join another band, " Ellen confided to Frances, asthey walked along in advance of the rest; "because Joe does not usuallycare to go. He is very good about making the baskets for me; but, ashe says, he 'don't take much stock in hanging them. ' Yet, to-day heseems to be as anxious to get a quantity of the prettiest flowers asany one. Will comes now because Joe does. But Joe has some notion inhis head. I wish I could find out what it is!"

Frances speculated upon the subject a few minutes; but, not being ableto afford any help toward solving the riddle, she speedily forgot it inthe pleasure of rambling through the fields, so newly green that thecharm of novelty lingered like dew upon them; and among the lanes, redolent with the perfume of the first cherry blossoms, --for the seasonwas uncommonly advanced. 

Before long everybody began to notice how eager Joe was in his search. 

"What are you going to do with all your posies?" queried Will, twittingly. 

"They must be for Frances, " declared Elsie. 

"Maybe he is going to give them to Aunt Anna Grey, " ventured Teresa. 

"Perhaps to mother, " hazarded Ellen. 

"Yes: some for mother, " admitted Joe; "and the others for--don't youwish you knew!" And Joe's eyes danced roguishly as he darted off to apatch of violets. 

"He has some project. What can it be?" soliloquized Ellen, lookingafter him. 

Joe, unconscious of her gaze, was bending over the little blue flowers, and humming an air which the children had learned a few days before. 

"That tune is so catchy I can't get it out of my mind, " he remarked toWill. 

Suddenly Ellen started up. "I know!" she said to herself. Then for atime she was silent, flitting to and fro with a smile upon her lips, her thoughts as busy as her fingers. "Ha, Master Joe! I believe we'llall try that plan!" she exclaimed at length, laughing at the idea ofthe surprise in store for him. Presently she glanced toward Teresa andElsie, who were loitering under a tree, talking in a low tone. Ellenlaughed again. "Those two children are always having secrets aboutnothing at all, " mused she. 

Ellen was a lively girl, and greatly enjoyed a joke. After a while, when she discovered Elsie alone, she whispered something to her. Thelittle girl's brown eyes grew round with interest. She nodded once ortwice, murmuring, "Yes, yes!"

"And you must not breathe a word of it to anybody--not even to Teresa!"said Ellen. 

"Oh, no!" said Elsie, quite flattered that such a big girl shouldconfide in her. 

Then--ah, merry Ellen!--did she not go herself and tell Teresa, charging her also not to reveal it? Later she took occasion to say aword to Frances upon the same topic. 

"Splendid!" cried the latter. "I'll not speak of it, I promise you. "

Finally, Ellen suggested the very same thing to Will, who chuckled, looked at Joe, and asked:

"Are you sure you're on the right track?"

"You'll see if I'm not!" replied Ellen. 

"Well, all I say is, " he went on, condescendingly, "you've hit upon acapital scheme; and you may bet your boots on it that I won't doanything to spoil it. "

The girl looked down at her strong but shapely shoes (she was a bitvain of her neat foot), and thought that she would not be so unladylikeas to 'bet her boots' on anything. But, as Will's observation wasentirely impersonal, and intended as a pledge that he would follow herinstructions, she made no comment. Moreover, she had now brought aboutthe state of affairs which she had mischievously designed. Each ofthe party except Joe supposed that he or she had a secret with Ellenwhich the others knew nothing about; to each she had whispered herconjecture regarding Joe's purpose, and planned that they, the two ofthem, should please him by joining in it, without intimating theirintention to him or any one. What a general astonishment and amusementthere would be when it came out that all had known what each had beenenjoying as a secret!

Meantime they had been active, and each had gathered a fair quantity ofpretty flowers--arbutus, violets, anemones, and cherry blooms; to whichTeresa and Elsie insisted upon adding buttercups and even dandelions. Now the sun was going down, and they gaily turned their steps towardhome. 

III. 

"A happy May-day!" the children called to one another the next morning, as they set out, at a very early hour, upon their pleasant round offloral gift-leaving. Before doing so, however, each had held a specialconference with Ellen. 

"Yes, I've managed it. Won't everybody be surprised?" she quietlyagreed again and again. And yet _how_ surprised everybody would beonly sportive Ellen knew. 

At half-past seven they reassembled for breakfast, which Elsie and Willtook with their cousins. What a comparing of notes there was duringthe meal! Teresa had been caught hanging a basket at her littlefriend, Mollie Emerson's. Will's mother had seen him dodging round thecorner after fastening one on the front gate for her. 

"O Joe! what did you do with that beautiful basket you arranged with somuch care, --the large one with the freshest flowers, I mean?" askedFrances, with an ingenious air. 

"Never mind!" answered Joe laconically, helping himself to anotherglass of milk. 

Everyone stole a knowing look at Ellen, without noticing that everyoneelse was doing so; but that young lady imperturbably buttered a secondmuffin, and studiously fixed her eyes on the tablecloth. 

"Come, there is the Mass bell ringing!" called Mr. Moore from the hall. A stampede followed. To be late for Mass on May-day would beinexcusable. 

Shortly afterward, our friends filed into the Moore's family pew in thevillage church. As Joe knelt down he turned his gaze with a gentle, happy expression to the Blessed Virgin's shrine. The next moment hestarted, and cast a glance of pleased inquiry toward Ellen. His sistersmiled back at him, then bowed her head to recover her gravity. Hanging from the altar-rail, directly before the statue of Our Lady, was Joe's handsomest May-basket, just as he knew it would be; for hehad fastened it there himself the first thing in the morning. Butthere also were five other pretty baskets, --the offering which each ofhis sisters and cousins had made, unknown to one another. The pleasantdiscovery created a momentary flutter in the pew, but that wasall--then. 

So this was Ellen's surprise! Each silently admitted that it was agood one. When they left the church, however, they had a merry timeover it. 

"But, Ellen, how did you know what I was going to do with my basket?"asked Joe at last. 

"I didn't until I heard you humming the new May hymn which we learnedlast Sunday, " replied Ellen; "that reminded me of what mother saidabout the old May customs. I wondered if you were thinking of thistoo, and presently it all flashed upon me. "

"Well, if you are not a true Yankee at guessing!" was his only answer.