[Transcriber's notes: Punctuation and inconsistencies in language anddialect found in the original book have been retained. Sophie May is a pseudonym of Rebecca Sophia Clarke. Smilie/Smiley spelled two ways: used Smiley. ]

[Illustration: Frontispiece. ]

 _LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES. _

 AUNT MADGE'S STORY. 

 BY

 SOPHIE MAY, AUTHOR OF "LITTLE PRUDY STORIES, " "DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES, " ETC. 

 _ILLUSTRATED. _

 BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 

 NEW YORK: LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM. 1874. 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, BY LEE AND SHEPARD, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 

 Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, No. 19 Spring Lane. 

 _LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES. _

 TO BE COMPLETED IN SIX VOLS. 

 1. LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY. 

 2. PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE. 

 3. AUNT MADGE'S STORY. 

 (Others in preparation. )

CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER

 I. TOTTY-WAX. 9

 II. THE LADY CHILD. 20

 III. THE BLUE PARASOL. 38

 IV. LIZE JANE. 55

 V. THE PARTY. 69

 VI. THE PATCHWORK SCHOOL. 87

 VII. THE LITTLE LIE-GIRL. 108

 VIII. THE TANSY CHEESE. 122

 IX. "WAXERATION. " 140

 X. "THE CHILD'S ALIVE. " 159

 XI. THE FIRST CAR RIDE. 174

 XII. BETTER THAN KITTENS. 188

 XIII. GOOD BY. 199

AUNT MADGE'S STORY. 

CHAPTER I. 

TOTTY-WAX. 

Here you sit, Horace, Prudy, Dotty, and Flyaway, all waiting for astory. How shall I begin? I cannot remember the events of my life inright order, so I shall have to tell them as they come into my mind. Let us see. To go back to the long, long summer, when I was a child:

There once lived and moved a little try-patience, called MargaretParlin; no more nor less a personage than myself, your affectionateauntie, and very humble servant. I was as restless a baby as ever saton a papa's knee and was trotted to "Boston. " When I cried, my womanlysister 'Ria, seven years old, thought I was very silly; and my brotherNed, aged four, said, "Div her a pill; _I_ would!"

He thought pills would cure naughtiness. If so, I ought to haveswallowed some. Pity they didn't "div" me a whole box full before Ibegan to creep; for I crept straight into mischief. Aunt Persis, avery proper woman, with glittering black eyes, was more shocked by methan words can tell. She said your grandma "spoiled me by baby-talk;it was very wrong to let little ones hear baby-talk. If she had hadthe care of me she would have taught me grammar from the cradle. " Nodoubt of it; but unfortunately I had to grow up with my own father andmother, and ever so many other folks, who were not half as wise asAunt Persis. 

They called me Marg'et, Maggie, Marjie, Madge; and your grandpa's petname was Totty-wax; only, if I joggled the floor when he shaved, itwas full-length "Mar-ga-ret. "

I was a sad little minx, so everybody kindly informed me, and so Ifully believed. My motto in my little days seems to have been, "_Speaktwice before you think once_;" and you will see what troubles it ledme into. I never failed to "speak twice, " but often forgot thethinking altogether. Margaret means Daisy; but if I was like anyflower at all, I should say it was "the lady in the bower. " You knowit, Prudy, how it peeps out from a tangle of little tendrils? Just soI peeped out, and was dimly seen, through a wild, flying head of hair. Your grandma was ashamed of me, for if she cut off my hair I was takenfor a boy, and if she let it grow, there was danger of my getting asquint in my eye. Sometimes I ran into the house very much grieved, and said, --

"O, mamma, I wasn't doin' noffin, only sitting top o' the gate, and aman said, 'Who's that funny little fellow?'--Please, mamma, won't younot cut my hair no more?"

I was only a wee bit of a Totty-wax when she stopped cutting my yellowhair, and braided it in two little tails behind. The other girls hadbraids as well as I; but, alas! mine were not straight like theirs;they quirled over at the end. I hated that curly kink; if it didn't gooff it would bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. 

But, children, I fear some of the stories I told were crookederthan even my braids. In the first place, I didn't know any better. Itold lies, to hear how funny they would sound. My imagination waslarge, and my common sense small. I lived in a little world of my own, and had very queer thoughts. Perhaps all children do; what think, Fly?When I was lying in the cradle I found my hands one day, and Ishouldn't wonder if I thought they were two weeny babies comevisiting; what do you suppose? Of course I didn't know they belongedto me, but I stared at them, and tried to talk. And from that timeuntil I was a great girl, as much as five years old, I was alwayssupposing things were "diffunt" from what they really were. I thoughtour andirons were made of gold, just like the stars, only the andironshad enough gold in them to sprinkle the whole sky, and leave a goodslice to make a new sun. When I saw a rainbow, I asked if it was "aside-yalk for angels to yalk on?"

I thought the cat heard what I said when I talked to her, and if Ipicked a flower I kissed it, for "mebbe" the flower liked to bekissed. 

I had a great deal of fun "making believe, " all to myself. I madebelieve my mamma had said I might go somewhere, and off I would go, thinking, as I crept along by the fence, bent almost double for fearof being seen, "_Prehaps_ she'll tie me to the bed-post for it. "

And she always did. 

I was the youngest of the family then, but I made believe I had oncehad a sister Marjie, no bigger than my doll, and a naughty woman in agreen cloak came and carried her off in her pocket. I told my littlefriend Ruphelle so much about this other Marjie that she believed inher, and after a while I believed in her myself. We used to sit onthe hay and talk about her, and wonder if the naughty woman would everbring her back. We thought it would be nice to have her to play with. 

This was not very wicked; it was only a fairy story. But the mischiefwas, my dear mother did not know where to draw the line between fairystories and lies. Once I ran away, and Mrs. Gray told her she had seenme playing on the meeting-house steps with Ann Smiley. 

"No, mamma, " said I, catching my breath, "'twasn't me Mis' Gray saw; Iknow who 'twas. There's a little girl in this town looks jus' like me;has hair jus' the same; same kind o' dress; lives right under themeeting-house. Folks think it's me!"

Your grandma was distressed to have me look her straight in the faceand tell such a lie; but the more she said, "Why, Margaret!" thedeeper I went into particulars. 

"Name's Jane Smif. Eats acorns; sleeps in a big hole. Didn't you neverhear about her, mamma?"

As I spoke, I could almost see Jane Smif creeping slyly out of the bighole with mud on her apron. She was as real to me as some of thelittle girls I met on the street; not the little girls I played with, but those who "came from over the river. "

My dear mother did not know what to do with a child that had such ahabit of making up stories; but my father said, --

"Totty-wax doesn't know any better. "

Mother sighed, and answered, "But _Maria_ always knew better. "

I knew there was "sumpin bad" about me, but thought it was like theblack on a negro's face, that wouldn't wash off. The idea of tryingto stop lying never entered my head. When mother took me out of thecloset, and asked, "Would I be a better girl?" I generally said, "Yesum, " very promptly, and cried behind my yellow hair; but that was onlybecause I was touched by the trembling of her voice, and vaguelywished, for half a minute, that I hadn't made her so sorry; that wasall. 

But when I told that amazing story about Jane Smif, in addition torunning away, mother whipped me for the first time in my life with abirch switch. 

"Margaret, " said she, "if you ever tell another wrong story, I shallwhip you harder than this, you may depend upon it. "

I was frightened into awful silence for a while, but soon forgot thethreat. I was careful to avoid the name of Jane Smif, but I very soonwent and told Ruphelle that my mamma had silk dresses, spangled withstars; "kep' 'em locked into a trunk; did _her_ mamma have stars on_her_ dresses?" Ruphelle looked as meek as a lamb, but her brotherGust snapped his fingers, and said, --

"O, what a whopper!"

That is why I remember it, for Ruth heard him, and asked what kind ofa whopper I had been telling now, and reported it to mother. 

Mother rose very sorrowfully from her chair, and bade me follow herinto the attic. I went with fear and trembling, for she had thatdreadful switch in her hand. Poor woman! She wished she had notpromised to use it again, for she began to think it was all in vain. But she must not break her word; so she struck me across the wristsand ankles several times; not very hard, but hard enough to make mehop about and cry. 

When she had finished she turned to go down stairs, but I saidsomething so strange that she stopped short with surprise. 

"I _can't_ 'pend upon it, mamma, " said I, looking out through my hair, with the tears all dried off. "You said you'd whip me harder, but youwhipped me _softer_. I _can't_ 'pend upon it, mamma. You've telled alie yourse'f. "

What could mother say? I have often heard her describe the scenewith a droll smile. She gave me a few more tingles across the neck, tosatisfy my ideas of justice; but that was the last time she used theswitch for many a long day. Not that I stopped telling marvellousstories; but she thought she would wait till she saw some faint signin me that I knew the "diffunce" between truth and falsehood. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE LADY CHILD. 

They say I grew very troublesome. Ruthie thought I was always "underfoot, " and nothing went on, from parlor to kitchen, from attic tocellar, but I knew all about it. There was not a pie, particularly amince pie, that I didn't try to have a finger in. 

But I could not have been in the house _all_ the time, for Abnerdeclares I was always out of doors. My little shoes were generallythick with mud, and my little frocks ready every night for thewash-tub. If there was a spoon or a knife missing, Abner often foundit in the ploughed field, where I had been using it as a kind ofpickaxe to dig my way through to China. No matter how muddy orslippery the walking, I begged to go out. I had a feeling that Iwanted to skip like a lamb, fly like a bird, and dart like a squirrel, and of course needed all out doors to do it in. 

"Don't fall down, " cried mamma from the window; "look out for theice. "

And I answered back from under my red, quilted hood, --

"Well, if I do fall down and break me, mamma, you mus' pick up all mylittle bones and glue 'em togedder. God glued 'em in the firs' place, all but my tongue, and that's _nailed_ in. "

Not nailed in very tight: I could move it fast enough. 

And when the snow and ice were gone, I liked to wade ankle-deep inthe mud. Father had to buy me a pair of rubber boots, and that is thefirst present I remember. They filled my soul with joy. When I said myprayers I had one on each side of me, and when I slept it was withboth boots on my pillow. At first I could think of nothing else towish for; but one day I said, --

"I wish I was a pussy-cat, mamma, so I could have _four_ yubberboots!"

Brother Ned and I were great friends. Partly to keep his eye on me, and partly because he enjoyed my conversation, he would say in thecool spring days, "Come, Maggie, dear, bring your cloak, and I'll wrapyou up all so warm, so you can sit out on the woodpile while I chop mystint. "

I think he must have been a little fellow to chop wood. After I gotthere, and was having a good time, he often remarked, in tones ascutting as the edge of his hatchet, --

"If I had a brother, Miss Maggie, I shouldn't take pains to wrap up aspeck of a girl like you for company. "

"Well, if had a little sister, I wouldn't _be_ yapped up for comp'ny, "retorted I, rubbing my small, red nose; "I'd be a-yockin' her cradle. "

Ned laughed at that; for it was just what he expected me to say. Wehad one bond of sympathy; he longed for a little brother, and I longedfor a little sister. He liked to hear me talk grandly about "my newbaby-girlie, Rosy Posy Parlin. She wouldn't bl'ong to him any 'tall. She'd be mine clear through. "

He led me on to snap out little sharp speeches, which he alwayslaughed at; and I suspect that was one thing that made me so pert. Ilooked up to him as a superior being, except when I was angry withhim, which was about half the time. I told Ruphelle Allen he was a"bad, naughty boy;" but when she said, "Yes, I think so, too, " Iinstantly cried out, "Well, I guess he's gooder 'n _your_ brother;so!"

Ruphelle was my bosom friend. We had shaken rattles together before wewere big enough to shake hands. She had beautiful brown eyes, andstraight, brown hair; while, as for me, my eyes were gray, and mykinky hair the color of tow. 

Sister 'Ria called Ruphelle "a nice little girl;" while, owing to theway my hair had of running wild, and the way my frocks had of tearing, she didn't mind saying I was "a real romp, " and looked half the timelike "an up-and-down fright. "

As I always believed exactly what people said, and couldn'tunderstand jokes, I was rather unhappy about this; but concluded I hadbeen made for a vexation, like flies and mosquitos, and so wasn't toblame. 

Ruphelle lived on a hill, in the handsomest house in Willowbrook, witha "cupalo" on top, where you could look off and see the whole town, with the blue river running right through the middle, and cutting itin two. 

Ruphelle had an English father and mother. I remember Madam Allen'sturban, how it loomed up over her stately head like a great whitepeony. There was a saucy brother Augustus, whom I never could abide, and a grandpa, who always said and did such strange things that I didnot understand what it meant till I grew older, and learned that hewas afflicted with "softening of the brain. "

Then in the kitchen there was a broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced woman, named Tempy Ann Crawford, whom I always see, with my mind's eye, roasting coffee and stirring it with a pudding-stick, or rolling outdoughnuts, which she called crullers, and holding up a fried image, said to be a little sailor boy with a tarpaulin hat on, --only hisfigure was injured so much by swelling in the lard kettle that his ownmother wouldn't have known him; still he made very good eating. 

There was a little bound girl in the family, Ann Smiley, who often ledme into mischief, but always before Madam Allen looked as demure as alittle gray kitten. 

Fel and I were uncommonly forward about learning our letters, andwished very much to go to school and finish our education; but weretold that the "committee men" would not let us in till we were fouryears old. My birthday came the first of May, and very proud was Iwhen mother led me up to a lady visitor, and said, "My little girl isfour years old to-day. " I thought the people "up street" would ringbells and fire cannons, but they forgot it. I looked in the glass, andcould not see the great change in my face which I had expected. Ididn't look any "diffunt. " How would the teacher know I was so old?

"O, will they let me in?" I asked. "For always when I go to school, then somebody comes that's a teacher, and tells me to go home, andsays I musn't stay. "

"You will have to wait till the school begins, " said my mother, "andthat is all the better, for then little Fel can go too. " I was willingto wait, for Fel was the other half of me. In three weeks she was asold as I was, and in the rosy month of June we began to go to thedistrict school. 

Your grandfather lived a little way out of town, and Squire Allenmuch farther; so every morning Ruphelle and her brother Augustuscalled for me, and we girls trudged along to school together, whileGust followed like a little dog with our dinner baskets. This was oneof the greatest trials in the whole world; for, do you see, he had apair of ears which heard altogether too much, and when we saidanything which was not remarkably wise, he had a habit of crying"Pooh!" which was very provoking. We went hand in hand, Fel and I, andcounted the steps we took, or hopped on one foot like lame ducklings, and "that great Gust" would look on and laugh. I had so much to say toFel that I couldn't help talking, though I knew he was there to hear. 

"I'd like to be a _skurrel_ once, " said I. 

"O, pooh!" said Gust. 

"I'd like to be 'em _once_, Gust Allen. I'd like to be 'em long enoughto know how they feel. Once there was a boy, and he was turned into askurrel, and his name was Bunny. "

"_That's_ a whopper, miss!"

Such were "the tricks and the manners" of Fel's disagreeable brother. Do you wonder I called him a trial? But Fel didn't mind him much, forhe was good to her, and never laughed at her as he did at me. She was"a lady-child, " and her disposition was much sweeter than mine. 

Mr. Clifford, who was fitting for college then, used to pass us witha book under his arm and pat our sun-bonnets, and call us "Juno'sswans. " We had never seen any swans, and did not know who Juno was, but presumed it was some old woman who kept geese and hens. 

When we reached the school-house we were sure of a good time, for theteacher lent us an old blunt penknife, with pretty red stones on theback, the like of which was never seen before in this world. Nobodyelse ever asked for the knife but us two little tots, and we went uphand in hand; and I spoke the words, while Fel asked with her eyes. Miss Lee smiled blandly, and said, --

"Well, now, the best one may have the knife a little while. "

That always happened to be Fel; but it was all the same, for we sattogether, and she let me play with it "more than my half. " We werereally very forward children, and learned so fast that Miss Lee saysnow she was very proud of us. I think she was, for I remember how sheshowed us off before the committee men. We could soon read in theSecond Reader, and Fel always cried about the poor blind fiddler towhom Billy gave his cake, and I poked her with my elbow to make herstop. For my part I was apt to giggle aloud when we came to the storyof the two silly cats, and the cheese, and the monkey. 

Ah, that dear old school-house, where we studied the "Primary'sJoggerphy, " and saw by the map that some countries are yellow and somefire-red, and the rivers no bigger than crooked knitting-needles! Thatqueer old school-house, with the hacked-up benches, where we learned"rithumtick" by laying buttered paper over the pictures in Emerson'sFirst Part, and drawing blackbirds, chairs, and cherries all in arow! Fel had a long wooden pencil, but poor I must do with half a one, for 'Ria teased me by making me think people would call me selfish ifI had a long pencil all to myself, while my grown-up and much moreworthy sister went without any. 

That funny old school-house, where Miss Lee used to make alooking-glass of one of the window-panes, by putting her black apronbehind it, and peeping in to see if her hair was smooth when sheexpected the committee men! How afraid we were of those committee men, and how hard we studied the fly-leaves of our "joggerphies" while theywere there, feeling so proud that we knew more than "that greatGust!"

That dear, queer, funny old school-house! No other hall of learningwill ever seem like that to me!

Didn't we go at noon to the spring under the river bank and "duck" ourlittle heads, till our mothers found it out and forbade it? Didn't wesqueeze long-legged grasshoppers, and solemnly repeat the couplet:--

 "Grass'per, grass'per Gray, Give me some m'lasses, And _then_ fly away. "

Didn't we fling flat pebbles in the river to the tune of

 "One to make ready, Two to prepare, Three to go slap-dash, Right--in--there"?

And how we enjoyed our dinners under the spreading oil-nut tree, chatting as we ate, and deciding every day anew that Tempy Ann madethe nicest sage cheese in the world, and our Ruthie the bestturnovers. 

Sometimes at night father took me on his lap, and asked, --

"Do you whisper any at school?"

I turned away my face and answered, "Fel whispers _orfly_. "

"Well, does Totty-wax whisper too?"

I dropped my head, and put my fingers in my mouth. 

"_Some_, " said I, in a low voice. For I began to have a dim idea thatit was not proper to tell a lie. 

When Fel and I had any little trouble, --which was not often, for Felgenerally gave up like a darling, --Maria was always sure to decidethat Fel was in the right. Fel thought 'Ria a remarkable young woman;but I told her privately, in some of our long chats at school, thatolder sisters were not such blessings as one might suppose. So far asI knew anything about them, they enjoyed scrubbing your face and neckthe wrong way with a rough towel, and making you cry. And they hadsuch poor memories, older sisters had. They could never call up thefaintest recollection of a fairy story when you asked for one. Theywere also very much opposed to your standing in a chair by the sink towipe dishes. 

Now Tempy Ann allowed Fel to wipe dishes, and pat out little pies onthe cake-board, and bake doll's cakes. She was such a strong, largewoman too, she could hold Fel and me at the same time; and after wewere undressed, and had our nighties on, she loved to rock us in theold kitchen chair, and chat with us. 

We were confidential sometimes with Tempy Ann, --or I was, --and toldher of our plan of going to Italy to give concerts when we grew up. Inever saw but one fault in Tempy Ann; she would laugh over our solemnsecrets, and would repeat the hateful ditty, --

 "Row the boat, row the boat, where shall it stand? Up to Mr. Parlin's door; there's dry land. Who comes here, so skip and so skan? Mr. Gustus Allen, a very likely young man. He steps to the door, and knocks at the ring, And says, 'Mrs. Parlin, is Miss Maggie within?'"

Fel and I were both shocked at the bare hint of such a thing as mymarrying Gust. We didn't intend to have any great boys about. If Gustshould want to marry me, and ride in our gilt-edged concert-coach, with four white horses, I guessed he'd find he wasn't wanted. Ishould say "No, " just as quick!

The more earnest I grew the more Tempy Ann shook with laughing; andI had some reason to suspect she went and told Madam Allen myobjections to marrying her son, which I thought was most unfair ofTempy Ann. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE BLUE PARASOL. 

[Illustration: The Blue Parasol]

As I look back upon those make-believe days, naughty recollectionsspring up as fast as dust in August. 

Ruphelle seems to me like a little white lily of the valley, allpure and sweet, but I was no more fit to be with her than a pricklythistle. I loved dearly to tease her. Once she had some bronze shoes, and I wanted some too, but there were none to be had in town, and toconsole myself, I said to dear little Fel, "I'd twice rather haveblack shoes, bronzes look so rusty; O, my! If I couldn't have blackshoes I'd go barefoot. "

Fel did not wish me to see how ashamed this made her feel, but I couldnot help noticing afterwards that she never wore the bronze shoes tochurch. 

I pined and fretted because I could not have nice things like her. She had a coral necklace, and a blue silk bonnet, and a white dress, with flowers worked all over it with a needle. Did _my_ best dresshave flowers worked over it with a needle? I should think not. And Ihadn't a speck of a necklace, nor any bonnet but just straw. I did notknow that Squire Allen was one of the wealthiest men in the state, andcould afford beautiful things for his little daughter, while my fatherwas poor, or at least not rich, and my mother had to puzzle her brainsa good deal to contrive to keep her little romping, heedless, try-patience of a daughter looking respectable. 

Once, when I was about six years old, I did a very naughty thing. Why, Fly, what makes your eyes shine so? Can it be you like to hear naughtystories? Queer, isn't it? Ah, but this story makes me ashamed, evennow that I am a grown-up woman. Wait a minute; I must go back alittle; it was the parasol that began it. 

When Fel and I were going home from school one night, we stopped totake some of our make-believe slides. Not far from our house, near theriver-bank, were two sloping mounds, between which a brook had oncerun. These little mounds were soft and green, and dotted with whiteinnocence flowers; and what fun it was to start at the top of one ofthem, and roll over and over, down into the valley. Somehow, Fel, being a lady-child, never stained her cape bonnet, while mine was allstreaks; and she never tore her skirts off the waist; but what if Idid tear mine? They always grew together again, I never stopped tothink how. 

This time, as we were having a jolly roll, Madam Allen rode along inthe carryall, with Tempy Ann driving. 

"Stop, and let us see what those children are doing, " said she; andTempy Ann stopped. 

Fel and I danced upon our feet, and started to run to the carryall, but of course I tumbled down before I got there. While I was pickingmy foot out of the hole in my frock, I heard Fel exclaim, joyfully, "O, mamma, is it for me? What a beauty, beauty, beauty!"

"Yes, dear, I bought it for you, but if you are going to be a gypsychild, I suppose you won't want it. "

I looked and saw the cunningest little sunshade, with its headtipped on one side, like a great blue morning glory. Never again shallI behold anything so beautiful. Queen Victoria's crown and EmpressEugenie's diamonds wouldn't compare with it for a moment. They say wefeel most keenly those joys we never quite grasp; and I know thatparasol, swinging round in Fel's little hand, was more bewitching tome than if I had held it myself. O, why wasn't it mine? I thought ofFel's coral necklace, and blue silk bonnet, and the white dress withneedlework flowers, and now if she was going to have a parasol too, Imight as well die and done with it. 

"O, Marjie, Marjie!" cried she, dancing up to me with her sweet littleface in a glow, "_do_ you see what I've got?"

I never answered. I just lay there and kicked dirt with my shoe. Thecarryall was in front of us, and Madam Allen could not see how Ibehaved. 

"Come, little daughter, " called she, "jump in and ride home. "

But Fel thought she would rather walk with me, for I hadn't noticedher parasol yet. So her mother drove off. 

"Isn't it a teenty tonty beauty?" cried she, waving it before me. 

I shut my teeth together and kicked. 

"You haven't looked, Marjie; see what a teenty tonty beauty!"

She never could quite enjoy her pretty things till I had praisedthem. I knew that, and took a wicked pleasure in holding my tongue. 

"Why, Marjie, " said she, in a grieved tone, "why don't you look? It'sthe teenty tontiest beauty ever you saw. "

"There, that's the _threeth_ time you've said so, Fel Allen. "

"Well, it's the truly truth, Madge Parlin. "

"No, it isn't neither; and you're a little lie-girl, " snapped I. 

This was an absurd speech, and I did not mean a word of it, for Idoubt if Fel had ever told a wrong story in her life. "You're a littlelie-girl. _Got a parasol, too!_"

She only looked sorry to see me so cross. She couldn't be veryunhappy, standing there stroking those soft silk tassels. 

"I hope your mamma 'll give you one, too, " murmured the dear littlesoul. 

I sprang up at that. 

"O, do you s'pose she would?" I cried; and by the time I had takenanother roll down the bank my spirits rose wonderfully, and I let herput the parasol in my hand, even exclaiming, --

"No, I never did see anything so nice!" But I secretly hoped my ownwould be nicer still. 

"Come home to my house, " said I, "and ask my mamma if I can have aparasol too. "

We were very near the house, and she went in with me. Mother was inthe kitchen, stewing apple-sauce for supper. I remember what a tiredlook she had on her face, and how wearily she stirred the apple-sauce, which was bubbling in the porcelain kettle. 

"You speak now, " whispered I to Fel. "You speak first. "

This was asking a great deal of the dear little friend I had justcalled a lie-girl. If she hadn't loved me better, much better than Ideserved, she would have turned and run away. As it was, she called upall her courage, the timid little thing, and fluttering up to mymother, gently poked the end of the parasol into the bow of her blacksilk apron. 

"Please, O, please, Mrs. Parlin, do look and see how pretty it is. "

That was as far as she could get for some time, till mother smiled andkissed her, and asked once or twice, "Well, dear, what is it?"

I ran into the shed and back again, too excited to stand still. Mother was always so tender of Fel, that I did think she couldn'trefuse her. I was sure, at any rate, she would say as much as, "Wewill see about it, dear;" but instead of that she gave her an extrahug, and answered sorrowfully, --

"I wish I could buy Margaret a parasol; but really it is not to bethought of. "

I dropped into the chip-basket, and cried. 

"If she knew how to take care of her things perhaps I might, but it iswicked to throw away money. "

"O, mamma, _did_ you s'pose I'd let it fall in the _hoss troth_?"screamed I, remembering the fate of my last week's hat, with the greenvine round it. "If you'll only give me a pairsol, mamma, I won't nevercarry it out to the barn, nor down to the river, nor anywhere 'n thisworld. I'll keep it in your bandbox, right side o' your bonnet, wherethere don't any mice come, or any flies, and never touch it, nor askto see it, nor--"

"There, that'll do, " said mother, stopping me at full tide. "I wouldbe glad to please my little girl if I thought it would be right; but Ihave said No once, and after that, Margaret, you know how foolish itis to tease. "

Didn't I know, to my sorrow? As foolish as it would be to stand andfire popguns at the rock of Gibraltar. 

I rushed out to the barn, and never stopped to look behind me. Felfollowed, crying softly; but what had I to say to that dear littlefriend, who felt my sorrows almost as if they were her own?

"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, and that's why she wouldn't give meno pairsol. "

No thanks for the kind office she had performed for me; no apology forcalling her a lie-girl. Only, --

"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, Fel Allen. "

She choked down one little sob that ought to have broken my heart, and turned and went away. You wonder she should have loved me. Isuppose I had "good fits;" they say I was honey-sweet sometimes; butas I recall my little days, it does seem to me as if I was always, always snubbing that precious child. When she was out of sight, Idived head first into the hay, and tried for as much as ten minutes tohate my mother. After a long season of sulks, such as it is to behoped none of _you_ ever indulged in, I stole back to the housethrough the shed, and Ruth, who did not know what had broken my heart, exclaimed, --

"Why, Maggie, what ails you? You've fairly cried your eyes out, child!"

I climbed a chair, and looked in the glass, which hung between thekitchen windows, and sure enough I was a sight to behold. My eyes, always very large, were now red and swollen, and seemed bursting fromtheir sockets. I had never thought before that eyes could burst; butnow I ran to Ruthie in alarm. 

"I _have_ cried my eyes out! O, Ruthie, I've _started_ 'em!"

She laughed at my distress, kissed me, and set me at ease about myeyeballs; but the parasol was denied me, and I was sure that, blind ornot, I could never be happy without it. 

The little bits of girls had afternoon parties that summer; it wasquite the fashion; and not long after this Madam Allen made one forFel. Everybody said it was the nicest party we had had; for Tempy Annmade sailor-boy doughnuts, with sugar sprinkled on, and damson tarts, and lemonade, to say nothing of "sandiges, " with chicken in themiddle. I loved Fel dearly, I know I did; but by fits and starts I wasso full of envy that I had to go off by myself and pout. 

"A party and a pairsol the same year! And Fel never 'spected thepairsol, and didn't ask real hard for the party. But that was alwaysthe way; her mamma wanted her to have good times, and so did TempyAnn. _Some_ folks' mammas didn't care!"

I was willing nice things should fall to Fel's lot; but I wanted justas nice ones myself. 

Fel showed the girls her "pairsol, " and they all said they meant tohave one too; all but me; I could only stand and look on, with myeyeballs just ready to pop out of my head. 

I remember what sick dolls we had that afternoon; and when any ofthem died, the live dolls followed them to the grave with weeping andwailing, and their wee handkerchiefs so full of grief that you couldtrace the procession by the tears that dripped upon the carpet. Yes;but the mourners all had the cunningest little "pairsols" ofnasturtium leaves. There wasn't a "single one doll" that marchedwithout a pairsol, not even my Rosy Posy; for I had a motherly heart, and couldn't mortify _my_ child! She _should_ have "sumpin to keepthe sun off, " if it cost the last cent her mamma had in the world!

I had a dismal fit just before supper, and went into GrandpaHarrington's room, back of the parlor. He was always fond of littlefolks, but very queer, as I have told you. He had a fire in thefireplace, and was sitting before it, though it was summer. He lookedup when I went in, and said, "How do, darling? My feet are as cold asa dead lamb's tongue; does your father keep sheep?"

Next minute he said, --

"My feet are as cold as a dog's nose; does your father keep a dog?"

That was the way he rambled on from one thing to another. But whenhe saw I was low-spirited, and found by questioning me that I needed aparasol, and couldn't live long without one, he took me on his knee, and said kindly, --

"Never mind it, Pet; you shall have a parasol. I will give you one. "

I could hardly speak for joy. I did not feel ashamed of myself tillafterwards, for Grandpa Harrington did not seem like other people, andI saw no harm in whining to him about my troubles. 

CHAPTER IV. 

LIZE JANE. 

But my happiness did not last long. Grandpa Harrington never thoughtof my parasol again from that day to the day he died; and little witchand try-patience though I was, I dared not remind him of his promise, still less tell my mother about it. 

It was hard to have my hopes raised so high, only to be dashed tothe ground; harder still to have to keep it all to myself, and see Feltrip along under that sunshade without a care in the world. If she hadbeen the least bit proud I couldn't have borne it; but even as it was, it wore upon me. Once I called out in severe tones, "Ho, littlelie-girl; got a pairsol too!" but was so ashamed of it next minutethat I ran up to her and hugged her right in the street, and said, "Ididn't mean the leastest thing. I love you jus' the same, if you_have_ got a blue pairsol, and you may wear it to meetin', and I'll_try_ not to care. "

And now I come to the naughty story. 

I could not always have Fel for a playmate; she was too delicate tobe racing about from morning till night as I did, and when she had tostay in the house, I found other girls to romp with me. Sometimes, especially if I felt rather wicked, I enjoyed Eliza Jane Bean, a girltwo or three years older than myself. There was a bad fascinationabout "Lize. " When she fixed her big black eyes upon you, she made youthink of all sorts of delightful things you wanted to do, only theywere strictly forbidden. Her father and mother were not very goodpeople, and did not go to church Sundays. They lived in a low redhouse near the Gordons. You never saw it, children; it was pulled downever so long ago, and used for kindlings. People called the house "theBean Pod, " because there were nine little beans in it beside the bigones. Rattlety bang! Harum scarum! There was always a great noise inthat house, and people called it "the rattling of the beans. " It waswell it stood on a corner lot, and poor old Mr. Gordon was so deaf. 

Lize Jane used to come to our house for currants. My mamma did notlike to have me see much of her, but could not refuse the currants, for our bushes were loaded. It seemed as if the family must have livedhalf the summer on currants and molasses; for almost every night therewas Lize Jane with her big tin pail. It had holes in the bottom, andthe juice used to run out sometimes upon her dress; but it didn't makemuch difference, for her dress was never clean. 

One night she came for currants when they were almost gone. Mother hadbeen sick, and was very late about making jelly. She told Eliza Janeshe couldn't let her come any more after that night; the rest of thefruit must be saved for our own use. Lize Jane said nothing, but sherolled her black eyes round towards me, and I felt a little ashamed, for I knew she thought mother was stingy, and that was why she rolledher eyes. 

I went into the kitchen, and said to Ruth, --

"Don't you want me to pick you a bowl of currants?"

Of course she did. She didn't know Lize Jane was there, or shewouldn't have been so pleased and so ready to get me my sun-bonnet. She had to reach it down from a hook in the ceiling. That was theplace where Ned hung it when he wanted to "pester" me; he did it withan old rake handle. 

When I was going anywhere to meet Lize Jane, I always felt as if Iwas stealing raisins. I never exactly stole raisins; but when mymother said I might go to the box and get two or three, I hadsometimes taken a whole handful. I knew by the pricking of myconscience that that was wrong, and in the same way I knew that thiswas wrong too. Mother was in the green chamber, covering an ottomanwith green carpeting, so she wouldn't see me from that side of thehouse. 

I ran into the garden, and, going up close to Lize Jane, began to pickwith all my might. "My bowl fills up faster 'n your pail, " said I. "Cause its littler, " said she; "and besides, I'm picking 'em off thestems. "

"What do you do that for, Lize Jane? It takes so long. "

"I know it; it takes foreverlastin'; but mother told me to, so'st Icould get more into my pail. "

I opened my eyes. 

"She told me to get my pail chuck full. She didn't use to care, butnow the currants are most gone, and she wants all she can get. "

I said nothing, but I remember I thought Mrs. Bean was a queerwoman, to want our very last currants. 

"Sh'an't you have your party before they're all gone?" said Lize Jane. 

"What party?"

"Why, the one you're going to have. "

I suppose she knew my heart was aching for one. 

"I want a party dreffully, " said I, "but mamma won't let me. "

"Won't let you?" cried Lize Jane, in surprise. "Why, Fel Allen hadhers last week. "

"I know it, and Tempy Ann made us some lemonade. "

"Did she? I wish I'd been there, " said Lize, pursing her lips. "ButFel lives in such a monstrous nice house, and wouldn't ask me to herparty; that's why. Mother says I hadn't oughter care, though, for whenshe dies she'll lay as low as me. "

I did not understand this speech of Mrs. Bean's, which Lize Janerepeated with such a solemn snap of her black eyes; but it came to meyears afterwards, and I think it the worst teaching a mother couldgive her little child. No wonder Lize Jane was full of envy and spite. 

"But you'll ask me to _your_ party, won't you?" said she, with acoaxing smile. 

"I can't, if I don't have one, Lize Jane. "

"You're a-makin' believe, Mag Parlin. You will have one; how can youhelp it, with a garden full of gooseb'ries and rubub?"

"And thimbleberries, too, " added I, surveying the premises with agloomy eye. We certainly had enough to eat, and it was a very strangething that I couldn't give a party. 

"Has your mother got any cake in the house?" added Lize. 

"Yes, lots in the tin chest; but she never lets me eat a speck, hardly, " bemoaned I. I was not in the habit of talking to Lize Jane offamily matters; but she had shown so much good sense in saying I oughtto have a party, that my heart was touched. 

"Your mother, seems to me, she never lets you do a thing, " returnedLize Jane, in a pitying tone. "Ain't you goin' to have a silk pairsol, like Fel Allen's? I should think you might. "

She had driven the nail straight to the mark that time. I could havewailed; but was I going to have Lize Jane go home and tell that I wasa baby? No! and I spoke up very pertly, --

"Where's _your_ pairsol, Lize Jane Bean? You never had one any more 'nme. "

"No; but there's something I have got, though, better than that. Goodto eat, too. And I'll tell you what; if you'll ask me to your party, I'll bring you some in a covered dish. "

"What is it, Lize? Ice cream?"

For her face was wondrous sweet. 

"Ice cream! How'd you s'pose I kep' that froze? No!" and thebewitching sparkle of her eye called up luscious ideas. I could almostsee apricot preserves, pine apples, and honey-heart cherries floatingin the air. But why was it a covered dish? "Somethin' nuff sightbetter 'n ice cream, but I shan't tell what. "

"O, I wish you'd bring it to me in the covered dish, 'thout anyparty, for my mother won't let me have one, Lize, now truly. "

"Then you can't have the--what I was goin' to bring, " said Lize Jane, firmly. 

"That's too bad, " I cried; but it was of no use talking; she couldn'tbe moved any more than the gravel walk, or the asparagus bed. 

"Your mother ain't much sick, is she?"

"Not now, " replied I; "her strength is better. "

"Well, then, why don't you ask some girls to come, and she'll get 'emsome supper; see if she don't. "

I was so shocked that I almost fell into a currant bush. 

"Lize Jane Bean, what you talking about?"

"Why, you said your mother warn't sick. "

"No, her strength is better, but she don't 'low me to do things, LizeJane Bean, 'thout--'thout she lets me. "

"Of course not; but I guess she don't know you want a party sodreadful bad, Maggie, or she _would_ let you. I don't believe yourmother is ugly. "

"But she never said I might have a party, though. "

"No, for she don't think about it. She ain't a bad woman, your motherain't, only she don't think. Your mother don't _mean_ to be ugly. "

Lize Jane spoke in a large-hearted way, at the same time strippingcurrant-stems very industriously. "She'd feel glad afterwards, s'posing you _did_ have a party, I'll bet. "

"O, Lize Jane, what a girl! 's if I'd do it 'thout my mother said Imight. "

"O, I didn't mean a real big party; did you s'pose I did? I didn'tknow but you could ask me and some of the girls to supper, and notcall it a party. We'd play ou' doors. "

"O, I didn't know _that's_ what you meant. But Ican't, --'cause, --'cause. "--

"Well, you needn't, if you don't want to; but I didn't know but you'dlike to see that--what I's going to bring. "

"But I can't be naughty, and get tied to the bed-post, " said I, thoughtfully. "Is that what you's going to bring, something I neversaw in all my life, Lize Jane?"

"Yes, I'm certain sure you never. "

And she made up another delicious face, that filled the air aroundwith sweet visions. 

"And would you bring it if I didn't ask but--but--two girls?"

"No, I don't _think_ I could, " replied Lize Jane, squinting her eyesin deep meditation. "I don't hardly think I _could_; but if you hadfour girls I'd bring it, and _risk_ it. "

"Four 'thout you?"

"No, me 'n three more, if you're so dreadful scared. "

That settled the matter. With my usual rashness I cried out, --

"Well, I'll ask 'em. "

CHAPTER V. 

THE PARTY. 

I went to bed that night in great excitement, and I dare say did notget to sleep for ten minutes or so. What strange thing was this I wasabout to do?

"Well, " said I, "it's only four girls, that's all. I know my mamma 'dbe glad to have me have 'em, but I don't dare ask her; so I'll have'em _'thout_ asking. She says she wants her little daughter to behappy. That's what she says; but she don't give me no pairsol. How'dshe 'spect I's goin' to be happy? But I could be some happy if I hadfour girls, --not a party, but four girls. "

The next day was Saturday, the day I had agreed upon with LizeJane. I chewed my bonnet-strings all the way to school, and neverinvited Fel till we got into the entry. At recess I asked Abby Grayand Dunie Foster; that made up the four girls. But when school wasout, I happened to think I might as well have a few more, and singledout Sallie Gordon, Mary Vance, and Anna Carey; but Phebe Grant wasstanding close by, and I knew she would be "mad" if I didn't ask her;and after that I flew about and dropped invitations right and left, till I entirely forgot that I was doing it without leave. "I want youto come to my house, to my party, to-morrow afternoon, "--began tosound perfectly proper. 

Instead of speaking _twice_ before I thought, I spoke thirty orforty times. I didn't slight anybody. I asked all the First and SecondReader classes, and the little specks of girls in A B C. They alllooked very much pleased. Some of them had never been invited to aparty before, and didn't know enough to find the way to "my house;"but I thought, while I was about it, I might as well make a cleansweep: it was no wickeder to have a big party than a little one. I wassorry enough that boys were not in fashion, for I wanted a few. Therewas Tommy Gordon in particular, who always had his pockets full of"lickerish" and pep'mints; it was as much as I could do to help askinghim. As for Gust Allen, I would as soon have had a wild monkey, andthat is the truth. 

I trudged home at noon, with my eyes looking strange, I know. I haddone my _speaking_, and now I began to _think_. It came over me like alittle whirlwind. I realized for the first time what I had done. 

Ruth was hurrying up the dinner. 

"Don't come near me, child, " said she. "I've got _my_ hands full. "

I went into the sitting-room. There was mother on the sofa, bathingher head with cologne. It didn't seem much like having a party! Shecould eat no dinner, and father said she looked as if she ought to bein bed. 

"I feel almost sick enough to be in bed, " said she; "but I must helpMrs. Duffy put down that parlor carpet. I have waited for her eversince the carpet was made, and this was the very first day she couldcome. "

"O, dear, " thought I, "where'll I have my party?"

"Can't Mrs. Duffy put the carpet down alone?" asked father. 

"No; she would skew it badly. "

"But, my dear, you are sick; why not have Ruth help her?"

"Ruth does not understand the business as well as I do; and more thanthat, we have a large quantity of raspberries to be made into jelly. They would spoil if they were kept over Sunday. "

Worse and worse! Who was going to get supper for my party?

Then I remembered that wonderful _something_ which Lize Jane hadpromised to bring in the covered dish, --that delicious mystery whichhad been the first cause of getting me into trouble. Perhaps therewould be enough of it to go round, and we could finish off with cake. I began to think it wasn't much matter what we had to eat. 

While life lasts I shall never forget that horrible afternoon. Whatcould I say? What could I do? I felt as Horace used to, as if Ishould "go a-flyin'. " I ran into the parlor where mother and Mrs. Duffy were putting down the carpet, and hopped about till I got a tackin my foot; and after mother had drawn it out, and I had done crying, I ventured to say, --

"Mamma, there's a little girl coming to see me this afternoon. Are youwilling?"

"This afternoon? Who?"

She might have asked who wasn't coming, and I could have answeredbetter. 

I thought a minute, and then said, "Fel, " for I knew she liked herbest of all the little folks. 

"Very well, " said mother, and went on stretching the carpet. 

Fel came so often that it was hardly worth mentioning. 

"But, mamma, there's somebody else coming, too. It's--it's--DunieFoster. "

Dunie was a lady-child, almost as well-behaved as Fel. 

"Ah! I'd rather have her come some other time. But run away, dear, youare troubling me. Take the little girls into the dining-room. I wantthe sitting-room kept nice for callers. "

I couldn't get my mouth open to say another word. Three o'clock wasthe usual hour for little girls to go to parties, and I flew into thekitchen to ask Ruth what time it was. 

"Two o'clock, " she said. 

"And in an hour would it be three? How many minutes was an hour? Didthat jelly boil fast enough? Did jelly bake all hard in the littleglass cups so you could eat it the same day--the same night forsupper? Was there any cooked chicken in the house, with breastings in(stuffing)? Any sandiges? Why didn't Ruthie make sandiges? Do it veryeasy. Why didn't Ruthie make sailor-boy doughnuts? _I_ could sprinklethe sugar on 'em, see 'f I couldn't. "

In the midst of my troublesome chatter Abner came around to thekitchen door with the horse and wagon, saying he was going to mill, and would Tot like to go, too?

"Will you be back by three o'clock?" said I. 

"Yes; it won't take me half an hour. "

"I wonder what's the child's notion of watching the clock so snug, "remarked Ruth, as I was darting into the parlor to ask if I might goto mill. 

As I rode along with Abner, and felt the soft summer air blow on myface, and saw the friendly trees nodding "Good day, " it seemed as if Ihad left trouble behind me. What was the use in going back to it? Ihad half a mind to run away. 

"I didn't want to stay and see those little girls starve to death. Noplace but the 'dine-room' and the barn to play in! Be tied to thebed-post for it too! Ought to be! Wicked-bad-girl! But would mamma tieme any _shorter_ if I staid away till the moon came up? And then thegirls 'd be gone! Get away from Abner just 's easy! He'll be a talkin'to the man 'th flour on his coat, then he'll look round an' I'll begone, an' he'll say, 'That child's _persest_'; he always says'_persest_, ' and then he'll go home and forget. "

But stop a minute; what would the girls think?

"They'll think me very _unagreeable_ to go off and leave my party. They'll call me a little lie-girl; they wont ask me to their house nomore. "

So I didn't run away. I sat in the wagon, groaning softly to myself. The way of the transgressor _is_ hard. _Every_ way was hard to mesince I had set out to do wrong. It was hard to run off and be called"unagreeable, " and very, very hard to go home and face my troubles. 

I had not supposed there was the least danger of any one's comingbefore three o'clock; but to my surprise, when we reached the house, Ifound the front entry full of small girls--the little specks in A B C. There they stood, some of them with fingers in their mouths, whilemother held the parlor-door open, and was asking them very kindly whatthey wanted. "Margaret, " said she, "these little girls have been hereas much as ten minutes; I don't know yet what they came for; perhapsyou can find out. "

[Illustration: THE PARTY. Page 78. ]

Poor, sick mother was holding her head with her hand as shespoke. I hated myself so that I wanted to scream. 

"Hattie, " stammered I, taking one of the tiny ones by the hand, "comeout in the garden, and I'll get you some pretty posies. " Of course therest followed like a flock of sheep. But we had hardly reached thegarden before I saw three or four more girls coming. It was of no use;something must be done at once. I left the A B C girls staring at thegarden gate, and ran to the house for dear life. 

"Mamma, mamma!" cried I, as soon as I could get my breath; and then Irolled myself up into a little ball of anguish on the parlor carpet. 

"Where's the camfire?" exclaimed Mrs. Duffy, springing up; "thatchild's really a fainting off. " Mother came to me and took my hands;she says I was so pale that it quite startled her. "Where do you feelsick, dear?" she asked tenderly. 

That sympathetic tone broke me down entirely. My stubborn prideyielded at once, and so did that bitter feeling I had been cherishingso long in regard to the parasol. 

"O, mamma!" sobbed I, catching the skirt of her dress and hiding myhead in it, and forgetting all about Mrs. Duffy; "I don't care whatyou do, mamma. You may send 'em home, and tell 'em they didn't beinvited; you may go to the front door and say it this minute. "

"It's gone till her head, " said Mrs. Duffy, laying down the hammer;"see her shuvver! She nades hot wather till her fate, poor thing. "

"I don't care what you do to me, mamma; you may tie me to thebed-post, and sew me up in a bag and throw me in the river. You would, if you knew what I've been a doin'. I--I--_I've got a party_!"

Mother held her hand to her head and stared at me. Just then thedoor-bell rang. 

"That's some of the party, " wailed I. "And those little bits of girlswere some, and this is some now, and more's a comin'. I'm _so_ gladyou didn't give me no pairsol, mamma. "

"It can't be; Margaret, you haven't--"

"Yes, I have too. Yes, mamma, I've got a party! I'm wickeder 'n everyou heard of. Wont you put me in the river? I want you to. O, I'm _so_glad you didn't give me no pairsol. "

Mother pulled the carpet and looked at me, and then pulled thecarpet again. She was considering what to do. Ruthie had gone to thedoor when the bell rang; we heard her voice in the entry. 

"Call Ruth in here to me, " said mother, "and take your little girlsinto the garden. "

I knew by that, that she didn't mean to send them home; and O, how Iloved her. It seemed to me I loved her for the first time in my life, for I never knew before how good she was, or how beautiful! Her headwas tied up in a handkerchief, and she wore a faded calico dress and atow apron, but I thought she looked like an angel. I lay flat at herfeet and adored her. 

While I was taking my little girls into the garden and trying to play, mother was talking to Ruthie about this strange freak of mine. This Ilearned afterwards. 

"I don't like to disappoint all these little children, " said she, "and I don't like to expose my naughty daughter either. You see, Ruth, if they find out what a dreadful thing she has done, they willnot like her any more, and their mothers will not let them come to seeher. And that may make Margaret a worse girl, for she needs a greatdeal of love. "

"I know it, " said Ruthie; "she's got a big, warm heart of her own, andone can feel to forgive such children better than the cold, selfishones; you know that yourself, Mrs. Parlin. Why, bless her, she neverhad an orange or a peach in her life, that she didn't give away half. "

It gratified my poor mother to see Ruthie so ready to take mypart. It was more than she liked to do to ask the tired girl to go towork again over the hot stove and prepare a supper for an army ofchildren; but Ruthie did not wait to be asked; for love of mother andfor love of me, she set herself about it with a hearty good-will. I donot remember much that was said or done for the rest of the afternoon;only, I know every single girl came that was invited, and they allsaid it was a nicer party than even Fel's; but Fel didn't care; shewas glad of it. Of course it was nicer, for Ruthie spread the table inthe front yard, and 'Ria was so kind as to adorn it with flowers, andlay wreaths of cedar round the plates. We had cup-custards andcookies, and, something I didn't expect, little "sandiges, " with coldham in the middle. But didn't I know it was more than I deserved?Didn't my heart swell with shame, and guilt, and gratitude? I rememberrushing into the house in the very midst of the supper, just to hugmother and Ruthie. 

The funny thing, the only funny thing there was to the whole party, was Lize Jane's present. In my agitation I had almost forgotten howanxious I was to see it. She came dressed very smartly in red calico, with a blue bow at her throat. Her hair was remarkably glossy, and shetold us, in a loud whisper, she had "stuck it down with bear's greaseand cologne. " She brought her old tin pail, the very one she pickedcurrants in, only it really had a cover on it now, and _that_ was whatshe called "a covered dish. " And guess what was in it?

_Pumpkin sauce!_ The drollest looking mess. Dried pumpkin stewed inmolasses. She said I never tasted anything like it before, and I amsure I never did, and never should want to again. 

And that was the end of my party. Mother didn't sew me up in abag and throw me in the river, for she was the most patient womanalive. She only forbade my going to anybody's house for a long time tocome. It was a hard punishment; but I knew it was just, and I couldnot complain. My heart was really touched, and I had learned a lessonnot easily forgotten. When I think of that party now, it is with afeeling of gratitude to my dear mother for her great forbearance, andher wise management of a wayward, naughty little girl. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE PATCHWORK SCHOOL. 

Fel and I had begun to read before we were four years old, and bythe time we were six we knew too much to go to the town school anymore. I believe that was what we thought; but the fact was, Fel wasvery delicate, and her mother considered the walk to the school-housetoo long for her, and the benches too hard. She wished to have agoverness come and live in the house, so the child could study athome. I thought this was too bad. I knew almost as much as Fel did. Why must I go to the town school if it wasn't good enough for her?

"Mamma, I wish I was del'cate, " whined I. "Ned snipped off my fingerin the corn-sheller, --don't that make me del'cate?"

"Delicate!" said Ned. "You're as tough as a pine knot. "

I thought this was a cruel speech. He ought to be ashamed to snip offmy finger, and _then_ call me tough. 

In looking about for a governess, Madam Allen thought at once ofdear Martha Rubie, who lived just across the garden from their house. Uncle John's wife was her sister, the aunt Persis I told you about, who thought I ought not to hear baby-talk. Aunt Persis wasn't willingher sister Martha should go away from home; she said Fel might tripacross the garden and say her lessons at her house. Fel didn't like todo it, for she was afraid of aunt Persis--she wouldn't go unless Iwould go with her; and finally mother said I might; so it turned outjust as well for me as if I was delicate. She wanted Gust to go too, and he wasn't willing. But if Fel set her heart on anything itgenerally came about. 

"Augustus, " said Madam Allen, smiling with her pleasant black eyes, which had a firm look in them, "you will recite to Miss Rubie if Iwish it. "

"Well, then, I want some of the other fellows to 'cite too, " sniffedlittle Gust; "'tisn't fair for one boy to go to a patchwork school, long o' girls. "

And thus it happened that several children joined us, and Miss Rubiehad quite a sizable school. 

And now I must tell you what sort of a house we went to; for thewhole thing was very queer. In the first place, there was dear uncleJohn, --yes, _your_ uncle John; but don't ask any questions; I'll tellyou more by and by, --and his wife, that was aunt Persis; and hiswife's sister, dear sweet Martha Rubie; and his little boy, Zed. AuntPersis was an elegant, stately woman, but there was always somethingodd about her. I think myself it was odd she shouldn't like baby-talk. 

She knit herself into my earliest recollections when she was PaulineRubie, and after she married uncle John, she knit my stockings justthe same, and uncle never interfered with the stripes, red and white, running round and round like a barber's pole. They were the pride ofmy life till Gust Allen said they made my little legs look like sticksof candy, good enough to eat. Then I hated them; but aunt Persis hadgot in the way of knitting stripes, and wouldn't stop it, beg as Imight--for she always thought her way was right, and couldn't beimproved. 

Among other things she thought she knew all about medicine. There wasa system called "hot crop, " or "steaming, " and she believed in it, andwanted everybody to take fiery hot drinks, and be steamed. That wasthe chief reason why we were so afraid of her. 

Her house was a very pleasant, cosy one, or would have been if ithadn't had such a scent of herbs all through it. The first day we wentto school aunt Persis met us at the door, and asked Fel to put out hertongue. Then she took us to a cupboard, and gave Fel something todrink, that we both thought was coffee; but it was stinging hotcomposition tea. Miss Rubie came into the kitchen just as Fel wascatching her breath over the last mouthful, and said she, --

"O, Persis, how could you?"

We followed Miss Rubie into the school-room as fast as we could go. This school-room was right over a little cellar, just deep enough fora grown person to stand up in. It was called the "jelly-cellar, " andwhen we were naughty Miss Rubie opened a trap-door and let us down. Iwas so restless and noisy that for a while I spent half my time inthat cellar, surrounded by jars of jelly and jam. And I am afraid Icould say sometimes, "How sweet is solitude!" for there was just lightenough from the one window to give me a clear view of the jars, withtheir nice white labels, and more than once I did--I blush to confessit--I did put my fingers into a peach jar and help myself topreserves. I was old enough to know better; I resisted the temptationa great many days, but one unlucky morning I espied Dunie Fostercoming up from the cellar with jelly stains on her white apron, andthat set me to thinking. 

"Ah, ha; Dunie eats perserves, and looks just as innocent's a lamb!Folks think she's better 'n me, but she isn't, she's a_make-believer_. I wonder if it's dreadful wicked to take perserves?Prehaps auntie spects us to eat 'em. Any way, Fel Allen never gets putdown cellar, and it's real mean; and if I have to stay down there thewhole time I ought to have something to make me feel better; I feelreal hungry, and they ought to _spect_ I'd eat perserves. " So I didit; partly because Dunie did, partly because Fel wasn't punished andought to be, and partly because it was most likely auntie put 'emthere a-purpose! I think I never did it but three times; and the thirdtime it was thoroughwort and molasses! Strong, I assure you, boileddown to a thick sirup. I had the jar at my lips, and had taken a long, deep draught, when I happened to look up, and there was aunt Persisgoing by the window, and looking straight down at me!

I was so startled by the bitter taste in my mouth and the sight ofaunt Persis, both coming at the same time, that I gave a littlescream, and pranced round and round the cellar like a wild animal. Miss Rubie heard me, and came down to see what was the matter. She didnot ask if I had been meddling with the jars; but she must have known, for a sticky stream was trickling over my dress, and I had set thesirup down on the floor with the cover off. She bent a keen glance onme, and at the same time I saw a little twinkle in her eye. I supposeshe thought my guilt would bring its own punishment, for she probablyknew the thoroughwort would make me sick. 

"Are you ready now to be a good, quiet girl?" said she. I had beenshut down for noisiness. 

"Yes'm, " said I, meekly, and followed her up stairs. 

But though my heart was heavy with shame, I could not help thinking, "What orful tastin' perserves!" and wondering if aunt Persis reallywas crazy, as Tempy Ann said she was. 

Miss Rubie had had reason to think before that some of the childrenwent to those jars, but she did not say so; she merely remarked, --

"It is nearly noon, children; you may lay aside your books now, and, if you like, I will tell you a story. "

Everybody was pleased but me. I wanted to go home. The story was fromthe text, "Thou, God, seest me. " It was about Adaline Singleton, alittle girl who took her mother's cake without leave, and her mothercounted the slices, and found her out. 

I could not look up at Miss Rubie all the while she was talking, but Inoticed Dunie Foster did. I was trying to rub that zigzag stream ofsirup off my apron; and O, how sick I grew! Would she ever stop?

I knew God had seen me yesterday and day before, when I ate peachpreserves, and I had no doubt it was to punish me that I had beenallowed to swallow this bitter stuff to-day. But, O, if I could gohome!

I never see that story of Adaline Singleton now among my books but itcalls up a remembrance of guilt and nausea too. I would give a greatdeal, little Fly, if I hadn't so many bad things to remember. It isbecause I hope to do you good that I am willing to tell of them. Mayyou have a purer childhood to look back upon!

Thankful was I when school was out that noon, but I wasn't able to goagain in the afternoon; and my mother knew why!

It was the last time I was ever put in that cellar. Miss Rubie foundanother method of punishment; and I think I can say truthfully it wasthe last time I ever took sweetmeats without leave. I did other wrongthings in plenty, but that I could never do again. When mother said Imight go to the box and get "half a dozen raisins, " I got half adozen, and not a handful. Those solemn words rang in my ears, --"Thou, God, seest me, "--just as Miss Rubie had spoken them in her low, sweettones. 

For days I dared not meet aunt Persis's eye, but she treated me justthe same, often loading me down with pennyroyal and spearmint to takehome to mother. I did not know she was near-sighted, and had not seenme drinking her thoroughwort. It was the first medicine of hers I hadever taken, and that bitter taste in my mouth decided me, uponreflection, that she _was_ crazy. As it proved, I was not very farwrong. 

There had been something the matter with her wits for two or threeyears, and she was growing queerer and queerer. People began to wonderwhat made her want to look at their tongues so much. She said now ifshe met people on her way to church, "Please, put out your tongue;"and sometimes said it on the very church steps. This was queer; butthey did not know how much queerer she was at home. We children couldhave told how she came into the school-room and felt all our pulses, but we thought Miss Rubie would be sorry to have us tell. 

Her little boy Zed, about four years old, had to take her dreadfulmedicines, of course, for medicine was the very thing auntie was crazyabout. He carried some of his doses into school to drink at recess, and we all pitied him. Sometimes he ate dry senna and raisins mixed ona plate, and we teased away the raisins, and he had to chew the senna"bare. " He cried then, and said we ought to help eat that too, and wedid. I thought it had a crazy taste, like the thoroughwort, and wassorry Zed had a liver inside him, and wished that his mother hadn'tfound it out. 

Miss Rubie was very good and patient with us, but we began to dread togo to school. I overheard Tempy Ann say to Polly Whiting, --

"The story is, that Mrs. Adams (aunt Persis) steamed her own motherout of the world. "

"You don't say so!" said Polly. "How long since?"

"About two years ago. The poor old lady sailed off very easy, with ajug of hot water close to her nose. "

That frightened us dreadfully. We knew aunt Persis steamed Zed, forhe said so; and what if she should steam us all out of the world withjugs of hot water close to our noses? And she was always trying tomake Fel swallow something bad, and always talking about her whiteface. "Tell your mother to let me have you for a month, " said she, "and I'll put roses into your cheeks, my dear. "

Fel was so afraid that she trembled when we went into the house, expecting auntie would spring out upon her, and set her over the fireto steam. But she was such a patient, still little thing that shenever complained, even to her own mother, and I was too rattle-brainedto think much about it, though if I myself had expected to be cooked, the whole town would have heard of it. 

Zed grew paler and paler. I asked Miss Rubie, privately, "what madehis mother boil him?" And she smiled, though not as if she was happy, and said, --

"She doesn't boil him when I can help it, dear. "

About this time I heard my mother say to my father she wished uncleJohn was at home, for auntie acted so odd, and her eyes looked sostrange. 

"Yes, mamma, " cried I, rushing in from the nursery, "she boils herlittle boy, and she wants to boil Fel. I should think you'd tell Fel'smother, for Fel dassent tell, she's so scared. "

I think mother went right to Madam Allen with what I said, for thenext night, when I was at Squire Allen's, and Fel was sitting in hermamma's lap, Madam Allen said, --

"Why didn't my little girl let me know she was afraid of Mrs. Adams?When darling feels unhappy about anything she must always tellmamma. "

Fel was so glad somebody was going to protect her, that she threw herarms about her mother's neck, and sobbed for joy. "Don't let her hurtZed either, " said she. She was such a dear little soul, alwaysthinking about others. 

"Now tell me if that boy has got a name?" spoke up grandpa Harrington. That was what he always asked when any one spoke of Zed. 

"Yes, sir; his name is Rosalvin Colvazart, " said Madam Allen. "Zed isfor short. "

"I know, I know, Rose Albert Coffeepot, " laughed grandpa. He had saidthat fifty times, but he always thought it a new joke. 

That night, while we were all soundly asleep, we were suddenlyroused by the sharp ringing of the door-bell. Squire Allen went to thedoor, and there, on the steps, stood our dear teacher, Martha Rubie, in her night dress, with a shawl over her shoulders. 

"O, Mr. Allen! O, madam! come quick! My sister is worse. She hassteamed Zed, and she was trying him with a fork; but I locked him intothe closet. Do come and take care of her. She is putting lobelia downthe cow's throat. "

Fel and I screamed, and Tempy Ann had to come in and soothe us. Felwasn't willing her father and mother should go; but I said, "Don't yoube afraid; aunt Persis won't boil 'em; they're too big to get into thekettle. "

Tempy Ann laughed in her shaky way--which always made me provoked. 

"Tempy Ann, " cried I, jumping over the foot-board, "I guess _you_wouldn't laugh if _you_ should be doubled up, and put over the stove!You needn't think Fel and I are babies, and don' know what you saidabout her boiling her mother up the chimney, with a jug on her nose;but we do know, and it's so, and sober true, for we've seen thekettle. "

But it wasn't of the least use to reason with Tempy Ann when she hadone of those shaky spells. So silly as she was at such times, I almostwished she could be boiled half a minute, to see if it wouldn't soberher down. 

It seems aunt Persis had really become very crazy indeed; and thatdear, sweet, patient, good Martha had been trying to keep it a secret;but it couldn't be done any longer. She acted so badly that Marthacouldn't manage her. When Squire Allen went into the house, she wasstirring "Number Six" into some corn-meal for the hens, and was veryangry with him because he made her leave off and go to bed. 

Father and mother had to take care of her till uncle John came; butshe was as sick as she was crazy, and did not live till October. 

I remember looking at her beautiful, white face, the first I ever sawin death, and thinking, --

"How glad auntie is to be so still. "

No one told me she was tired, but somehow I knew it, for she wasalways flying about in such a hurry, and I was sure it must rest hervery much to go to sleep. I received then a pleasant, peacefulimpression of death, which I never forgot. 

Miss Rubie staid at Squire Allen's for some time, and taught Fel. Nowshe is a person whom you all know very well; but I shall not tell whoshe is till by and by. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE LITTLE LIE-GIRL. 

And now I will skip along to the next summer, and come to the dreadfullie I told about the hatchet. You remember it, Horace and Prudy, how Isaw your uncle Ned's hatchet on the meat block, and heedlessly took itup to break open some clams, and then was so frightened that I darednot tell how I cut my foot. "O, mamma, " said I, "my foot slipped, andI fell and hit me on something; I don't know whether 'twas a hatchetor a stick of wood; but I never touched the hatchet. "

It was very absurd. I think I did not know clearly what I wassaying; but after I had once said it, I supposed it would not do totake it back, but kept repeating it, "No, mamma, I never touched thehatchet. "

Mother was grieved to hear me tell such a wrong story, but it was notime to reason with me then, for before my boot could be drawn off Ihad fainted away. When I came to myself, and saw Dr. Foster was there, it was as much as they could do to keep me on the bed. I wasdreadfully afraid of that man. I thought I had deceived mother, but Iknew I couldn't deceive him. 

"So, so, little girl, you thought you'd make me a good job while youwere about it. There's no half-way work about you, " said he. And thenhe laughed in a way that rasped across my feelings like the noise ofsharpening a slate pencil, and said I mustn't be allowed to move myfoot for days and days. 

Every morning when he came, he asked, with that dreadful smile, --

"Let us see: how is it we cut our foot?"

And I answered, blushing with all my might, "Just the same as I did inthe first place, you know, sir. "

Upon which he would show all his white teeth, and say, --

"Well, stick to it, my dear; you remember the old saying, 'A lie wellstuck to is better than the truth wavering. '"

I did not understand that, but I knew he was making fun of me. Iunderstood what Ned meant; for he said flatly, "You've told a bouncer, miss. "

I was so glad Gust Allen wasn't in town; he was a worse tease thanNed. When Abner came in to bring me apples or cherries, he alwaysasked, --

"Any news from the hatchet, Maggie?" And then chucked me under thechin, adding, "You're a steam-tug for telling wrong stories. Didn'tknow how smart you were before. "

Miss Rubie said nothing; she came in with Fel every day; but Ipresumed she was thinking over that solemn text, "Thou, God, seestme. "

'Ria did not say anything either; but I always felt as if she was justgoing to say something, and dreaded to have her bring in my dinner. 

I knew that father "looked straight through my face down to thelie;" but I still thought that mother believed in me. One day I foundout my mistake. Ned had been saying some pretty cutting things, and Iappealed to her, as she came into the room:--

"Mayn't Ned stop plaguing me, mamma?"

"No more of that, Edward, " said mother, looking displeased. "It is tooserious a subject for jokes. If Margaret has told us a wrong story, she is, of course, very unhappy. Do not add to her distress, my son. We keep hoping every day to hear her confess the truth; she may besure there is nothing that would make us all so glad. "

So mother knew! She must have known all along! She turned to bring memy dolly from the table, and I saw her eyes were red. I wanted tothrow myself on her neck and confess; but there was Ned, and somehow Inever saw mother alone after that when I could make it convenient. 

She was right in thinking me unhappy, but she little dreamed howwretched I was. Horace and Prudy, you have heard something of thisbefore; but I must tell it now to Dotty and Fly; for that hatchetaffair was a sort of crisis in my life. 

You know I had not always told the truth. My imagination was active, and I liked to relate wonderful stories, to make people open theireyes. It was not wrong in the first place, for I was a mere baby. Thewhole world was new and wonderful to me, and one thing seemed about asstrange to me as another. I could not see much difference between thereal and the unreal, between the "truly true" and the make believe. When I said my mamma had silk dresses, spangled with stars, I wasthinking, --

"Perhaps she has. There's _sumpin_ in a trunk locked up, and I _guess_it's silk dresses. "

But as I grew older I learned better than to talk so. I found Imust keep such wild fancies to myself, and only tell of what I knew tobe true. Every time I wanted to utter a falsehood, a little voice inmy soul warned me to stop. 

Fly, you are old enough to know what I mean. Your eyes say so. Youdidn't hear that voice when you were patting round grandma's kitchen, making Ruthie's coffee-mill buzz. You were too little to hear it then. It had nothing to say to you when you stole your mamma's "skipt, " andsoaked it in the wash-bowl; or when you stuffed your little cheekswith 'serves without leave, or told lies, lies, lies, as often as youopened your sweet little lips. 

"You don't 'member actin' so?"

O, no; it was "so _many_ years ago!" But I was going to say you didall those dreadful things, and still you were not naughty. Nobodythinks any the worse of you to-day for all your baby-mischief. Weonly laugh about it, for you did not know any better. But if you wereto do such things now, what _should_ we say? Your soul-voice wouldtell you it was wrong, and it would be wrong. 

My soul-voice talked to me, and I was learning to listen to it. I wasnot in the habit of telling lies; I had been hurried and frightenedinto this one, and now it seemed as if I could not stop saying it anymore than a ball can stop rolling down hill. 

It was dreadful. I had to lie there on mother's bed and think aboutit. I could not go out of doors, or even walk about the room. Fel hadlain in her pretty blue chamber day after day, too sick to eatanything but broths and gruel; but then her conscience was easy. Iwasn't sick, and could have as many nice things to eat as the rest ofthe family; still I was wretched. 

My little friends came to see me, and were very sorry for me. I wasglad to be remembered; but every time I heard the door open, Itrembled for fear some one was going to say "hatchet. "

And when I was alone again I would turn my face so I could watch thelittle clock on the mantel. It ticked with a far-away, dreamy sound, like a child talking in its sleep, and somehow it had always one storyto tell, and never any other;--"You've told--a lie;--you've told--alie. "

"Well, " thought I, "I know it; but stop plaguing me. "

There was a pretty picture on the clock door of a little girl, withher apron full of flowers. It was to this little girl that Iwhispered, "Well, I know it; but you stop plaguing me. " She went righton just the same, --"You've told--a lie; you've told--a lie. " I turnedmy face to the wall to get rid of her, but always turned it backagain, for there was a strange charm about that dreadful little girl. I could tell you now just how she was dressed, and which way she benther head with the wreath of flowers on it. You have noticed the oldclock in Ruth's room at grandpa's? That's the one. I never see it nowbut its slow tick-tock calls to mind my sad experience with thehatchet. 

Days passed. I was doing my first real thinking. Up to that time I hadnever kept still long enough to think. It was some comfort to draw thesheet over my head, and make up faces at myself. 

"You've told a lie, Mag Parlin. Just 'cause your afraid of gettingscolded at for taking the hatchet. You're a little lie-girl. Theydon't believe anything what you say. God don't believe anything whatyou say. He saw you plain as could be when you cut your foot, andheard you plain as could be when you said you never touched thehatchet. And there he is up in heaven thinking about you, and notloving you at all! How can he? He don't have many such naughty girlsin his whole world. If he did, there'd come a rain and rain all day, and all night, for as much as six weeks, and drown 'em all up 'cepteight good ones, and one of 'em's Fel Allen. But 'twouldn't be you, for you're a little lie-girl, and you know it yourself. "

It is idle to say that children do not suffer. I believe I neverfelt keener anguish than that which thrilled my young heart as I layon mother's bed, and quailed at the gaze of the little girl on theclock door. 

Still no one seemed to remark my unhappiness, and I have never heardit alluded to since. Children keep their feelings to themselves muchmore than is commonly supposed, especially proud children. And ofcourse I was not wretched all the time; I often forgot my trouble forhours together. 

But it was not till long after I had left that room that I could bringmy mind to confess my sin. I took it for granted I was ruined forlife, and it was of no use to try to be good. I am afraid of tiringyou, little Fly; but I want you to hear the little verse that grandpataught me one evening about this time, as I sat on his knee:

"If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us oursins. "

I see you remember it, Dotty. Is it not sweet? "God is faithful andjust. " I had always before repeated my verses like a parrot, I think;but this came home to me. I wondered if my dreadful sin couldn't bewashed out, so I might begin over again. I knew what confess meant; itmeant to tell God you were sorry. I went right off and told him; andthen I went and told father, and I found he'd been waiting all thistime to forgive me. It was just wonderful! My heart danced right up. Icould look people in the face again, and wasn't afraid of the girl onthe clock door, and felt as peaceful and easy as if I'd never told alie in my life--only I hated a lie so. I can't tell you how I did hateit. 

"I'll never, never, never tell another as long as I breathe, "whispered I to the blue hills, and the sky, and the fields, and theriver. And I knew God heard. 

I suppose it is a little remarkable, Fly; but I believe this reallywas my last deliberate lie. Children's resolves are not always thefirmest things in the world, and my parents did not know how much minewas good for. They did not dream it had been burnt into my soul withred-hot anguish. 

I have always been glad, very glad, I was allowed to suffer so much, and learn something of the preciousness of truth. It is a diamond witha white light, children. There is no other gem so clear, so pure. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE TANSY CHEESE. 

You are not to suppose from this that I became a good girl the verynext day. No, nor the day after. I ceased from the wickedness oftelling lies, just as I had stopped pilfering sweetmeats. This wasall; but it was certainly better than nothing. 

I was soon able to play once more, only I could not run as fast asusual. How pleasant it was out of doors, after my long stay in thehouse! The flowers and trees seemed glad to see me, and I knew thehens and cows were, and old Deacon Pettibone, the horse. I resumed myold business of hunting hens' nests, though it was some weeks beforeI dared jump off the scaffold, and it seemed odd enough to come downon the ladder. 

"I'd twice rather have it be you that had cut your foot, Fel Allen, "said I, "for you don't want to run and jump; and folks that don't wantto, might just as well have a lame foot as not. "

Fel couldn't quite understand that, though it was as clear to _me_ asA B C. And after all my suffering, she wouldn't own I was as"delicate" as she. I didn't like that. 

"You don't remember how many bad things have happened to me, " said I, waving my thimble-finger, which had lost its tip-end in thecorn-sheller. 

"Well, Ned's going to give you a gold thimble to pay for that, and Isuppose you're glad it's cut off, " said Fel, who had never met withan accident in her life, and was naturally ashamed of not having asingle scar or bruise on her little white body, not so much as a wartor pimple to show me. I could not help feeling my superioritysometimes, for I had been cut and burnt, and smashed and scalded, andbore the marks of it, too. 

"Well, but you don't have so bad headaches as me, " said Fel, recovering her self-esteem. "Your mamma never has to put mustard_pace_ on your feet, and squeeze up burdock leaves and tie 'em on yourhead, now, does she?"

"I don' know but she did when I was a baby; I never heard her say, "returned I, coolly. "Folks don't think much of headaches. PollyWhiting has 'em so she can't but just see out of her eyes. But thatisn't like hurting a place on you so bad your mother doesn't dass doit up! I guess you'd think it _was_ something if you cut your footmost in two, and the doctor had to come and stick it together!"

[Illustration: Squeezing Herdsgrass. Page 125. ]

That silenced Fel, and I had the last word, as usual. 

It was already quite late in the summer. One day Fel and I weresnuggled in the three-cornered seat in the trees, trying to squeezeherdsgrass, to see which would be married first, when Ruthie came outat the side door to sweep off the steps. 

"Maggie 'll be pleased, " said she; "but how we shall miss her littlemill-clapper of a tongue. "

She was talking to 'Ria, who was going back and forth, doing somethingin the kitchen. 

"Yes, we shall miss her, " said 'Ria; "but I shan't have her dressesto mend. I pity poor cousin Lydia; she'll think--"

Then 'Ria's voice sounded farther off, and I did not hear what cousinLydia would think. 

"Put your head down here, Fel Allen. I've found out something, "whispered I, starting suddenly, and tearing my "tyer" on a nail. 

"I'm going to cousin Lydia Tenney's. "

"How do you know?"

"Why, didn't you hear 'Ria say she shouldn't have to mend my dresses?That means I shan't be here, of course. "

"Perhaps it means you'll be a better girl, and not tear 'em. "

"O, no, it don't. 'Ria knows better 'n that. Didn't you hear her sayshe pitied poor cousin Lydia? Well, it's because she'll have _me_ inher house; and that's why 'Ria pities her. "

"Then I wouldn't go to her house, if 'twill make her feel bad, " saidFel. 

"O, I know what makes you say that; its because you don't want me togo. "

"Of course I don't. Who'd I have to play with?"

"Lize Jane Bean. "

"H'm. "

"Well, then, there's Dunie Foster; you think she's a great deal nicer'n me. "

"Now, Madge Parlin, I only said she kept her hair smoother; that's allI said. "

"Well, there's Abby Gray and Sallie Gordon, " added I, well pleasedto watch the drooping of my little friend's mouth. "You can play withthem while I'm gone. And there's your own brother Gust, that _you_think 's so much politer 'n Ned. "

"You know there's nobody I like to play with so well as I do you, "said Fel, laying her cheek against mine, and we sat a while, thinkinghow dearly we did love each other. Then we saw Abner wheeling thechaise out of the barn. I ran down the steps from the tree, andasked, --

"Is anybody going anywhere, Abner?"

"Well, yes; I believe your pa's going over yonder, " said he, pointingoff to the hills. 

"Anybody--anybody going with him?"

"He talks of taking the Deacon, " said Abner, dryly, as he began towrench off the wheels, and grease them. 

"Madge, Madge, where are you?" called 'Ria, from the side door. "Come into the house; I have something to tell you. "

It was just as I expected. I was going to Bloomingdale to-morrow. Thenews had been kept from me till the last possible moment, for when Iwas excited about anything, I was noisier than ever, and as Ruthiesaid, "stirred up the house dreadfully. "

Next morning father tucked me into the chaise, behind old Deacon. Ididn't know why it was, but I couldn't help thinking about thehatchet, and wondering mother should have taken so much pains to getsuch a naughty girl ready. I had been told I might stay till afterapple-gathering, and I was glad, for I wanted to make Fel as lonesomeas she had made me those two weeks she spent in Boston. I had neverbeen away from home but twice to stay over night, and my playmatescouldn't any of them know my true value, of course. 

But as I looked at the dear friends on the piazza, growing dearerevery minute, especially mother, I had my doubts whether I cared muchabout cousin Lydia's apples. 

"She'll be back with father, " remarked Ned, "as homesick as a kitten. "

"Just you see if I do!"

It was well we were driving away just then, for my brave laugh camevery near ending in a sob. 

"I'm on business, " said father, whipping up the Deacon, "and shallcome back to-morrow; but you can do as you please, Totty-wax--you cancome with me, or wait a month or six weeks, and come with cousinLydia. "

I was disposing, privately, of a stray tear, and could not answer. 

"Your cousin will take the cars, " said he. 

"Take the cars!" I slipped off the seat, and stood upright in mysurprise. The railroad had only just been laid to one corner ofWillowbrook, and I had never taken a car in my life; had never seenone; didn't even know how it looked. This had been a greatmortification to me ever since Fel went to Boston. 

"O, father, " cried I, whirling round and getting caught in the reins, "did you say the cars? I s'posed cousin Lydia would come in a wagon, and I didn't know 's I cared about staying. _Did_ you say the cars?"

"There, there; don't fall out over the Deacon's back. Did you everhear what the water-wagtail said?"

Then I knew father was laughing at me. When I was so happy Icouldn't keep still, he often asked me if I ever heard what a smallbird, called the water-wagtail, said, who thought the world was madefor him:--

 "Twas for my accommodation Nature rose when I was born; Should I die, the whole creation Back to nothing would return. "

That was what the little bird said. But father was mistaken this time. I felt remarkably humble for me. I had been thinking so much about thehatchet that I couldn't have a very high opinion of myself, to save mylife. 

It was twenty miles to cousin Lydia's. When we got there she waslooking for us. I knew her very well, but had never been at her housebefore. It was a pretty white cottage, with woodbines creeping overit, and Boston pinks growing by the front door-stone. There was a redbarn and barnyard on one side of the house, and a woodshed on theother; and in front of the porch door, facing the street, was a well, with an old oaken bucket, hanging on a pole. I had never seen awell-sweep before, and supposed it must be far nicer than a pump. 

Cousin Lydia had a farmer husband in a striped frock, and a beautifulold mother in a black dress and double-frilled cap. Then there wereher husband's two sisters, who lived with her, and a cat and a dog;but not a child to be seen. 

I didn't feel quite clear in my mind about staying; but cousin Lydiaseemed to expect I would, and showed me a little cheese-hoop, about asbig round as a dinner-plate, saying she would press a cheese in it onpurpose for me, and I might pick pigweed to "green" it, and tansy togive it a fine taste. So I should almost make the cheese myself; whatwould my mother say to that? Then there were the beehives, which werefilling with honey, and some late chickens, which were going to chipout of the shell in a week. Remarkable events, every one; but it wasthe tansy cheese which decided me at last, and I told father he mightgo without me; I wanted to stay and make a visit. 

It was not till he was fairly out of sight that I remembered what along visit it would be. Why, I shouldn't see mother for as much as amonth! A new and dreadful feeling swept over me, as if I was left allalone in the great empty world, with nothing to comfort me as long asI lived. 

Samantha, one of Mr. Tenney's sisters, found me an hour afterwardssitting beside a chicken-coop, crying into my apron. She asked me if Iwas homesick. I thought not; I only wanted to see my mother, and Ifelt bad "right here, " laying my hand on the pit of my stomach. Thefeeling was not to be described, but I did not know homesickness wasthe name for it. 

Samantha consoled me as well as she could with colored beads tostring, and a barrel of kittens out in the barn. I felt a littlebetter at dinner time, for the dinner was very nice; but my spiritswere still low. 

Julia, the other young lady, was not very fond of little girls, andhad no box of trinkets as Samantha had, or, at any rate, did not showany to me. She seemed to be always talking privacy with her sister, orwith cousin Lydia, and always sending me out of the room. Not that sheever told me, in so many words, to go away--but just as if I didn'tknow what she meant!

"Don't you want to go out in the barn and hunt for eggs?" said she. 

No, I certainly didn't. If I had wanted to I should have found it outwithout her speaking of it. But I was only a little girl; so I had togo, and couldn't answer back. The neighbors' children were few and farbetween; and though I strolled about for hours behind cousin JosephTenney and the hired man, there were times when I liked to see whatwas going on in the kitchen, and it was vexing to hear Julia say, --

"If I was a little girl about your age, I never should get tired oflooking at that speckled bossy out in the barn. "

Indeed! I almost wished she had to be fastened into the stall a while, just to _see_ if she wouldn't get tired of that speckled bossy. 

But when the time came to make my cheese, I had a right to stay inthe house. Cousin Lydia let me look on, and see it all done. First, Ipicked the pigweed and tansy, or how could she have made the cheese?Then she strained some milk into a pan, and squeezed the green juicesthrough a thin cloth. After that she put in a little rennet with aspoon. 

"There, " said she, "isn't that a pretty color? Watch it a few minutes, and you will see it grow thick, like blanc-mange, and that will becurd. "

Then she made some white curd in another pan, without any greenjuice. After the curd "came, " it was very interesting to cross it offwith a pudding-stick, and this she let me do myself. Next morning shedrained the curd in a cloth over a cheese-basket, and put on a stoneto press out the whey. When it was drained dry enough, she let me cutit up in the chopping-tray, and she mixed the two curds together, thegreen and the white, salted them, and put them in that cunning hoop, and then set the hoop in the cheese-press, turned a crank, and weighedit down with a flatiron. There, that is the way to make a cheese. Whenit came out of the press it was a perfect little beauty, white, withirregular spots of green, like the streaks in marble cake. I knew thenhow that greedy Harry felt, in the story, when his mother sent him aplum cake, and he couldn't wait for a knife, but "gnawed it like alittle dog. "

Of course I did not gnaw the cheese, but I did want to have it cutopen, to see if it tasted like any other I ever ate. But cousin Lydiacovered it with tissue paper, and oiled it, and set it in a safe, andevery day she oiled it again, and turned it. I would have spent halfmy time looking at it, only she said I must not open the dairy-roomdoor to let the flies in. 

CHAPTER IX. 

"WAXERATION. "

Still, in spite of cheeses, beehives, bossies, and kittens, I had manylonesome hours, and sometimes cried after I went to bed. Samantha musthave known it, for I slept with her; I was afraid to sleep alone. 

There were times when I thought I would start off secretly, and gohome on foot. I asked the hired man how long he supposed it would takea little girl to walk to Willowbrook, and what were the chances of hergetting lost if she should try it? I thought I spoke in such a guardedway that Seth would not have the least idea what I meant; but he musthave been very quick-witted, for he understood in a minute. He didnot let me know it, though, and only answered coolly, --

"Wal, I should think now it would take her about a week's steadytravel, and no knowing but she'd starve to death on the road. Why, _you_ hain't heerd of a little gal that thinks of such a thing, Ihope?"

"No; I don't see many little girls, " said I, with a dismal sigh; "theydon't have anything here but bossies and horses. "

I did not know, till Seth nipped it in the bud, what a sweet hope Ihad been cherishing. Should I truly starve to death if I took mylittle cheese in a basket on my arm, and some doughnuts andturn-overs? But no, it would be stealing to take things out of cousinLydia's cupboard, and run off with them. I would rather stay atBloomingdale and suffer, than be a thief. 

I know now that Seth told cousin Lydia what I said to him, and herkind heart was touched. I am sure she must have had a hard time withme, for she knew nothing about children, and was as busy as she couldbe with her dairy and her "fall work. " I ought not to have been sounhappy. Some children at that age, with so much done for theiramusement, would have felt perfectly contented; but I had naturally arestless disposition, and wanted, as Ned said, "sumpin diffunt. "

Ah, Horace! very gallant in you to say I have "got bravely over it. "Thank you, dear; I hope I have, to some degree; still I might have gotover it much younger if I had only tried a little harder. A child ofseven is old enough to be grateful to its friends, when they do allthey can for its comfort and pleasure. 

Cousin Lydia wrote mother about my state of mind; and it troubled her. She talked with Madam Allen, who was always full of plans. Madamthought a minute, and then said, --

"Poor Marjie, we can't have her homesick. Do you suppose she wouldlike to have Ruphelle go there and stay with her?"

Of course mother knew I would be happy with Ruphelle. 

Then Madam Allen wished mother would please write cousin Lydia, andask if Fel might go to Bloomingdale a few weeks. She hoped themountain air would be strengthening to the dear little girl, whoseemed rather drooping. 

Cousin Lydia was willing; and Madam Allen sent Ruphelle by cars, with a gentleman and lady who were going to Boston. Not a word wassaid to me; and when Seth harnessed the horse and went to the stationto meet her, I supposed he was only "going to see his mother;" forthat was what he always said when I asked any questions. It was aboutthree miles to the flag station, and I believe his mother livedsomewhere on the way. 

I was not watching for him to come back, or thinking anything abouthim, when I happened to look out of the window and see him helping alittle girl out of the wagon. The red and white plaid looked exactlylike Fel's dress; and as the little girl turned around, there were thesoft, brown eyes, and the dark, wavy hair, and the lovely pale face ofFel Allen herself!

I never expect to be much happier till I get to heaven than I wasfor the next hour or two. I danced and screamed, and laughed andcried, and wondered how Fel could keep so calm, when we hadn't seeneach other for as much as three weeks. 

"I don't see what's the matter with me, " sobbed I; "I never was soglad in my life; but I can't help a-crying!"

Fel was not one of the kind to go wild. She usually knew what she wasabout. Supper was ready, and she sat at the table, and ate honey onher bread and butter, as if she really enjoyed it; also answered everyone of cousin Lydia's many questions like a little lady. 

I had no appetite, and could hardly have told what my name was if anyone had asked me. 

But from that time my homesickness was gone. I took my little friendall about the farm, which was a very nice place, only I had neverthought of it before, and showed her the speckled bossy, which seemedto have grown handsomer all in one night. 

"Here are some black currants, Fel; do you like 'em?"

"O, yes. "

"Why, I don't; I just despise 'em. "

"Well, I don't like 'em _very_ well, " said Fel; for after our longseparation she could not bear to disagree with me in anything. 

"Cousin Lydia, " said I, very soon after Fel came, "may we tell scarestories after we go to bed? She wants us to. "

Cousin Lydia did not know what I meant by "scare stories. "

"It's all the awful things we can think of, " said I, eagerly. "And welike to, for we want to see 'f our hair 'll stand out straight. "

Cousin Lydia laughed, and said "children were perfect curiosities. "

"It makes us shiver all over. It's splendid, " said I. 

"Well, you may try it this once, " said cousin Lydia, "if you'll stoptalking the moment I tap on the wall. "

So, as soon as we got into bed we began. "You tell first, " saidRuphelle; "you can tell the orfulest, and then I'll tell. "

"Mine'll be about the Big Giant, " said I, clearing my throat. 

_The Big Giant. _

"Once upon a time he had three heads, and he roared so you could hearhim a mile. "

"That isn't anything, " said Fel; "my hair don't stand out a bit. "

"Why, I hadn't but just begun. You wait and see what comes next. DidI say the Big Giant had three heads? He had sixteen. And every one of'em had three mouths, and some had ten; and they made a noise when hechewed grass like----like thunder. "

"It don't scare me a bit, " said Fel, stoutly. 

"Did I say the Big Giant ate grass? He ate _fire_; he ate live coals, the _liver_ the better. "

"I should have thought 'twould have burnt him all up, " said Fel. 

"There, miss, you needn't pretend not to be scared! I'm so scaredmyself I can't but just tell!--No, it didn't burn him up; it came outat his great big nose. And when the Big Giant walked along the streetsfolks ran away, for he blazed so. And there wasn't enough water inWillowbrook to put him out!"

"He didn't live at Willowbrook?"

"O, yes, right between your house and my house; _and lives therenow_!"

By that time Fel began to tremble and creep closer to me. 

"Tell some more, " said she, laughing. "It don't scare me a bit. "

And I told, and I told. There was no end to the horrible things thatBig Giant had done, was doing, or was going to do. 

"Does your hair stand up, Fel?"

"No; feel and see if it does. But there's a creepy feeling goes overme; don't it over you?"

"Yes, " said I, highly excited. "Got your eyes shut, Fel?"

"Yes, shut up tight. "

"Open 'em, " said I, solemnly; "for how do you know but that BigGiant's got into this room? Can't you _see_ the fire coming out of hisnose?"

Fell couldn't, exactly. 

"Get out, " said I, "and get the wash-bowl and pitcher, and let's throwit at him kersplash. "

"I dassent, " said Fel, faintly. 

"Nor I dassent neither. "

By that time I was out of bed, much more frightened than Fel was, andcalling "Cousin Lydia, " as loud as I could shout. She came in in greatsurprise, and it was some time before she could succeed in calming us. I remember how heartily she laughed, and how my teeth chattered. Iactually had to be wrapped in a blanket and dosed with ginger tea. Iwonder how many times cousin Lydia said, --

"Well, children ARE perfect curiosities. "

 * * * * *

We could not think of such a thing as spending the night alone afterall this, and Samantha was obliged to get into our bed and sleep inthe middle. Cousin Lydia said we made too much hard work for thefamily by telling "scare stories, " and we must not do it again whilewe staid at her house. 

"I have just found out, Marjie, why it is that you are afraid to sleepalone, " said she; "it is because you allow yourself to think aboutsuch frightful things. Is it not so?"

"Yes'm, " said I, quivering in the blanket. 

"Well, child, you must stop it at once; it is a very foolish habit, and may grow upon you. Never think of dreadful things. Say your littleprayer, asking God to take care of you, and then lie down in peace, for he will certainly do it. Ruphelle, are you ever afraid?"

"No'm, only when I'm with Marjie; but I like to hear her tellthings; I ask her to. "

Fel often said she had beautiful thoughts about angels after she wentto bed, and dreamed that they came and stood by her pillow. 

Ah, that was no common child; she lived very near the gates of heaven. Strange I could have associated with her so much, and still have beenso full of wrong desires and naughty actions!

Julia Tenney, who was not very fond of children, certainly not ofme, took a decided fancy to Fel the moment she saw her. I soon foundthis out, for she did not try to conceal it, and said more than oncethat "that child was too good for this world. " I thought everybodyliked her better than me, from Miss Julia down to the cat. I did notconsider this at all strange; only I longed to do something to showmyself worthy of praise, as well as she. 

There was a panic at that time about small-pox, and the doctor cameone day to vaccinate everybody in the house. We children looked onwith great interest to see the lancet make a scratch in cousin Lydia'sarm, and then in Miss Samantha's, and Miss Julia's. 

"Now for the little folks, " said the doctor, and drew Fel along tohim; but she broke away in great alarm, and began to cry. "Well, well, " said the doctor, turning to me, "here's a little lady that willcome right up, I know she will; _she_ won't mind such a thing as aprick of a needle. "

No, I really didn't mind it; why should I, when I had been gashedand slashed all my life? So I walked up very quickly to show mycourage. I guessed they wouldn't laugh about my Big Giant now! Irolled back my sleeve with an air of triumph, and looked down on Fel, who shrank into a corner. Everybody was surprised, and said, "Welldone!" and hoped I wasn't _all_ the brave child there was in thehouse. 

I walked on thrones, I assure you; for there was Fel crying, andbegging to wait till after dinner. Why, she hadn't any more couragethan a chicken. I was ashamed of her. The doctor said he would waittill after dinner if she would surely have it done then. 

"O, you little scare-girl!" said I, as he walked out to talk withcousin Joseph, and we two children were left alone in the room. 

The doctor had laid his lancet and the little quill of vaccinematter on the table, having no thought, I suppose, that such smallchildren as we would dare touch them. 

"I can waxerate as well as he can, " said I, taking up the lancet, "forI watched him. Push up your sleeve, Fel, and I'll waxerate you, andthen when the doctor does it, you'll get used to it, you know. "

"Don't you, _don't_ you touch that sharp thing, Madge Parlin. "

"Poh! do you think I'm a little scare-girl like you?" returned I, proudly, for my little head was quite turned with flattery. "He didn'tsay folks musn't touch it, did he, Miss Fel? It's just like a needle;and who's afraid of a needle but you? I'll waxerate _me_, if _you_don't dast. Just you look! When I've done it three times to me, willyou let me do it to you?"

Fel wouldn't promise, but I went boldly to work. Let me count thescars--yes, twenty scratches I made above my elbow, never forgettingthe vaccine, saying, as I stopped to take breath, --

"Ready now, Fel?"

She never was ready, but she stood looking on with such meekness andawe, that I was just as well satisfied. After the doctor was gone, andshe was in cousin Lydia's lap, quite overcome by the fright of"waxeration, " I told what I had done, expecting to be praised. 

"Why, Maggie!" said cousin Lydia, really shocked, "what will you donext? It was very, very wrong for you to meddle with the doctor'slancet. "

"Ah, well, " said Miss Julia, "I guess she'll be a sick enough childwhen it 'takes. '"

I did not understand that, but I saw I had sunk again ineverybody's esteem. And that very afternoon Miss Julia allowed Fel, who had been such a coward, to dress up in her bracelets, rings, pin, and even her gold watch, only "she must be sure and not let Maggietouch them. "

Of course I see now what a heedless child I was, and don't wonderMiss Julia wished to preserve her ornaments from my fingers; still sheought not to have given them to Fel before my very eyes. I thought itwas hard, after scratching myself so unmercifully, not to have eitherglory or kisses, or even a bosom-pin to wear half an hour. My armsmarted, and I felt cross. As Miss Julia went out of the room shepatted Fel's head, but took no notice of me, and cousin Lydia did thevery same thing two minutes afterwards. It was more than I couldbear. 

"Ho, little _borrow-girl_, " said I to Fel, "got a gold watch, too!'Fore I'd wear other folks's things! I don't wear a single one thingon me but b'longs to me; you may count 'em and see!"

It seemed as if I could not let her alone; but such was the sweetnessof nature in that dear little girl that she loved me througheverything. 

"I thought you wanted to go out doors and play with me, " said I; "andif you do, you'd better take off your borrowed watch!"

Fel did not answer, but tucked the watch into her bosom; and we wentout in no very pleasant mood. 

CHAPTER X. 

"THE CHILD'S ALIVE. "[*]

(* The following is a true incident. )

Samantha and Julia were gone to a neighbor's that afternoon, andcousin Lydia was filling a husk-bed in the barn. There was no one athome but lame and half-blind grandma Tenney. 

"I don't care if they are gone, for they all think I'm a naughty, badgirl, " thought I. "O, why don't they love me? My mamma loves me, andhugs me every day when I'm home. "

I walked along to the well, my eyes half-blinded by tears. Thatwell-sweep had always fascinated me, and I had been allowed to playwith it freely; but lately cousin Joseph had observed that the curb, or framework round the mouth of the well, was out of order; the boardswere old, and the nails were loosened; he should put on new boards assoon as he could stop; but until he did so, I must let it alone. WouldI remember?

"Yes, sir, " said I, at the same time thinking in this wise: "Why, Idrawed water day before yes'day, and he didn't say the boards wereold. How could they grow old in one day?"

Still I fully intended to obey. I forgot myself when I said, --

"Fel, le's do a washing, and wash our dollies' clo'es. I'll go get alittle tinpail to draw water with. "

For I could not lift the bucket. 

"Well, " said she; "and I'll go get a cake o' soap. "

She had heard nothing about the well-curb, and did not know we weredoing wrong to draw water. She enjoyed swinging the pole just as muchas I did, and we soon forgot our slight disagreement as we watched thelittle pail drop slowly into the well. 

"There are stars down there, " said I, "for I saw 'em once; they sayit's stars, but I shouldn't wonder if 'twas pieces of gold--shouldyou?"

I was letting the pail down as I spoke, and Fel was leaning againstthe curb, peeping into the well. 

"O, I forgot, " cried I; "cousin Joseph said--"

But even before I had finished the sentence, the rotten boards gaveway, and Fel pitched suddenly forward into the well!

My brain reeled; but next moment my reason--all I ever had and moretoo--came to my aid. I can't account for it, but I felt as strong andbrave as a little woman, and called out, --

"Take hold of the pole, Fel! take hold of the pole!"

I don't know whether she heard me or not, for her screams were comingup hoarse and hollow from the watery depths. All I know is, she didput out both her little hands, and clutch that short pole. Theten-quart pail was dangling from the end of the pole, within two feetof the water. 

What was I to do? I could draw up the little tin pail, but not such aheavy weight as Fel. My hope was that I might keep her above water awhile, and as long as I could, of course she would not drown. It was awise thought, and showed great presence of mind in a child of my age. I am glad I have this one redeeming fact to tell of myself--I, who ranwild at the silly story of a make-believe Big Giant!

Yes, I held up that long pole with all the might of my little arms, crying all the while to Seth in the barn, --

"Come quick! come quick!"

It was just as much as I could do. I am sure strength must have beengranted me for the task. For a long while, or what seemed to me a longwhile, nobody heard. Seth was making a great noise with his flail, andif my shout reached his ears he only thought it child's play; but whenit kept on and on, so shrill and so full of distress, he dropped hisflail at last and ran. 

Not a moment too soon; my little strength was giving out. 

"Jethro! what's this?" cried he, and caught the pole from my hand. "Well, you're a good one! Don't be scared, little dear. " That was toFel. "Hold on tight, and I'll fetch you up in a jiffy. "

She did hold on; stupefied as she was, she still had sense enough tocling to the pole. 

"There, there, that's a lady! Both arms round my neck! Up she comes!"

By that time cousin Lydia was on the spot, looking ashy white, andSeth, with Fel in his arms, was rocking her back and forth like ababy, and saying, "There, there, little girlie, don't cry. "

"The Lord be praised!" exclaimed cousin Lydia; "the child's alive! thechild's alive!"

"Yes, and this Marjie here is a good one, " said Seth, pointing to me;"she's got the right stuff in her. I never saw a young one of that agedo anything so complete in my life. "

I cried then; it was the first time I could stop to cry. Cousin Lydiaput her arms round me, and kissed me; and that kiss was sweet to mysoul. 

Seth carried Fel into the house. She was trembling and sobbingviolently, and did not seem at first to understand much that was saidto her. Cousin Lydia rubbed her, and gave her some cordial to drink, and I looked on, half proud and half ashamed. Seth kept saying therewere five feet of water in the well, and if I hadn't held Fel up, shemust have drowned before anybody could get to her. I knew I had beenvery brave, and had saved Fel's life. I knew it before Seth said so. But who drowned her in the first place? I expected every minute cousinLydia would ask that question; but she didn't; she never seemed tothink of it. 

When the young ladies came home, Miss Julia took me in her lap, andsaid, --

"Well, Marjery, you're a smart child; there's no doubt about it--avery smart child. "

Just think of that from Miss Julia! It wouldn't have been much fromMiss Samantha, for she had a soft way with her; but Miss Julia! Why, it puffed me out, and puffed me out, till there was about as muchsubstance to me as there is to a great hollow soap-bubble. 

"Yes, " said cousin Joseph, in his slow way, "Marjery is smart enough, but she ought to be very smart to make up for her heedlessness. "

There, he had pricked the bubble that time! I twinkled right out. 

And it was the last time Julia admired me; for she happened to thinkjust then of her gold watch. It was not on Fel's neck; it had goneinto the well where the stars were. Seth got it out, but it wasbattered and bruised, and something had happened to the inside of it, so it wouldn't tick. 

Miss Julia never took me in her lap again; but she liked Fel as wellas ever. She said Fel was not at all to blame. I knew she wasn't, andsomehow, after that dreadful affair, I was willing people should loveFel better than me. I had been fairly frightened out of my crossnessto her. O, what if I _had_ drowned her? Every time I wanted to snubher I thought of that, and stopped. I suppose I put my arms round herneck fifty times, and asked, "Do you love me _jus_ the same as if Ihadn't drowned you?"

And she said "Yes, " every time, the precious darling!

I had a very lame arm not long after this; it almost threw me into afever. I was ashamed to have that doctor come, for they had told mewhat was the matter. It has always been my luck, children, if I evertried to show off, to get nicely paid for it!

Now I think of it, Dotty, how easily Fel could have turned upon me atthis time, and said, "Ho, little meddle-girl! Got a sore arm, too!"

But you may be sure she never thought of such a thing. It grieved herto see me lie in bed, and toss about with pain. She sat beside me, andpatted my cheeks with her little, soft hands, and sometimes read tome, from a Sabbath school book, about a good girl, named MaryLothrop, --she could read as well as most grown people, for she reallywas a remarkable child, --but I didn't like to hear about Mary Lothrop, and begged her to stop. 

"She's too tremendous good, " said I. "It killed her to be so good, andI'm afraid--"

I believe I never told Fel what I was afraid of; but it was, that shewas "too tremendous good" herself, and would "die little, " as MaryLothrop did. I thought she seemed like Mary; and hadn't Miss Juliasaid she was too good for this world? O, what if God should want herup in heaven? I had thought of this before; but if I had reallybelieved it, I should all along have treated her very differently. Weshould none of us speak unkindly if we believed our friends were soongoing away from us, out of this world. What would I give now if I hadnever called the tears into that child's gentle eyes!

My arm got well, and the next thing that happened was a letter fromhome--to us two little chickens, Fel and me both. Seth brought itfrom the "post-ovviz, " directed to Miss Ruphelle Allen and MissMargaret Parlin, care of Joseph Tenney, Esq. Here it lies in mywriting-desk, almost as yellow as gold, and quite as precious. Howmany times do you suppose we little girls read it and kissed it? Howmany times do you suppose we went to sleep with it under our pillows?We took turns doing that, and thought it brought us pleasant dreams. 

Her mother wrote one page of the letter, and my mother another; 'Ria afew lines, and Ned these words, in a round hand:--

 "DEAR SISTER: I suppose you want to hear all about our house and barn. I went to Gus Allen's party. We trained, and a pretty set of fellows we were. "

That was all he told about our house and barn, and he did not signhis name. Perhaps he would have said more after resting a while; butMiss Rubie saved him the trouble, and ended the letter, by inviting"you darlings, "--Fel and me, --to her wedding, which was to take placein a few weeks. 

We had a little waltzing to do then! A wedding! We danced right andleft, with that letter under our feet. 

"I should think you'd better read on, and see what the man's name is, you little Flutterbudgets, " said cousin Joseph, laughing at us. 

We hadn't thought of that. We looked, and found it was uncle John!Another surprise. It was a new idea to both of us, that a man who hadhad one wife should ever have another. We remembered aunt Persis, whowanted to steam Fel. 

"And she died years, and years, and _years_ ago. "

"About eleven months, " said cousin Lydia. Your uncle John is obligedto go to England this fall, and wants to take Zed; and I am very gladMiss Rubie is willing to be Zed's mother, and will go with them. "

"How can she be his mother?" said I. "She's his auntie. "

But we didn't care about the relationship, Fel and I; all we caredabout was the wedding. And I did hope I should have a string of waxbeads to wear on my neck. 

Here is our reply to the letter. (The words in Italics are Fel's. )

 "DEAR LITTLE MOTHERS: We thought we would write to you. _We are glad we shall go to the wedding. _ Do you think you can buy me some wax beeds? _We want to see you very much. _ But I want the wax beeds, too. Fel said a prayer for my sickness. I think she is a very pias girl. The cow is dead, &c. , & ect. So good by. "

 "From MAJ and RUPHELLE. "

CHAPTER XI. 

THE FIRST CAR RIDE. 

It seemed as if cousin Lydia never would get ready to start. Eversince the letter from our mammas, Fel and I had been sure we werewanted at home; but there was no end to the things cousin Lydia had todo, and so far as we could see, Miss Samantha and Miss Julia didn'thelp her much. We dared not say this, however; we laid it away in ourminds, with twenty other things we meant to tell our mothers when wegot home. 

My great consolation while waiting was a Maltese kitten with whitetoes, and eyes the color of blue clay; and when, at last, the joyfultime came for going to Willowbrook, I begged to take that kitty withus. Miss Julia said, "Nonsense!" But cousin Lydia was really asensible woman; for what did she do but butter Silvertoe's paws, andtie her into an egg-basket. 

"But you must take care of her yourself, Maggie; I shall have my handsfull with you, and Ruphelle, and the baggage. "

Kitty behaved beautifully at first; but presently the rough mountainroads began to jar upon her nerves, I think; for by the time the stagereached the station, she was scratching and mewing at such a rate thatI was ashamed of her. I lagged behind, so cousin shouldn't hear. 

And was this the depot? A jail, I should say. Such a wicked manstaring through the hole in the wall! Wonder what he was put in for?

"The ticket-master, that is, " said cousin Lydia, smiling at me, thoughI hoped she couldn't see what I had been thinking. 

Then she bought the tickets; but she wouldn't let Fel or me keep ours. She said the kitty was all I could manage. So I should think!

We heard a shriek like my Big Giant. It frightened me dreadfully; Ibegan to think there _was_ such a man. No wonder kitty jumped. Nextmoment some yellow things came tearing along. Then I knew it was thecars. 

"Come, " said cousin Lydia, climbing the steps. 

Well, I intended to come. My foot was just a little stiff, but I washurrying as fast as I could, when up sprang the cover of the basket, and out popped the kitty. Of course, I wasn't going withoutSilvertoes. She scampered round the end of the depot, and I ran afterher. It was of no use; she dropped into a hole. I couldn't have beengone half a minute; but those yellow things took that time to whiskoff. I ran the whole length of the platform, calling, "Whoa!" but theynever stopped. 

The black-whiskered man had come out of his cell, and was locking thedepot door. 

"O, won't you stop that railroad? Please, for pity's sake!"

The man made no reply; only shut one eye and whistled. I danced andscreamed. There were those things puffing out of breath, anddetermined not to stop. 

"'Tain't no use to make a rumpus. The cars won't take back tracks fornobody. "

I thought he didn't understand. 

"Why, my cousin Lydia bought me a ticket, sir, right out of that hole. Don't you _know_ she did? And that railroad went off and left me. Iwas getting in in a minute, as soon as I found my kitty!"

"O, that's it, hey? Well, you see this ere's only a flag-station, andthey don't stop for cats. "

I began to cry. The man patted me on the back, just as if I had afish-bone in my throat, and called me "Poor sissy. " It made me veryangry--seven _whole_ years old--to be called sissy! I wiped my eyes atonce, and told him decidedly that I thought my cousin would make the"driver" come back for me. 

The man whistled harder. This caused me to feel a little like a dogthat has lost his master; and I felt so all the more when the manpointed his finger at me and told me to follow him, and he would tryto get me "put up" for the night. But not knowing anything better todo, I trudged after him with my empty basket, forgetting all about thekitten. 

We crossed the road, and went through a long yard where clothes weredrying, till we came to a little brown house. Near the open door ofthe porch sat a woman beating eggs in a yellow pudding-dish. She had askin somewhat the color of leather, and wore a leather-colored dress, gold beads, a brass-topped comb, and gold ear-drops, like upside downexclamation points. I thought she looked a little like a sheepskinbook father had in a gilt binding. 

"This little creeter got left by the train, Harr'et; I don't see butwe shall have to eat and sleep her. What say?"

"Eat and sleep me!" I took a step backward. Of course they did notmean what they said; but I thought joking on this occasion was invery poor taste. 

"Got left over? Poor little dear!"

The woman stopped her work to pity me, and drops of egg dripped fromthe fork-tines like yellow tears. I fell to crying then. 

"It seems she's some related to Captain Tenney's folks, " said thewhistling man, ending with another love-pat, and "Poor Sissy!"

But even those insulting words could not stop my crying this time. 

"Leave her to me, Peter, " said the woman. "Most likely she's afraid ofmen folks. "

The man went away, to my great relief, and she took my bonnet andcloak, and then made me tell her all about my trials, while she beattime with her fork. My mouth once open, I talked steadily, giving thecomplete history of my life between my sobs, --only leaving out my lieabout the hatchet. 

"Something cut my foot and I go a little lame, or I could have catchedthat kitty, --she has white _pors_. But _does_ the railroad have anyright to run off and leave folks that's bought tickets?"

"Never mind, dear, you're welcome to stay over with us. Brother Peterand I never calculate to turn folks away while we have a crust to eat, or a roof to cover us. "

"O, dear, what poor people!" I ought not to stay. But it seemed theywere to have something to-night better than crusts. Harr'et was fryingpancakes, --how could she afford it?--and shaking them out of thekettle with a long-handled skimmer into a pan in a chair. She broughtme one, which she called her "try-cake;" but it didn't look likeRuth's, and I was too homesick to eat; so I managed to slip it into mypocket. 

Harr'et wore heavy calfskin shoes, and shook the house fearfully whenshe walked. I couldn't help thinking of what she had said about theroof, and it seemed as if it might fall any minute and "cover us, "sure enough. 

While I sat on the door-step watching her, all forlorn, she drew out ared armchair, gave it a little twitch, as you would to a sunshade, andlo! it turned into a table, with a round top. Then she covered it witha cloth, from a drawer in the chair part of the table, and put on somegreen and white dishes. 

When tea was ready, the whistling man seemed to know it, and came in. It didn't look very inviting to me. The biscuits were specked withbrown spots as if the oven had freckled them; and I didn't likemolasses for sauce. 

I thought of home, and the nice supper cousin Lydia was eating there, and could almost see her sitting next to mother, with my purse in herpocket, and my ticket too. And I could almost see Fel, and hear herqueer grandpa asking her questions, while Miss Rubie looked on, allsmiling, and dressed in her wedding-gown, of course. 

They all thought I was lost, and they should never see me again. Perhaps they never would. How could I go home without a ticket? Oncethere was a man put off the car because he couldn't show a ticket. Felsaw the "driver" do it. 

That thought choked me, together with the sudden recollection that Ihadn't told Harr'et my purse was gone. She and Peter might beexpecting to make quite a little sum out of my board, enough to keepthe roof on a while longer. 

"Do eat, child, " said the man. 

"I didn't tell you, sir, " I sobbed, "that the railroad ran off with mypurse, --cousin Lydia, I mean, --and I haven't the leastest thing to payyou with!"

I drew out my handkerchief in a great hurry, and out flew the pancake. Peter and Harriet looked at it and smiled, and I hid my face in shame. 

"Never you worry your little head about money, " said Peter, kindly. "Iknow young ladies about your size ain't in the habit of travellingwith their pockets full of rocks----let alone doughnuts. "

O, what a kind man! And how I had mistaken him! I forgave him at oncefor calling me poor sissy. 

"If you've done your supper, Peter, I motion you take her out and showher the sheep and lambs. "

Peter did so, besides beguiling me with pleasant talk; but pleasantestof all was the remark, --

"Don't be a bit concerned about your ticket; I'll make that all rightto-morrow. "

And this was the man I had been so afraid of, only because he wasrough-looking, and liked to make jokes. 

He told me his name was Peter Noble, and Harr'et was his sister, andkept house for him; and I actually told him in confidence that I meantto go to Italy when I grew to be a lady; for we became close friendsin a few minutes, and I felt that he could be trusted. 

It was almost dark when we went back to the kitchen; but there wasHarriet, laughing. 

"Whose kitty?" said she. 

And it was Silvertoes, lapping milk out of a saucer by the stove. Shewas very hungry, and I suppose came to that house because it was sonear the depot. I felt as happy as Robinson Crusoe when he foundFriday. My trials were now nearly over. 

I remember little more, except Peter's taking me into a car next dayin his arms, and Harriet's giving me my kitty through the window. Ihope I thanked them, but am not sure. That was the last I saw of them;but I carried the marks of Harriet's "try-cake" while my frock lasted, for soap took out the color. 

The "driver" treated me with marked politeness, and when we reachedWillowbrook Corner, put me into the yellow stage, with as much care asif I had been a china tea-set. 

There was a shout when I got home, for all the family were at thegate. 

CHAPTER XII. 

BETTER THAN KITTENS. 

Yes, they seemed just as glad to see me as if I was the Queen ofEngland, and had been gone all the days of my life. Father, especially, looked really overjoyed. 

"How they must have missed me!" thought I, springing out of the coachand falling headlong over old Towser. "O, please catch that kitten. "

Ned seized the empty basket and whirled it over his head. 

"Who cares for such trash? We've got something in the house that'sbetter than sixteen kittens. "

"Rabbits?"

"Come and see, " said 'Ria, giving me one hand, while she strokedSilvertoes with the other. 

"O, I don't believe it's anything. Is it wax beads? You haven't askedwhere I came from, nor whose house I staid to. There was a woman withgold beads, and he called her Harret, and--"

"Yes, I knew they'd take good care of you, " said cousin Lydia. 

"And where d'you s'pose I found my kitty?" But no one seemed to hear. I had expected to be pelted with questions as to my eating, drinking, and sleeping, and to be pitied for the late distress of my mind. Butno one showed the slightest curiosity; they all seemed in a greathurry to get into the house. 

I stopped talking, and walked along with all the dignity of anoffended pea-chicken. There might or might not be something worthgoing to see; but I was resolved to keep perfectly cool. Up stairs?Well, up stairs then, or up in the attic, or out on the roof, --it madeno difference to me. I could keep from asking questions as long asthey could, if not longer. 

O, mother's room, was it? Well, I'd been wondering all the while wheremother was, only I wouldn't ask. Dear me, was she sick? "So glad tosee little Madge, " she said, kissing me over and over again. "And whata hard time I had had. "

There, _she_ knew how I'd been suffering, and was just going to ask mesome questions, when that troublesome Ned whisked me right up in hisarms, and whirled me round towards the fireplace. 

"If you've got any eyes, Maggie, look there. "

My eyes were good enough, if that was all; but what was that womansitting there for? I thought she had a heap of woollen clothes in herlap. 

Father took it. 

"Come here, Totty-wax. "

I put out my hands, and felt something as soft as kittens. 

"Presto, change!" cried Ned, and pulled down the top of the blanket. There lay a little, wrinkled, rosy face, a baby's face, and over itwas moving a little wrinkled hand. 

I jumped, and then I screamed; and then I ran out of the room and backagain. 

"O, O, O! Stop her! Hold her!" said Ned. 

But they couldn't do it. I rushed up to the baby, who cried in myface. 

"What IS that?" said I; and then I burst into tears. 

"Your little sister, " said father. 

"It isn't, " sobbed I, and broke out laughing. 

Everybody else laughed, too. 

"Say that again, " said I. 

"Your little sister, " repeated father. 

"Does Fel know it? And it _isn't_ Ned's brother?" seizing father bythe whiskers. "And he can't set her on the wood-pile! Came down fromheaven. What'm I crying for? Came down particular purpose for me. "

"Yes, Totty-wax, " said father, smiling, with a tear in the corner ofhis eye, --

 "'Twas for my accommodation Nature rose when I was born. "

"Has this child had any supper?" asked mother, in a faint voice fromthe bed. 

"No, _she_ can't eat, " laughed I; "her face looks like a roast apple. "

"Your mother means you, Maggie. You are tired and excited, " saidcousin Lydia. "Ruth made cream-cakes to-night. "

"But I shan't go, 'thout I can carry the baby. Ned's holding her. Sheisn't _his_ brother. I haven't had her in my arms once. How good Godwas! O, dear, what teenty hands! She can't swallow 'em, on 'count ofher arms. Sent particular purpose for me--father said so. 'Ria Parlin, she's nowhere near your age. You have everything, but you can't havethis. She gapes. She knows how to; she's found her mouth; she's foundher mouth!"

And so I ran on and on, like a brook in a freshet, and might neverhave stopped, if they had not taken me out of the room, and tied me ina high chair before a table full of nice things. And Ruthie stoodthere with a smile in her eyes, and said if I spoke another word, Ishouldn't see baby again that night. 

I couldn't help pitying Ned. I wasn't sure I had treated him justright. I had prayed, off and on, as much as two or three weeks in all, that God would send me a sister, and of course that was why she hadcome. I didn't wish Ned to know this; he would be so sorry he hadn'tthought of it himself, and prayed for a brother. I told Fel about it, and she didn't know whether it was quite fair or not. "Yes, it was, too, " said I; for I never would allow Fel the last word. "It was fair;Ned's older 'n me, and ought to say his prayers a great deal more_reggurly_. "

O, that wonderful new sister! For days I never tired of admiring her. 

"Look, mamma! 'Ria, did you ever, ever see such blue eyes?"

And then I sat and talked to the new sister, and asked her

 "Where did she get her eyes of blue?"

But she did not answer, as the baby does in the song, --

 "Out of the sky, as I came through. "

 "What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. "

 "Where did you get that pearly ear? God spake, and it came out to hear. "

Ah! If she could only have talked, wouldn't she have told some sweetstories about angels?

I couldn't have left her for anything else but that wedding; butRuthie promised to take good care of her--and I could trust Ruthie!Ned wasn't going; there were to be no children but Fel and me. Well, yes, Gust was there; but that was because he happened to be in thehouse. The wedding was in Madam Allen's parlors. _I_ stood up beforethe minister, with wax beads on my neck, and white slippers on myfeet. Somebody else stood there, too; for one wouldn't have beenenough. Fel dressed just like me--in white, with the same kind ofbeads; only she was pale, and I wasn't, and she looked like a whiterosebud, and I didn't. 

We stood between the "shovin' doors, "--that was what Gust calledthem, --and there was a bride and bridegroom, too. I nearly forgotthat. I remember lights, and flowers, and wedding cake; and by and byMadam Allen came along, looking so grand in her white turban, and gavethe bride a bridal rose, but not Fel or me a single bud. Then, whenpeople kissed the bride, I kissed her, too, and she whispered, --

"Call me aunt Martha, dear. "

"O, yes, Miss Rubie, " said I; "you are my cousin, aunt Martha. "

For I could not understand exactly. 

Uncle John hugged me, and said they were all going away in themorning, he and aunt Martha, and Zed; and then I felt sorry, even withmy wax beads on, and said to father, --

"I tell you what, I love my uncle John _that was_. "

No, Fly, he didn't have any horse then called "Lighting Dodger;" butit was the same uncle John, and aunt Martha is the very woman who petsyou so much, and has that pretty clock, with a pendulum in the shapeof a little boy in a swing. 

After that wedding there was a long winter. I went to school, but Feldidn't. She looked so white that I supposed her mother was afraid shewould freeze. Miss Rubie was gone, and there were no lessons to learn;but Madam Allen didn't care for that; she said Fel was too sick tostudy. Whenever I didn't have to take care of the baby, I went to seeher; but that baby needed a great deal of care! For the first month ofher life I wanted to sit by her cradle, night and day, and not let anyone else come near her. The next month I was willing Ned should haveher half the time; and by the third month I cried because I had totake care of her at all. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

GOOD BY. 

It happened that she was a cross baby. It did not take her long toforget all about heaven. She liked to pull hair, and she liked toscratch faces; and no matter how much you trotted her up and down, shejust opened her toothless mouth and cried. 

"She's a wicked, awful baby!" exclaimed I, scowling at her till myeyes ached. 

"Div her a pill, _I_ would, " said Ned, laughing. He could laugh, forhe didn't have to sit and hold her, as I did. 

"Poor little thing isn't well, " said mother. 

"I don't 'spect she knows whether's she's well or not, " returned I, indisgust. "She just hates everybody, and that's what she's cryingabout. "

"You grieve me, Madge. I thought you loved this dear sister. "

"Well, I did; but I don't love her any more, and I don't ever want torock a baby that hates me so hard she can't keep her mouth shut. "

"You don't mean you are not glad God sent her? O, Madge!"

"Yes'm, that's what I mean. I'm real sorry he sent her, and I wishhe'd take her back again. "

Hasty, bitter speech! Even a child knows better than to talk sorecklessly. Next day, and for many days, those words came back to myheart like sharp knives. Little sister was very ill, and I knew by thelooks of people's faces that they thought she would cross the darkriver, on the other side of which stand the pearly gates. Mother sawme roving about the house, crying in corners, and sent me away to theAllens to stay all night. When I got there, Madam Allen took me rightup in her motherly arms, and tried to soothe me; but I refused to becomforted. 

"I thought baby looked a little better this morning, " said she. 

I shook my head. 

"Has baby grown any worse?"

"No'm. "

"Then why do you shake your head?"

"'Cause, " sobbed I, "'cause--"

And then, hiding behind her turban, I whispered, --

"O, if you tell God you want anything, is that a prayer?"

"Yes, dear, if you tell him you want little sister to get well, thatis a prayer. "

I moaned still more bitterly at these words, and slid out of her lap. 

"Why, what is it, darling?"

"I can't tell you, " said I; "I can't, I can't. There isn't anybody inthis world I can tell but just Fel. "

Then Madam Allen went out of the room, and left us two little girlsalone. 

"O, Fel, " said I, as soon as my sobs would let me speak, "I said Iwished God would take my little sister back again. "

Fel looked very much shocked. 

"And O, I'm afraid it was a truly prayer, and God 'll do it. "

"No, I guess it wasn't a truly prayer, Madge. "

"What makes you think it wasn't?" cried I, eagerly, for I supposed shemust know. 

"Wasn't you mad when you said it?"

"Yes, very. She made that long scratch on my nose, and I was verymad. "

"She did dig awful deep; I don't wonder you felt bad, " said Fel, soothingly. "But you didn't want her to die, any more'n anything; nowdid you?"

"No, O, no!"

"Well, then, if you didn't want her to die, God knows you didn't; forhe knows everything, don't he?"

"Yes, yes. "

"And so it wasn't a truly prayer, " added Fel, positively. 

"And won't he answer it?"

"Why, what you 'spose? Of course not, Madge. "

She seemed to feel so clear upon the subject, that I began to breathemore freely. O, it was everything to have such a wise little friend!

"But I oughtn't to said it, Fel! O, dear! What s'pose made me? _You_never say bad things, never!"

Fel thought a moment, and then answered, as she looked at me with herclear, happy eyes, --

"Well, you have lots of things to plague you, Madge; but I don't. Everybody's real good to me, because I'm sick. "

I looked at her, and began to cry again. My little heart had beenstirred to its very depths, and I could not bear to have her speak ofbeing sick. 

"Now, Fel Allen, " said I, "you don't s'pose you're going to die 'foreI do? I can't live 'thout you! If you die, I'll die too. "

"Why, I never said a thing about dying, " returned Fel, in surprise. 

"Well, you won't never leave me, will you? Say you won't never! Justthink of you up in heaven and me down here. I can't bear it!"

"Why, Madge. "

"Well, if you should go up to heaven first, Fel, you'd sit there onthose steps, with a harp in your hand, and think about me; how I saidcross things to you. "

"Why, what cross things did ever you say to me, Madge Parlin?"

"There, there, " cried I, smiling through my tears, and beginning todance; "_have_ you forgot? O, that's nice! Why, Fel, I called you alie-girl. "

"O, well, I don't care if you did. I wasn't, _was_ I?"

"And I called you a borrow-girl, too. And I drowned you, and I--I--"

"I wish you'd stop talking about that, " said Fel, "or you'll make mecry; for you're just the nicest girl. And who cares if you do scoldsometimes? Why, it's just in fun, and I like to hear you. "

Now, Dotty Dimple, I declare to you that this conversation is sweeterto my memory than "a nest of nightingales. " Naughty as I was, Feldidn't know I was naughty!

When I went home next morning, the little Louise was much better, andin a few days seemed as well as ever. I was very thankful God knew Iwas not in earnest, and had not taken me at my word, and called herback to heaven. 

She was never quite as cross from that time, and I had many happyhours with her, though, as I told Fel, --

"She's cross _enough_ now, and sometimes seems 's if I couldn'tforgive her; but I always do; I don't dass not to!"

I was not required to hold her very much, for Fel was not well, andwanted me with her half the time. Mother was always willing I shouldgo, and never said, --

"Don't you think you ought to be pacifying the baby?"

I never dreamed that Fel was really sick. I only knew she grew sweeterevery day, and clung to me more and more. I had stopped teasing herlong ago, and tried to make her happy. I couldn't have said a crossword to her that winter any more than I could have crushed a whitebutterfly. 

One day I was going to see her, with some jelly in my little basket, when "the Polly woman" walked mournfully into the yard. 

"I've just come from Squire Allen's, " said she, unfastening hershawl, and sighing three times, --once for every pin. 

"And how is Fel?" asked mother. 

Polly slowly shook her head, --

"Very low; I--"

Mother looked at her, and then at me; and I looked at her, and then atPolly. 

"Dr. Foster says her brain has always been too active, and--"

"Madge, you'd better run along, " said mother. "The baby's asleep now;but she'll wake up and want you. "

I went with a new thought and a new fear, though I did not know what Ithought or what I feared. 

When I reached Squire Allen's, Ann Smiley came down the path to meetme. 

I asked, "_Is_ Fel very low? Polly said so. "

And she answered, --

"Why, no, indeed; she is as well as common. Polly is so queer. "

I went into the house, and Madam Allen drew me close to her, andsaid, --

"Bless you, child, for coming here to cheer our little darling. "

When she set me down, I saw she had been crying. I had never seen herwith red eyes before. 

"You and Fel may stay in the warm sitting-room, " said she; "and Annshall carry in some sponge cake and currant shrub, for Fel hardlytasted her dinner. "

I remember how Fel clapped her hands, and smiled to see me; and howAnn brought the cake into the sitting-room, and drew up a little tablebefore the fire. We sat and played keep house, and sipped currantshrub out of some silver goblets which had crossed the ocean. 

It is a beautiful picture I am seeing now, as I shut my eyes: Fel, with that lovely smile on her face, as if some one were whisperingpleasant things in her ear. 

"I love you so, and it's so nice;" said I. 

Gust came in, and she took his hand and patted it. 

"Yes, " said she; "I love you and Gust, and it is nice; but we'll havenicer times when we get to heaven, you know. "

Gust gave her one little hug, and rushed out of the room. Then Iremember throwing myself on the rug and crying; for there was an acheat my heart, though I could not tell why. 

Grandpa Harrington came in, and began to poke the fire. 

"Well, well, " said he; "its hard for one to be taken and the otherleft, so it is. But Jesus blessed little children; and I wouldn't cry, my dear. "

That was the last time I ever played with Fel. She grew feverish thatnight, and the doctor said she must not see any one. Something was thematter with her head, and she did not know people. I heard she had"water on the brain, " and wondered if they put it on to make it feelcool. 

There, children, I do not like to talk about it. It was all over inthree short weeks, and then the angels called for Fel. She was "taken"and I was "left, " and it seemed "very hard. " I grieved for a longwhile, and wanted to go too; but Madam Allen said, --

"You are all the little girl I have now to take in my arms. Don't youwant to stay in this world to make Fel's mother happy?"

"Yes, " said I; "I do. "

And my own mamma said, --

"The baby needs you, too. See, she has learned to hold her hands toyou!"

They all tried to comfort me, and by and by I felt happy again. I amtold that the loss of my dear little friend made me a different child. I grew more kind and gentle in my ways, more thoughtful of otherpeople. Not very good, by any means, but trying harder to be good. 

Well, I believe this is all I have to tell you of my little days, forvery soon I began to be a large girl. 

I am leaving off at a sad place, do you say, Prudy? Why, I don't thinkso. To me it is the most beautiful part of all. Just think of my dearlittle friend growing up to womanhood in heaven! I ought to be willingto spare her. O, yes!

She was always better than I, and what must she be now? It wouldfrighten me to think of that, only she never knew she was good, andhad such a way of not seeing the badness in me. 

I shall never forget my darling Fel, and I think she will remember meif I should live to be very old. Yes, I do believe she loves me still, and is waiting for me, and will be very glad to see me when I go tothe Summer Land. 

Here is a lock of her hair, Fly. You see it is a beautiful goldenbrown, and as soft as your own. A certain poet says, --

 "There seems a love in hair, though it be dead. "

And that is why I shall always keep this little tress. 

Now kiss me, dears, and we will all go to the study, and see whatuncle Gustus is doing. 

Yes, Fly, I did like your uncle Gustus, because he was Fel's brother. Well, --I don't know--yes, dear, --perhaps that _was_ part of one littlereason why I married him.