THE BROWNIES

AND OTHER TALES. 

BY

JULIANA HORATIA EWING. 

LONDON:

SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W. C. 

NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO. 

[Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee. ]

DEDICATED

TO

MY VERY DEAR AND HONOURED MOTHER. 

J. H. E. 

1871. 

CONTENTS. 

THE BROWNIES

THE LAND OF LOST TOYS

THREE CHRISTMAS TREES

AN IDYLL OF THE WOOD

CHRISTMAS CRACKERS

AMELIA AND THE DWARFS

THE BROWNIES. 

A little girl sat sewing and crying on a garden seat. She had fairfloating hair, which the breeze blew into her eyes, and between thecloud of hair, and the mist of tears, she could not see her work veryclearly. She neither tied up her locks, nor dried her eyes, however;for when one is miserable, one may as well be completely so. 

"What is the matter?" said the Doctor, who was a friend of theRector's, and came into the garden whenever he pleased. 

The Doctor was a tall stout man, with hair as black as crow's featherson the top, and grey underneath, and a bushy beard. When young, he hadbeen slim and handsome, with wonderful eyes, which were wonderfulstill; but that was many years past. He had a great love for children, and this one was a particular friend of his. 

"What is the matter?" said he. 

"I'm in a row, " murmured the young lady through her veil; and theneedle went in damp, and came out with a jerk, which is apt to resultin what ladies called "puckering. "

"You are like London in a yellow fog, " said the Doctor, throwinghimself on to the grass, "and it is very depressing to my feelings. What is the row about, and how came you to get into it?"

"We're all in it, " was the reply; and apparently the fog wasthickening, for the voice grew less and less distinct--"the boys andeverybody. It's all about forgetting, and not putting away, and leavingabout, and borrowing, and breaking, and that sort of thing. I've hadFather's new pocket-handkerchiefs to hem, and I've been out climbingwith the boys, and kept forgetting and forgetting, and Mother says Ialways forget; and I can't help it. I forget to tidy his newspapers forhim, and I forget to feed Puss, and I forgot these; besides, they're agreat bore, and Mother gave them to Nurse to do, and this one was lost, and we found it this morning tossing about in the toy-cupboard. "

"It looks as if it had been taking violent exercise, " said the Doctor. "But what have the boys to do with it?"

"Why, then there was a regular turn out of the toys, " she explained, "and they're all in a regular mess. You know, we always go on till thelast minute, and then things get crammed in anyhow. Mary and I did tidythem once or twice; but the boys never put anything away, you know, sowhat's the good?"

"What, indeed!" said the Doctor. "And so you have complained of them?"

"Oh! no!" answered she. "We don't get them into rows, unless they arevery provoking; but some of the things were theirs, so everybody wassent for, and I was sent out to finish this, and they are all tidying. I don't know when it will be done, for I have all this side to hem; andthe soldiers' box is broken, and Noah is lost out of the Noah's Ark, and so is one of the elephants and a guinea-pig, and so is therocking-horse's nose; and nobody knows what has become of Rutlandshireand the Wash, but they're so small, I don't wonder; only North Americaand Europe are gone too. "

The Doctor started up in affected horror. "Europe gone, did you say?Bless me! what will become of us!"

"Don't!" said the young lady, kicking petulantly with her danglingfeet, and trying not to laugh. "You know I mean the puzzles; and ifthey were yours, you wouldn't like it. "

"I don't half like it as it is, " said the Doctor. "I am seriouslyalarmed. An earthquake is one thing; you have a good shaking, andsettle down again. But Europe gone--lost--Why, here comes Deordie, Ideclare, looking much more cheerful than we do; let us humbly hope thatEurope has been found. At present I feel like Aladdin when his palacehad been transported by the magician; I don't know where I am. "

"You're here, Doctor; aren't you?" asked the slow curly-wigged brother, squatting himself on the grass. 

"_Is_ Europe found?" said the Doctor tragically. 

"Yes, " laughed Deordie. "I found it. "

"You will be a great man, " said the Doctor. "And--it is only commoncharity to ask--how about North America?"

"Found too, " said Deordie. "But the Wash is completely lost. "

"And my six shirts in it!" said the Doctor. "I sent them last Saturdayas ever was. What a world we live in! Any more news? Poor Tiny here hasbeen crying her eyes out. "

"I'm so sorry, Tiny, " said the brother. "But don't bother about it. It's all square now, and we're going to have a new shelf put up. "

"Have you found everything?" asked Tiny. 

"Well, not the Wash, you know. And the elephant and the guinea-pig aregone for good; so the other elephant and the other guinea-pig must walktogether as a pair now. Noah was among the soldiers, and we have putthe cavalry into a night-light box. Europe and North America werebehind the book-case; and, would you believe it? the rocking-horse'snose has turned up in the nursery oven. "

"I can't believe it, " said the Doctor. "The rocking-horse's nosecouldn't turn up, it was the purest Grecian, modelled from the Elginmarbles. Perhaps it was the heat that did it, though. However, you seemto have got through your troubles very well, Master Deordie. I wishpoor Tiny were at the end of her task. "

"So do I, " said Deordie ruefully. "But I tell you what I've beenthinking, Doctor. Nurse is always nagging at us, and we're always inrows of one sort or another, for doing this, and not doing that, andleaving our things about. But, you know, it's a horrid shame, for thereare plenty of servants, and I don't see why we should be alwaysbothering to do little things, and--"

"Oh! come to the point, please, " said the Doctor; "you do go round thesquare so, in telling your stories, Deordie. What have you beenthinking of?"

"Well, " said Deordie, who was as good-tempered as he was slow, "theother day Nurse shut me up in the back nursery for borrowing herscissors and losing them; but I'd got 'Grimm' inside one of myknickerbockers, so when she locked the door, I sat down to read. And Iread the story of the Shoemaker and the little Elves who came and didhis work for him before he got up; and I thought it would be so jollyif we had some little Elves to do things instead of us. "

"That's what Tommy Trout said, " observed the Doctor. 

"Who's Tommy Trout?" asked Deordie. 

"Don't you know, Deor?" said Tiny. "It's the good boy who pulled thecat out of the what's-his-name. 

 'Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Trout. '

Is it the same Tommy Trout, Doctor? I never heard anything else abouthim except his pulling the cat out; and I can't think how he did that. "

"Let down the bucket for her, of course, " said the Doctor. "But listento me. If you will get that handkerchief done, and take it to yourmother with a kiss, and not keep me waiting, I'll have you all to tea, and tell you the story of Tommy Trout. "

"This very night?" shouted Deordie. 

"This very night. "

"Every one of us?" inquired the young gentleman with rapturousincredulity. 

"Every one of you. --Now, Tiny, how about that work?"

"It's just done, " said Tiny. --"Oh! Deordie, climb up behind, and holdback my hair, there's a darling, while I fasten off. Oh! Deor, you'repulling my hair out. Don't. "

"I want to make a pig-tail, " said Deor. 

"You can't, " said Tiny, with feminine contempt. "You can't plait. What's the good of asking boys to do anything? There! it's done atlast. Now go and ask Mother if we may go. --Will you let me come, Doctor, " she inquired, "if I do as you said?"

"To be sure I will, " he answered. "Let me look at you. Your eyes areswollen with crying. How can you be such a silly little goose?"

"Did you never cry?" asked Tiny. 

"When I was your age? Well, perhaps so. "

"You've never cried since, surely, " said Tiny. 

The Doctor absolutely blushed. 

"What do you think?" said he. 

"Oh, of course not, " she answered. "You've nothing to cry about. You'regrown up, and you live all alone in a beautiful house, and you do asyou like, and never get into rows, or have anybody but yourself tothink about; and no nasty pocket-handkerchiefs to hem. "

"Very nice; eh, Deordie?" said the Doctor. 

"Awfully jolly, " said Deordie. 

"Nothing else to wish for, eh?"

"_I_ should keep harriers, and not a poodle, if I were a man, " saidDeordie; "but I suppose you could, if you wanted to. "

"Nothing to cry about, at any rate?"

"I should think not!" said Deordie. --"There's Mother, though; let's goand ask her about the tea;" and off they ran. 

The Doctor stretched his six feet of length upon the sward, dropped hisgrey head on a little heap of newly-mown grass, and looked up into thesky. 

"Awfully jolly--no nasty pocket-handkerchiefs to hem, " said he, laughing to himself. "Nothing else to wish for; nothing to cry about. "

Nevertheless, he lay still, staring at the sky, till the smile diedaway, and tears came into his eyes. Fortunately, no one was there tosee. 

What could this "awfully jolly" Doctor be thinking of to make him cry?He was thinking of a grave-stone in the churchyard close by, and of astory connected with this grave-stone which was known to everybody inthe place who was old enough to remember it. This story has nothing todo with the present story, so it ought not to be told. 

And yet it has to do with the Doctor, and is veryshort, so it shall be put in, after all. 

THE STORY OF A GRAVE-STONE. 

One early spring morning, about twenty years before, a man going to hiswork at sunrise through the churchyard, stopped by a flat stone whichhe had lately helped to lay down. The day before, a name had been cuton it, which he stayed to read; and below the name some one hadscrawled a few words in pencil, which he read also--_Pitifully beholdthe sorrows of our hearts_. On the stone lay a pencil, and a few feetfrom it lay the Doctor, face downwards, as he had lain all night, withthe hoar frost on his black hair. 

Ah! these grave-stones (they were ugly things in those days; not thelight, hopeful, pretty crosses we set up now), how they seemremorselessly to imprison and keep our dear dead friends away from us!And yet they do not lie with a feather's weight upon the souls that aregone, while GOD only knows how heavily they press upon the souls thatare left behind. Did the spirit whose body was with the dead, standthat morning by the body whose spirit was with the dead, and pity him?Let us only talk about what we know. 

After this it was said that the Doctor had got a fever, and was dying, but he got better of it; and then that he was out of his mind, but hegot better of that, and came out looking much as usual, except that hishair never seemed quite so black again, as if a little of that night'shoar frost still remained. And no further misfortune happened to himthat I ever heard of; and as time went on he grew a beard, and gotstout, and kept a German poodle, and gave tea-parties to other people'schildren. As to the grave-stone story, whatever it was to him at theend of twenty years, it was a great convenience to his friends; forwhen he said anything they didn't agree with, or did anything theycouldn't understand, or didn't say or do what was expected of him, whatcould be easier or more conclusive than to shake one's head and say, "The fact is, our Doctor has been a little odd, _ever since_--!"

THE DOCTOR'S TEA-PARTY. 

There is one great advantage attendant upon invitations to tea with adoctor. No objections can be raised on the score of health. It isobvious that it must be fine enough to go out when the Doctor asks you, and that his tea-cakes may be eaten with perfect impunity. 

Those tea-cakes were always good; to-night they were utterly delicious;there was a perfect _abandon_ of currants, and the amount of citronpeel was enervating to behold. Then the housekeeper waited in awfulsplendour, and yet the Doctor's authority over her seemed as absoluteas if he were an Eastern despot. Deordie must be excused for believingin the charms of living alone. It certainly has its advantages. Thelimited sphere of duty conduces to discipline in the household, demanddoes not exceed supply in the article of waiting, and there is not thatgeneral scrimmage of conflicting interests which besets a large familyin the most favoured circumstances. The housekeeper waits in black silk, and looks as if she had no meaner occupation than to sit in arocking-chair, and dream of damson cheese. 

Rustling, hospitable, and subservient, this one retired at last, and--

"Now, " said the Doctor, "for the verandah; and to look at the moon. "

The company adjourned with a rush, the rear being brought up by thepoodle, who seemed quite used to the proceedings; and there under theverandah, framed with passion-flowers and geraniums, the Doctor hadgathered mats, rugs, cushions, and arm-chairs, for the party; while farup in the sky, a yellow-faced harvest moon looked down in awfulbenignity. 

"Now!" said the Doctor. "Take your seats. Ladies first, and gentlemenafterwards. Mary and Tiny, race for the American rocking-chair. Welldone! Of course it will hold both. Now, boys, shake down. No one is tosit on the stone, or put his feet on the grass: and when you're ready, I'll begin. "

"We're ready, " said the girls. 

The boys shook down in a few minutes more, and the Doctor began thestory of

"THE BROWNIES. "

"Bairns are a burden, " said the Tailor to himself as he sat at work. Helived in a village on some of the glorious moors of the north ofEngland; and by bairns he meant children, as every Northman knows. 

"Bairns are a burden, " and he sighed. 

"Bairns are a blessing, " said the old lady in the window. "It is thefamily motto. The Trouts have had large families and good luck forgenerations; that is, till your grandfather's time. He had one onlyson. I married him. He was a good husband, but he had been a spoiltchild. He had always been used to be waited upon, and he couldn't fashto look after the farm when it was his own. We had six children. Theyare all dead but you, who were the youngest. You were bound to atailor. When the farm came into your hands, your wife died, and youhave never looked up since. The land is sold now, but not the house. No! no! you're right enough there; but you've had your troubles, sonThomas, and the lads _are_ idle!"

It was the Tailor's mother who spoke. She was a very old woman, andhelpless. She was not quite so bright in her intellect as she had been, and got muddled over things that had lately happened; but she had aclear memory for what was long past, and was very pertinacious in heropinions. She knew the private history of almost every family in theplace, and who of the Trouts were buried under which old stones in thechurchyard; and had more tales of ghosts, doubles, warnings, fairies, witches, hobgoblins, and such like, than even her grandchildren hadever come to the end of. Her hands trembled with age, and she regrettedthis for nothing more than for the danger it brought her into ofspilling the salt. She was past housework, but all day she sat knittinghearth-rugs out of the bits and scraps of cloth that were shred in thetailoring. How far she believed in the wonderful tales she told, andthe odd little charms she practised, no one exactly knew; but the oldershe grew, the stranger were the things she remembered, and the moretesty she was if any one doubted their truth. "Bairns are a blessing!"said she. "It is the family motto. "

"_Are they_?" said the Tailor emphatically. 

He had a high respect for his mother, and did not like to contradicther, but he held his own opinion, based upon personal experience; andnot being a metaphysician, did not understand that it is safer to foundopinions on principles than on experience, since experience may alter, but principles cannot. 

"Look at Tommy, " he broke out suddenly. "That boy does nothing butwhittle sticks from morning till night. I have almost to lug him out ofbed o' mornings. If I send him an errand, he loiters; I'd better havegone myself. If I set him to do anything, I have to tell himeverything; I could sooner do it myself. And if he does work, it's doneso unwillingly, with such a poor grace; better, far better, to do itmyself. What housework do the boys ever do but looking after the baby?And this afternoon she was asleep in the cradle, and off they went, andwhen she awoke, _I_ must leave my work to take her. _I_ gave her hersupper, and put her to bed. And what with what they want and I have toget, and what they take out to play with and lose, and what they bringin to play with and leave about, bairns give some trouble, Mother, andI've not an easy life of it. The pay is poor enough when one can getthe work, and the work is hard enough when one has a clear day to do itin; but housekeeping and bairn-minding don't leave a man much time forhis trade. No! no! Ma'am, the luck of the Trouts is gone, and 'Bairnsare a burden, ' is the motto now. Though they are one's own, " he mutteredto himself, "and not bad ones, and I did hope once would have been ablessing. "

"There's Johnnie, " murmured the old lady, dreamily. "He has a face likean apple. "

"And is about as useful, " said the Tailor. "He might have beendifferent, but his brother leads him by the nose. "

His brother led him in as the Tailor spoke, not literally by his snub, though, but by the hand. They were a handsome pair, this lazy couple. Johnnie especially had the largest and roundest of foreheads, thereddest of cheeks, the brightest of eyes, the quaintest and mosttwitchy of chins, and looked altogether like a gutta-percha cherub in achronic state of longitudinal squeeze. They were locked together by twogrubby paws, and had each an armful of moss, which they deposited onthe floor as they came in. 

"I've swept this floor once to-day, " said the father, "and I'm notgoing to do it again. Put that rubbish outside. " "Move it, Johnnie!"said his brother, seating himself on a stool, and taking out his knifeand a piece of wood, at which he cut and sliced; while theapple-cheeked Johnnie stumbled and stamped over the moss, and scrapedit out on the doorstep, leaving long trails of earth behind him, andthen sat down also. 

"And those chips the same, " added the Tailor; "I will _not_ clear up thelitter you lads make. "

"Pick 'em up, Johnnie, " said Thomas Trout, junior, with an exasperatedsigh; and the apple tumbled up, rolled after the flying chips, andtumbled down again. 

"Is there any supper, Father?" asked Tommy. 

"No, there is not, Sir, unless you know how to get it, " said theTailor; and taking his pipe, he went out of the house. 

"Is there really nothing to eat, Granny?" asked the boy. 

"No, my bairn, only some bread for breakfast to-morrow. "

"What makes Father so cross, Granny?"

"He's wearied, and you don't help him, my dear. "

"What could I do, Grandmother?"

"Many little things, if you tried, " said the old lady. "He spenthalf-an-hour to-day, while you were on the moor, getting turf for thefire, and you could have got it just as well, and he been at his work. "

"He never told me, " said Tommy. 

"You might help me a bit just now, if you would, my laddie, " said theold lady coaxingly; "these bits of cloth want tearing into lengths, andif you get 'em ready, I can go on knitting. There'll be some food whenthis mat is done and sold. "

"I'll try, " said Tommy, lounging up with desperate resignation. "Holdmy knife, Johnnie. Father's been cross, and everything has beenmiserable, ever since the farm was sold. I wish I were a big man, andcould make a fortune. --Will that do, Granny?"

The old lady put down her knitting and looked. "My dear, that's tooshort. Bless me! I gave the lad a piece to measure by. "

"I thought it was the same length. Oh, dear! I am so tired;" and hepropped himself against the old lady's chair. 

"My dear! don't lean so; you'll tipple me over!" she shrieked. 

"I beg your pardon, Grandmother. Will _that_ do?"

"It's that much too long. "

"Tear that bit off. Now it's all right. "

"But, my dear, that wastes it. Now that bit is of no use. There goes myknitting, you awkward lad!"

"Johnnie, pick it up!--Oh! Grandmother, I _am_ so hungry. " The boy'seyes filled with tears, and the old lady was melted in aninstant. 

"What can I do for you, my poor bairns?" said she. "There, never mindthe scraps, Tommy. "

"Tell us a tale, Granny. If you told us a new one, I shouldn't keepthinking of that bread in the cupboard. --Come, Johnnie, and sit againstme. Now then!"

"I doubt if there's one of my old-world cracks I haven't told you, "said the old lady, "unless it's a queer ghost story was told me yearsago of that house in the hollow with the blocked-up windows. "

"Oh! not ghosts!" Tommy broke in; "we've had so many. I know it was arattling, or a scratching, or a knocking, or a figure in white; and ifit turns out a tombstone or a white petticoat, I hate it. "

"It was nothing of the sort as a tombstone, " said the old lady withdignity. "It's a good half-mile from the churchyard. And as to whitepetticoats, there wasn't a female in the house; he wouldn't have one;and his victuals came in by the pantry window. But never mind! Thoughit's as true as a sermon. "

Johnnie lifted his head from his brother's knee. 

"Let Granny tell what she likes, Tommy. It's a new ghost, and I shouldlike to know who he was, and why his victuals came in by the window. "

"I don't like a story about victuals, " sulked Tommy. "It makes me thinkof the bread. O Granny dear! do tell us a fairy story. You never willtell us about the Fairies, and I know you know. "

"Hush! hush!" said the old lady. "There's Miss Surbiton's Love-letter, and her Dreadful End. "

"I know Miss Surbiton, Granny. I think she was a goose. Why don't youtell us about the Fairies?"

"Hush! hush! my dear. There's the Clerk and the Corpse-candles. "

"I know the Corpse-candles, Granny. Besides, they make Johnnie dream, and he wakes me to keep him company. _Why_ won't you tell us aboutthe Fairies?"

"My dear, they don't like it, " said the old lady. 

"O Granny dear, why don't they? Do tell! I shouldn't think of the breada bit, if you told us about the Fairies. I know nothing about them. "

"He lived in this house long enough, " said the old lady. "But it's notlucky to name him. "

"O Granny, we are so hungry and miserable, what can it matter?"

"Well, that's true enough, " she sighed. "Trout's luck is gone; it wentwith the Brownie, I believe. "

"Was that _he_, Granny?"

"Yes, my dear, he lived with the Trouts for several generations. "

"What was he like, Granny?"

"Like a little man, they say, my dear. "

"What did he do?"

"He came in before the family were up, and swept up the hearth, andlighted the fire, and set out the breakfast, and tidied the room, anddid all sorts of house-work. But he never would be seen, and was offbefore they could catch him. But they could hear him laughing andplaying about the house sometimes. "

"What a darling! Did they give him any wages, Granny?"

"No! my dear. He did it for love. They set a pancheon of clear waterfor him over night, and now and then a bowl of bread-and-milk, orcream. He liked that, for he was very dainty. Sometimes he left a bitof money in the water. Sometimes he weeded the garden, or threshed thecorn. He saved endless trouble, both to men and maids. "

"O Granny! why did he go?"

"The maids caught sight of him one night, my dear, and his coat was soragged, that they got a new suit, and a linen shirt for him, and laidthem by the bread-and-milk bowl. But when Brownie saw the things, heput them on, and dancing round the kitchen, sang, 'What have we here? Hemten hamten! Here will I never more tread nor stampen, '

and so danced through the door, and never came back again. "

"O Grandmother! But why not? Didn't he like the new clothes?"

"The Old Owl knows, my dear; I don't. "

"Who's the Old Owl, Granny?"

"I don't exactly know, my dear. It's what my mother used to say when weasked anything that puzzled her. It was said that the Old Owl was NannyBesom (a witch, my dear!), who took the shape of a bird, but couldn'tchange her voice, and that's why the owl sits silent all day for fearshe should betray herself by speaking, and has no singing voice likeother birds. Many people used to go and consult the Old Owl atmoon-rise, in my young days. "

"Did you ever go, Granny?"

"Once, very nearly, my dear. "

"Oh! tell us, Granny dear. --There are no Corpse-candles, Johnnie; it'sonly moonlight, " he added consolingly, as Johnnie crept closer to hisknee, and pricked his little red ears. 

"It was when your grandfather was courting me, my dears, " said the oldlady, "and I couldn't quite make up my mind. So I went to my mother, and said, 'He's this on the one side, but then he's that on the other, and so on. Shall I say yes or no?' And my mother said, 'The Old Owlknows;' for she was fairly puzzled. So says I, 'I'll go and ask herto-night, as sure as the moon rises. '

"So at moon-rise I went, and there in the white light by the gate stoodyour grandfather. 'What are you doing here at this time o' night?' saysI. 'Watching your window, ' says he. 'What are _you_ doing here at thistime o' night?' 'The Old Owl knows, ' said I, and burst outcrying. "

"What for?" said Johnnie. 

"I can't rightly tell you, my dear, " said the old lady, "but it gave mesuch a turn to see him. And without more ado your grandfather kissedme. 'How dare you?' said I. 'What do you mean?' 'The Old Owl knows, 'said he. So we never went. "

"How stupid!" said Tommy. 

"Tell us more about Brownie, please, " said Johnnie, "Did he ever livewith anybody else?"

"There are plenty of Brownies, " said the old lady, "or used to be in mymother's young days. Some houses had several. " "Oh! I wish ours wouldcome back!" cried both the boys in chorus. "He'd--

"tidy the room, " said Johnnie;

"fetch the turf, " said Tommy;

"pick up the chips, " said Johnnie;

"sort your scraps, " said Tommy;

"and do everything. Oh! I wish he hadn't gone away. "

"What's that?" said the Tailor, coming in at this moment. 

"It's the Brownie, Father, " said Tommy. "We are so sorry he went, anddo so wish we had one. "

"What nonsense have you been telling them, Mother?" asked the Tailor. 

"Heighty teighty, " said the old lady, bristling. "Nonsense, indeed! Asgood men as you, son Thomas, would as soon have jumped off the crags, as spoken lightly of _them_, in my mother's young days. "

"Well, well, " said the Tailor, "I beg their pardon. They never didaught for me, whatever they did for my forbears; but they're as welcometo the old place as ever, if they choose to come. There's plenty todo. "

"Would you mind our setting a pan of water, Father?" asked Tommy verygently. "There's no bread-and-milk. "

"You may set what you like, my lad, " said the Tailor; "and I wish therewere bread-and-milk for your sakes, bairns. You should have it, had Igot it. But go to bed now. "

They lugged out a pancheon, and filled it with more dexterity thanusual, and then went off to bed, leaving the knife in one corner, thewood in another, and a few splashes of water in their track. 

There was more room than comfort in the ruined old farm-house, and thetwo boys slept on a bed of cut heather, in what had been the oldmalt-loft. Johnnie was soon in the land of dreams, growing rosier androsier as he slept, a tumbled apple among the grey heather. But not solazy Tommy. The idea of a domesticated Brownie had taken fullpossession of his mind; and whither Brownie had gone, where he might befound, and what would induce him to return, were mysteries he longed tosolve. "There's an owl living in the old shed by the mere, " he thought. "It may be the Old Owl herself, and she knows, Granny says. WhenFather's gone to bed, and the moon rises, I'll go. " Meanwhile he laydown. 

 * * * * *

The moon rose like gold, and went up into the heavens like silver, flooding the moors with a pale ghostly light, taking the colour out ofthe heather, and painting black shadows under the stone walls. Tommyopened his eyes, and ran to the window. "The moon has risen, " said he, and crept softly down the ladder, through the kitchen, where was thepan of water, but no Brownie, and so out on to the moor. The air wasfresh, not to say chilly; but it was a glorious night, thougheverything but the wind and Tommy seemed asleep. The stones, the walls, the gleaming lanes, were so intensely still; the church tower in thevalley seemed awake and watching, but silent; the houses in the villageround it had all their eyes shut, that is, their window-blinds down;and it seemed to Tommy as if the very moors had drawn white sheets overthem, and lay sleeping also. 

"Hoot! hoot!" said a voice from the fir plantation behind him. Somebodyelse was awake, then. "It's the Old Owl, " said Tommy; and there shecame, swinging heavily across the moor with a flapping stately flight, and sailed into the shed by the mere. The old lady moved faster thanshe seemed to do, and though Tommy ran hard she was in the shed sometime before him. When he got in, no bird was to be seen, but he heard acrunching sound from above, and looking up, there sat the Old Owl, pecking and tearing and munching at some shapeless black object, andblinking at him--Tommy--with yellow eyes. 

"Oh dear!" said Tommy, for he didn't much like it. 

The Old Owl dropped the black mass on to the floor; and Tommy did notcare somehow to examine it. 

"Come up! come up!" said she hoarsely. 

She could speak, then! Beyond all doubt it was _the_ Old Owl, and noneother. Tommy shuddered. 

"Come up here! come up here!" said the Old Owl. 

The Old Owl sat on a beam that ran across the shed. Tommy had oftenclimbed up for fun; and he climbed up now, and sat face to face withher, and thought her eyes looked as if they were made of flame. 

"Kiss my fluffy face, " said the Owl. 

Her eyes were going round like flaming catherine wheels, but there arecertain requests which one has not the option of refusing. Tommy creptnearer, and put his lips to the round face out of which the eyes shone. Oh! it was so downy and warm, so soft, so indescribably soft. Tommy'slips sank into it, and couldn't get to the bottom. It was unfathomablefeathers and fluffiness. 

"Now, what do you want?" said the Owl. 

"Please, " said Tommy, who felt rather re-assured, "can you tell mewhere to find the Brownies, and how to get one to come and live withus?"

"Oohoo!" said the Owl, "that's it, is it? I know of three Brownies. "

"Hurrah!" said Tommy. "Where do they live?"

"In your house, " said the Owl. 

Tommy was aghast. 

"In our house!" he exclaimed. "Whereabouts? Let me rummage them out. Why do they do nothing?"

"One of them is too young, " said the Owl. 

"But why don't the others work?" asked Tommy. 

"They are idle, they are idle, " said the Old Owl, and she gave herselfsuch a shake as she said it, that the fluff went flying through theshed, and Tommy nearly tumbled off the beam in his fright. 

"Then we don't want them, " said he. "What is the use of having Browniesif they do nothing to help us?"

"Perhaps they don't know how, as no one has told them, " said the Owl. 

"I wish you would tell me where to find them, " said Tommy; "I couldtell them. "

"Could you?" said the Owl. "Oohoo! oohoo!" and Tommy couldn't tellwhether she were hooting or laughing. 

"Of course I could, " he said. "They might be up and sweep the house, and light the fire, and spread the table, and that sort of thing, before Father came down. Besides, they could _see_ what was wanted. The Brownies did all that in Granny's mother's young days. And thenthey could tidy the room, and fetch the turf, and pick up my chips, and sort Granny's scraps. Oh! there's lots to do. "

"So there is, " said the Owl. "Oohoo! Well, I can tell you where to findone of the Brownies; and if you find him, he will tell you where hisbrother is. But all this depends upon whether you feel equal toundertaking it, and whether you will follow my directions. "

"I am quite ready to go, " said Tommy, "and I will do as you shall tellme. I feel sure I could persuade them. If they only knew how every onewould love them if they made themselves useful!"

"Oohoo! oohoo!" said the Owl. "Now pay attention. You must go to thenorth side of the mere when the moon is shining--('I know Brownies likewater, ' muttered Tommy)--and turn yourself round three times, sayingthis charm:

 'Twist me, and turn me, and show me the Elf-- I looked in the water, and saw--'

When you have got so far, look into the water, and at the same momentyou will see the Brownie, and think of a word that will fill up thecouplet, and rhyme with the first line. If either you do not see theBrownie, or fail to think of the word, it will be of no use. "

"Is the Brownie a merman, " said Tommy, wriggling himself along thebeam, "that he lives under water?"

"That depends on whether he has a fish's tail, " said the Owl, "and thisyou can discover for yourself. "

"Well, the moon is shining, so I shall go, " said Tommy. "Good-bye, andthank you, Ma'am;" and he jumped down and went, saying to himself as heran, "I believe he is a merman all the same, or else how could he livein the mere? I know more about Brownies than Granny does, and I shalltell her so;" for Tommy was somewhat opinionated, like other youngpeople. 

The moon shone very brightly on the centre of the mere. Tommy knew theplace well, for there was a fine echo there. Round the edge grew rushesand water plants, which cast a border of shadow. Tommy went to thenorth side, and turning himself three times, as the Old Owl had toldhim, he repeated the charm--

 "Twist me, and turn me, and show me the Elf-- I looked in the water, and saw--"

Now for it! He looked in, and saw--the reflection of his own face. 

"Why, there's no one but myself!" said Tommy. "And what can the wordbe? I must have done it wrong. "

"Wrong!" said the Echo. 

Tommy was almost surprised to find the echo awake at this time ofnight. 

"Hold your tongue!" said he. "Matters are provoking enough ofthemselves. Belf! Celf! Delf! Felf! Gelf! Helf! Jelf! What rubbish!There can't be a word to fit it. And then to look for a Brownie, andsee nothing but myself!"

"Myself, " said the Echo. 

"Will you be quiet?" said Tommy. "If you would tell one the word therewould be some sense in your interference; but to roar 'Myself!' at one, which neither rhymes nor runs--it does rhyme though, as it happens, " headded; "and how very odd! it runs too--

 'Twist me, and turn me, and show me the Elf-- I looked in the water, and saw myself, '

which I certainly did. What can it mean? The Old Owl knows, as Grannywould say; so I shall go back and ask her. "

"Ask her!" said the Echo. 

"Didn't I say I should?" said Tommy. "How exasperating you are! It isvery strange. _Myself_ certainly does rhyme, and I wonder I did notthink of it long ago. "

"Go, " said the Echo. 

"Will you mind your own business, and go to sleep?" said Tommy. "I amgoing; I said I should. "

And back he went. There sat the Old Owl as before. 

"Oohoo!" said she, as Tommy climbed up. "What did you see in the mere?"

"I saw nothing but myself, " said Tommy indignantly. 

"And what did you expect to see?" asked the Owl. 

"I expected to see a Brownie, " said Tommy; "you told me so. "

"And what are Brownies like, pray?" inquired the Owl. 

"The one Granny knew was a useful little fellow, something like alittle man, " said Tommy. 

"Ah!" said the Owl, "but you know at present this one is an idle littlefellow, something like a little man. Oohoo! oohoo! Are you quite sureyou didn't see him?"

"Quite, " answered Tommy sharply. "I saw no one but myself. "

"Hoot! toot! How touchy we are! And who are you, pray?"

"I'm not a Brownie, " said Tommy. 

"Don't be too sure, " said the Owl. "Did you find out the word?"

"No, " said Tommy. "I could find no word with any meaning that wouldrhyme but 'myself. '"

"Well, that runs and rhymes, " said the Owl. "What do you want? Where'syour brother now?"

"In bed in the malt-loft, " said Tommy. 

"Then now all your questions are answered, " said the Owl, "and you knowwhat wants doing, so go and do it. Good-night, or rather good-morning, for it is long past midnight;" and the old lady began to shake herfeathers for a start. 

"Don't go yet, please, " said Tommy humbly. "I don't understand it. Youknow I'm not a Brownie, am I?"

"Yes, you are, " said the Owl, "and a very idle one too. All childrenare Brownies. "

"But I couldn't do work like a Brownie, " said Tommy. 

"Why not?" inquired the Owl. "Couldn't you sweep the floor, light thefire, spread the table, tidy the room, fetch the turf, pick up your ownchips, and sort your grandmother's scraps? You know 'there's lots todo. '"

"But I don't think I should like it, " said Tommy. "I'd much rather havea Brownie to do it for me. "

"And what would you do meanwhile?" asked the Owl. "Be idle, I suppose;and what do you suppose is the use of a man's having children if theydo nothing to help him? Ah! if they only knew how every one would lovethem if they made themselves useful!"

"But is it really and truly so?" asked Tommy, in a dismal voice. "Arethere no Brownies but children?"

"No, there are not, " said the Owl. "And pray do you think that theBrownies, whoever they may be, come into the house to save trouble forthe idle healthy little boys who live in it? Listen to me, Tommy, " saidthe old lady, her eyes shooting rays of fire in the dark corner whereshe sat. "Listen to me, you are a clever boy, and can understand whenone speaks; so I will tell you the whole history of the Brownies, as ithas been handed down in our family from my grandmother'sgreat-grandmother, who lived in the Druid's Oak, and was intimate withthe fairies. And when I have done you shall tell me what you think theyare, if they are not children. It's the opinion I have come to at anyrate, and I don't think that wisdom died with our great-grandmothers. "

"I should like to hear if you please, " said Tommy. 

The Old Owl shook out a tuft or two of fluff, and set her eyes a-goingand began:

"The Brownies, or, as they are sometimes called, the Small Folk, theLittle People, or the Good People, are a race of tiny beings whodomesticate themselves in a house of which some grown-up human beingpays the rent and taxes. They are like small editions of men and women, they are too small and fragile for heavy work; they have not thestrength of a man, but are a thousand times more fresh and nimble. Theycan run and jump, and roll and tumble, with marvellous agility andendurance, and of many of the aches and pains which men and women groanunder, they do not even know the names. They have no trade orprofession, and as they live entirely upon other people, they knownothing of domestic cares; in fact, they know very little upon anysubject, though they are often intelligent and highly inquisitive. Theylove dainties, play, and mischief. They are apt to be greatly beloved, and are themselves capriciously affectionate. They are little people, and can only do little things. When they are idle and mischievous, theyare called Boggarts, and are a curse to the house they live in. Whenthey are useful and considerate, they are Brownies, and are amuch-coveted blessing. Sometimes the Blessed Brownies will take uptheir abode with some worthy couple, cheer them with their romps andmerry laughter, tidy the house, find things that have been lost, andtake little troubles out of hands full of great anxieties. Then in timethese Little People are Brownies no longer. They grow up into men andwomen. They do not care so much for dainties, play, or mischief. Theycease to jump and tumble, and roll about the house. They know more, andlaugh less. Then, when their heads begin to ache with anxiety, and theyhave to labour for their own living, and the great cares of life comeon, other Brownies come and live with them, and take up their littlecares, and supply their little comforts, and make the house merry oncemore. "

"How nice!" said Tommy. 

"Very nice, " said the Old Owl. "But what"--and she shook herself morefiercely than ever, and glared so that Tommy expected nothing less thanthat her eyes would set fire to her feathers and she would be burntalive. "But what must I say of the Boggarts? Those idle urchins who eatthe bread-and-milk, and don't do the work, who lie in bed without anache or pain to excuse them, who untidy instead of tidying, cause workinstead of doing it, and leave little cares to heap on big cares, tillthe old people who support them are worn out altogether. "

"Don't!" said Tommy. "I can't bear it. "

"I hope when Boggarts grow into men, " said the Old Owl, "that theirchildren will be Boggarts too, and then they'll know what it is!"

"Don't!" roared Tommy. "I won't be a Boggart. I'll be a Brownie. "

"That's right, " nodded the Old Owl. "I said you were a boy who couldunderstand when one spoke. And remember that the Brownies never areseen at their work. They get up before the household, and get awaybefore any one can see them. I can't tell you why. I don't think mygrandmother's great-grandmother knew. Perhaps because all good deedsare better done in secret. "

"Please, " said Tommy, "I should like to go home now, and tell Johnnie. It's getting cold, and I am so tired!"

"Very true, " said the Old Owl, "and then you will have to be up earlyto-morrow. I think I had better take you home. "

"I know the way, thank you, " said Tommy. 

"I didn't say _show_ you the way, I said _take_ you--carry you, " saidthe Owl. "Lean against me. "

"I'd rather not, thank you, " said Tommy. 

"Lean against me, " screamed the Owl. "Oohoo! how obstinate boys are tobe sure!"

Tommy crept up very unwillingly. 

"Lean your full weight, and shut your eyes, " said the Owl. 

Tommy laid his head against the Old Owl's feathers, had a vague ideathat she smelt of heather, and thought it must be from living on themoor, shut his eyes, and leant his full weight, expecting that he andthe Owl would certainly fall off the beam together. Down--feathers--fluff--he sank and sank, could feel nothing solid, jumped up with a start to save himself, opened his eyes, and found thathe was sitting among the heather in the malt-loft, with Johnniesleeping by his side. 

"How quickly we came!" said he; "that is certainly a very clever OldOwl. I couldn't have counted ten whilst my eyes were shut. How veryodd!"

But what was odder still was, that it was no longer moonlight, butearly dawn. 

"Get up, Johnnie, " said his brother, "I've got a story to tell you. "

And while Johnnie sat up, and rubbed his eyes open, he related hisadventures on the moor. 

"Is all that true?" said Johnnie. "I mean, did it really happen?"

"Of course it did, " said his brother; "don't you believe it?"

"Oh yes, " said Johnnie. "But I thought it was perhaps only a truestory, like Granny's true stories. I believe all those, you know. Butif you were there, you know, it is different--"

"I was there, " said Tommy, "and it's all just as I tell you: and I tellyou what, if we mean to do anything we must get up: though, oh dear! Ishould like to stay in bed. I say, " he added, after a pause, "supposewe do. It can't matter being Boggarts for one night more. I mean to bea Brownie before I grow up, though. I couldn't stand boggartychildren. "

"I won't be a Boggart at all, " said Johnnie, "it's horrid. But I don'tsee how we can be Brownies, for I'm afraid we can't do the things. Iwish I were bigger!"

"I can do it well enough, " said Tommy, following his brother's exampleand getting up. "Don't you suppose I can light a fire? Think of all thebonfires we have made! And I don't think I should mind having a regulargood tidy-up either. It's that stupidputting-away-things-when-you've-done-with-them that I hate so!"

The Brownies crept softly down the ladder and into the kitchen. Therewas the blank hearth, the dirty floor, and all the odds and ends lyingabout, looking cheerless enough in the dim light. Tommy felt quiteimportant as he looked round. There is no such cure for untidiness asclearing up after other people; one sees so clearly where the faultlies. 

"Look at that door-step, Johnnie, " said the Brownie-elect, "what a messyou made of it! If you had lifted the moss carefully, instead ofstamping and struggling with it, it would have saved us ten minutes'work this morning. "

This wisdom could not be gainsaid, and Johnnie only looked meek andrueful. 

"I am going to light the fire, " pursued his brother;--"the next turfs, you know, _we_ must get--you can tidy a bit. Look at that knife I gaveyou to hold last night, and that wood--that's my fault though, and soare those scraps by Granny's chair. What are you grubbing at thatrat-hole for?"

Johnnie raised his head somewhat flushed and tumbled. 

"What do you think I have found?" said he triumphantly. "Father'smeasure that has been lost for a week!"

"Hurrah!" said Tommy, "put it by his things. That's just a sort ofthing for a Brownie to have done. What will he say? And I say, Johnnie, when you've tidied, just go and grub up a potato or two in the garden, and I'll put them to roast for breakfast. I'm lighting such a bonfire!"

The fire was very successful. Johnnie went after the potatoes, andTommy cleaned the door-step, swept the room, dusted the chairs and theold chest, and set out the table. There was no doubt he could be handywhen he chose. 

"I'll tell you what I've thought of, if we have time, " said Johnnie, ashe washed the potatoes in the water that had been set for Brownie. "Wemight run down to the South Pasture for some mushrooms. Father said thereason we found so few was that people go by sunrise for them to taketo market. The sun's only just rising, we should be sure to find some, and they would do for breakfast. "

"There's plenty of time, " said Tommy; so they went. The dew lay heavyand thick upon the grass by the road-side, and over the miles ofnetwork that the spiders had woven from blossom to blossom of theheather. The dew is the Sun's breakfast; but he was barely up yet, andhad not eaten it, and the world felt anything but warm. Nevertheless, it was so sweet and fresh as it is at no later hour of the day, andevery sound was like the returning voice of a long-absent friend. Downto the pastures, where was more network and more dew, but when one hasnothing to speak of in the way of boots, the state of the ground is ofthe less consequence. 

The Tailor had been right, there was no lack of mushrooms at this timeof the morning. All over the pasture they stood, of all sizes, somelike buttons, some like tables; and in the distance one or two raggedwomen, stooping over them with baskets, looked like huge fungi also. 

"This is where the fairies feast, " said Tommy. "They had a large partylast night. When they go, they take away the dishes and cups, for theyare made of gold; but they leave their tables, and we eat them. "

"I wonder whether giants would like to eat our tables, " said Johnnie. 

This was beyond Tommy's capabilities of surmise; so they filled ahandkerchief, and hurried back again, for fear the Tailor should havecome down-stairs. 

They were depositing the last mushroom in a dish on the table, when hisfootsteps were heard descending. 

"There he is!" exclaimed Tommy. "Remember, we mustn't be caught. Runback to bed. "

Johnnie caught up the handkerchief, and smothering their laughter, thetwo scrambled back up the ladder, and dashed straight into the heather. 

Meanwhile the poor Tailor came wearily down-stairs. Day after day, since his wife's death, he had come down every morning to the samedesolate sight--yesterday's refuse and an empty hearth. This morningtask of tidying was always a sad and ungrateful one to the widowedfather. His awkward struggles with the house-work in which _she_had been so notable, chafed him. The dirty kitchen was dreary, thelabour lonely, and it was an hour's time lost to his trade. But lifedoes not stand still while one is wishing, and so the Tailor did thatfor which there was neither remedy nor substitute; and came down thismorning as other mornings to the pail and broom. When he came in helooked round, and started, and rubbed his eyes; looked round again, and rubbed them harder: then went up to the fire and held out his hand, (warm certainly)--then up to the table and smelt the mushrooms, (esculent fungi beyond a doubt)--handled the loaf, stared at the opendoor and window, the swept floor, and the sunshine pouring in, andfinally sat down in stunned admiration. Then he jumped up and ran tothe foot of the stairs, shouting, "Mother! mother! Trout's luck has come again. " "And yet, no!" hethought, "the old lady's asleep, it's a shame to wake her, I'll tellthose idle rascally lads, they'll be more pleased than they deserve. Itwas Tommy after all that set the water and caught him. " "Boys! boys!"he shouted at the foot of the ladder, "the Brownie has come!--and if hehasn't found my measure!" he added on returning to the kitchen; "thisis as good as a day's work to me. "

There was great excitement in the small household that day. The boyskept their own counsel. The old Grandmother was triumphant, and triednot to seem surprised. The Tailor made no such vain effort, andremained till bed-time in a state of fresh and unconcealed amazement. 

"I've often heard of the Good People, " he broke out towards the end ofthe evening. "And I've heard folk say they've known those that haveseen them capering round the grey rocks on the moor at midnight: butthis is wonderful! To come and do the work for a pan of cold water! Whocould have believed it?"

"You might have believed it if you'd believed me, son Thomas, " said theold lady tossily. "I told you so. But young people always know betterthan their elders!"

"I didn't see him, " said the Tailor, beginning his story afresh; "but Ithought as I came in I heard a sort of laughing and rustling. "

"My mother said they often heard him playing and laughing about thehouse, " said the old lady. "I told you so. "

"Well, he sha'n't want for a bowl of bread-and-milk to-morrow, anyhow, "said the Tailor, "if I have to stick to Farmer Swede's waistcoat tillmidnight. "

But the waistcoat was finished by bed-time, and the Tailor set thebread-and-milk-himself, and went to rest. 

"I say, " said Tommy, when both the boys were in bed, "the Old Owl wasright, and we must stick to it. But I'll tell you what I don't like, and that is Father thinking we're idle still. I wish he knew we werethe Brownies. "

"So do I, " said Johnnie; and he sighed. 

"I tell you what, " said Tommy, with the decisiveness of elderbrotherhood, "we'll keep quiet for a bit for fear we should leave off;but when we've gone on a good while, I shall tell him. It was only theOld Owl's grandmother's great-grandmother who said it was to be keptsecret, and the Old Owl herself said grandmothers were not always inthe right. "

"No more they are, " said Johnnie; "look at Granny about this. "

"I know, " said Tommy. "She's in a regular muddle. "

"So she is, " said Johnnie. "But that's rather fun, I think. "

And they went to sleep. 

Day after day went by, and still the Brownies "stuck to it, " and didtheir work. It is no such very hard matter after all to get up earlywhen one is young and light-hearted, and sleeps upon heather in a loftwithout window-blinds, and with so many broken window-panes that theair comes freely in. In old times the boys used to play at tents amongthe heather, while the Tailor did the house-work; now they came downand did it for him. 

Size is not everything, even in this material existence. One has heardof dwarfs who were quite as clever (not to say as powerful) as giants, and I do not fancy that Fairy Godmothers are ever very large. It iswonderful what a comfort Brownies may be in the house that is fortunateenough to hold them! The Tailor's Brownies were the joy of his life;and day after day they seemed to grow more and more ingenious infinding little things to do for his good. 

Now-a-days Granny never picked a scrap for herself. One day's shearingswere all neatly arranged the next morning, and laid by herknitting-pins; and the Tailor's tape and shears were no more absentwithout leave. 

One day a message came to him to offer him two or three days' tailoringin a farm-house some miles up the valley. This was pleasant andadvantageous sort of work; good food, sure pay, and a cheerful change;but he did not know how he could leave his family, unless, indeed, theBrownie might be relied upon to "keep the house together, " as they say. The boys were sure that he would, and they promised to set his water, and to give as little trouble as possible; so, finally, the Tailor tookup his shears and went up the valley, where the green banks sloped upinto purple moor, or broke into sandy rocks, crowned with nodding oakfern. On to the prosperous old farm, where he spent a very pleasanttime, sitting level with the window geraniums on a table set apart forhim, stitching and gossiping, gossiping and stitching, and feelingsecure of honest payment when his work was done. The mistress of thehouse was a kind good creature, and loved a chat; and though the Tailorkept his own secret as to the Brownies, he felt rather curious to knowif the Good People had any hand in the comfort of this flourishinghousehold, and watched his opportunity to make a few careless inquirieson the subject. 

"Brownies?" laughed the dame. "Ay, Master, I have heard of them. When Iwas a girl, in service at the old hall, on Cowberry Edge, I heard agood deal of one they said had lived there in former times. He didhouse-work as well as a woman, and a good deal quicker, they said. Onenight one of the young ladies (that were then, they're all dead now)hid herself in a cupboard, to see what he was like. "

"And what was he like?" inquired the Tailor, as composedly as he wasable. 

"A little fellow, they said, " answered the Farmer's wife, knittingcalmly on. "Like a dwarf, you know, with a largish head for his body. Not taller than--why, my Bill, or your eldest boy, perhaps. And he wasdressed in rags, with an old cloak on, and stamping with passion at acobweb he couldn't get at with his broom. They've very uncertaintempers, they say. Tears one minute, and laughing the next. "

"You never had one here, I suppose?" said the Tailor. 

"Not we, " she answered; "and I think I'd rather not. They're not cannyafter all; and my master and me have always been used to work, andwe've sons and daughters to help us, and that's better than meddlingwith the Fairies, to my mind. No! no!" she added, laughing, "if we hadhad one you'd have heard of it, whoever didn't, for I should have hadsome decent clothes made for him. I couldn't stand rags and old cloaks, messing and moth-catching, in my house. "

"They say it's not lucky to give them clothes, though, " said theTailor; "they don't like it. "

"Tell me!" said the dame, "as if any one that liked a tidy roomwouldn't like tidy clothes, if they could get them. No! no! when wehave one, you shall take his measure, I promise you. "

And this was all the Tailor got out of her on the subject. When hiswork was finished, the Farmer paid him at once; and the good dame addedhalf a cheese, and a bottle-green coat. 

"That has been laid by for being too small for the master now he's sostout, " she said; "but except for a stain or two it's good enough, andwill cut up like new for one of the lads. "

The Tailor thanked them, and said farewell, and went home. Down thevalley, where the river, wandering between the green banks and thesandy rocks, was caught by giant mosses, and bands of fairy fern, andthere choked and struggled, and at last barely escaped with anexistence, and ran away in a diminished stream. On up the purple hillsto the old ruined house. As he came in at the gate he was struck bysome idea of change, and looking again, he saw that the garden had beenweeded, and was comparatively tidy. The truth is, that Tommy andJohnnie had taken advantage of the Tailor's absence to do someBrownie's work in the daytime. 

"It's that Blessed Brownie!" said the Tailor. "Has he been as usual?"he asked, when he was in the house. 

"To be sure, " said the old lady; "all has been well, son Thomas. "

"I'll tell you what it is, " said the Tailor, after a pause. "I'm aneedy man, but I hope I'm not ungrateful. I can never repay the Browniefor what he has done for me and mine; but the mistress up yonder hasgiven me a bottle-green coat that will cut up as good as new; and assure as there's a Brownie in this house, I'll make him a suit of it. "

"You'll _what_?" shrieked the old lady. "Son Thomas, son Thomas, you'remad! Do what you please for the Brownies, but never make them clothes. "

"There's nothing they want more, " said the Tailor, "by all accounts. They're all in rags, as well they may be, doing so much work. "

"If you make clothes for this Brownie, he'll go for good, " said theGrandmother, in a voice of awful warning. 

"Well, I don't know, " said her son. "The mistress up at the farm isclever enough, I can tell you; and as she said to me, fancy any onethat likes a tidy room not liking a tidy coat!" For the Tailor, likemost men, was apt to think well of the wisdom of womankind in otherhouses. 

"Well, well, " said the old lady, "go your own way. I'm an old woman, and my time is not long. It doesn't matter much to me. But it was newclothes that drove the Brownie out before, and Trout's luck went withhim. "

"I know, Mother, " said the Tailor, "and I've been thinking of it allthe way home; and I can tell you why it was. Depend upon it, _theclothes didn't fit_. But I'll tell you what I mean to do. I shallmeasure them by Tommy--they say the Brownies are about his size--and ifever I turned out a well-made coat and waistcoat, they shall be his. "

"Please yourself, " said the old lady, and she would say no more. 

"I think you're quite right, Father, " said Tommy, "and if I can, I'llhelp you to make them. "

Next day the father and son set to work, and Tommy contrived to makehimself so useful, that the Tailor hardly knew how he got through somuch work. 

"It's not like the same thing, " he broke out at last, "to have some onea bit helpful about you; both for the tailoring and for company's sake. I've not done such a pleasant morning's work since your poor motherdied. I'll tell you what it is, Tommy, " he added, "if you were alwayslike this, I shouldn't much care whether Brownie stayed or went. I'dgive up his help to have yours. "

"I'll be back directly, " said Tommy, who burst out of the room insearch of his brother. 

"I've come away, " he said, squatting down, "because I can't bear it. Ivery nearly let it all out, and I shall soon. I wish the things weren'tgoing to come to me, " he added, kicking a stone in front of him. "Iwish he'd measured you, Johnnie. "

"I'm very glad he didn't, " said Johnnie. "I wish he'd kept themhimself. "

"Bottle-green, with brass buttons, " murmured Tommy, and therewith fellinto a reverie. 

The next night the suit was finished, and laid by the bread-and-milk. 

"We shall see, " said the old lady, in a withering tone. There is notmuch real prophetic wisdom in this truism, but it sounds very awful, and the Tailor went to bed somewhat depressed. 

Next morning the Brownies came down as usual. 

"Don't they look splendid?" said Tommy, feeling the cloth. "When we'vetidied the place I shall put them on. "

But long before the place was tidy, he could wait no longer, anddressed up. 

"Look at me!" he shouted; "bottle-green and brass buttons! Oh, Johnnie, I wish you had some. "

"It's a good thing there are two Brownies, " said Johnnie, laughing, "and one of them in rags still. I shall do the work this morning. " Andhe went flourishing round with a broom, while Tommy jumped madly aboutin his new suit. "Hurrah!" he shouted, "I feel just like the Brownie. What was it Granny said he sang when he got his clothes? Oh, I know--

 'What have we here? Hemten hamten! Here will I never more tread nor stampen. '"

And on he danced, regardless of the clouds of dust raised by Johnnie, as he drove the broom indiscriminately over the floor, to the tune ofhis own laughter. 

It was laughter which roused the Tailor that morning, laughter comingthrough the floor from the kitchen below. He scrambled on his thingsand stole down-stairs. 

"It's the Brownie, " he thought; "I must look, if it's for the lasttime. "

At the door he paused and listened. The laughter was mixed withsinging, and he heard the words--

 "What have we here? Hemten hamten! Here will I never more tread nor stampen. "

He pushed in, and this was the sight that met his eyes. 

The kitchen in its primeval condition of chaos, the untidy particularsof which were the less apparent, as everything was more or lessobscured by the clouds of dust, where Johnnie reigned triumphant, likea witch with her broomstick; and, to crown all, Tommy capering andsinging in the Brownie's bottle-green suit, brass buttons and all. 

"What's this?" shouted the astonished Tailor, when he could find breathto speak. 

"It's the Brownies, " sang the boys; and on they danced, for they hadworked themselves up into a state of excitement from which it was noteasy to settle down. 

"Where _is_ Brownie?" shouted the father. 

"He's here, " said Tommy; "we are the Brownies. "

"Can't you stop that fooling?" cried the Tailor, angrily. "This is pasta joke. Where is the real Brownie, I say?"

"We are the only Brownies, really, Father, " said Tommy, coming to afull stop, and feeling strongly tempted to run down from laughing tocrying. "Ask the Old Owl. It's true, really. "

The Tailor saw the boy was in earnest, and passed his hand over hisforehead. 

"I suppose I'm getting old, " he said; "I can't see daylight throughthis. If you are the Brownie, who has been tidying the kitchen lately?"

"We have, " said they. 

"But who found my measure?"

"I did, " said Johnnie. 

"And who sorts your grandmother's scraps?"

"We do, " said they. 

"And who sets breakfast, and puts my things in order?"

"We do, " said they. 

"But when do you do it?" asked the Tailor. 

"Before you come down, " said they. 

"But I always have to call you, " said the Tailor. 

"We get back to bed again, " said the boys. 

"But how was it you never did it before?" asked the Tailor doubtfully. 

"We were idle, we were idle, " said Tommy. 

The Tailor's voice rose to a pitch of desperation--

"But if you did the work, " he shouted, "_where is the Brownie?_"

"Here!" cried the boys, "and we are very sorry that we were Boggarts solong. "

With which the father and sons fell into each other's arms and fairlywept. 

 * * * * *

It will be believed that to explain all this to the Grandmother was notthe work of a moment. She understood it all at last, however, and theTailor could not restrain a little good-humoured triumph on thesubject. Before he went to work he settled her down in the window withher knitting, and kissed her. 

"What do you think of it all, Mother?" he inquired. 

"Bairns are a blessing, " said the old lady tartly, "_I told you so. _"

 * * * * *

"That's not the end, is it?" asked one of the boys in a tone of dismay, for the Doctor had paused here. 

"Yes, it is, " said he. 

"But couldn't you make a little more end?" asked Deordie, "to tell uswhat became of them all?"

"I don't see what there is to tell, " said the Doctor. 

"Why, there's whether they ever saw the Old Owl again, and whetherTommy and Johnnie went on being Brownies, " said the children. 

The Doctor laughed. 

"Well, be quiet for five minutes, " he said. 

"We'll be as quiet as mice, " said the children. 

And as quiet as mice they were. Very like mice, indeed. Very like micebehind a wainscot at night, when you have just thrown something tofrighten them away. Death-like stillness for a few seconds, and thenall the rustling and scuffling you please. So the children sat holdingtheir breath for a moment or two, and then shuffling feet and smotheredbursts of laughter testified to their impatience, and to the difficultyof understanding the process of story-making as displayed by theDoctor, who sat pulling his beard, and staring at his boots, as he madeup "a little more end. "

"Well, " he said, sitting up suddenly, "the Brownies went on with theirwork in spite of the bottle-green suit, and Trout's luck returned tothe old house once more. Before long Tommy began to work for thefarmers, and Baby grew up into a Brownie, and made (as girls are apt tomake) the best house-sprite of all. For, in the Brownie's habits ofself-denial, thoughtfulness, consideration, and the art of littlekindnesses, boys are, I am afraid, as a general rule, somewhatbehindhand with their sisters. Whether this altogether proceeds fromconstitutional deficiency on these points in the masculine character, or is one result among many of the code of bye-laws which obtains inmen's moral education from the cradle, is a question on which everybodyhas their own opinion. For the present the young gentlemen mayappropriate whichever theory they prefer, and we will go back to thestory. The Tailor lived to see his boy-Brownies become men, with allthe cares of a prosperous farm on their hands, and his girl-Browniecarry her fairy talents into another home. For these Brownies--youngladies!--are much desired as wives, whereas a man might as well marryan old witch as a young Boggartess. "

"And about the Owl?" clamoured the children, rather resentful of theDoctor's pausing to take breath. 

"Of course, " he continued, "the Tailor heard the whole story, and beingboth anxious to thank the Old Owl for her friendly offices, and alsorather curious to see and hear her, he went with the boys one night atmoon-rise to the shed by the mere. It was earlier in the evening thanwhen Tommy went, for before daylight had vanished, and at the firstappearance of the moon, the impatient Tailor was at the place. Therethey found the Owl looking very solemn and stately on the beam. She wassitting among the shadows with her shoulders up, and she fixed her eyesso steadily on the Tailor, that he felt quite overpowered. He made hera civil bow, however, and said, "I'm much obliged to you, Ma'am, for your good advice to my Tommy. "

The Owl blinked sharply, as if she grudged shutting her eyes for aninstant, and then stared on, but not a word spoke she. 

"I don't mean to intrude, Ma'am, " said the Tailor, "but I was wishfulto pay my respects and gratitude. "

Still the Owl gazed in determined silence. 

"Don't you remember me?" said Tommy pitifully. "I did everything youtold me. Won't you even say good-bye?" and he went up towards her. 

The Owl's eyes contracted, she shuddered a few tufts of fluff into theshed, shook her wings, and shouting "Oohoo!" at the top of her voice, flew out upon the moor. The Tailor and his sons rushed out to watchher. They could see her clearly against the green twilight sky, flapping rapidly away with her round face to the pale moon. "Good-bye!"they shouted as she disappeared; first the departing owl, then ashadowy body with flapping sails, then two wings beating the samemeasured time, then two moving lines still to the old tune, then astroke, a fancy, and then--the green sky and the pale moon, but the OldOwl was gone. 

"Did she never come back?" asked Tiny in subdued tones, for the Doctorhad paused again. 

"No, " said he; "at least not to the shed by the mere. Tommy saw manyowls after this in the course of his life; but as none of them wouldspeak, and as most of them were addicted to the unconventional customsof staring and winking, he could not distinguish his friend, if shewere among them. And now I think that is all. "

"Is that the very very end?" asked Tiny. 

"The very very end, " said the Doctor. 

"I suppose there might be more and more ends, " speculatedDeordie--"about whether the Brownies had any children when they grewinto farmers, and whether the children were Brownies, and whether_they_ had other Brownies, and so on and on. " And Deordie rockedhimself among the geraniums, in the luxurious imagining of an endlessfairy tale. 

"You insatiable rascal!" said the Doctor. "Not another word. Jump up, for I am going to see you home. I have to be off early to-morrow. "

"Where?" said Deordie. 

"Never mind. I shall be away all day, and I want to be at home in goodtime in the evening, for I mean to attack that crop of groundselbetween the sweet-pea hedges. You know, no Brownies come to myhomestead!"

And the Doctor's mouth twitched a little till he fixed it into a stiffsmile. 

The children tried hard to extract some more ends out of him on the wayto the Rectory; but he declined to pursue the history of the Troutfamily through indefinite generations. It was decided on all hands, however, that Tommy Trout was evidently one and the same with the TommyTrout who pulled the cat out of the well, because "it was just a sortof thing for a Brownie to do, you know!" and that Johnnie Green (who, of course, was not Johnnie Trout) was some unworthy villageacquaintance, and "a thorough Boggart. "

"Doctor!" said Tiny, as they stood by the garden-gate, "how long do youthink gentlemen's pocket-handkerchiefs take to wear out?"

"That, my dear Madam, " said the Doctor, "must depend, like otherterrestrial matters, upon circumstances; whether the gentleman boughtfine cambric, or coarse cotton with pink portraits of the reigningSovereign, to commence with; whether he catches many colds, has hispockets picked, takes snuff, or allows his washerwoman to use washingpowders. But why do you want to know?"

"I sha'n't tell you that, " said Tiny, who was spoilt by the Doctor, andconsequently tyrannized in proportion; "but I will tell you what I meanto do. I mean to tell Mother that when Father wants any morepocket-handkerchiefs hemmed, she had better put them by the bath in thenursery, and perhaps some Brownie will come and do them. "

"Kiss my fluffy face!" said the Doctor in sepulchral tones. 

"The owl is too high up, " said Tiny, tossing her head. 

The Doctor lifted her four feet or so, obtained his kiss, and set herdown again. 

"You're not fluffy at all, " said she in a tone of the utmost contempt;"you're tickly and bristly. Puss is more fluffy, and Father is scrubbyand scratchy, because he shaves. "

"And which of the three styles do you prefer?" said the Doctor. 

"Not tickly and bristly, " said Tiny with firmness; and she strutted upthe walk for a space or two, and then turned round to laugh over hershoulder. 

"Good-night!" shouted her victim, shaking his fist after her. 

The other children took a noisy farewell, and they all raced into thehouse to give joint versions of the fairy tale, first to the parents inthe drawing-room, and then to Nurse in the nursery. 

The Doctor went home also, with his poodle at his heels, but not by theway he came. He went out of his way, which was odd; but then the Doctorwas "a little odd, " and moreover this was always the end of his eveningwalk. Through the church-yard, where spreading cedars and stiff yewsrose from the velvet grass, and where among tombstones and crosses ofvarious devices lay one of older and uglier date, by which he stayed. It was framed by a border of the most brilliant flowers, and it wouldseem as if the Doctor must have been the gardener, for he picked offsome dead ones, and put them absently in his pocket. Then he lookedround as if to see that he was alone. Not a soul was to be seen, andthe moonlight and shadow lay quietly side by side, as the dead do intheir graves. The Doctor stooped down and took off his hat. 

"Good-night, Marcia, " he said in a low quiet voice. "Good-night, mydarling!" The dog licked his hand, but there was no voice to answer, nor any that regarded. 

Poor foolish Doctor! Most foolish to speak to the departed with hisface earthwards. But we are weak mortals, the best of us; and this man(one of the very best) raised his head at last, and went home like alonely owl with his face to the moon and the sky. 

A BORROWED BROWNIE. 

"I can't imagine, " said the Rector, walking into the drawing-room thefollowing afternoon; "I can't imagine where Tiny is. I want her todrive to the other end of the parish with me. "

"There she comes, " said his wife, looking out of the window, "by thegarden-gate, with a great basket; what has she been after?"

The Rector went out to discover, and met his daughter looking decidedlyearthy, and seemingly much exhausted by the weight of a basketful ofgroundsel plants. 

"Where have you been?" said he. 

"In the Doctor's garden, " said Tiny triumphantly; "and look what I havedone! I've weeded his sweet-peas, and brought away the groundsel; sowhen he gets home to-night he'll think a Brownie has been in thegarden, for Mrs. Pickles has promised not to tell him. "

"But look here!" said the Rector, affecting a great appearance ofseverity, "you're my Brownie, not his. Supposing Tommy Trout had goneand weeded Farmer Swede's garden, and brought back his weeds to go toseed on the Tailor's flower-beds, how do you think he would have likedit?"

Tiny looked rather crestfallen. When one has fairly carried through asplendid benevolence of this kind, it is trying to find oneself in thewrong. She crept up to the Rector, however, and put her golden headupon his arm. 

"But, Father dear, " she pleaded, "I didn't mean not to be your Brownie;only, you know, you had got five left at home, and it was only for ashort time, and the Doctor hasn't any Brownie at all. Don't you pityhim?"

And the Rector, who was old enough to remember that grave-stone storywe wot of, hugged his Brownie in his arms, and answered, "My Darling, I do pity him!"

THE LAND OF LOST TOYS. 

AN EARTHQUAKE IN THE NURSERY. 

It was certainly an aggravated offence. It is generally understood infamilies that "boys will be boys, " but there is a limit to theforbearance implied in the extenuating axiom. Master Sam was condemnedto the back nursery for the rest of the day. 

He always had had the knack of breaking his own toys, --he notunfrequently broke other people's; but accidents will happen, and histwin-sister and factotum, Dot, was long-suffering. 

Dot was fat, resolute, hasty, and devotedly unselfish. When Sam scalpedher new doll, and fastened the glossy black curls to a wigwamimprovised with the curtains of the four-post bed in the best bedroom, Dot was sorely tried. As her eyes passed from the crown-less doll onthe floor to the floss-silk ringlets hanging from the bed-furniture, her round rosy face grew rounder and rosier, and tears burst from hereyes. But in a moment more she clenched her little fists, forced backthe tears, and gave vent to her favourite saying, "I don't care. "

That sentence was Dot's bane and antidote; it was her vice and hervirtue. It was her standing consolation, and it brought her into allher scrapes. It was her one panacea for all the ups and downs of herlife (and in the nursery where Sam developed his organ ofdestructiveness there were ups and downs not a few); and it was theform her naughtiness took when she was naughty. 

"Don't care fell into a goose-pond, Miss Dot, " said Nurse, on oneoccasion of the kind. 

"I don't care if he did, " said Miss Dot; and as Nurse knew no furtherfeature of the goose-pond adventure which met this view of it, sheclosed the subject by putting Dot into the corner. 

In the strength of _Don't care_, and her love for Sam, Dot bore much andlong. Her dolls perished by ingenious but untimely deaths. Her toys wereput to purposes for which they were never intended, and sufferedaccordingly. But Sam was penitent and Dot was heroic. Florinda's scalp wasmended with a hot knitting-needle and a perpetual bonnet, and Dot rescuedher paint-brushes from the glue-pot, and smelt her india-rubber as itboiled down in Sam's waterproof manufactory, with long-sufferingforbearance. 

There are, however, as we have said, limits to everything. Anearthquake celebrated with the whole contents of the toy cupboard is notto be borne. 

The matter was this. Early one morning Sam announced that he had aglorious project on hand. He was going to give a grand show andentertainment, far surpassing all the nursery imitations of circuses, conjurors, lectures on chemistry, and so forth, with which they hadever amused themselves. He refused to confide his plans to the faithfulDot; but he begged her to lend him all the toys she possessed, inreturn for which she was to be the sole spectator of the fun. He letout that the idea had suggested itself to him after the sight of aDiorama to which they had been taken, but he would not allow that itwas anything of the same kind; in proof of which she was at liberty tokeep back her paint-box. Dot tried hard to penetrate the secret, and toreserve some of her things from the general conscription. But Sam wasobstinate. He would tell nothing, and he wanted everything. The dolls, the bricks (especially the bricks), the tea-things, the German farm, the Swiss cottages, the animals, and all the dolls' furniture. Dot gavethem with a doubtful mind, and consoled herself as she watched Samcarrying pieces of board and a green table cover into the back nursery, with the prospect of the show. At last, Sam threw open the door andushered her into the nursery rocking-chair. 

The boy had certainly some constructive as well as destructive talent. Upon a sort of impromptu table covered with green cloth he had arrangedall the toys in rough imitation of a town, with its streets andbuildings. The relative proportion of the parts was certainly not good;but it was not Sam's fault that the doll's house and the German farm, his own brick buildings, and the Swiss cottages, were all on totallydifferent scales of size. He had ingeniously put the larger things inthe foreground, keeping the small farm-buildings from the German box atthe far end of the streets, yet after all the perspective was extreme. The effect of three large horses from the toy stables in front, withthe cows from the small Noah's Ark in the distance, was admirable; butthe big dolls seated in an unroofed building, made with the woodenbricks on no architectural principle but that of a pound, and takingtea out of the new china tea-things, looked simply ridiculous. 

Dot's eyes, however, saw no defects, and she clapped vehemently. 

"Here, ladies and gentlemen, " said Sam, waving his hand politelytowards the rocking-chair, "you see the great city of Lisbon, thecapital of Portugal--"

At this display of geographical accuracy Dot fairly cheered, and rockedherself to and fro in unmitigated enjoyment. 

"--as it appeared, " continued the showman, "on the morning of November1st, 1755. "

Never having had occasion to apply Mangnall's Questions to theexigencies of every-day life, this date in no way disturbed Dot'scomfort. 

"In this house, " Sam proceeded, "a party of Portuguese ladies of rankmay be seen taking tea together. "

"_Breakfast_, you mean, " said Dot, "you said it was in the morning, you know. "

"Well, they took tea to their breakfast, " said Sam. "Don't interruptme, Dot. You are the audience, and you mustn't speak. Here you see thehorses of the English ambassador out airing with his groom. There yousee two peasants--no! they are _not_ Noah and his wife, Dot, andif you go on talking I shall shut up. I say they are peasantspeacefully driving cattle. At this moment a rumbling sound startleseveryone in the city"--here Sam rolled some croquet balls up and downin a box, but the dolls sat as quiet as before, and Dot alone wasstartled, --"this was succeeded by a slight shock"--here he shook thetable, which upset some of the buildings belonging to the Germanfarm. --"Some houses fell. "--Dot began to look anxious. --"This shock wasfollowed by several others"---"Take care, " she begged--"of increasingmagnitude. "--"Oh, Sam!" Dot shrieked, jumping up, "you're breaking thechina!"--"The largest buildings shook to their foundations. "--"Sam!Sam! the doll's house is falling, " Dot cried, making wild efforts tosave it: but Sam held her back with one arm, while with the other hebegan to pull at the boards which formed his table. --"Suddenly theground split and opened with a fearful yawn"--Dot's shrieks shamed theimpassive dolls, as Sam jerked out the boards by a dexterous movement, and doll's house, brick buildings, the farm, the Swiss cottages, andthe whole toy-stock of the nursery sank together in ruins. Quiteunabashed by the evident damage, Sam continued--"and in a moment thewhole magnificent city of Lisbon was swallowed up. Dot! Dot! don't be amuff! What is the matter? It's splendid fun. Things must be broken sometime, and I'm sure it was exactly like the real thing. Dot! why don'tyou speak? Dot! my dear Dot! You don't care, do you? I didn't thinkyou'd mind it so. It was such a splendid earthquake. Oh! try not to goon like that!"

But Dot's feelings were far beyond her own control, much more that ofMaster Sam, at this moment. She was gasping and choking, and when atlast she found breath it was only to throw herself on her face upon thefloor with bitter and uncontrollable sobbing. It was certainly a mildpunishment that condemned Master Sam to the back nursery for the restof the day. It had, however, this additional severity, that during theafternoon Aunt Penelope was expected to arrive. 

AUNT PENELOPE. 

Aunt Penelope was one of those dear, good souls who, single themselves, have, as real or adopted relatives, the interests of a dozen families, instead of one, at heart. There are few people whose youth has notowned the influence of at least one such friend. It may be a goodhabit, the first interest in some life-loved pursuit or favouriteauthor, some pretty feminine art, or delicate womanly counsel enforcedby those narratives of real life that are more interesting than anyfiction: it may be only the periodical return of gifts and kindness, and the store of family histories that no one else can tell; but we allowe something to such an aunt or uncle--the fairy godmothers of reallife. 

The benefits which Sam and Dot reaped from Aunt Penelope's visits maybe summed up under the heads of presents and stories, with a generalleaning to indulgence in the matters of punishment, lessons, and goingto bed, which perhaps is natural to aunts and uncles who have nopositive responsibilities in the young people's education, and are notthe daily sufferers by the lack of due discipline. 

Aunt Penelope's presents were lovely. Aunt Penelope's stories werecharming. There was generally a moral wrapped up in them, like themotto in a cracker-bonbon; but it was quite in the inside, so to speak, and there was abundance of smart paper and sugar-plums. 

All things considered, it was certainly most proper that themuch-injured Dot should be dressed out in her best, and have access todessert, the dining-room, and Aunt Penelope, whilst Sam was keptup-stairs. And yet it was Dot who (her first burst of grief being over)fought stoutly for his pardon all the time she was being dressed, andwas afterwards detected in the act of endeavouring to push fragments ofraspberry tart through the nursery keyhole. 

"You GOOD thing!" Sam emphatically exclaimed, as he heard her in fierceconflict on the other side of the door with the nurse who foundher--"You GOOD thing! leave me alone, for I deserve it. "

He really was very penitent He was too fond of Dot not to regret theunexpected degree of distress he had caused her; and Dot made much ofhis penitence in her intercessions in the drawing-room. 

"Sam is so very sorry, " she said; "he says he knows he deserves it. Ithink he ought to come down. He is so _very_ sorry!"

Aunt Penelope, as usual, took the lenient side, joining her entreatiesto Dot's, and it ended in Master Sam's being hurriedly scrubbed andbrushed, and shoved into his black velvet suit, and sent down-stairs, rather red about the eyelids, and looking very sheepish. 

"Oh, Dot!" he exclaimed, as soon as he could get her into a corner, "Iam so very, very sorry! particularly about the tea-things. "

"Never mind, " said Dot, "I don't care; and I've asked for a story, andwe're going into the library. " As Dot said this, she jerked her headexpressively in the direction of the sofa, where Aunt Penelope was justcasting on stitches preparatory to beginning a pair of her famousribbed socks for Papa, whilst she gave to Mamma's conversation thatsympathy which (like her knitting-needles) was always at the service ofher large circle of friends. Dot anxiously watched the bow on the topof her cap as it danced and nodded with the force of Mamma'sobservations. At last it gave a little chorus of jerks, as one shouldsay, "Certainly, undoubtedly. " And then the story came to an end, andDot, who had been slowly creeping nearer, fairly took Aunt Penelope bythe hand, and carried her off, knitting and all, to the library. 

"Now, please, " said Dot, when she had struggled into a chair that wastoo tall for her. 

"Stop a minute!" cried Sam, who was perched in the opposite one, "thehorse-hair tickles my legs. "

"Put your pocket-handkerchief under them, as I do, " said Dot. "_Now_, Aunt Penelope. "

"No, wait, " groaned Sam; "it isn't big enough; it only covers one leg. "

Dot slid down again, and ran to Sam. 

"Take my handkerchief for the other. "

"But what will you do?" said Sam. 

"Oh, I don't care, " said Dot, scrambling back into her place. "Now, Aunty, please. "

And Aunt Penelope began. 

"THE LAND OF LOST TOYS. 

"I suppose people who have children transfer their childish follies andfancies to them, and become properly sedate and grown-up. Perhaps it isbecause I am an old maid, and have none, that some of my nursery whimsstick to me, and I find myself liking things, and wanting things, quiteout of keeping with my cap and time of life. For instance. Anything inthe shape of a toy-shop (from a London bazaar to a village window, withDutch dolls, leather balls, and wooden battledores) quite unnerves me, so to speak. When I see one of those boxes containing a jar, a churn, akettle, a pan, a coffee-pot, a cauldron on three legs, and sundrydishes, all of the smoothest wood, and with the immemorial red floweron one side of each vessel, I fairly long for an excuse for playingwith them, and for trying (positively for the last time) if the lids_do_ come off, and whether the kettle will (literally, as well asmetaphorically) hold water. Then if, by good or ill luck, there is achild flattening its little nose against the window with longing eyes, my purse is soon empty; and as it toddles off with a square parcelunder one arm, and a lovely being in black ringlets and white tissuepaper in the other, I wish that I were worthy of being asked to jointhe ensuing play. Don't suppose there is any generosity in this. I haveonly done what we are all glad to do. I have found an excuse forindulging a pet weakness. As I said, it is not merely the new andexpensive toys that attract me; I think my weakest corner is where thepenny boxes lie, the wooden tea-things (with the above-named flower inminiature), the soldiers on their lazy tongs, the nine-pins, and thetiny farm. 

"I need hardly say that the toy booth in a village fair tries me veryhard. It tried me in childhood, when I was often short of pence, andwhen 'the Feast' came once a year. It never tried me more than on oneoccasion, lately, when I was re-visiting my old home. 

"It was deep Midsummer, and the Feast. I had children with me of course(I find children, somehow, wherever I go), and when we got into thefair, there were children of people whom I had known as children, withjust the same love for a monkey going up one side of a yellow stick andcoming down the other, and just as strong heads for a giddy-go-round ona hot day and a diet of peppermint lozenges, as their fathers andmothers before them. There were the very same names--and here and thereit seemed the very same faces--I knew so long ago. A few shillings wereindeed well expended in brightening those familiar eyes: and then therewere the children with me. . . . Besides, there really did seem to be anunusually nice assortment of things, and the man was very intelligent(in reference to his wares):. . . . Well, well! It was two o'clock P. M. When we went in at one end of that glittering avenue of drums, dolls, trumpets, accordions, workboxes, and what not; but what o'clock it waswhen I came out at the other end, with a shilling and some coppers inmy pocket, and was cheered, I can't say, though I should like to havebeen able to be accurate about the time, because of what followed. 

"I thought the best thing I could do was to get out of the fair atonce, so I went up the village and struck off across some fields into alittle wood that lay near. (A favourite walk in old times. ) As I turnedout of the booth, my foot struck against one of the yellow sticks ofthe climbing monkeys. The monkey was gone, and the stick broken. It setme thinking as I walked along. 

"What an untold number of pretty and ingenious things one does (notwear out in honourable wear and tear, but) utterly lose, and wilfullydestroy, in one's young days--things that would have given pleasure toso many more young eyes, if they had been kept a little longer--thingsthat one would so value in later years, if some of them had survivedthe dissipating and destructive days of Nurserydom. I recalled a younglady I knew, whose room was adorned with knick-knacks of a kind I hadoften envied. They were not plaster figures, old china, wax-workflowers under glass, or ordinary ornaments of any kind. They were herold toys. Perhaps she had not had many of them, and had been the morecareful of those she had. She had certainly been very fond of them, andhad kept more of them than any one I ever knew. A faded doll slept inits cradle at the foot of her bed. A wooden elephant stood on thedressing-table, and a poodle that had lost his bark put out ared-flannel tongue with quixotic violence at a windmill on the oppositecorner of the mantelpiece. Everything had a story of its own. Indeedthe whole room must have been redolent with the sweet story ofchildhood, of which the toys were the illustrations, or like a poem ofwhich the toys were the verses. She used to have children to play withthem sometimes, and this was a high honour. She is married now, and haschildren of her own, who on birthdays and holidays will forsake thenewest of their own possessions to play with 'mamma's toys. '

"I was roused from these recollections by the pleasure of getting intothe wood. 

"If I have a stronger predilection than my love for toys, it is my lovefor woods, and, like the other, it dates from childhood. It was bornand bred with me, and I fancy will stay with me till I die. Thesoothing scents of leaf-mould, moss, and fern (not to speak offlowers)--the pale green veil in spring, the rich shade in summer, therustle of the dry leaves in autumn, I suppose an old woman may enjoyall these, my dears, as well as you. But I think I could make 'fairyjam' of hips and haws in acorn cups now, if any child would becondescending enough to play with me. "_This_ wood, too, hadassociations. 

"I strolled on in leisurely enjoyment, and at last seated myself at thefoot of a tree to rest. I was hot and tired; partly with the mid-dayheat and the atmosphere of the fair, partly with the exertion ofcalculating change in the purchase of articles ranging in price fromthree farthings upwards. The tree under which I sat was an old friend. There was a hole at its base that I knew well. Two roots covered withexquisite moss ran out from each side, like the arms of a chair, andbetween them there accumulated year after year a rich, though tinystore of dark leaf-mould. We always used to say that fairies livedwithin, though I never saw anything go in myself but wood-beetles. There was one going in at that moment. 

"How little the wood was changed! I bent my head for a few seconds, and, closing my eyes, drank in the delicious and suggestive scents ofearth and moss about the dear old tree. I had been so long parted fromthe place that I could hardly believe that I was in the old familiarspot. Surely it was only one of the many dreams in which I had playedagain beneath those trees! But when I re-opened my eyes there was thesame hole, and, oddly enough, the same beetle or one just like it. Ihad not noticed till that moment how much larger the hole was than itused to be in my young days. 

"'I suppose the rain and so forth wears them away in time, ' I saidvaguely. 

"'I suppose it does, ' said the beetle politely; 'will you walk in?'

"I don't know why I was not so overpoweringly astonished as you wouldimagine. I think I was a good deal absorbed in considering the size ofthe hole, and the very foolish wish that seized me to do what I hadoften longed to do in childhood, and creep in. I _had_ so muchregard for propriety as to see that there was no one to witness theescapade. Then I tucked my skirts round me, put my spectacles into mypocket for fear they should get broken, and in I went. 

"I must say one thing. A wood is charming enough (no one appreciates itmore than myself), but, if you have never been there, you have no ideahow much nicer it is inside than on the surface. Oh, the mosses--thegorgeous mosses! The fretted lichens! The fungi like flowers forbeauty, and the flowers like nothing you have ever seen!

"Where the beetle went to I don't know. I could stand up now quitewell, and I wandered on till dusk in unwearied admiration. I was amongsome large beeches as it grew dark, and was beginning to wonder how Ishould find my way (not that I had lost it, having none to lose), whensuddenly lights burst from every tree, and the whole place wasilluminated. The nearest approach to this scene that I ever witnessedabove ground was in a wood near the Hague in Holland. There, what looklike tiny glass tumblers holding floating wicks, are fastened to thetrunks of the fine old trees, at intervals of sufficient distance tomake the light and shade mysterious, and to give effect to the fullblaze when you reach the spot where hanging chains of lamps illuminatethe 'Pavilion' and the open space where the band plays, and where thetownsfolk assemble by hundreds to drink coffee and enjoy the music. Iwas the more reminded of the Dutch 'bosch' because, after wanderingsome time among the lighted trees, I heard distant sounds of music, andcame at last upon a glade lit up in a similar manner, except that thewhole effect was incomparably more brilliant. 

"As I stood for a moment doubting whether I should proceed, and a gooddeal puzzled about the whole affair, I caught sight of a large spidercrouched up in a corner with his stomach on the ground and his kneesabove his head, as some spiders do sit, and looking at me, as Ifancied, through a pair of spectacles. (About the spectacles I do notfeel sure. It may have been two of his bent legs in apparent connectionwith his prominent eyes. ) I thought of the beetle, and said civilly, 'Can you tell me, sir, if this is Fairyland?' The spider took off hisspectacles (or untucked his legs), and took a sideways run out of hiscorner. 

"'Well, ' he said, 'it's a Province. The fact is, it's the Land of LostToys. You haven't such a thing as a fly anywhere about you, have you?'

"'No, ' I said, 'I'm sorry to say I have not. ' This was not strictlytrue, for I was not at all sorry; but I wished to be civil to the oldgentleman, for he projected his eyes at me with such an intense (I hadalmost said greedy) gaze, that I felt quite frightened. 

"'How did you pass the sentries?' he inquired. 

"'I never saw any, ' I answered. 

"'You couldn't have seen anything if you didn't see them, ' he said;'but perhaps you don't know. They're the glow-worms. Six to each tree, so they light the road, and challenge the passers-by. Why didn't theychallenge you?'

"'I don't know, ' I began, 'unless the beetle--'

"'I don't like beetles, ' interrupted the spider, stretching each leg inturn by sticking it up above him, 'all shell, and no flavour. You nevertried walking on anything of that sort, did you?' and he pointed withone leg to a long thread that fastened a web above his head. 

"'Certainly not, ' said I. 

"'I'm afraid it wouldn't bear you, ' he observed slowly. 

"'I'm quite sure it wouldn't, ' I hastened to reply. I wouldn't try forworlds. It would spoil your pretty work in a moment. Good-evening. '

"And I hurried forward. Once I looked back, but the spider was notfollowing me. He was in his hole again, on his stomach, with his kneesabove his head, and looking (apparently through his spectacles) downthe road up which I came. 

"I soon forgot him in the sight before me. I had reached the open placewith the lights and the music; but how shall I describe the spectaclethat I beheld?

"I have spoken of the effect of a toy-shop on my feelings. Now imaginea toy-fair, brighter and gayer than the brightest bazaar ever seen, held in an open glade, where forest-trees stood majestically behind theglittering stalls, and stretched their gigantic arms above our heads, brilliant with a thousand hanging lamps. At the moment of my entranceall was silent and quiet. The toys lay in their places looking soincredibly attractive that I reflected with disgust that all my readycash, except one shilling and some coppers, had melted away amid thetawdry fascinations of a village booth. I was counting the coppers(sevenpence halfpenny), when all in a moment a dozen sixpenny fiddlesleaped from their places and began to play, accordions of all sizesjoined them, the drumsticks beat upon the drums, the penny trumpetssounded, and the yellow flutes took up the melody on high notes, andbore it away through the trees. It was weird fairy-music, but quitedelightful. The nearest approach to it that I know of above ground isto hear a wild dreamy air very well whistled to a pianoforteaccompaniment. 

"When the music began, all the toys rose. The dolls jumped down andbegan to dance. The poodles barked, the pannier donkeys wagged theirears, the wind-mills turned, the puzzles put themselves together, thebricks built houses, the balls flew from side to side, the battledoresand shuttlecocks kept it up among themselves, and the skipping-ropeswent round, the hoops ran off, and the sticks ran after them, thecobbler's wax at the tails of all the green frogs gave way, and theyjumped at the same moment, whilst an old-fashioned go-cart ran madlyabout with nobody inside. It was most exhilarating. 

"I soon became aware that the beetle was once more at my elbow. 

"'There are some beautiful toys here, ' I said. 

"'Well, yes, ' he replied, 'and some odd-looking ones too. You see, whatever has been really used by any child as a plaything gets a rightto come down here in the end; and there is some very queer company, Iassure you. Look there. '

"I looked, and said, 'It seems to be a potato. '

"'So it is, ' said the beetle. 'It belonged to an Irish child in one ofyour great cities. But to whom the child belonged I don't know, and Idon't think he knew himself. He lived in the corner of a dirty, overcrowded room, and into this corner, one day, the potato rolled. Itwas the only plaything he ever had. He stuck two cinders into it foreyes, scraped a nose and mouth, and loved it. He sat upon it during theday, for fear it should be taken from him, but in the dark he took itout and played with it. He was often hungry, but he never ate thatpotato. When he died it rolled out of the corner, and was swept intothe ashes. Then it came down here. '

"'What a sad story!' I exclaimed. 

"The beetle seemed in no way affected. 

"'It is a curious thing, ' he rambled on, 'that potato takes quite agood place among the toys. You see, rank and precedence down here isentirely a question of age; that is, of the length of time that anyplaything has been in the possession of a child; and all kinds of uglyold things hold the first rank; whereas the most costly and beautifulworks of art have often been smashed or lost by the spoilt children ofrich people in two or three days. If you care for sad stories, there isanother queer thing belonging to a child who died. '

"It appeared to be a large sheet of canvas with some strange kind ofneedlework upon it. 

"'It belonged to a little girl in a rich household, ' the beetlecontinued; 'she was an invalid, and difficult to amuse. We have lots ofher toys, and very pretty ones too. At last some one taught her to makecaterpillars in wool-work. A bit of work was to be done in a certainstitch and then cut with scissors, which made it look like a hairycaterpillar. The child took to this, and cared for nothing else. Woolof every shade was procured for her, and she made caterpillars of allcolours. Her only complaint was that they did not turn intobutterflies. However, she was a sweet, gentle-tempered child, and shewent on, hoping that they would do so, and making new ones. One day shewas heard talking and laughing in her bed for joy. She said that allthe caterpillars had become butterflies of many colours, and that theroom was full of them. In that happy fancy she died. '

"'And the caterpillars came down here?'

"'Not for a long time, ' said the beetle; 'her mother kept them while_she_ lived, and then they were lost and came down. No toys comedown here till they are broken or lost. '

"'What are those sticks doing here?' I asked. 

"The music had ceased, and all the toys were lying quiet. Up in acorner leaned a large bundle of walking-sticks. They are often sold intoy-shops, but I wondered on what grounds they came here. 

"'Did you ever meet with a too benevolent old gentleman wondering whereon earth his sticks go to?' said the beetle. 'Why do they lend them totheir grandchildren? The young rogues use them as hobby-horses and losethem, and down they come, and the sentinels cannot stop them. The realhobby-horses won't allow them to ride with them, however. There was ameeting on the subject. Every stick was put through an examination. "Where is your nose? Where is your mane? Where are your wheels?" Thelast was a poser. Some of them had got noses, but none of them had gotwheels. So they were not true hobby-horses. Something of the kindoccurred with the elder-whistles. '

"'The what?' I asked. 

"'Whistles that boys make of elder-sticks with the pith scooped out, 'said the beetle. 'The real instruments would not allow them to playwith them. The elder-whistles said they would not have joined had theybeen asked. They were amateurs, and never played with professionals. Sothey have private concerts with the combs and curl-papers. But, blessyou, toys of this kind are endless here! Teetotums made of old cottonreels, tea-sets of acorn cups, dinner-sets of old shells, monkeys madeof bits of sponge, all sorts of things made of breastbones andmerrythoughts, old packs of cards that are always building themselvesinto houses and getting knocked down when the band begins to play, feathers, rabbits' tails--'

"'Ah! I have heard about the rabbits' tails, ' I said. 

"'There they are, ' the beetle continued; 'and when the band plays youwill see how they skip and run. I don't believe you would find out thatthey had no bodies, for my experience of a warren is, that when rabbitsskip and run it is the tails chiefly that you do see. But of all theamateur toys the most successful are the boats. We have a lake for ourcraft, you know, and there's quite a fleet of boats made out of oldcork floats in fishing villages. Then, you see, the old bits of corkhave really been to sea, and seen a good deal of service on theherring-nets, and so they quite take the lead of the smart shop ships, that have never been beyond a pond or a tub of water. But that's anexception. Amateur toys are mostly very dowdy. Look at that box. '

"I looked, thought I must have seen it before, and wondered why a verycommon-looking box without a lid should affect me so strangely, and whymy memory should seem struggling to bring it back out of the past. Suddenly it came to me--it was our old Toy Box. 

"I had completely forgotten that nursery institution till recalled bythe familiar aspect of the inside, which was papered with proof-sheetsof some old novel on which black stars had been stamped by way ofornament. Dim memories of how these stars, and the angles of the box, and certain projecting nails interfered with the letter-press anddefeated all attempts to trace the thread of the nameless narrative, stole back over my brain; and I seemed once more, with my head in theToy Box, to beguile a wet afternoon by apoplectic endeavours to followthe fortunes of Sir Charles and Lady Belinda, as they took a favourableturn in the left-hand corner at the bottom of the trunk. 

"'What are you staring at?' said the beetle. 

"'It's my old Toy Box!' I exclaimed. 

"The beetle rolled on to his back, and struggled helplessly with hislegs: I turned him over. (Neither the first nor the last time of myshowing that attention to beetles. )

"'That's right, ' he said, 'set me on my legs. What a turn you gave me!You don't mean to say you have any toys here? If you have, the sooneryou make your way home the better. '

"'Why?' I inquired. 

"'Well, ' he said, 'there's a very strong feeling in the place. The toysthink that they are ill-treated, and not taken care of by children ingeneral. And there is some truth in it. Toys come down here by scoresthat have been broken the first day. And they are all quite resolvedthat if any of their old masters or mistresses come this way they shallbe punished. '

"'How will they be punished?' I inquired. 

"'Exactly as they did to their toys, their toys will do to them. All isperfectly fair and regular. '

"'I don't know that I treated mine particularly badly, ' I said; 'but Ithink I would rather go. '

"'I think you'd better, ' said the beetle. 'Good-evening!' and I saw himno more. 

"I turned to go, but somehow I lost the road. At last, as I thought, Ifound it, and had gone a few steps when I came on a detachment ofwooden soldiers, drawn up on their lazy tongs. I thought it better towait till they got out of the way, so I turned back, and sat down in acorner in some alarm. As I did so, I heard a click, and the lid of asmall box covered with mottled paper burst open, and up jumped a figurein a blue striped shirt and a rabbit-skin beard, whose eyes wereintently fixed on me. He was very like my old Jack-in-a-box. My backbegan to creep, and I wildly meditated escape, frantically trying atthe same time to recall whether it were I or my brother who originatedthe idea of making a small bonfire of our own one 5th of November, andburning the old Jack-in-a-box for Guy Fawkes, till nothing was left ofhim but a twirling bit of red-hot wire and a strong smell of frizzledfur. At this moment he nodded to me and spoke. 

"'Oh! that's you, is it?' he said. 

"'No, it's not, ' I answered hastily; for I was quite demoralized byfear and the strangeness of the situation. 

"'Who is it, then?' he inquired. 

"'I'm sure I don't know, ' I said; and really I was so confused that Ihardly did. 

"'Well, _we_ know, ' said the Jack-in-a-box, 'and that's all that'sneeded. Now, my friends, ' he continued, addressing the toys who hadbegun to crowd round us, 'whoever recognizes a mistress and remembers agrudge--the hour of our revenge has come. Can we any of us forget thetreatment we received at her hands? No! When we think of the ingeniousfancy, the patient skill, that went to our manufacture; that fitted thedelicate joints and springs, laid on the paint and varnish, and gaveback-hair-combs and ear-rings to our smallest dolls, we feel that wedeserved more care than we received. When we reflect upon the kindfriends who bought us with their money, and gave us away in thebenevolence of their hearts, we know that for their sakes we ought tohave been longer kept and better valued. And when we remember that thesole object of our own existence was to give pleasure and amusement toour possessors, we have no hesitation in believing that we deserved ahandsomer return than to have had our springs broken, our paintdirtied, and our earthly careers so untimely shortened by wilfulmischief or fickle neglect. My friends, the prisoner is at the bar. '

"'I am not, ' I said; for I was determined not to give in as long asresistance was possible. But as I said it I became aware, to myunutterable amazement, that I was inside the go-cart. How I got thereis to this moment a mystery to me--but there I was. 

"There was a great deal of excitement about the Jack-in-a-box's speech. It was evident that he was considered an orator, and, indeed, I haveseen counsel in a real court look wonderfully like him. Meanwhile, myold toys appeared to be getting together. I had no idea that I had hadso many. I had really been very fond of most of them, and my heart beatas the sight of them recalled scenes long forgotten, and took me backto childhood and home. There were my little gardening tools, and myslate, and there was the big doll's bedstead, that had a real mattress, and real sheets and blankets, all marked with the letter D, and awork-basket made in the blind school, and a shilling School of Artpaint-box, and a wooden doll we used to call the Dowager, andinnumerable other toys which I had forgotten till the sight of themrecalled them to my memory, but which have again passed from my mind. Exactly opposite to me stood the Chinese mandarin, nodding as I hadnever seen him nod since the day when I finally stopped hisperformances by ill-directed efforts to discover how he did it. 

"And what was that familiar figure among the rest, in a yellow silkdress and maroon velvet cloak and hood trimmed with black lace? Howthose clothes recalled the friends who gave them to me! And surely thiswas no other than my dear doll Rosa--the beloved companion of fiveyears of my youth, whose hair I wore in a locket after I was grown up. No one could say I had ill-treated _her_. Indeed, she fixed hereyes on me with a most encouraging smile--but then she always smiled, her mouth was painted so. 

"'All whom it may concern, take notice, ' shouted the Jack-in-a-box, atthis point, 'that the rule of this honourable court is tit for tat. '

"'Tit, tat, tumble two, ' muttered the slate in a cracked voice. (Howwell I remembered the fall that cracked it, and the sly games of tittat that varied the monotony of our long multiplication sums!)

"'What are you talking about?' said the Jack-in-a-box, sharply; 'if youhave grievances, state them, and you shall have satisfaction, as I toldyou before. '

"'---- and five make nine, ' added the slate promptly, 'and six arefifteen, and eight are twenty-seven--there we go again. ' I wonder why Inever get up to the top of a line of figures right. It will never proveat this rate. '

"'His mind is lost in calculations, ' said the Jack-in-a-box, 'besides--between ourselves--he has been "cracky" for some time. Letsome one else speak, and observe that no one is at liberty to pass asentence on the prisoner heavier than what he has suffered from her. Ireserve _my_ judgment to the last. '

"'I know what that will be, ' thought I; 'oh dear! oh dear! that arespectable maiden lady should live to be burnt as a Guy Fawkes!'

"'Let the prisoner drink a gallon of iced water at once, and then beleft to die of thirst. '

"The horrible idea that the speaker might possibly have the power toenforce his sentence diverted my attention from the slate, and I lookedround. In front of the Jack-in-a-box stood a tiny red flower-pot andsaucer, in which was a miniature cactus. My thoughts flew back to abazaar in London where, years ago, a stand of these fairy plants hadexcited my warmest longings, and where a benevolent old gentleman whomI had not seen before, and never saw again, bought this one and gave itto me. Vague memories of his directions for repotting and tending itreproached me from the past. My mind misgave me that after all it haddied a dusty death for lack of water. True, the cactus tribe beingsucculent plants do not demand much moisture, but I had reason to fearthat, in this instance, the principle had been applied too far, andthat after copious baths of cold spring water in the first days of itspopularity it had eventually perished by drought. I suppose I lookedguilty, for it nodded its prickly head towards me, and said, 'Ah! youknow me. You remember what I was, do you? Did you ever think of what Imight have been? There was a fairy rose which came down here not longago--a common rose enough, in a broken pot patched with string andwhite paint. It had lived in a street where it was the only purebeautiful thing your eyes could see. When the girl who kept it diedthere were eighteen roses upon it. She was eighteen years old, and theyput the roses in the coffin with her when she was buried. That wasworth living for. Who knows what I might have done? And what right hadyou to cut short a life that might have been useful?'

"Before I could think of a reply to these too just reproaches, theflower-pot enlarged, the plant shot up, putting forth new branches asit grew; then buds burst from the prickly limbs, and in a few momentsthere hung about it great drooping blossoms of lovely pink, with longwhite tassels in their throats. I had been gazing at it some time insilent and self-reproachful admiration, when I became aware that thebusiness of this strange court was proceeding, and that the other toyswere pronouncing sentence against me. 

"'Tie a string round her neck and take her out bathing in the brooks, 'I heard an elderly voice say in severe tones. It was the Dowager Doll. She was inflexibly wooden, and had been in the family for more than onegeneration. 

"'It's not fair, ' I exclaimed, 'the string was only to keep you frombeing carried away by the stream. The current is strong and the banksteep by the Hollow Oak Pool, and you had no arms or legs. You were oldand ugly, but you would wash, and we loved you better than many waxenbeauties. '

"'Old and ugly!' shrieked the Dowager. 'Tear her wig off! Scrub thepaint off her face! Flatten her nose on the pavement! Saw off her legsand give her no crinoline! Take her out bathing, I say, and bring herhome in a wheelbarrow with fern roots on the top of her. '

"I was about to protest again, when the paint-box came forward, andbalancing itself in an artistic, undecided kind of way on twocamel's-hair brushes which seemed to serve it for feet, addressed theJack-in-a-box. 

"'Never dip your paint into the water. Never put your brush into yourmouth--"

"'That's not evidence, ' said the Jack-in-a-box. 

"'Your notions are crude, ' said the paint-box loftily; 'it's in print, and here, all of it, or words to that effect;' with which he touchedthe lid, as a gentleman might lay his hand upon his heart. 

"'It's not evidence, ' repeated the Jack-in-a-box. 'Let us proceed. '

"'Take her to pieces and see what she's made of, if you please, 'tittered a pretty German toy that moved to a tinkling musicalaccompaniment. 'If her works are available after that it will be an erain natural science. '

"The idea tickled me, and I laughed. 

"'Hard-hearted wretch!' growled the Dowager Doll. 

"'Dip her in water and leave her to soak on a white soup-plate, ' saidthe paint-box; 'if that doesn't soften her feelings, deprive me of mymedal from the School of Art!'

"'Give her a stiff neck!' muttered the mandarin. 'Ching Fo! give her astiff neck. '

"'Knock her teeth out, ' growled the rake in a scratchy voice; and thenthe tools joined in chorus. 

"'Take her out when it's fine and leave her out when it's wet, and loseher in--

"'The coal-hole, ' said the spade. 

"'The hay-field, ' said the rake. 

"'The shrubbery, ' said the hoe. 

"This difference of opinion produced a quarrel, which in turn seemed toaffect the general behaviour of the toys, for a disturbance arose whichthe Jack-in-a-box vainly endeavoured to quell. A dozen voices shoutedfor a dozen different punishments, and (happily for me) each toyinsisted upon its own wrongs being the first to be avenged, and no onewould hear of the claims of any one else being attended to for aninstant. Terrible sentences were passed, which I either failed to hearthrough the clamour then, or have forgotten now. I have a vague ideathat several voices cried that I was to be sent to wash in somebody'spocket; that the work-basket wished to cram my mouth with unfinishedneedlework; and that through all the din the thick voice of my oldleather ball monotonously repeated:

"'Throw her into the dust-hole. '

"Suddenly a clear voice pierced the confusion, and Rosa tripped up. 

"'My dears, ' she began, 'the only chance of restoring order is toobserve method. Let us follow our usual rule of precedence. I claim thefirst turn as the prisoner's oldest toy. '

"'That you are not, Miss, ' snapped the Dowager; 'I was in the familyfor fifty years. '

"'In the family. Yes, ma'am; but you were never her doll in particular. I was her very own, and she kept me longer than any other plaything. Myjudgment must be first. '

"'She is right, ' said the Jack-in-a-box; 'and now let us get on. Theprisoner is delivered unreservedly into the hands of our trusty andwell-beloved Rosa--doll of the first class--for punishment according tothe strict law of tit for tat. '

"'I shall request the assistance of the pewter tea-things, ' said Rosa, with her usual smile. 'And now, my love, ' she added, turning to me, 'wewill come and sit down. '

"Where the go-cart vanished to I cannot remember, nor how I got out ofit; I only know that I suddenly found myself free, and walking awaywith my hand in Rosa's. I remember vacantly feeling the rough edge ofthe stitches on her flat kid fingers, and wondering what would comenext. 

"'How very oddly you hold your feet, my dear, ' she said; 'you stick outyour toes in such an eccentric fashion, and you lean on your legs as ifthey were table legs, instead of supporting yourself by my hand. Turnyour heels well out, and bring your toes together. You may even letthem fold over each other a little; it is considered to have a prettyeffect among dolls, '

"Under one of the big trees Miss Rosa made me sit down, propping meagainst the trunk as if I should otherwise have fallen; and in a momentmore a square box of pewter tea-things came tumbling up to our feet, where the lid burst open, and all the tea-things fell out in perfectorder; the cups on the saucers, the lid on the teapot, and so on. 

"'Take a little tea, my love?' said Miss Rosa, pressing a pewter teacupto my lips. 

"I made believe to drink, but was only conscious of inhaling a draughtof air with a slight flavour of tin. In taking my second cup I wasnearly choked with the teaspoon, which got into my throat. 

"'What are you doing?' roared the Jack-in-a-box at this moment; 'youare not punishing her. '

"'I am treating her as she treated me, ' answered Rosa, looking assevere as her smile would allow. 'I believe that tit for tat is therule, and that at present it is my turn. '

"'It will be mine soon, ' growled the Jack-in-a-box, and I thought ofthe bonfire with a shudder. However, there was no knowing what mighthappen before his turn did come, and meanwhile I was in friendly hands. It was not the first time my dolly and I had sat together under a tree, and, truth to say, I do not think she had any injuries to avenge. 

"'When your wig comes off, ' murmured Rosa, as she stole a pink kid armtenderly round my neck, 'I'll make you a cap with blue and whiterosettes, and pretend that you have had a fever. '

"I thanked her gratefully, and was glad to reflect that I was not yetin need of an attention which I distinctly remember having shown to herin the days of her dollhood. Presently she jumped up. 

"'I think you shall go to bed now, dear, ' she said, and, taking my handonce more, she led me to the big doll's bedstead, which, with itspretty bed-clothes and white dimity furniture, looked tempting enoughto a sleeper of suitable size. It could not have supported one quarterof my weight. 

"'I have not made you a night-dress, my love, ' Rosa continued; 'I amnot fond of my needle, you know. _You_ were not fond of your needle, Ithink, I fear you must go to bed in your clothes, my dear. '

"'You are very kind, ' I said, 'but I am not tired, and--it would notbear my weight. '

"'Pooh! pooh!' said Rosa. 'My love! I remember passing one Sunday in itwith the rag-doll, and the Dowager, and the Punch and Judy (the amountof pillow their two noses took up I shall never forget!), and the olddoll that had nothing on, because her clothes were in the dolls' washand did not get ironed on Saturday night, and the Highlander, whosethings wouldn't come off, and who slept in his kilt. Not bear you?Nonsense! You must go to bed, my dear. I've got other things to do, andI can't leave you lying about. '

"'The whole lot of you did not weigh one quarter of what I do, ' I crieddesperately. 'I cannot and will not get into that bed; I should breakit all to pieces, and hurt myself into the bargain. '

"'Well, if you will not go to bed I must put you there, ' said Rosa, andwithout more ado, she snatched me up in her kid arms, and laid me down. 

"Of course it was just as I expected. I had hardly touched the twolittle pillows (they had a meal-baggy smell from being stuffed withbran), when the woodwork gave way with a crash, and Ifell--fell--fell--

"Though I fully believed every bone in my body to be broken, it wasreally a relief to get to the ground. As soon as I could, I sat up, andfelt myself all over. A little stiff, but, as it seemed, unhurt. Oddlyenough, I found that I was back again under the tree; and more strangestill, it was not the tree where I sat with Rosa, but the old oak-treein the little wood. Was it all a dream? The toys had vanished, thelights were out, the mosses looked dull in the growing dusk, theevening was chilly, the hole no larger than it was thirty years ago, and when I felt in my pocket for my spectacles I found that they wereon my nose. 

"I have returned to the spot many times since, but I never could inducea beetle to enter into conversation on the subject, the hole remainsobstinately impassable, and I have not been able to repeat my visit tothe Land of Lost Toys. 

"When I recall my many sins against the playthings of my childhood, Iam constrained humbly to acknowledge that perhaps this is just aswell. "

 * * * * *

SAM SETS UP SHOP. 

"I think you might help me, Dot, " cried Sam, in dismal and ratherinjured tones. 

It was the morning following the day of the earthquake, and of AuntPenelope's arrival. Sam had his back to Dot, and his face to the fire, over which indeed he had bent for so long that he appeared to be halfroasted. 

"What do you want?" asked Dot, who was working at a doll's night-dressthat had for long been partly finished, and now seemed in a fair way tocompletion. 

"It's the glue-pot, " Sam continued. "It does take so long to boil. AndI have been stirring at the glue with a stick for ever so long to getit to melt. It is very hot work. I wish you would take it for a bit. It's as much for your good as for mine. "

"Is it?" said Dot. 

"Yes, it is, Miss, " cried Sam. "You must know I've got a splendididea. "

"Not another earthquake, I hope?" said Dot, smiling. 

"Now, Dot, that's truly unkind of you. I thought it was to beforgotten. "

"So it is, " said Dot, getting up. "I was only joking. What is theidea?"

"I don't think I shall tell you till I have finished my shop. I want toget to it now, and I wish you would take a turn at the glue-pot. "

Sam was apt to want a change of occupation. Dot, on the other hand, wasequally averse from leaving what she was about till it was finished, sothey suited each other like Jack Sprat and his wife. It had been aneffort to Dot to leave the night-dress which she had hoped to finish ata sitting; but when she was fairly set to work on the glue business shenever moved till the glue was in working order, and her face as red asa ripe tomato. 

By this time Sam had set up business in the window-seat, and wasfastening a large paper inscription over his shop. It ran thus:--

 * * * * *

 MR. SAM. 

_Dolls' Doctor and Toymender to Her Majestythe Queen, and all other Potentates_. 

 * * * * *

"Splendid!" shouted Dot, who was serving up the glue as if it had beena kettle of soup, and who looked herself very like an over-toastedcook. 

Sam took the glue, and began to bustle about. 

"Now, Dot, get me all the broken toys, and we'll see what we can do. And here's a second splendid idea. Do you see that box? Into that weshall put all the toys that are quite spoiled and cannot possibly bemended. It is to be called the Hospital for Incurables. I've got aplacard for that. At least it's not written yet, but here's the paper, and perhaps you would write it, Dot, for I am tired of writing, and Iwant to begin the mending. "

"For the future, " he presently resumed, "when I want a doll to scalp orbehead, I shall apply to the Hospital for Incurables, and the same withany other toy that I want to destroy. And you will see, my dear Dot, that I shall be quite a blessing to the nursery; for I shall attend thedolls gratis, and keep all the furniture in repair. "

Sam really kept his word. He had a natural turn for mechanical work, and, backed by Dot's more methodical genius, he prolonged the days ofthe broken toys by skilful mending, and so acquired an interest in themwhich was still more favourable to their preservation. When hisbirthday came round, which was some months after these events, Dot(assisted by Mamma and Aunt Penelope) had prepared for him a surprisethat was more than equal to any of his own "splendid ideas. " The wholeforce of the toy cupboard was assembled on the nursery table, topresent Sam with a fine box of joiner's tools as a reward for hisservices, Papa kindly acting as spokesman on the occasion. 

And certain gaps in the china tea-set, some scars on the dolls' faces, and a good many new legs, both amongst the furniture and the animals, are now the only remaining traces of Sam's earthquake. 

 * * * * *

THREE CHRISTMAS TREES. 

This is a story of Three Christmas Trees. The first was a real one, butthe child we are to speak of did not see it. He saw the other two, butthey were not real; they only existed in his fancy. The plot of thestory is very simple; and, as it has been described so early, it iseasy for those who think it stupid to lay the book down in good time. 

Probably every child who reads this has seen one Christmas tree ormore; but in the small town of a distant colony with which we have todo, this could not at one time have been said. Christmas-trees werethen by no means so universal, even in England, as they now are, and inthis little colonial town they were unknown. Unknown, that is, till theGovernor's wife gave her great children's party. At which point we willbegin the story. 

The Governor had given a great many parties in his time. He hadentertained big wigs and little wigs, the passing military, and thelocal grandees. Everybody who had the remotest claim to attention hadbeen attended to: the ladies had had their full share of balls andpleasure parties: only one class of the population had any complaint toprefer against his hospitality; but the class was a large one--it wasthe children. However, he, was a bachelor, and knew little or nothingabout little boys and girls: let us pity rather than blame him. At lasthe took to himself a wife; and among the many advantages of thisimportant step, was a due recognition of the claims of these youngcitizens. It was towards happy Christmas-tide that "the Governor'samiable and admired lady" (as she was styled in the local newspaper)sent out notes for her first children's party. At the top of thenote-paper was a very red robin, who carried a blue Christmas greetingin his mouth, and at the bottom--written with A. D. C. 's bestflourish--were the magic words, _A Christmas Tree_. In spite of theflourishes--partly perhaps because of them--the A. D. C. 's handwriting, though handsome, was rather illegible. But for all this, most of thechildren invited contrived to read these words, and those who could notdo so were not slow to learn the news by hearsay. There was to be aChristmas Tree! It would be like a birthday party, with this aboveordinary birthdays, that there were to be presents for every one. Oneof the children invited lived in a little white house, with a sprucefir-tree before the door. The spruce fir did this good service to thelittle house, that it helped people to find their way to it; and itwas by no means easy for a stranger to find his way to any given housein this little town, especially if the house were small and white, andstood in one of the back streets. For most of the houses were small, and most of them were painted white, and back streets ran parallel witheach other, and had no names, and were all so much alike that it wasvery confusing. For instance, if you had asked the way to Mr. So-and-So's, it is very probable that some friend would have directedyou as follows: "Go straight forward and take the first turning to yourleft, and you will find that there are four streets, which run at rightangles to the one you are in, and parallel with each other. Each ofthem has got a big pine in it--one of the old forest trees. Take thelast street but one, and the fifth white house you come to is Mr. So-and-So's. He has green blinds and a coloured servant. " You would notalways have got such clear directions as these, but with them you wouldprobably have found the house at last, partly by accident, partly by theblinds and coloured servant. Some of the neighbours affirmed that thelittle white house had a name; that all the houses and streets had names, only they were traditional and not recorded anywhere; that very fewpeople knew them, and nobody made any use of them. The name of the littlewhite house was said to be Trafalgar Villa, which seemed so inappropriateto the modest peaceful little home, that the man who lived in it tried tofind out why it had been so called. He thought that his predecessor musthave been in the navy, until he found that he had been the owner of whatis called a "dry-goods store, " which seems to mean a shop where thingsare sold which are not good to eat or drink--such as drapery. At lastsomebody said, that as there was a public-house called the "Duke ofWellington" at the corner of the street, there probably had been a nearerone called "The Nelson, " which had been burnt down, and that the man whobuilt "The Nelson" had built the house with the spruce fir before it, and that so the name had arisen. An explanation which was just so farprobable, that public-houses and fires were of frequent occurrence inthose parts. 

But this has nothing to do with the story. Only we must say, as we saidbefore, and as we should have said had we been living there then, thechild we speak of lived in the little white house with one spruce firjust in front of it. 

Of all the children who looked forward to the Christmas tree, he lookedforward to it the most intensely. He was an imaginative child, of asimple, happy nature, easy to please. His father was an Englishman, andin the long winter evenings he would tell the child tales of the oldcountry, to which his mother would listen also. Perhaps the parentsenjoyed these stories the most. To the boy they were new, andconsequently delightful, but to the parents they were old; and asregards some stories, that is better still. 

"What kind of a bird is this on my letter?" asked the boy on the daywhich brought the Governor's lady's note of invitation. "And oh! whatis a Christmas tree?"

"The bird is an English robin, " said his father. "It is quite anotherbird to that which is called a robin here: it is smaller and rounder, and has a redder breast and bright dark eyes, and lives and sings athome through the winter. A Christmas tree is a fir-tree--just such aone as that outside the door--brought into the house and covered withlights and presents. Picture to yourself our fir-tree lighted up withtapers on all the branches, with dolls, and trumpets, and bon-bons, anddrums, and toys of all kinds hanging from it like fir-cones, and on thetip-top shoot a figure of a Christmas Angel in white, with a star uponits head. "

"Fancy!" said the boy. 

And fancy he did. Every day he looked at the spruce fir, and tried toimagine it laden with presents, and brilliant with tapers, and thoughthow wonderful must be that "old country"--_Home_, as it was called, evenby those who had never seen it--where the robins were so very red, andwhere at Christmas the fir-trees were hung with toys instead of cones. 

It was certainly a pity that, two days before the party, an originalidea on the subject of snowmen struck one of the children who used toplay together, with their sleds and snow shoes, in the back streets. The idea was this: That instead of having a commonplace snowman, whoselegs were obliged to be mere stumps, for fear he should be top-heavy, and who could not walk, even with them; who, in fact, could do nothingbut stand at the corner of the street, holding his impotent stick, andstaring with his pebble eyes, till he was broken to pieces orignominiously carried away by a thaw, --that, instead of this, theyshould have a real, live snowman, who should walk on competent legs, tothe astonishment, and (happy thought!) perhaps to the alarm of thepassers-by. This delightful novelty was to be accomplished by coveringone of the boys of the party with snow till he looked as like a realsnowman as circumstances would admit. At first everybody wanted to bethe snowman, but, when it came to the point, it was found to be so muchduller to stand still and be covered up than to run about and work, that no one was willing to act the part. At last it was undertaken bythe little boy from the Fir House. He was somewhat small, but then hewas so good-natured he would always do as he was asked. So he stoodmanfully still, with his arms folded over a walking-stick upon hisbreast, whilst the others heaped the snow upon him. The plan was not sosuccessful as they had hoped. The snow would not stick anywhere excepton his shoulders, and when it got into his neck he cried with the cold;but they were so anxious to carry out their project, that they beggedhim to bear it "just a little longer"; and the urchin who had devisedthe original idea wiped the child's eyes with his handkerchief, and(with that hopefulness which is so easy over other people's matters)"dared say that when all the snow was on, he wouldn't feel it. "However, he did feel it, and that so severely that the children wereobliged to give up the game, and, taking the stick out of his stifflittle arms, to lead him home. 

It appears that it is with snowmen as with some other men inconspicuous positions. It is easier to find fault with them than tofill their place. 

The end of this was a feverish cold, and, when the day of the partycame, the ex-snowman was still in bed. It is due to the other childrento say that they felt the disappointment as keenly as he did, and thatit greatly damped the pleasure of the party for them to think that theyhad prevented his sharing in the treat. The most penitent of all wasthe deviser of the original idea. He had generously offered to stay athome with the little patient, which was as generously refused; but thenext evening he was allowed to come and sit on his bed, and describe itall for the amusement of his friend. He was a quaint boy, this urchin, with a face as broad as an American Indian's, eyes as bright as asquirrel's, and all the mischief in life lurking about him, till youcould see roguishness in the very folds of his hooded Indian wintercoat of blue and scarlet. In his hand he brought the sick child'spresent: a dray with two white horses, and little barrels that took offand on, and a driver, with wooden joints, a cloth coat, and everything, in fact, that was suitable to the driver of a brewer's dray, exceptthat he had blue boots and earrings, and that his hair was painted inbraids like a lady's, which is clearly the fault of the dollmanufacturers, who will persist in making them all of the weaker sex. 

"And what was the Christmas tree like?" asked the invalid. 

"Exactly like the fir outside your door, " was the reply. "Just aboutthat size, and planted in a pot covered with red cloth. It was kept inanother room till after tea, and then when the door was opened it waslike a street fire in the town at night--such a blaze of light--candleseverywhere! And on all the branches the most beautiful presents. I gota drum and a penwiper. "

"Was there an angel?" the child asked. 

"Oh, yes!" the boy answered. "It was on the tip-top branch, and it wasgiven to me, and I brought it for you, if you would like it; for, youknow, I am so very, very sorry I thought of a snowman and made you ill, and I do love you, and beg you to forgive me. "

And the roguish face stooped over the pillow to be kissed; and out of apocket in the hooded coat came forth the Christmas Angel. In the faceit bore a strong family likeness to the drayman, but its feet werehidden in folds of snowy muslin, and on its head glittered a tinselstar. 

"How lovely!" said the child. "Father told me about this. I like itbest of all. And it is very kind of you, for it is not your fault thatI caught cold. I should have liked it if we could have done it, but Ithink to enjoy being a snowman, one should be snow all through. "

They had tea together, and then the invalid was tucked up for thenight. The dray was put away in the cupboard, but he took the angel tobed with him. 

And so ended the first of the Three Christmas Trees. 

 * * * * *

Except for a warm glow from the wood fire in the stove, the room wasdark; but about midnight it seemed to the child that a sudden blaze oflight filled the chamber. At the same moment the window curtains weredrawn aside, and he saw that the spruce fir had come close up to thepanes and was peeping in. Ah! how beautiful it looked! It had become aChristmas tree. Lighted tapers shone from every familiar branch, toysof the most fascinating appearance hung like fruit, and on the tip-topshoot there stood the Christmas Angel. He tried to count the candles, but somehow it was impossible. When he looked at them they seemed tochange places--to move--to become like the angel, and then to becandles again, whilst the flames nodded to each other and repeated theblue greeting of the robin, "A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!"Then he tried to distinguish the presents, but, beautiful as the toyslooked, he could not exactly discover what any of them were, or choosewhich he would like best. Only the Angel he could see clearly--soclearly! It was more beautiful than the doll under his pillow; it had alovely face like his own mother's, he thought, and on its head gleameda star far brighter than tinsel. Its white robes waved with the flamesof the tapers, and it stretched its arms towards him with a smile. 

"I am to go and choose my present, " thought the child; and he called"Mother! Mother dear! please open the window. "

But his mother did not answer. So he thought he must get up himself, and with an effort he struggled out of bed. 

But when he was on his feet, everything seemed changed! Only thefirelight shone upon the walls, and the curtains were once more firmlyclosed before the window. It had been a dream, but so vivid that in hisfeverish state he still thought it must be true, and dragged thecurtains back to let in the glorious sight again. The firelight shoneupon a thick coating of frost upon the panes, but no further could hesee, so with all his strength he pushed the window open and leaned outinto the night. 

The spruce fir stood in its old place; but it looked very beautiful inits Christmas dress. Beneath it lay a carpet of pure white. The snowwas clustered in exquisite shapes upon its plumy branches; wrapping thetree top with its little cross shoots, as a white robe might wrap afigure with outstretched arms. 

There were no tapers to be seen, but northern lights shot up into thedark blue sky, and just over the fir-tree shone a bright, bright star. 

"Jupiter looks well to-night, " said the old Professor in the townobservatory, as he fixed his telescope; but to the child it seemed asthe star of the Christmas Angel. 

His mother had really heard him call, and now came and put him back tobed again. And so ended the second of the Three Christmas Trees. 

 * * * * *

It was enough to have killed him, all his friends said; but it did not. He lived to be a man, and--what is rarer--to keep the faith, thesimplicity, the tender-heartedness, the vivid fancy of his childhood. He lived to see many Christmas trees "at home, " in that old countrywhere the robins are redbreasts, and sing in winter. There a heart asgood and gentle as his own became one with his; and once he brought hisyoung wife across the sea to visit the place where he was born. Theystood near the little white house, and he told her the story of theChristmas trees. 

"This was when I was a child, " he added. 

"But that you are still, " said she; and she plucked a bit of thefir-tree and kissed it, and carried it away. 

He lived to tell the story to his children, and even to hisgrandchildren; but he never was able to decide which of the two wasthe more beautiful--the Christmas Tree of his dream, or the Spruce Firas it stood in the loveliness of that winter night. 

This is told, not that it has anything to do with any of the ThreeChristmas Trees, but to show that the story is a happy one, as is rightand proper; that the hero lived, and married, and had children, and wasas prosperous as good people, in books, should always be. 

Of course he died at last. The best and happiest of men must die; andit is only because some stories stop short in their history, that everyhero is not duly buried before we lay down the book. 

When death came for our hero he was an old man. The beloved wife, someof his children, and many of his friends had died before him, and ofthose whom he had loved there were fewer to leave than to rejoin. Hehad had a short illness, with little pain, and was now lying on hisdeathbed in one of the big towns in the North of England. His youngestson, a clergy-man, was with him, and one or two others of his children, and by the fire sat the doctor. 

The doctor had been sitting by the patient, but now that he could do nomore for him he had moved to the fire; and they had taken the ghastly, half-emptied medicine bottles from the table by the bedside, and hadspread it with a fair linen cloth, and had set out the silver vesselsof the Supper of the Lord. The old man had been "wandering" somewhatduring the day. He had talked much of going home to the old country, and with the wide range of dying thoughts he had seemed to minglememories of childhood with his hopes of Paradise. At intervals he wasclear and collected--one of those moments had been chosen for his lastsacrament--and he had fallen asleep with the blessing in his ears. 

He slept so long and so peacefully that the son almost began to hopethat there might be a change, and looked towards the doctor, who stillsat by the fire with his right leg crossed over his left. The doctor'seyes were also on the bed, but at that moment he drew out his watch andlooked at it with an air of professional conviction, which said, "It'sonly a question of time. " Then he crossed his left leg over his right, and turned to the fire again. Before the right leg should be tired, allwould be over. The son saw it as clearly as if it had been spoken, andhe too turned away and sighed. 

As they sat, the bells of a church in the town began to chime formidnight service, for it was Christmas Eve, but they did not wake thedying man. He slept on and on. 

The doctor dozed. The son read in the Prayer Book on the table, and oneof his sisters read with him. Another, from grief and weariness, sleptwith her head upon his shoulder. Except for a warm glow from the fire, the room was dark. Suddenly the old man sat up in bed, and, in a strongvoice, cried with inexpressible enthusiasm, "_How beautiful!_"

The son held back his sisters, and asked quietly, "_What_, my dear Father?"

"The Christmas Tree!" he said in a low, eager voice. "Draw back thecurtains. "

They were drawn back; but nothing could be seen, and still the old mangazed as if in ecstasy. 

"Light!" he murmured. "The Angel! the Star!"

Again there was silence; and then he stretched forth his hands, andcried passionately, "The Angel is beckoning to me! Mother! Mother dear! Please open thewindow. "

The sash was thrown open, and all eyes turned involuntarily where thoseof the dying man were gazing. There was no Christmas tree--no tree atall. But over the house-tops the morning star looked pure and pale inthe dawn of Christmas Day. For the night was past, and above thedistant hum of the streets the clear voices of some waits made thewords of an old carol heard--words dearer for their association thantheir poetry:

 "While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground, The Angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around. "

When the window was opened, the soul passed; and when they looked backto the bed the old man had lain down again, and, like a child, wassmiling in his sleep--his last sleep. 

And this was the Third Christmas Tree. 

 * * * * *

AN IDYLL OF THE WOOD. 

"Tell us a story, " said the children, "a sad one, if you please, and alittle true. But, above all, let it end badly, for we are tired ofpeople who live happily ever after. "

"I heard one lately, " said the old man who lived in the wood; "it isfounded on fact, and is a sad one also; but whether it ends badly or noI cannot pretend to say. That is a matter of taste: what is a badending?"

"A story ends badly, " said the children with authority, "when peopledie, and nobody marries anybody else, especially if it is a prince andprincess. "

"A most lucid explanation, " said the old man. "I think my story willdo, for the principal character dies, and there is no wedding. "

"Tell it, tell it!" cried his hearers, "and tell us also where you gotit from. "

"Who knows the riches of a wood in summer?" said the old man. "Insummer, do I say? In spring, in autumn, or in winter either. Who knowsthem? You, my children? Well, well. Better than some of your elders, perchance. You know the wood where I live; the hollow tree that willhold five children, and Queen Mab knows how many fairies. (What acastle it makes! And if it had but another floor put into it, with asloping ladder--like one of the round towers of Ireland--what a housefor children to live in! With no room for lesson-books, grown-uppeople, or beds!)

"You know the way to the hazel copse, and the place where the wildstrawberries grow. You know where the wren sits on her eggs, and, likegood children, pass by with soft steps and hushed voices, that you maynot disturb that little mother. You know (for I have shown you) wherethe rare fern grows--a habitat happily yet unnoted in scientific pages. _We_ never add its lovely fronds to our nosegays, and if we move aroot it is but to plant it in another part of the wood, with as muchmystery and circumspection as if we were performing some solemndruidical rite. It is to us as a king in hiding, and the places of itsabode we keep faithfully secret. It will be thus held sacred by usuntil, with all the seed its untouched fronds have scattered, and allthe offshoots we have propagated, it shall have become as plentiful asHeaven intends all beautiful things to be. Every one is not soscrupulous. There are certain ladies and gentlemen who picnic near mycottage in the hot weather, and who tell each other that they love awood. Most of these good people have nevertheless neither eyes nor earsfor what goes on around them, except that they hear each other, and seethe cold collation. They will picnic there summer after summer, and notknow whether they sit under oaks or ashes, beeches or elms. All birdssing for them the same song. Tell _them_ that such a plant is rarein the neighbourhood, that there are but few specimens of it, and itwill not long be their fault if there are any. Does any one direct themto it, they tear it ruthlessly up and carry it away. If by any chance aroot is left, it is left so dragged and pulled and denuded of earth, that there is small chance that it will survive. Probably, also, theravished clump dies in the garden or pot to which it is transplanted, either from neglect, or from ignorance of the conditions essential toits life; and the rare plant becomes yet rarer. Oh! without doubt theylove a wood. It gives more shade than the largest umbrella, and ischeaper for summer entertainment than a tent: there you get canopy andcarpet, fuel and water, shade and song, and beauty--all gratis; andthese are not small matters when one has invited a large party of one'sacquaintance. There are insects, it is true, which somewhat disturb ourfriends; and as they do not know which sting, and which are harmless, they kill all that come within their reach, as a safe generalprinciple. The town boys, too! They know the wood--that is to say, theyknow where the wild fruits grow, and how to chase the squirrel, and robthe birds' nests, and snare the birds. Well, well, my children; to knowand love a wood truly, it may be that one must live in it as I havedone; and then a lifetime will scarcely reveal all its beauties, orexhaust its lessons. But even then, one must have eyes that see, andears that hear, or one misses a good deal. It was in the wood that Iheard this story that I shall tell you. "

"How did you hear it?" asked the children. 

"A thrush sang it to me one night. "

"One night?" said the children. "Then you mean a nightingale. "

"I mean a thrush, " said the old man. "Do I not know the note of onebird from another? I tell you that pine-tree by my cottage has a legendof its own, and the topmost branch is haunted. Must all legends beabout the loves and sorrows of our self-satisfied race alone?"

"But did you really and truly hear it?" they asked. "I heard it, " saidthe old man. "But, as I tell you, one hears and one hears. I don't saythat everybody would have heard it, merely by sleeping in my chamber;but, for the benefit of the least imaginative, I will assure you thatit is founded on fact. "

"Begin! begin!" shouted the children. 

"Once upon a time, " said the old man, "there was a young thrush, whowas born in that beautiful dingle where we last planted the ---- fern. His home-nest was close to the ground, but the lower one is, the lessfear of falling; and in woods, the elevation at which you sleep is amatter of taste, and not of expense or gentility. He awoke to life whenthe wood was dressed in the pale fresh green of early summer; andbelieving, like other folk, that his own home was at least theprincipal part of the world, earth seemed to him so happy and sobeautiful an abode, that his heart felt ready to burst with joy. Theecstasy was almost pain, till wings and a voice came to him. Then, oneday, when, after a grey morning, the sun came out at noon, drawing thescent from the old pine that looks in at my bedroom window, his joyburst forth, after long silence, into song, and flying upwards, he saton the topmost branch of the pine, and sang as loud as he could sing tothe sun and the blue sky. 

"'Joy! joy!' he sang. 'Fresh water and green woods, ambrosial sunshineand sunflecked shade, chattering brooks and rustling leaves, glade, andsward, and dell. Lichens and cool mosses, feathered ferns and flowers. Green leaves! Green leaves! Summer! summer! summer!'

"It was monotonous, but every word came from the singer's heart, whichis not always the case. Thenceforward, though he slept near the ground, he went up every day to this pine, as to some sacred high place, andsang the same song, of which neither he nor I were ever weary. 

"Let one be ever so inoffensive, however, one is not long left in peacein this world, even in a wood. The thrush sang too loudly of his simplehappiness, and some boys from the town heard him and snared him, andtook him away in a dirty cloth cap, where he was nearly smothered. Theworld is certainly not exclusively composed of sunshine, and greenwoods, and odorous pines. He became almost senseless during the hotdusty walk that led to the town. It was a seaport town, about two milesfrom the wood, a town of narrow, steep streets, picturesque old houses, and odours compounded of tar, dead fish, and many other scents lessagreeable than forest perfumes. The thrush was put into a smallwicker-cage in an upper room, in one of the narrowest and steepest ofthe streets. "'I shall die to-night, ' he piped. But he did not. Helived that night, and for several nights and days following. The boystook small care of him, however. He was often left without food, without water, and always with too little air. Two or three times theytried to sell him, but he was not bought, for no one could hear himsing. One day he was hung outside the window, and partly owing to thesun and fresh air, and partly because a woman was singing in thestreet, he began to carol his old song. 

"The woman was a street singer. She was even paler, thinner, and moredestitute-looking than such women usually are. In some past time therehad been beauty and feeling in her face, but the traces of both werewell-nigh gone. An indifference almost amounting to vacancy was therenow, and, except that she sang, you might almost have fancied her acorpse. In her voice, also, there had once been beauty and feeling, andhere again the traces were small indeed. From time to time, she wasstopped by fits of coughing, when an ill-favoured hunchback, whoaccompanied her on a tambourine, swore and scowled at her. She sang asong of sentiment, with a refrain about

 'Love and truth, And joys of youth--'

on which the melody dwelt and quavered as if in mockery. As she sang, asailor came down the street. His collar was very large, his trouserswere very wide, his hat hung on the back of his head more as anornament than for shelter; and he had one of the roughest faces and thegentlest hearts that ever went together since Beauty was entertained bythe Beast. His hands were in his pockets, where he could feel oneshilling and a penny, all the spare cash that remained to him after afriendly stroll through the town. When he saw the street singer, hestopped, pulled off his hat, and scratched his head, as was his customwhen he was puzzled or interested. 

"'It's no good keeping an odd penny, ' he said to himself; 'poor thing, she looks bad enough!' And, bringing the penny to the surface out ofthe depths of his pocket, he gave it to the woman. The hunchback cameforward to take it, but the sailor passed him with a shove of hiselbow, and gave it to the singer, who handed it over to her companionwithout moving a feature, and went on with her song. 

"'I'd like to break every bone in your ugly body, ' muttered the sailor, with a glance at the hunchback, who scowled in return. 

"'I shall die of this close street, and of all I have suffered, 'thought the thrush. 

"'Green leaves! green leaves!' he sang, for it was the only song heknew. 

"'My voice is gone, ' thought the hunchback's companion. 'He'll beat meagain to-night; but it can't last long:

 "Love and truth, And joys of youth"'--

she sang, for that was the song she had learned; and it was not herfault that it was inappropriate. 

"But the ballad-singer's captivity was nearly at an end. When thehunchback left her that evening to spend the sailor's penny with thefew others which she had earned, he swore that when he came back hewould make her sing louder than she had done all day. Her face showedno emotion, less than it did when he saw it hours after, when beautyand feeling seemed to have returned to it in the peace of death, whenhe came back and found the cage empty, and that the long-prisonedspirit had flown away to seek the face of love and truth indeed. 

"But how about the thrush?

"The sailor had scarcely swallowed the wrath which the hunchback hadstirred in him, when his ear was caught by the song of the thrush abovehim. 

"'You sing uncommon well, pretty one, ' he said, stopping and puttinghis hat even farther back than usual to look up. He was one of thosegood people who stop a dozen times in one street, and look ateverything as they go along; whereby you may see three times as much oflife as other folk, but it is a terrible temptation to spend money. Itwas so in this instance. The sailor looked till his kindly eyeperceived that the bird was ill-cared for. 

"'It should have a bit of sod, it _should_, ' he said emphatically, taking his hat off, and scratching his head again; 'and there's not acrumb of food on board. Maybe, they don't understand the ways of birdshere. It would be a good turn to mention it. '

"With this charitable intention he entered the house, and when he leftit, his pocket was empty, and the thrush was carried tenderly in hishandkerchief. 

"'The canary died last voyage, ' he muttered apologetically to himself, 'and the money always does go somehow or other. '

"The sailor's hands were about three times as large and coarse as thoseof the boy who had carried the thrush before, but they seemed to himthree times more light and tender--they were handy and kind, and thisgoes farther than taper fingers. 

"The thrush's new home was not in the narrow streets. It was in a smallcottage in a small garden at the back of the town. The canary's oldcage was comparatively roomy, and food, water, and fresh turf wereregularly supplied to him. He could see green leaves too. There was anapple-tree in the garden, and two geraniums, a fuchsia, and a tea-rosein the window. Near the tea-rose an old woman sat in the sunshine. Shewas the sailor's mother, and looked very like a tidily-keptwindow-plant herself. She had a little money of her own, which gave hera certain dignity, and her son was very good to her; and so she dweltin considerable comfort, dividing her time chiefly between reading inthe big Bible, knitting socks for Jack, and raising cuttings in bottlesof water. She had heard of hothouses and forcing-frames, but she didnot think much of them. She believed a bottle of water to be the mostnatural, because it was the oldest method she knew of, and she thoughtno good came of new-fangled ways, and trying to outdo Nature. 

"'Slow and sure is best, ' she said, and stuck to her own system. 

"'What's that, my dear?' she asked, when the sailor came in and held upthe handkerchief. He told her. 

"'You're always a-laying out your money on something or other, ' saidthe old lady, who took the privilege of her years to be a little testy. 'What did you give for _that_?'

"'A shilling, ma'am. '

"'Tst! tst! tst!' said the old lady, disapprovingly. 

"'Now, Mother, don't shake that cap of yours off your head, ' said thesailor. 'What's a shilling? If I hadn't spent it, I should have changedit; and once change a shilling, and it all dribbles away in coppers, and you get nothing for it. But spend it in the lump, and you getsomething you want. That's what I say. '

"'_I_ want no more pets, ' said the old lady, stiffly. 

"'Well, you won't be troubled with this one long, ' said her son; 'it'llgo with me, and that's soon enough. '

"Any allusion to his departure always melted the old lady, as Jack wellknew. She became tearful, and begged him to leave the thrush with her. 

"'You know, my dear, I've always looked to your live things as if theywere Christians; and loved them too (unless it was that monkey that Inever _could_ do with!). Leave it with me, my dear. I'd never bothermyself with a bird on board ship, if I was you. '

"'That's because you've got a handsome son of your own, old lady, 'chuckled the sailor; 'I've neither chick nor child, ma'am, remember, and a man must have something to look to. The bird'll go with me. '

"And so it came to pass that just when the thrush was becomingdomesticated, and almost happy at the cottage, one morning the sailorbrought him fresh turf and groundsel, besides his meal-cake, and tookthe cage down. And the old woman kissed the wires, and bade the birdgood-bye, and blessed her son, and prayed Heaven to bring him safe homeagain; and they went their way. 

"The forecastle of a steam-ship (even of a big one) is a poor exchangefor a snug cottage to any one but a sailor. To Jack, the ship was home. _He_ had never lived in a wood, and carolled in tree-tops. He preferredblue to green, and pine masts to pine trees; and he smoked his pipevery comfortably in the forecastle, whilst the ship rolled to and fro, and swung the bird's cage above his head. To the thrush it was only animprisonment that grew worse as time went on. Each succeeding day madehim pine more bitterly for his native woods--for fresh air and greenleaves, and the rest and quiet, and sweet perfumes, and pleasant soundsof country life. His turf dried up, his groundsel withered, and no morecould be got. He longed even to be back with the old woman--to see theapple-tree, and the window-plants, and be still. The shudder of thescrew, the blasts of hot air from the engine and cook's galley, theceaseless jangling, clanging, pumping noises, and all the indescribablesmells which haunt a steam-ship, became more wearisome day by day. Evenwhen the cage was hung outside, the, sea breeze seemed to mock him withits freshness. The rich blue of the waters gave him no pleasure, hiseyes failed with looking for green, the bitter, salt spray vexed him, and the wind often chilled him to the bone, whilst the sun shone, andicebergs gleamed upon the horizon. 

"The sailor had been so kind a master, that the thrush had becomedeeply attached to him, as birds will; and while at the cottage he hadscarcely fretted after his beloved wood. But with every hour of thevoyage, home-sickness came more strongly upon him, and his heart wentback to the nest, and the pine-top, and the old home. When one sleepssoundly, it is seldom that one remembers one's dreams; but when one isapt to be roused by an unexpected lurch of the ship, by the moan of afog-whistle, or the scream of an engine, one becomes a light sleeper, and the visions of the night have a strange reality, and are easilyrecalled. And now the thrush always dreamt of home. 

"One day he was hung outside. It was not a very fine day, but he lookeddrooping, and the pitying sailor brought him out, to get some air. Hisheart was sore with home-sickness, and he watched the sea-birdsskimming up and down with envious eyes. It seemed all very well forpoor men, who hadn't so much as a wing to carry them over the water, tobuild lumbering sea-nests, with bodies to float in the water like fish, and wings of canvas to carry them along, and to help it out with noisysteam-engines--and to endure it all. But for him, who could fly over ahundred tree-tops before a man could climb to one, it was hard to swingoutside a ship, and to watch other birds use their wings, when his, which quivered to fly homewards, could only flutter against the bars. As he thought, a roll of the ship threw him forward, the wind shook thewires of the cage, and loosened the fastening; and, when the vesselrighted, the cage-door swung slowly open. 

"At this moment, a ray of sunshine streaked the deep blue water, and agleaming sea bird, which had been sitting like a tuft of foam upon awave, rose with outstretched pinions, and soared away. It was too much. With one shrill pipe of hope, the thrush fluttered from his cage, spread his wings, and followed him. 

"When the sailor found that the wind was getting up, he came to takethe cage down, and then his grief was sore indeed. 

"'The canary died last voyage, ' he said, sadly. 'The cage was bought ona Friday, and I knew ill luck would come of it. I said so to Mother;but the old lady says there's no such thing as luck, and she'sBible-learned, if ever a woman was. "That's very true, " says I, "butif I'd the money for another cage, I wouldn't use this;" and I neverwill again. Poor, bird! it was a sweet singer. ' And he turned his faceaside. 

"'It may have the sense to come back, ' said one of the crew. The sailorscratched his head, and shook it sadly. 

"'Noah's bird came back to him, when she found no rest, ' he said, 'butI don't think mine will, Tom. '

"He was right. The thrush returned no more. He did not know how widewas the difference between his own strength and that of the bird hefollowed. The sea-fowl cut the air with wings of tenfold power: heswooped up and down, he stooped to fish, he rested on the ridges of thedancing waves, and then, with one steady flight, he disappeared, andthe thrush was left alone. Other birds passed him, and flew about him, and fished, and rocked upon the waters near him, but he held steadilyon. Ships passed him also, but too far away for him to rest upon;whales spouted in the distance, and strange fowl screamed; but not afamiliar object broke the expanse of the cold sea. He did not know whatcourse he was taking. He hoped against hope that he was going home. Although he was more faint and weary than he had ever yet been, he feltno pain. The intensity of his hope to reach the old wood madeeverything seem light; even at the last, when his wings were almostpowerless, he believed that they would bear him home, and was happy. Already he seemed to rest upon the trees, the waters sounded in hisears like the rustling of leaves, and the familiar scent of thepine-tree seemed to him to come upon the breeze. 

"In this he was not wrong. A country of pine-woods was near; and landwas in sight, though too far away for him to reach it now. Not home, but yet a land of wondrous summer beauty; of woods, and flowers, andsun-flecked leaves--of sunshine more glowing than he had ever known--oflarger ferns, and deeper mosses, and clearer skies--a land, of balmysummer nights, where the stars shine brighter than with us, and wherefireflies appear and vanish, like stars of a lower firmament, amid thetrees. As the sun broke out, the scent of pines came strong upon theland breeze. A strange land, but the thrush thought it was his own. 

"'I smell woods, ' he chirped faintly; 'I see the sun. This is home!'

"All round him, the noisy crests of the fresh waves seemed to carol thesong he could no longer sing--'Home, home! fresh water and green woods, ambrosial sunshine and sun-flecked shade, chattering brooks andrustling leaves, glade and sward and dell, lichens and cool mosses, feathered ferns and flowers. Green leaves! green leaves! Summer!summer! summer!'

"The slackened wings dropped, the dying eyes looked landward, and thenclosed. But even as he fell, he believed himself sinking to rest onMother Earth's kindly bosom, and he did not know it, when the coldwaves buried him at sea. "

"Oh, then, he _did_ die!" cried the children, who, though they were tiredof stories that end happily, yet, when they heard it, liked a sad endingno better than other children do (in which, by the bye, we hold them tobe in the right, and can hardly forgive ourselves for chronicling this"ower true tale"). 

"Yes, " said the old man, "he died; but it is said that the sweetdingle which was his home--forsaken by the nightingale--is regarded bybirds as men regard a haunted house; for that at still summer midnight, when other thrushes sleep, a shadowy form, more like a skeleton leafthan a living bird, swings upon the tall tree-tops where he sat of old, and, rapt in a happy ecstasy, sings a song more sweet and joyous thanthrush ever sang by day. "

"Have you heard it?" asked the children. 

The old man nodded. But not another word would he say. The children, however, forthwith began to lay plans for getting into the wood somemid-summer night, to test with their own ears the truth of his story, and to hear the spectre thrush's song. Whether the authoritiespermitted the expedition, and if not, whether the young people baffledtheir vigilance--whether they heard the song, and if so, whether theyunderstood it--we are not empowered to tell here. 

 * * * * *

CHRISTMAS CRACKERS. 

A FANTASIA. 

It was Christmas-eve in an old-fashioned country-house, where Christmaswas being kept with old-fashioned form and custom. It was getting late. The candles swaggered in their sockets, and the yule log glowedsteadily like a red-hot coal. 

"The fire has reached his heart, " said the tutor: "he is warm allthrough. How red he is! He shines with heat and hospitality like somewarm-hearted old gentleman when a convivial evening is pretty faradvanced. To-morrow he will be as cold and grey as the morning after afestival, when the glasses are being washed up, and the host iscalculating his expenses. Yes! you know it is so;" and the tutor noddedto the yule log as he spoke; and the log flared and crackled in return, till the tutor's face shone like his own. He had no other means ofreply. 

The tutor was grotesque-looking at any time. He was lank and meagre, with a long body and limbs, and high shoulders. His face wassmooth-shaven, and his skin like old parchment stretched over highcheek-bones and lantern jaws; but in their hollow sockets his eyesgleamed with the changeful lustre of two precious gems. In the ruddyfirelight they were like rubies, and when he drew back into the shadethey glared green like the eyes of a cat. It must not be inferred fromthe tutor's presence this evening that there were no Christmas holidaysin this house. They had begun some days before; and if the tutor hadhad a home to go to, it is to be presumed that he would have gone. 

As the candles got lower, and the log flared less often, weird lightsand shades, such as haunt the twilight, crept about the room. Thetutor's shadow, longer, lanker, and more grotesque than himself, moppedand mowed upon the wall beside him. The snapdragon burnt blue, and asthe raisin-hunters stirred the flaming spirit, the ghastly light madethe tutor look so hideous that the widow's little boy was on the eve ofhowling, and spilled the raisins he had just secured. (He did not likeputting his fingers into the flames, but he hovered near the moreadventurous school-boys and collected the raisins that were scatteredon the table by the hasty _grabs_ of braver hands. )

The widow was a relative of the house. She had married a Mr. Jones, andhaving been during his life his devoted slave, had on his deathtransferred her allegiance to his son. The late Mr. Jones was a smallman with a strong temper, a large appetite, and a taste fordrawing-room theatricals. So Mrs. Jones had called her son Macready;"for, " she said, "his poor papa would have made a fortune on the stage, and I wish to commemorate his talents. Besides, Macready sounds betterwith Jones than a commoner Christian name would do. "

But his cousins called him MacGreedy. 

"The apples of the enchanted garden were guarded by dragons. Manyknights went after them. One wished for the apples, but he did not liketo fight the dragons. "

It was the tutor who spoke from the dark corner by the fire-place. Hiseyes shone like a cat's, and MacGreedy felt like a half-scared mouse, and made up his mind to cry. He put his right fist into one eye, andhad just taken it out, and was about to put his left fist into theother, when he saw that the tutor was no longer looking at him. So hemade up his mind to go on with the raisins, for one can have a peevishcry at any time, but plums are not scattered broadcast every day. Several times he had tried to pocket them, but just at the moment thetutor was sure to look at him, and in his fright he dropped theraisins, and never could find them again. So this time he resolved toeat them then and there. He had just put one into his mouth when thetutor leaned forward, and his eyes, glowing in the firelight, metMacGreedy's, who had not even the presence of mind to shut his mouth, but remained spellbound, with a raisin in his cheek. 

Flicker, flack! The school-boys stirred up snapdragon again, and withthe blue light upon his features the tutor made so horrible a grimacethat MacGreedy swallowed the raisin with a start. He had bolted itwhole, and it might have been a bread pill for any enjoyment he had ofthe flavour. But the tutor laughed aloud. He certainly was an alarmingobject, pulling those grimaces in the blue brandy glare; andunpleasantly like a picture of Bogy himself with horns and a tail, in ajuvenile volume upstairs. True, there were no horns to speak of amongthe tutor's grizzled curls, and his coat seemed to fit as well as mostpeople's on his long back, so that unless he put his tail in hispocket, it is difficult to see how he could have had one. But then (asMiss Letitia said) "With dress one can do anything and hide anything, "and on dress Miss Letitia's opinion was final. 

Miss Letitia was a cousin. She was dark, high-coloured, glossy-haired, stout, and showy. She was as neat as a new pin, and had a will of herown. Her hair was firmly fixed by bandoline, her garibaldis by anarrangement which failed when applied to those of the widow, and heropinions by the simple process of looking at everything from one pointof view. Her _forte_ was dress and general ornamentation; not thatMiss Letitia was extravagant--far from it. If one may use theexpression, she utilized for ornament a hundred bits and scraps thatmost people would have wasted. But, like other artists, she saweverything through the medium of her own art. She looked at birds withan eye to hats, and at flowers with reference to evening parties. Atpicture exhibitions and concerts she carried away jacket patterns andbonnets in her head, as other people make mental notes of an aerialeffect, or a bit of fine instrumentation. An enthusiastichorticulturist once sent Miss Letitia a cut specimen of a new flower. It was a lovely spray from a lately-imported shrub. A botanist wouldhave pressed it--an artist must have taken its portrait--a poet mighthave written a sonnet in praise of its beauty. Miss Letitia twisted apiece of wire round its stem, and fastened it on to her black lacebonnet. It came on the day of a review, when Miss Letitia had to appearin a carriage, and it was quite a success. As she said to the widow, "It was so natural that no one could doubt its being Parisian. "

"What a strange fellow that tutor is!" said the visitor. He spoke tothe daughter of the house, a girl with a face like a summer's day, andhair like a ripe corn-field rippling in the sun. He was a fine youngman, and had a youth's taste for the sports and amusements of his age. But lately he had changed. He seemed to himself to be living in ahigher, nobler atmosphere than hitherto. He had discovered that he waspoetical--he might prove to be a genius. He certainly was eloquent, hecould talk for hours, and did so--to the young lady with the sunshinyface. They spoke on the highest subjects, and what a listener she was!So intelligent and appreciative, and with such an exquisite _pose_of the head--it must inspire a block of wood merely to see such acreature in a listening attitude. As to our young friend, he pouredforth volumes; he was really clever, and for her he became eloquent. To-night he spoke of Christmas, of time-honoured custom and oldassociation; and what he said would have made a Christmas article for amagazine of the first class. He poured scorn on the cold nature thatcould not, and the affectation that would not, appreciate the domesticfestivities of this sacred season. What, he asked, could be moredelightful, more perfect than such a gathering as this, of thefamily circle round the Christmas hearth? He spoke with feeling, and itmay be said with disinterested feeling, for he had not joined hisfamily circle himself this Christmas, and there was a vacant place bythe hearth of his own home. 

"He is strange, " said the young lady (she spoke of the tutor in answerto the above remark); "but I am very fond of him. He has been with usso long he is like one of the family; though we know as little of hishistory as we did on the day he came. "

"He looks clever, " said the visitor. (Perhaps that is the least one cansay for a fellow-creature who shows a great deal of bare skull, and isnot otherwise good-looking. )

"He is clever, " she answered, "wonderfully clever; so clever and so oddthat sometimes I fancy he is hardly 'canny. ' There is something almostsupernatural about his acuteness and his ingenuity, but they are sokindly used; I wonder he has not brought out any playthings for usto-night. "

"Playthings?" inquired the young man. 

"Yes; on birthdays or festivals like this he generally brings somethingout of those huge pockets of his. He has been all over the world, andhe produces Indian puzzles, Japanese flower-buds that bloom in hotwater, and German toys with complicated machinery, which I suspect himof manufacturing himself. I call him Godpapa Grosselmayer, after thatdelightful old fellow in Hoffman's tale of the Nut Cracker. "

"What's that about crackers?" inquired the tutor, sharply, his eyeschanging colour like a fire opal. 

"I am talking of _Nussnacker und Mausekönig_, " laughed the young lady. "Crackers do not belong to Christmas; fireworks come on the 5th ofNovember. "

"Tut, tut!" said the tutor; "I always tell your ladyship that you arestill a tom-boy at heart, as when I first came, and you climbed treesand pelted myself and my young students with horse-chestnuts. You thinkof crackers to explode at the heels of timorous old gentlemen in aNovember fog; but I mean bonbon crackers, coloured crackers, daintycrackers--crackers for young people with mottoes of sentiment" (herethe tutor shrugged his high shoulders an inch or two higher, andturned the palms of his hands outwards with a glance indescribablycomical)--"crackers with paper prodigies, crackers withsweetmeats--_such_ sweetmeats!" He smacked his lips with a grotesquecontortion, and looked at Master McGreedy, who choked himself withhis last raisin, and forthwith burst into tears. 

The widow tried in vain to soothe him with caresses, but he onlystamped and howled the more. But Miss Letitia gave him some smartsmacks on the shoulders to cure his choking fit, and as she kept up thetreatment with vigour, the young gentleman was obliged to stop andassure her that the raisin had "gone the right way" at last. "If hewere my child, " Miss Letitia had been known to observe, with thatconfidence which characterizes the theories of those who are notparents, "I would, &c. , &c. , &c. ;" in fact, Miss Letitia thought shewould have made a very different boy of him--as, indeed, I believe shewould. 

"Are crackers all that you have for us, sir?" asked one of the twoschool-boys, as they hung over the tutor's chair. They were twins, grand boys, with broad, good-humoured faces, and curly wigs, as like astwo puppy dogs of the same breed. They were only known apart by theirintimate friends, and were always together, romping, laughing, snarling, squabbling, huffing and helping each other against the world. Each of them owned a wiry terrier, and in their relations to each otherthe two dogs (who were marvellously alike) closely followed the exampleof their masters. 

"Do you not care for crackers, Jim?" asked the tutor. 

"Not much, sir. They do for girls: but, as you know, I care for nothingbut military matters. Do you remember that beautiful toy of yours--'TheBesieged City'? Ah! I liked that. Look out, Tom! you're shoving my arm. Can't you stand straight, man?'

"R-r-r-r--r-r, snap!"

Tom's dog was resenting contact with Jim's dog on the hearthrug. Therewas a hustle among the four, and then they subsided. 

"The Besieged City was all very well for you, Jim, " said Tom, who meantto be a sailor; "but please to remember that it admitted of no attackfrom the sea; and what was there for me to do? Ah, sir! you are soclever, I often think you could help me to make a swing with laddersinstead of single ropes, so that I could run up and down the riggingwhilst it was in full go. "

"That would be something like your fir-tree prank, Tom, " said hissister. "Can you believe, " she added, turning to the visitor, "that Tomlopped the branches of a tall young fir-tree all the way up, leavinglittle bits for foothold, and then climbed up it one day in an awfulstorm of wind, and clung on at the top, rocking backwards and forwards?And when Papa sent word for him to come down, he said parentalauthority was superseded at sea by the rules of the service. It was adreadful storm, and the tree snapped very soon after he got safe to theground. "

"Storm!" sneered Tom, "a capful of wind. Well, it did blow half a galeat the last. But oh! it was glorious!"

"Let us see what we can make of the crackers, " said the tutor--and hepulled some out of his pocket. They were put in a dish upon the table, for the company to choose from; and the terriers jumped and snapped, and tumbled over each other, for they thought that the plate containedeatables. Animated by the same idea, but with quieter steps, MasterMacGreedy also approached the table. 

"The dogs are noisy, " said the tutor, "too noisy. We must havequiet--peace and quiet. " His lean hand was once more in his pocket, andhe pulled out a box, from which he took some powder, which he scatteredon the burning log. A slight smoke now rose from the hot embers, andfloated into the room. Was the powder one of those strange compoundsthat act upon the brain? Was it a magician's powder? Who knows? With itcame a sweet, subtle fragrance. It was strange--every one fancied hehad smelt it before, and all were absorbed in wondering what it was, and where they had met with it. Even the dogs sat on their hauncheswith their noses up, sniffing in a speculative manner. 

"It's not lavender, " said the grandmother, slowly, "and it's notrosemary. There is a something of tansy in it (and a very fine tonicflavour too, my dears, though it's _not_ in fashion now). Depend upon it, it's a potpourri, and from an excellent receipt, sir"--and the old ladybowed courteously towards the tutor. "My mother made the best potpourriin the county, and it was very much like this. Not quite, perhaps, but much the same, much the same. "

The grandmother was a fine old gentlewoman "of the old school, " as thephrase is. She was very stately and gracious in her manners, daintilyneat in her person, and much attached to the old parson of the parish, who now sat near her chair. All her life she had been very proud of herfine stock of fair linen, both household and personal; and for manyyears past had kept her own graveclothes ready in a drawer. They werebleached as white as snow, and lay amongst bags of dried lavender andpotpourri. Many times had it seemed likely that they would be needed, for the old lady had had severe illnesses of late, when the good parsonsat by her bedside, and read to her of the coming of the Bridegroom, and of that "fine linen clean and white, " which is "the righteousnessof the saints. " It was of that drawer, with its lavender and potpourribags, that the scented smoke had reminded her. 

"It has rather an overpowering odour, " said the old parson; "it issuggestive of incense. I am sure I once smelt something like it in theChurch of the Nativity at Bethlehem. It is very delicious. "

The parson's long residence in his parish had been marked by one greatholiday. With the savings of many years he had performed a pilgrimageto the Holy Land; and it was rather a joke against him that heillustrated a large variety of subjects by reference to his favouritetopic, the holiday of his life. 

"It smells of gunpowder, " said Jim, decidedly, "and something else. Ican't tell what. "

"Something one smells in a seaport town, " said Tom. 

"Can't be very delicious then, " Jim retorted. 

"It's not _quite_ the same, " piped the widow; "but it reminds me verymuch of an old bottle of attar of roses that was given to me when Iwas at school, with a copy of verses, by a young gentleman who wasbrother to one of the pupils. I remember Mr. Jones was quite annoyedwhen he found it in an old box, where I am sure I had not touched itfor ten years or more; and I never spoke to him but once, onExamination Day (the young gentleman, I mean). And its like--yes it'scertainly like a hair-wash Mr. Jones used to use. I've forgotten whatit was called, but I know it cost fifteen shillings a bottle; andMacready threw one over a few weeks before his dear papa's death, andannoyed him extremely. "

Whilst the company were thus engaged, Master MacGreedy took advantageof the general abstraction to secure half-a-dozen crackers to his ownshare; he retired to a corner with them, where he meant to pick themquietly to pieces by himself. He wanted the gay paper, and the motto, and the sweetmeats; but he did not like the report of the cracker. Andthen what he did want, he wanted all to himself. 

"Give us a cracker, " said Master Jim, dreamily. 

The dogs, after a few dissatisfied snorts, had dropped from theirsitting posture, and were lying close together on the rug, dreaming anduttering short commenting barks and whines at intervals. The twins werenow reposing lazily at the tutor's feet, and did not feel disposed toexert themselves even so far as to fetch their own bonbons. 

"There's one, " said the tutor, taking a fresh cracker from his pocket. One end of it was of red and gold paper, the other of transparent greenstuff with silver lines. The boys pulled it. 

 * * * * *

The report was louder than Jim had expected. "The firing has begun, " hemurmured, involuntarily; "steady, steady!" these last words were to hishorse, who seemed to be moving under him, not from fear, but fromimpatience. What had been the red and gold paper of the cracker was nowthe scarlet and gold lace of his own cavalry uniform. He knocked aspeck from his sleeve, and scanned the distant ridge, from which a thinline of smoke floated solemnly away, with keen, impatient eyes. Werethey to stand inactive all the day?

Presently the horse erects his head. His eyes sparkle--he pricks hissensitive ears--his nostrils quiver with a strange delight. It is thetrumpet! Fan farrâ! Fan farrâ! The brazen voice speaks--the horsesmove--the plumes wave--the helmets shine. On a summer's day they rideslowly, gracefully, calmly down a slope, to Death or Glory. Fan farrâ!Fan farrâ! Fan farrâ!

 * * * * *

Of all this Master Tom knew nothing. The report of the cracker seemedto him only an echo in his brain of a sound that had been in his earsfor thirty-six weary hours. The noise of a heavy sea beating againstthe ship's side in a gale. It was over now, and he was keeping themidnight watch on deck, gazing upon the liquid green of the waves, which, heaving and seething after storm, were lit with phosphoriclight, and as the ship held steadily on her course, poured past at therate of twelve knots an hour in a silvery stream. Faster than any shipcan sail his thoughts travelled home; and as old times came back tohim, he hardly knew whether what he looked at was the phosphor-lightedsea, or green gelatine paper barred with silver. And did the tutorspeak? Or was it the voice of some sea-monster sounding in his ears?

"The spirits of the storm have gone below to make their report. Thetreasure gained from sunk vessels has been reckoned, and the sea isilluminated in honour of the spoil. "

 * * * * *

The visitor now took a cracker and held it to the young lady. Her endwas of white paper with a raised pattern; his of dark-blue gelatinewith gold stars. It snapped, the bonbon dropped between them, and theyoung man got the motto. It was a very bald one--

 "My heart is thine. Wilt thou be mine?"

He was ashamed to show it to her. What could be more meagre? One couldwrite a hundred better couplets "standing on one leg, " as the sayingis. He was trying to improvise just one for the occasion, when hebecame aware that the blue sky over his head was dark with the shadesof night, and lighted with stars. A brook rippled near with a soothingmonotony. The evening wind sighed through the trees, and wafted thefragrance of the sweet bay-leaved willow towards him, and blew a straylock of hair against his face. Yes! _She_ also was there, walking besidehim, under the scented willow-bushes. Where, why, and whither he did notask to know. She was with him--with him; and he seemed to tread on thesummer air. He had no doubt as to the nature of his own feelings for her, and here was such an opportunity for declaring them as might never occuragain. Surely now, if ever, he would be eloquent! Thoughts of poetryclothed in words of fire must spring unbidden to his lips at such amoment. And yet somehow he could not find a single word to say. He beathis brains, but not an idea would come forth. Only that idioticcracker motto, which haunted him with its meagre couplet:

 "My heart is thine. Wilt thou be mine?"

Meanwhile they wandered on. The precious time was passing. He must atleast make a beginning. 

"What a fine night it is!" he observed. But, oh dear! that was athousand times balder and more meagre than the cracker motto; and notanother word could he find to say. At this moment the awkward silencewas broken by a voice from a neighbouring copse. It was a nightingalesinging to his mate. There was no lack of eloquence, and of melodiouseloquence, there. The song was as plaintive as old memories, and asfull of tenderness as the eyes of the young girl were full of tears. They were standing still now, and with her graceful head bent she waslistening to the bird. He stooped his head near hers, and spoke with asimple natural outburst almost involuntary. 

"Do you ever think of old times? Do you remember the old house, and thefun we used to have? and the tutor whom you pelted with horse-chestnutswhen you were a little girl? And those cracker bonbons, and the motto_we_ drew--

 'My heart is thine. Wilt thou be mine?'"

She smiled, and lifted her eyes ("blue as the sky, and bright as thestars, " he thought) to his, and answered "Yes. "

Then the bonbon motto was avenged, and there was silence. Eloquent, perfect, complete, beautiful silence! Only the wind sighed through thefragrant willows, the stream rippled, the stars shone, and in theneighbouring copse the nightingale sang, and sang, and sang. 

 * * * * *

When the white end of the cracker came into the young lady's hand, shewas full of admiration for the fine raised pattern. As she held itbetween her fingers it suddenly struck her that she had discovered whatthe tutor's fragrant smoke smelt like. It was like the scent oforange-flowers, and had certainly a soporific effect upon the senses. She felt very sleepy, and as she stroked the shiny surface of thecracker she found herself thinking it was very soft for paper, and thenrousing herself with a start, and wondering at her own folly inspeaking thus of the white silk in which she was dressed, and of whichshe was holding up the skirt between her finger and thumb, as if shewere dancing a minuet. 

"It's grandmamma's egg-shell brocade!" she cried. "Oh, Grandmamma! Haveyou given it to me? That lovely old thing! But I thought it was thefamily wedding-dress, and that I was not to have it till I was abride. "

"And so you are, my dear. And a fairer bride the sun never shone on, "sobbed the old lady, who was kissing and blessing her, and wishing her, in the words of the old formula--

 "Health to wear it, Strength to tear it, And money to buy another. "

"There is no hope for the last two things, you know, " said the younggirl; "for I am sure that the flag that braved a thousand years was nothalf so strong as your brocade; and as to buying another, there arenone to be bought in these degenerate days. "

The old lady's reply was probably very gracious, for she liked to becomplimented on the virtues of old things in general, and of heregg-shell brocade in particular. But of what she said her granddaughterheard nothing. With the strange irregularity of dreams, she foundherself, she knew not how, in the old church. It was true. She was abride, standing there with old friends and old associations thickaround her, on the threshold of a new life. The sun shone through thestained glass of the windows, and illuminated the brocade, whoseold-fashioned stiffness so became her childish beauty, and flung athousand new tints over her sunny hair, and drew so powerful afragrance from the orange-blossom with which it was twined, that it wasalmost overpowering. Yes! It was too sweet--too strong. She certainlywould not be able to bear it much longer without losing her senses. Andthe service was going on. A question had been asked of her, and shemust reply. She made a strong effort, and said "Yes, " simply and veryearnestly, for it was what she meant. But she had no sooner said itthan she became uneasily conscious that she had not used the rightwords. Some one laughed. It was the tutor, and his voice jarred anddisturbed the dream, as a stone troubles the surface of still water. The vision trembled, and then broke, and the young lady found herselfstill sitting by the table and fingering the cracker paper, whilst thetutor chuckled and rubbed his hands by the fire, and his shadowscrambled on the wall like an ape upon a tree. But her "Yes" had passedinto the young man's dream without disturbing it, and he dreamt on. 

It was a cracker like the preceding one that the grandmother and theparson pulled together. The old lady had insisted upon it. The goodrector had shown a tendency to low spirits this evening, and a wish towithdraw early. But the old lady did not approve of people "shirking"(as boys say) either their duties or their pleasures; and to keep a"merry Christmas" in a family circle that had been spared to meet inhealth and happiness, seemed to her to be both the one and the other. 

It was his sermon for next day which weighed on the parson's mind. Notthat he was behindhand with that part of his duties. He was far toomethodical in his habits for that, and it had been written before thebustle of Christmas week began. But after preaching Christmas sermonsfrom the same pulpit for thirty-five years, he felt keenly howdifficult it is to awaken due interest in subjects that are sofamiliar, and to give new force to lessons so often repeated. So hewanted a quiet hour in his own study before he went to rest, with thesermon that did not satisfy him, and the subject that should be soheart-stirring and ever-new, --the Story of Bethlehem. 

He consented, however, to pull one cracker with the grandmother, thoughhe feared the noise might startle her nerves, and said so. 

"Nerves were not invented in my young days, " said the old lady, firmly;and she took her part in the ensuing explosion without so much as awink. 

As the cracker snapped, it seemed to the parson as if the fragrantsmoke from the yule log were growing denser in the room. Through themist from time to time the face of the tutor loomed large, and thendisappeared. At last the clouds rolled away, and the parson breathedclear air. Clear, yes, and how clear! This brilliant freshness, theseintense lights and shadows, this mildness and purity in the night air--

"It is not England, " he muttered, "it is the East. I have felt no airlike this since I breathed the air of Palestine. "

Over his head, through immeasurable distances, the dark blue space waslighted by the great multitude of the stars, whose glittering rankshave in that atmosphere a distinctness and a glory unseen with us. Perhaps no scene of beauty in the visible creation has proved a morehackneyed theme for the poet and the philosopher than a starry night. But not all the superabundance of simile and moral illustration withwhich the subject has been loaded can rob the beholder of the freshnessof its grandeur or the force of its teaching; that noblest and mostmajestic vision of the handiwork of GOD on which the eye of man is herepermitted to rest. 

As the parson gazed he became conscious that he was not alone. Othereyes besides his were watching the skies to-night. Dark, profound, patient, Eastern eyes, used from the cradle to the grave to watch andwait. The eyes of star-gazers and dream-interpreters; men who believedthe fate of empires to be written in shining characters on the face ofheaven, as the "Mene, Mene, " was written in fire on the walls of theBabylonian palace. The old parson was one of the many men of reallearning and wide reading who pursue their studies in the quiet countryparishes of England, and it was with the keen interest of intelligencethat he watched the group of figures that lay near him. 

"Is this a vision of the past?" he asked himself. "There can be nodoubt as to these men. They are star-gazers, magi, and, from theirdress and bearing, men of high rank; perhaps 'teachers of a higherwisdom' in one of the purest philosophies of the old heathen world. When one thinks, " he pursued, "of the intense interest, the eagerexcitement which the student of history finds in the narrative of thepast as unfolded in dusty records written by the hand of man, one mayrealize how absorbing must have been that science which professed tounveil the future, and to display to the eyes of the wise the fate ofdynasties written with the finger of GOD amid the stars. "

The dark-robed figures were so still that they might almost have beencarved in stone. The air seemed to grow purer and purer; the starsshone brighter and brighter; suspended in ether the planets seemed tohang like lamps. Now a shooting meteor passed athwart the sky, andvanished behind the hill. But not for this did the watchers move; insilence they watched on--till, on a sudden, how and whence the parsonknew not, across the shining ranks of that immeasurable host, whosenames and number are known to GOD alone, there passed in slow butobvious motion one brilliant solitary star--a star of such surpassingbrightness that he involuntarily joined in the wild cry of joy andgreeting with which the Men of the East now prostrated themselves withtheir faces to the earth. He could not understand the language in which, with noisy clamour and gesticulation, they broke their former profoundand patient silence, and greeted the portent for which they had watched. But he knew now that these were the Wise Men of the Epiphany, and thatthis was the Star of Bethlehem. In his ears rang the energetic simplicityof the Gospel narrative, "When they saw the Star, they rejoiced withexceeding great joy. "

With exceeding great joy! Ah! happy magi, who (more blest than Balaamthe son of Beor) were faithful to the dim light vouchsafed to you; theGentile Church may well be proud of your memory. Ye travelled long andfar to bring royal offerings to the King of the Jews, with a faith notfound in Israel. Ye saw Him whom prophets and kings had desired to see, and were glad. Wise men indeed, and wise with the highest wisdom, inthat ye suffered yourselves to be taught of GOD. 

Then the parson prayed that if this were indeed a dream he might dreamon; might pass, if only in a vision, over the hill, following thefootsteps of the magi, whilst the Star went before them, till he shouldsee it rest above that city, which, little indeed among the thousandsof Judah, was yet the birthplace of the Lord's Christ. 

"Ah!" he almost sobbed, "let me follow! On my knees let me follow intothe house and see the Holy Child. In the eyes of how many babies I haveseen mind and thought far beyond their powers of communication, everymother knows. But if at times, with a sort of awe, one sees theimmortal soul shining through the prison-bars of helpless infancy, what, oh! what must it be to behold the GOD-head veiled in flesh throughthe face of a little child!"

The parson stretched out his arms, but even with the passion of hiswords the vision began to break. He dared not move for fear it shouldutterly fade, and as he lay still and silent, the wise men roused theirfollowers, and, led by the Star, the train passed solemnly over thedistant hills. 

Then the clear night became clouded with fragrant vapour, and with asigh the parson awoke. 

 * * * * *

When the cracker snapped and the white end was left in the grandmother'shand, she was astonished to perceive (as she thought) that the whitelace veil which she had worn over her wedding bonnet was still in herpossession, and that she was turning it over in her fingers. "I fanciedI gave it to Jemima when her first baby was born, " she muttereddreamily. It was darned and yellow, but it carried her back all the same, and recalled happy hours with wonderful vividness. She remembered thepost-chaise and the postillion. "He was such a pert little fellow, andhow we laughed at him! He must be either dead or a very shaky old manby now, " said the old lady. She seemed to smell the scent of meadow-sweetthat was so powerful in a lane through which they drove; and how clearlyshe could see the clean little country inn where they spent thehoneymoon! She seemed to be there now, taking off her bonnet and shawl, in the quaint clean chamber, with the heavy oak rafters, and the jasminecoming in at the window, and glancing with pardonable pride at the fairface reflected in the mirror. But as she laid her things on thepatchwork coverlet, it seemed to her that the lace veil became fine whitelinen, and was folded about a figure that lay in the bed; and when shelooked round the room again everything was draped in white--white blindshung before the windows, and even the old oak chest and the press werecovered with clean white cloths, after the decent custom of the country;whilst from the church tower without the passing bell tolled slowly. Shehad not seen the face of the corpse, and a strange anxiety came over herto count the strokes of the bell, which tell if it is a man, woman, orchild who has passed away. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! Nomore. It was a woman, and when she looked on the face of the dead shesaw her own. But even as she looked the fair linen of the grave-clothesbecame the buoyant drapery of another figure, in whose face she found astrange recognition of the lineaments of the dead with all theloveliness of the bride. But ah! more, much more! On that face there wasa beauty not doomed to wither, before those happy eyes lay a futureunshadowed by the imperfections of earthly prospects, and the folds ofthat robe were white as no fuller on earth can white them. The windowcurtain parted, the jasmine flowers bowed their heads, the spirit passedfrom the chamber of death, and the old lady's dream was ended. 

 * * * * *

Miss Letitia had shared a cracker with the widow. The widow squeakedwhen the cracker went off, and then insisted upon giving up the smartpaper and everything to Miss Letitia. She had always given upeverything to Mr. Jones, she did so now to Master MacGreedy, and wasquite unaccustomed to keep anything for her own share. She did not givethis explanation herself, but so it was. 

The cracker that thus fell into the hands of Miss Letitia was one ofthose new-fashioned ones that have a paper pattern of some article ofdress wrapped up in them instead of a bonbon. This one was a paperbonnet made in the latest _mode_--of green tissue-paper; and Miss Letitiastuck it on the top of her chignon, with an air that the widow enviedfrom the bottom of her heart. She had not the gift of "carrying off"her clothes. But to the tutor, on the contrary, it seemed to affordthe most extreme amusement; and as Miss Letitia bowed gracefully hitherand thither in the energy of her conversation with the widow, the greenpaper fluttering with each emphasis, he fairly shook with delight, hisshadow dancing like a maniac beside him. He had scattered some morepowder on the coals, and it may have been that the smoke got into hereyes, and confused her ideas of colour, but Miss Letitia was struckwith a fervid and otherwise unaccountable admiration for the paper endsof the cracker, which were most unusually ugly. One was of a sallowishsalmon-colour, and transparent, the other was of brick-red paper with afringe. As Miss Letitia turned them over, she saw, to her unspeakabledelight, that there were several yards of each material, and herpeculiar genius instantly seized upon the fact that in the presentrage for double skirts there might be enough of the two kinds tocombine into a fashionable dress. 

It had never struck her before that a dirty salmon went well withbrick-red. "They blend so becomingly, my dear, " she murmured; "and Ithink the under-skirt will sit well, it is so stiff. "

The widow did not reply. The fumes of the tutor's compound made hersleepy, and though she nodded to Miss Letitia's observations, it wasless from appreciation of their force, than from inability to hold upher head. She was dreaming uneasy, horrible dreams, like nightmares; inwhich from time to time there mingled expressions of doubt anddissatisfaction which fell from Miss Letitia's lips. "Just half-a-yardshort--no gores--false hem, " (and the melancholy reflection that)"flounces take so much stuff. " Then the tutor's face kept appearing andvanishing with horrible grimaces through the mist. At last the widowfell fairly asleep, and dreamed that she was married to the Blue Beardof nursery annals, and that on his return from his memorable journey hehad caught her in the act of displaying the mysterious cupboard to MissLetitia. As he waved his scimitar over her head, he seemedunaccountably to assume the form and features of the tutor. In heragitation the poor woman could think of no plea against his severity, except that the cupboard was already crammed with the corpses of hisprevious wives, and there was no room for her. She was pleading thisargument when Miss Letitia's voice broke in upon her dream withdecisive accent:

"There's enough for two bodies. "

The widow shrieked and awoke. 

"High and low, " explained Miss Letitia. "My dear, what _are_ youscreaming about?"

"I am very sorry indeed, " said the widow; "I beg your pardon, I'm sure, a thousand times. But since Mr. Jones's death I have been so nervous, and I had such a horrible dream. And, oh dear! oh dear!" she added, "what is the matter with my precious child? Macready, love, come toyour mamma, my pretty lamb. "

Ugh! ugh! There were groans from the corner where Master MacGreedy saton his crackers as if they were eggs, and he hatching them. He had onlytouched one, as yet, of the stock he had secured. He had picked it topieces, had avoided the snap, and had found a large comfit like an eggwith a rough shell inside. Every one knows that the goodies in crackersare not of a very superior quality. There is a large amount of whitelead in the outside thinly disguised by a shabby flavour of sugar. Butthat outside once disposed of, there lies an almond at the core. Now analmond is a very delicious thing in itself, and doubly nice when ittakes the taste of white paint and chalk out of one's mouth. But inspite of all the white lead and sugar and chalk through which he hadsucked his way, MacGreedy could not come to the almond. A dozen timeshad he been on the point of spitting out the delusive sweetmeat; butjust as he thought of it he was sure to feel a bit of hard rough edge, and thinking he had gained the kernel at last, he held valiantly on. Itonly proved to be a rough bit of sugar, however, and still theinterminable coating melted copiously in his mouth; and still theclean, fragrant almond evaded his hopes. At last with a groan he spatthe seemingly undiminished bonbon on to the floor, and turned as whiteand trembling as an arrowroot blanc-mange. 

In obedience to the widow's entreaties the tutor opened a window, andtried to carry MacGreedy to the air; but that young gentleman utterlyrefused to allow the tutor to approach him, and was borne howling tobed by his mamma. 

With the fresh air the fumes of the fragrant smoke dispersed, and thecompany roused themselves. 

"Rather oppressive, eh?" said the master of the house, who had had hisdream too, with which we have no concern. 

The dogs had had theirs also, and had testified to the same in theirsleep by low growls and whines. Now they shook themselves, and rubbedagainst each other, growling in a warlike manner through their teeth, and wagging peaceably with their little stumpy tails. 

The twins shook themselves, and fell to squabbling as to whether theyhad been to sleep or no; and, if either, which of them had given way tothat weakness. 

Miss Letitia took the paper bonnet from her head with a nervous laugh, and after looking regretfully at the cracker papers put them in herpocket. 

The parson went home through the frosty night. In the village street heheard a boy's voice singing two lines of the Christian hymn--

 "Trace we the Babe Who hath redeemed our loss From the poor Manger to the bitter Cross;"

and his eyes filled with tears. 

The old lady went to bed and slept in peace. 

"In all the thirty-five years we have been privileged to hear you, sir, " she told the rector next day after service, "I never heard such aChristmas sermon before. "

The visitor carefully preserved the blue paper and the cracker motto. He came down early next morning to find the white half to put withthem. He did not find it, for the young lady had taken it the nightbefore. 

The tutor had been in the room before him, wandering round the scene ofthe evening's festivities. 

The yule log lay black and cold upon the hearth, and the tutor noddedto it. "I told you how it would be, " he said; "but never mind, youhave had your day, and a merry one too. " In the corner lay the heap ofcrackers which Master MacGreedy had been too ill to remember when heretired. The tutor pocketed them with a grim smile. 

As to the comfit, it was eaten by one of the dogs, who had come downearliest of all. He swallowed it whole, so whether it contained analmond or not, remains a mystery to the present time. 

 * * * * *

AMELIA AND THE DWARFS. 

My godmother's grandmother knew a good deal about the fairies. _Her_ grandmother had seen a fairy rade on a Roodmas Eve, and sheherself could remember a copper vessel of a queer shape which had beenleft by the elves on some occasion at an old farm-house among thehills, The following story came from her, and where she got it I do notknow. She used to say it was a pleasant tale, with a good moral in theinside of it. My godmother often observed that a tale without a moralwas like a nut without a kernel; not worth the cracking. (We calledfire-side stories "cracks" in our part of the country. ) This is thetale. 

AMELIA. 

A couple of gentlefolk once lived in a certain part of England. (Mygodmother never would tell the name either of the place or the people, even if she knew it. She said one ought not to expose one's neighbours'failings more than there was due occasion for. ) They had an only child, a daughter, whose name was Amelia. They were an easy-going, good-humoured couple; "rather soft, " my godmother said, but she was aptto think anybody "soft" who came from the southern shires, as thesepeople did. Amelia, who had been born farther north, was by no meansso. She had a strong resolute will, and a clever head of her own, though she was but a child. She had a way of her own too, and had itvery completely. Perhaps because she was an only child, or perhapsbecause they were so easy-going, her parents spoiled her. She was, beyond question, the most tiresome little girl in that or any otherneighbourhood. From her baby days her father and mother had taken everyopportunity of showing her to their friends, and there was not a friendwho did not dread the infliction. When the good lady visited heracquaintances, she always took Amelia with her, and if theacquaintances were fortunate enough to see from the windows who wascoming, they used to snatch up any delicate knick-knacks, or brittleornaments lying about, and put them away, crying, "What is to be done?Here comes Amelia!"

When Amelia came in, she would stand and survey the room, whilst hermother saluted her acquaintance; and if anything struck her fancy, shewould interrupt the greetings to draw her mother's attention to it, with a twitch of her shawl, "Oh, look, Mamma, at that funny bird in theglass case!" or perhaps, "Mamma, Mamma! There's a new carpet since wewere here last;" for, as her mother said, she was "a very observingchild. "

Then she would wander round the room, examining and fingeringeverything, and occasionally coming back with something in her hand totread on her mother's dress, and break in upon the ladies' conversationwith--"Mamma! Mamma! What's the good of keeping this old basin? It'sbeen broken and mended, and some of the pieces are quite loose now. Ican feel them:" or--addressing the lady of the house--"That's not areal ottoman in the corner. It's a box covered with chintz. I know, forI've looked. "

Then her mamma would say, reprovingly, "My _dear_ Amelia!"

And perhaps the lady of the house would beg, "Don't play with that oldchina, my love; for though it is mended, it is very valuable;" and hermother would add, "My dear Amelia, you must not. "

Sometimes the good lady said, "You _must_ not. " Sometimes shetried--"You must _not_" When both these failed, and Amelia was balancingthe china bowl on her finger-ends, her mamma would get flurried, and whenAmelia flurried her, she always rolled her r's, and emphasized her words, so that it sounded thus:

"My dear-r-r-r-Ramelia! You must not. "

At which Amelia would not so much as look round, till perhaps the bowlslipped from her fingers, and was smashed into unmendable fragments. Then her mamma would exclaim, "Oh, dear-r-r-r, oh, dear-r-Ramelia" andthe lady of the house would try to look as if it did not matter, andwhen Amelia and her mother departed, would pick up the bits, and pourout her complaints to her lady friends, most of whom had suffered manysuch damages at the hands of this "very observing child. "

When the good couple received their friends at home, there was noescaping from Amelia. If it was a dinner-party, she came in with thedessert, or perhaps sooner. She would take up her position near someone, generally the person most deeply engaged in conversation, andeither lean heavily against him or her, or climb on to his or her knee, without being invited. She would break in upon the most interestingdiscussion with her own little childish affairs, in the followingstyle--"I've been out to-day. I walked to the town. I jumped acrossthree brooks. Can you jump? Papa gave me sixpence to-day. I am savingup my money to be rich. You may cut me an orange; no, I'll take it toMr. Brown, he peels it with a spoon and turns the skin back. Mr. Brown!Mr. Brown! Don't talk to Mamma, but peel me an orange, please. Mr. Brown! I'm playing with your finger-glass. "

And when the finger-glass full of cold water had been upset on to Mr. Brown's shirt-front, Amelia's mamma would cry--"Oh dear, ohdear-r-Ramelia!" and carry her off with the ladies to the drawing-room. 

Here she would scramble on to the ladies' knees, or trample out thegathers of their dresses, and fidget with their ornaments, startlingsome luckless lady by the announcement, "I've got your bracelet undoneat last!" who would find one of the divisions broken open by force, Amelia not understanding the working of a clasp. 

Or perhaps two young lady friends would get into a quiet corner for achat. The observing child would sure to spy them, and run on to them, crushing their flowers and ribbons, and crying--"You two want to talksecrets, I know. I can hear what you say. I'm going to listen, I am. And I shall tell, too;" when perhaps a knock at the door announced theNurse to take Miss Amelia to bed, and spread a general rapture ofrelief. 

Then Amelia would run to trample and worry her mother, and after muchteasing, and clinging, and complaining, the Nurse would be dismissed, and the fond mamma would turn to the lady next to her, and say with asmile--"I suppose I must let her stay up a little. It is such a treatto her, poor child!"

But it was no treat to the visitors. 

Besides tormenting her fellow-creatures, Amelia had a trick of teasinganimals. She was really fond of dogs, but she was still fonder of doingwhat she was wanted not to do, and of worrying everything and everybodyabout her. So she used to tread on the tips of their tails, and pretendto give them biscuit, and then hit them on the nose, besides pulling atthose few, long, sensitive hairs which thin-skinned dogs wear on theupper lip. 

Now Amelia's mother's acquaintances were so very well-bred and amiable, that they never spoke their minds to either the mother or the daughterabout what they endured from the latter's rudeness, wilfulness, andpowers of destruction. But this was not the case with the dogs, andthey expressed their sentiments by many a growl and snap. At last oneday Amelia was tormenting a snow-white bulldog (who was certainly aswell-bred and as amiable as any living creature in the kingdom), andshe did not see that even his patience was becoming worn out. His pinknose became crimson with increased irritation, his upper lip twitchedover his teeth, behind which he was rolling as many warning R's asAmelia's mother herself. She finally held out a bun towards him, andjust as he was about to take it, she snatched it away and kicked himinstead. This fairly exasperated the bulldog, and as Amelia would notlet him bite the bun, he bit Amelia's leg. 

Her mamma was so distressed that she fell into hysterics, and hardlyknew what she was saying. She said the bulldog must be shot for fear heshould go mad, and Amelia's wound must be done with a red-hot poker forfear _she_ should go mad (with hydrophobia). And as of course shecouldn't bear the pain of this, she must have chloroform, and she wouldmost probably die of that; for as one in several thousands diesannually under chloroform, it was evident that her chance of life wasvery small indeed. So, as the poor lady said, "Whether we shoot Ameliaand burn the bulldog--at least I mean shoot the bulldog and burn Ameliawith a red-hot poker--or leave it alone; and whether Amelia or thebulldog has chloroform or bears it without--it seems to be death ormadness every way!"

And as the doctor did not come fast enough, she ran out without herbonnet to meet him, and Amelia's papa, who was very much distressedtoo, ran after her with her bonnet. Meanwhile the doctor came in byanother way, and found Amelia sitting on the dining-room floor with thebulldog, and crying bitterly. She was telling him that they wanted toshoot him, but that they should not, for it was all her fault and nothis. But she did not tell him that she was to be burnt with a red-hotpoker, for she thought it might hurt his feelings. And then she weptafresh, and kissed the bulldog, and the bulldog kissed her with his redtongue, and rubbed his pink nose against her, and beat his own tailmuch harder on the floor than Amelia had ever hit it. She said the samethings to the doctor, but she told him also that she was willing to beburnt without chloroform if it must be done, and if they would sparethe bulldog. And though she looked very white, she meant what she said. 

But the doctor looked at her leg, and found that it was only a snap, and not a deep wound; and then he looked at the bulldog, and saw thatso far from looking mad, he looked a great deal more sensible thananybody in the house. So he only washed Amelia's leg and bound it up, and she was not burnt with the poker, neither did she get hydrophobia;but she had got a good lesson on manners, and thenceforward she alwaysbehaved with the utmost propriety to animals, though she tormented hermother's friends as much as ever. 

Now although Amelia's mamma's acquaintances were too polite to complainbefore her face, they made up for it by what they said behind her back. In allusion to the poor lady's ineffectual remonstrances, one gentlemansaid that the more mischief Amelia did, the dearer she seemed to growto her mother. And somebody else replied that however dear she might beas a daughter, she was certainly a very _dear_ friend, and proposedthat they should send in a bill for all the damages she had done in thecourse of the year, as a round robin to her parents at Christmas. Fromwhich it may be seen that Amelia was not popular with her parents'friends, as (to do grown-up people justice) good children almostinvariably are. 

If she was not a favourite in the drawing-room, she was still less soin the nursery, where, besides all the hardships naturally belonging toattendance on a spoilt child, the poor Nurse was kept, as she said, "onthe continual go" by Amelia's reckless destruction of her clothes. Itwas not fair wear and tear, it was not an occasional fall in the mire, or an accidental rent or two during a game at "Hunt the Hare, " but itwas constant wilful destruction, which Nurse had to repair as best shemight. No entreaties would induce Amelia to "take care" of anything. She walked obstinately on the muddy side of the road when Nurse pointedout the clean parts, kicking up the dirt with her feet; if she climbeda wall she never tried to free her dress if it had caught; on sherushed, and half a skirt might be left behind for any care she had inthe matter. "They must be mended, " or "They must be washed, " was allshe thought about it. 

"You seem to think things clean and mend themselves, Miss Amelia, " saidpoor Nurse one day. 

"No, I don't, " said Amelia, rudely. "I think you do them; what are youhere for?"

But though she spoke in this insolent and unlady-like fashion, Ameliareally did not realize what the tasks were which her carelessnessimposed on other people. When every hour of Nurse's day had been spentin struggling to keep her wilful young lady regularly fed, decentlydressed, and moderately well behaved (except, indeed, those hours whenher mother was fighting the same battle down-stairs); and when at last, after the hardest struggle of all, she had been got to bed not morethan two hours later than her appointed time, even then there was norest for Nurse. Amelia's mamma could at last lean back in her chair andhave a quiet chat with her husband, which was not broken in upon everytwo minutes, and Amelia herself was asleep; but Nurse must sit up forhours wearing out her eyes by the light of a tallow candle, infine-darning great, jagged, and most unnecessary holes in Amelia'smuslin dresses. Or perhaps she had to wash and iron clothes forAmelia's wear next day. For sometimes she was so very destructive, thattowards the end of the week she had used up all her clothes and had noclean ones to fall back upon. 

Amelia's meals were another source of trouble. She would not wear apinafore; if it had been put on, she would burst the strings, andperhaps in throwing it away knock her plate of mutton broth over thetablecloth and her own dress. Then she fancied first one thing and thenanother; she did not like this or that; she wanted a bit cut here orthere. Her mamma used to begin by saying, "My dear-r-Ramelia, you mustnot be so wasteful, " and she used to end by saying, "The dear child haspositively no appetite;" which seemed to be a good reason for notwasting any more food upon her; but with Amelia's mamma it only meantthat she might try a little cutlet and tomato sauce when she had halffinished her roast beef, and that most of the cutlet and all the mashedpotato might be exchanged for plum tart and custard; and that when shehad spooned up the custard and played with the paste, and put the plumstones on the tablecloth, she might be tempted with a little Stiltoncheese and celery, and exchange that for anything that caught her fancyin the dessert dishes. 

The Nurse used to say, "Many a poor child would thank GOD for what youwaste every meal-time, Miss Amelia, " and to quote a certain good oldsaying, "Waste not, want not. " But Amelia's mamma allowed her to sendaway on her plates what would have fed another child, day after day. 

UNDER THE HAYCOCKS. 

It was summer, and haytime. Amelia had been constantly in the hayfield, and the haymakers had constantly wished that she had been anywhereelse. She mislaid the rakes, nearly killed herself and several otherpersons with a fork, and overturned one haycock after another as fastas they were made. At tea-time it was hoped that she would depart, butshe teased her mamma to have the tea brought into the field, and hermamma said, "The poor child must have a treat sometimes, " and so it wasbrought out. 

After this she fell off the haycart, and was a good deal shaken, butnot hurt. So she was taken indoors, and the haymakers worked hard andcleared the field, all but a few cocks which were left till themorning. 

The sun set, the dew fell, the moon rose. It was a lovely night. Ameliapeeped from behind the blinds of the drawing-room windows, and saw fourhaycocks, each with a deep shadow reposing at its side. The rest of thefield was swept clean, and looked pale in the moonshine. It was alovely night. 

"I want to go out, " said Amelia. "They will take away those cocksbefore I can get at them in the morning, and there will be no morejumping and tumbling, I shall go out and have some fun now. "

"My dear Amelia, you must not, " said her mamma; and her papa added, "Iwon't hear of it. " So Amelia went up-stairs to grumble to Nurse; butNurse only said, "Now, my dear Miss Amelia, do go quietly to bed, likea dear love. The field is all wet with dew. Besides, it's a moonlightnight, and who knows what's abroad? You might see the fairies--bless usand sain us!--and what not. There's been a magpie hopping up anddown near the house all day, and that's a sign of ill-luck. "

"I don't care for magpies, " said Amelia; "I threw a stone at that oneto-day. "

And she left the nursery, and swung down-stairs on the rail of thebanisters. But she did not go into the drawing-room; she opened thefront door and went out into the moonshine. 

It was a lovely night. But there was something strange about it. Everything looked asleep, and yet seemed not only awake but watching. There was not a sound, and yet the air seemed full of half-sounds. Thechild was quite alone, and yet at every step she fancied some onebehind her, on one side of her, somewhere, and found it only a rustlingleaf or a passing shadow. She was soon in the hayfield, where it wasjust the same; so that when she fancied that something green was movingnear the first haycock she thought very little of it, till, comingcloser, she plainly perceived by the moonlight a tiny man dressed ingreen, with a tall, pointed hat, and very, very long tips to his shoes, tying his shoestring with his foot on a stubble stalk. He had the mostwizened of faces, and when he got angry with his shoe, he pulled so wrya grimace that it was quite laughable. At last he stood up, steppingcarefully over the stubble, went up to the first haycock, and drawingout a hollow grass stalk blew upon it till his cheeks were puffed likefootballs. And yet there was no sound, only a half-sound, as of a hornblown in the far distance, or in a dream. Presently the point of a tallhat, and finally just such another little wizened face, poked outthrough the side of the haycock. 

"Can we hold revel here to-night?" asked the little green man. 

"That indeed you cannot, " answered the other; "we have hardly room toturn round as it is, with all Amelia's dirty frocks. "

"Ah, bah!" said the dwarf; and he walked on to the next haycock, Ameliacautiously following. 

Here he blew again, and a head was put out as before; on which he said, "Can we hold revel here to-night?"

"How is it possible, " was the reply, "when there is not a place whereone can so much as set down an acorn cup, for Amelia's brokenvictuals?"

"Fie! fie!" said the dwarf, and went on to the third, where allhappened as before; and he asked the old question, "Can we hold revel here to-night?"

"Can you dance on glass and crockery sherds?" inquired the other. "Amelia's broken gimcracks are everywhere. "

"Pshaw!" snorted the dwarf, frowning terribly; and when he came to thefourth haycock he blew such an angry blast that the grass stalk splitinto seven pieces. But he met with no better success than before. Onlythe point of a hat came through the hay, and a feeble voice piped intones of depression--"The broken threads would entangle our feet. It'sall Amelia's fault. If we could only get hold of her!"

"If she's wise, she'll keep as far from these haycocks as she can, "snarled the dwarf, angrily; and he shook his fist as much as to say, "If she did come, I should not receive her very pleasantly. "

Now with Amelia, to hear that she had better not do something, was tomake her wish at once to do it; and as she was not at all wanting incourage, she pulled the dwarf's little cloak, just as she would havetwitched her mother's shawl, and said (with that sort of snarly whinein which spoilt children generally speak)--"Why shouldn't I come to thehaycocks if I want to? They belong to my papa, and I shall come if Ilike. But you have no business here. "

"Nightshade and hemlock!" ejaculated the little man, "you are notlacking in impudence. Perhaps your Sauciness is not quite aware howthings are distributed in this world?" saying which he lifted hispointed shoes and began to dance and sing, "All under the sun belongs to men, And all under the moon to the fairies. So, so, so! Ho, ho, ho! All under the moon to the fairies. "

As he sang "Ho, ho, ho!" the little man turned head over heels; andthough by this time Amelia would gladly have got away, she could not, for the dwarf seemed to dance and tumble round her, and always to cutoff the chance of escape; whilst numberless voices from all aroundseemed to join in the chorus, with

 "So, so, so! Ho, ho, ho! All under the moon to the fairies. "

"And now, " said the little man, "to work! And you have plenty of workbefore you, so trip on, to the first haycock. "

"I shan't!" said Amelia. 

"On with you!" repeated the dwarf. 

"I won't!" said Amelia. 

But the little man, who was behind her, pinched her funny-bone with hislean fingers, and, as everybody knows, that is agony; so Amelia ran on, and tried to get away. But when she went too fast, the dwarf trod onher heels with his long-pointed shoe, and if she did not go fastenough, he pinched her funny-bone. So for once in her life she wasobliged to do as she was told. As they ran, tall hats and wizened faceswere popped out on all sides of the haycocks, like blanched almonds ona tipsy cake; and whenever the dwarf pinched Amelia, or trod on herheels, the goblins cried "Ho, ho, ho!" with such horrible contortionsas they laughed, that it was hideous to behold them. 

"Here is Amelia!" shouted the dwarf when they reached the firsthaycock. 

"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed all the others, as they poked out here and therefrom the hay. 

"Bring a stock, " said the dwarf; on which the hay was lifted, and outran six or seven dwarfs, carrying what seemed to Amelia to be a littlegirl like herself. And when she looked closer, to her horror andsurprise the figure was exactly like her--it was her own face, clothes, and everything. 

"Shall we kick it into the house?" asked the goblins. 

"No, " said the dwarf; "lay it down by the haycock. The father andmother are coming to seek her now. "

When Amelia heard this she began to shriek for help; but she was pushedinto the haycock, where her loudest cries sounded like the chirrupingof a grasshopper. 

It was really a fine sight to see the inside of the cock. 

Farmers do not like to see flowers in a hayfield, but the fairies do. They had arranged all the buttercups, &c. , in patterns on the haywalls;bunches of meadow-sweet swung from the roof like censers, and perfumedthe air; and the ox-eye daisies which formed the ceiling gave a lightlike stars. But Amelia cared for none of this. She only struggled topeep through the hay, and she did see her father and mother and nursecome down the lawn, followed by the other servants, looking for her. When they saw the stock they ran to raise it with exclamations of pityand surprise. The stock moaned faintly, and Amelia's mamma wept, andAmelia herself shouted with all her might. 

"What's that?" said her mamma. (It is not easy to deceive a mother. )

"Only the grasshoppers, my dear, " said Papa. "Let us get the poor childhome. "

The stock moaned again, and the mother said, "Oh dear! ohdear-r-Ramelia!" and followed in tears. 

"Rub her eyes, " said the dwarf; on which Amelia's eyes were rubbed withsome ointment, and when she took a last peep, she could see that thestock was nothing but a hairy imp, with a face like the oldest and mostgrotesque of apes. 

"--and send her below, " added the dwarf. On which the field opened, andAmelia was pushed underground. 

She found herself on a sort of open heath, where no houses were to beseen. Of course there was no moonshine, and yet it was neither daylightnor dark. There was as the light of early dawn, and every sound was atonce clear and dreamy, like the first sounds of the day coming throughthe fresh air before sunrise. Beautiful flowers crept over the heath, whose tints were constantly changing in the subdued light; and as thehues changed and blended, the flowers gave forth different perfumes. All would have been charming but that at every few paces the paths wereblocked by large clothes-baskets full of dirty frocks, And the frockswere Amelia's. Torn, draggled, wet, covered with sand, mud, and dirt ofall kinds, Amelia recognized them. 

"You've got to wash them all, " said the dwarf, who was behind her asusual; "that's what you've come down for--not because your society isparticularly pleasant. So the sooner you begin the better. "

"I can't, " said Amelia (she had already learnt that "I won't" is not ananswer for every one); "send them up to Nurse, and she'll do them. Itis her business. "

"What Nurse can do she has done, and now it's time for you to begin, "said the dwarf. "Sooner or later the mischief done by spoilt children'swilful disobedience comes back on their own hands. Up to a certainpoint we help them, for we love children, and we are wilful ourselves. But there are limits to everything. If you can't wash your dirtyfrocks, it is time you learnt to do so, if only that you may know whatthe trouble is you impose on other people. _She_ will teach you. "

The dwarf kicked out his foot in front of him, and pointed with hislong toe to a woman who sat by a fire made upon the heath, where a potwas suspended from crossed poles. It was like a bit of a gipsyencampment, and the woman seemed to be a real woman, not a fairy--whichwas the case, as Amelia afterwards found. She had lived underground formany years, and was the dwarfs' servant. 

And this was how it came about that Amelia had to wash her dirtyfrocks. Let any little girl try to wash one of her dresses; not to halfwash it, not to leave it stained with dirty water, but to wash it quiteclean. Let her then try to starch and iron it--in short, to make itlook as if it had come from the laundress--and she will have some ideaof what poor Amelia had to learn to do. There was no help for it. Whenshe was working she very seldom saw the dwarfs; but if she were idle orstubborn, or had any hopes of getting away, one was sure to start up ather elbow and pinch her funny-bone, or poke her in the ribs, till shedid her best. Her back ached with stooping over the wash-tub; her handsand arms grew wrinkled with soaking in hot soapsuds, and sore withrubbing. Whatever she did not know how to do, the woman of the heathtaught her. At first, whilst Amelia was sulky, the woman of the heathwas sharp and cross; but when Amelia became willing and obedient, shewas good-natured, and even helped her. 

The first time that Amelia felt hungry she asked for some food. 

"By all means, " said one of the dwarfs; "there is plenty down herewhich belongs to you;" and he led her away till they came to a placelike the first, except that it was covered with plates of broken meats;all the bits of good meat, pie, pudding, bread-and-butter, &c. , thatAmelia had wasted beforetime. 

"I can't eat cold scraps like these, " said Amelia, turning away. 

"Then what did you ask for food for before you were hungry?" screamedthe dwarf, and he pinched her and sent her about her business. 

After a while she became so famished that she was glad to beg humbly tobe allowed to go for food; and she ate a cold chop and the remains of arice pudding with thankfulness. How delicious they tasted! She wassurprised herself at the good things she had rejected. After a time shefancied she would like to warm up some of the cold meat in a pan, whichthe woman of the heath used to cook her own dinner in, and she askedfor leave to do so. 

"You may do anything you like to make yourself comfortable, if you doit yourself, " said she; and Amelia, who had been watching her for manytimes, became quite expert in cooking up the scraps. 

As there was no real daylight underground, so also there was no night. When the old woman was tired she lay down and had a nap, and when shethought that Amelia had earned a rest, she allowed her to do the same. It was never cold, and it never rained, so they slept on the heathamong the flowers. 

They say that "It's a long lane that has no turning, " and the hardesttasks come to an end some time, and Amelia's dresses were clean atlast; but then a more wearisome work was before her. They had to bemended. Amelia looked at the jagged rents made by the hedges; the greatgaping holes in front where she had put her foot through; the torntucks and gathers. First she wept, then she bitterly regretted that shehad so often refused to do her sewing at home that she was very awkwardwith her needle. Whether she ever would have got through this taskalone is doubtful, but she had by this time become so well-behaved andwilling that the old woman was kind to her, and, pitying her blunderingattempts, she helped her a great deal; whilst Amelia would cook the oldwoman's victuals, or repeat stories and pieces of poetry to amuse her. 

"How glad I am that I ever learnt anything!" thought the poor child:"everything one learns seems to come in useful some time. "

At last the dresses were finished. 

"Do you think I shall be allowed to go home now?" Amelia asked of thewoman of the heath. 

"Not yet, " said she; "you have got to mend the broken gimcracks next. "

"But when I have done all my tasks, " Amelia said; "will they let me gothen?"

"That depends, " said the woman, and she sat silent over the fire; butAmelia wept so bitterly, that she pitied her and said--"Only dry youreyes, for the fairies hate tears, and I will tell you all I know and dothe best for you I can. You see, when you first came you were--excuseme!--such an unlicked cub; such a peevish, selfish, wilful, useless, and ill-mannered little miss, that neither the fairies nor anybody elsewere likely to keep you any longer than necessary. But now you are sucha willing, handy, and civil little thing, and so pretty and gracefulwithal, that I think it is very likely that they will want to keep youaltogether. I think you had better make up your mind to it. They arekindly little folk, and will make a pet of you in the end. "

"Oh, no! no!" moaned poor Amelia; "I want to be with my mother, my poordear mother! I want to make up for being a bad child so long. Besides, surely that 'stock, ' as they called her, will want to come back to herown people. "

"As to that, " said the woman, "after a time the stock will affectmortal illness, and will then take possession of the first black catshe sees, and in that shape leave the house, and come home. But thefigure that is like you will remain lifeless in the bed, and will beduly buried. Then your people, believing you to be dead, will neverlook for you, and you will always remain here. However, as thisdistresses you so, I will give you some advice. Can you dance?"

"Yes, " said Amelia; "I did attend pretty well to my dancing lessons. Iwas considered rather clever about it. "

"At any spare moments you find, " continued the woman, "dance, dance allyour dances, and as well as you can. The dwarfs love dancing. "

"And then?" said Amelia. 

"Then, perhaps some night they will take you up to dance with them inthe meadows above-ground. "

"But I could not get away. They would tread on my heels--oh! I couldnever escape them. "

"I know that, " said the woman; "your only chance is this. If ever, whendancing in the meadows, you can find a four-leaved clover, hold it inyour hand, and wish to be at home. Then no one can stop you. MeanwhileI advise you to seem happy, that they may think you are content, andhave forgotten the world. And dance, above all, dance!"

And Amelia, not to be behindhand, began then and there to dance somepretty figures on the heath. As she was dancing the dwarf came by. 

"Ho, ho!" said he, "you can dance, can you?"

"When I am happy I can, " said Amelia, performing several gracefulmovements as she spoke. 

"What are you pleased about now?" snapped the dwarf, suspiciously. 

"Have I not reason?" said Amelia. "The dresses are washed and mended. "

"Then up with them!" returned the dwarf. On which half-a-dozen elvespopped the whole lot into a big basket and kicked them up into theworld, where they found their way to the right wardrobes somehow. 

As the woman of the heath had said, Amelia was soon set to a new task. When she bade the old woman farewell, she asked if she could do nothingfor her if ever she got at liberty herself. 

"Can I do nothing to get you back to your old home?" Amelia cried, forshe thought of others now as well as herself. 

"No, thank you, " returned the old woman; "I am used to this, and do notcare to return. I have been here a long time--how long I do not know;for as there is neither daylight nor dark we have no measure oftime--long, I am sure, very long. The light and noise up yonder wouldnow be too much for me. But I wish you well, and, above all, rememberto dance!"

The new scene of Amelia's labours was a more rocky part of the heath, where grey granite boulders served for seats and tables, and sometimesfor workshops and anvils, as in one place, where a grotesque and grimyold dwarf sat forging rivets to mend china and glass. A fire in ahollow of the boulder served for a forge, and on the flatter part washis anvil. The rocks were covered in all directions with theknick-knacks, ornaments, &c. , that Amelia had at various timesdestroyed. 

"If you please, sir, " she said to the dwarf, "I am Amelia. "

The dwarf left off blowing at his forge and looked at her. 

"Then I wonder you're not ashamed of yourself, " said he. 

"I am ashamed of myself, " said poor Amelia, "very much ashamed. Ishould like to mend these things if I can. "

"Well, you can't say more than that, " said the dwarf, in a mollifiedtone, for he was a kindly little creature; "bring that china bowl here, and I'll show you how to set to work. "

Poor Amelia did not get on very fast, but she tried her best. As to thedwarf, it was truly wonderful to see how he worked. Things seemed tomend themselves at his touch, and he was so proud of his skill, and soparticular, that he generally did over again the things which Ameliahad done after her fashion. The first time he gave her a few minutes inwhich to rest and amuse herself, she held out her little skirt, andbegan one of her prettiest dances. 

"Rivets and trivets!" shrieked the little man, "how you dance! It ischarming! I say it is charming! On with you! Fa, la fa! La, fa la! Itgives me the fidgets in my shoe-points to see you!" and forthwith downhe jumped, and began capering about. 

"I am a good dancer myself, " said the little man. "Do you know the'Hop, Skip, and a Jump' dance?"

"I do not think I do, " said Amelia. 

"It is much admired, " said the dwarf, "when I dance it;" and hethereupon tucked up the little leathern apron in which he worked, andperformed some curious antics on one leg. 

"That is the Hop, " he observed, pausing for a moment. "The Skip isthus. You throw out your left leg as high and as far as you can, and asyou drop on the toe of your left foot you fling out the right leg inthe same manner, and so on. This is the Jump, " with which he turned asomersault and disappeared from view. When Amelia next saw him he wassitting cross-legged on his boulder. 

"Good, wasn't it?" he said. 

"Wonderful!" Amelia replied. 

"Now it's your turn again, " said the dwarf. 

But Amelia cunningly replied--"I'm afraid I must go on with my work. "

"Pshaw!" said the little tinker. "Give me your work. I can do more in aminute than you in a month, and better to boot. Now dance again. "

"Do you know this?" said Amelia, and she danced a few paces of a polkamazurka. 

"Admirable!" cried the little man. "Stay"--and he drew an old violinfrom behind the rock; "now dance again, and mark the time well, so thatI may catch the measure, and then I will accompany you. "

Which accordingly he did, improvising a very spirited tune, which had, however, the peculiar subdued and weird effect of all the other soundsin this strange region. 

"The fiddle came from up yonder, " said the little man. "It was smashedto atoms in the world and thrown away. But, ho, ho, ho! there isnothing that I cannot mend, and a mended fiddle is an amended fiddle. It improves the tone. Now teach me that dance, and I will patch up allthe rest of the gimcracks. Is it a bargain?"

"By all means, " said Amelia; and she began to explain the dance to thebest of her ability. 

"Charming, charming!" cried the dwarf. "We have no such danceourselves. We only dance hand in hand, and round and round, when wedance together. Now I will learn the step, and then I will put my armround your waist and dance with you. "

Amelia looked at the dwarf. He was very smutty, and old, and wizened. Truly, a queer partner! But "handsome is that handsome does;" and hehad done her a good turn. So when he had learnt the step, he put hisarm round Amelia's waist, and they danced together. His shoe-pointswere very much in the way, but otherwise he danced very well. 

Then he set to work on the broken ornaments, and they were all verysoon "as good as new. " But they were not kicked up into the world, for, as the dwarfs said, they would be sure to break on the road. So theykept them and used them; and I fear that no benefit came from thelittle tinker's skill to Amelia's mamma's acquaintance in this matter. 

"Have I any other tasks?" Amelia inquired. 

"One more, " said the dwarfs; and she was led farther on to a smoothmossy green, thickly covered with what looked like bits of brokenthread. One would think it had been a milliner's work-room from thefirst invention of needles and thread. 

"What are these?" Amelia asked. 

"They are the broken threads of all the conversations you haveinterrupted, " was the reply; "and pretty dangerous work it is to dancehere now, with threads getting round one's shoe-points. Dance ahornpipe in a herring-net, and you'll know what it is!"

Amelia began to pick up the threads, but it was tedious work. She hadcleared a yard or two, and her back was aching terribly, when she heardthe fiddle and the mazurka behind her; and looking round she saw theold dwarf, who was playing away, and making the most hideous grimacesas his chin pressed the violin. 

"Dance, my lady, dance!" he shouted. 

"I do not think I can, " said Amelia; "I am so weary with stooping overmy work. "

"Then rest a few minutes, " he answered, "and I will play you a jig. Ajig is a beautiful dance, such life, such spirit! So!"

And he played faster and faster, his arm, his face, his fiddle-bow allseemed working together; and as he played, the threads dancedthemselves into three heaps. 

"That is not bad, is it?" said the dwarf; "and now for our own dance, "and he played the mazurka. "Get the measure well into your head. Lá, lafá lâ! lâ, la fá lâ! So!"

And throwing away his fiddle, he caught Amelia round the waist, andthey danced as before. After which, she had no difficulty in puttingthe three heaps of thread into a basket. 

"Where are these to be kicked to?" asked the young goblins. 

"To the four winds of heaven, " said the old dwarf. "There are very fewdrawing-room conversations worth putting together a second time. Theyare not like old china bowls. "

BY MOONLIGHT. 

Thus Amelia's tasks were ended; but not a word was said of her returnhome. The dwarfs were now very kind, and made so much of her that itwas evident that they meant her to remain with them. Amelia oftencooked for them, and she danced and played with them, and never showeda sign of discontent; but her heart ached for home, and when she wasalone she would bury her face in the flowers and cry for her mother. 

One day she overheard the dwarfs in consultation. 

"The moon is full to-morrow, " said one--("Then I have been a month downhere, " thought Amelia; "it was full moon that night")--"shall we dancein the Mary Meads?"

"By all means, " said the old tinker dwarf; "and we will take Amelia, and dance my dance. "

"Is it safe?" said another. 

"Look how content she is, " said the old dwarf; "and, oh! how shedances; my feet tickle at the bare thought. "

"The ordinary run of mortals do not see us, " continued the objector;"but she is visible to any one. And there are men and women who wanderin the moonlight, and the Mary Meads are near her old home. "

"I will make her a hat of touchwood, " said the old dwarf, "so that evenif she is seen it will look like a will-o'-the-wisp bobbing up anddown. If she does not come, I will not. I must dance my dance. You donot know what it is! We two alone move together with a grace which evenhere is remarkable. But when I think that up yonder we shall haveattendant shadows echoing our movements, I long for the moment toarrive. "

"So be it, " said the others; and Amelia wore the touchwood hat, andwent up with them to the Mary Meads. 

Amelia and the dwarf danced the mazurka, and their shadows, now asshort as themselves, then long and gigantic, danced beside them. As themoon went down, and the shadows lengthened, the dwarf was in raptures. 

"When one sees how colossal one's very shadow is, " he remarked, "oneknows one's true worth. You also have a good shadow. We are partners inthe dance, and I think we will be partners for life. But I have notfully considered the matter, so this is not to be regarded as a formalproposal. " And he continued to dance, singing, "Lâ, la, fá, lâ, lâ, la, fá, lâ. " It was highly admired. 

The Mary Meads lay a little below the house where Amelia's parentslived, and once during the night her father, who was watching by thesick bed of the stock, looked out of the window. 

"How lovely the moonlight is!" he murmured; "but, dear me! there is awill-o'-the-wisp yonder. I had no idea the Mary Meads were so damp. "Then he pulled the blind down and went back into the room. 

As for poor Amelia, she found no four-leaved clover, and at cockcrowthey all went underground. 

"We will dance on Hunch Hill to-morrow, " said the dwarfs. 

All went as before; not a clover plant of any kind did Amelia see, andat cockcrow the revel broke up. 

On the following night they danced in the hayfield. The old stubble wasnow almost hidden by green clover. There was a grand fairy dance--around dance, which does not mean, as with us, a dance for two partners, but a dance where all join hands and dance round and round in a circlewith appropriate antics. Round they went, faster and faster, thepointed shoes now meeting in the centre like the spokes of a wheel, nowkicked out behind like spikes, and then scamper, caper, hurry! Theyseemed to fly, when suddenly the ring broke at one corner, and nothingbeing stronger than its weakest point, the whole circle were sentflying over the field. 

"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed the dwarfs, for they are good-humoured littlefolk, and do not mind a tumble. 

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Amelia, for she had fallen with her fingers on afour-leaved clover. 

She put it behind her back, for the old tinker dwarf was coming up toher, wiping the mud from his face with his leathern apron. 

"Now for our dance!" he shrieked. "And I have made up my mind--partnersnow and partners always. You are incomparable. For three hundred yearsI have not met with your equal. "

But Amelia held the four-leaved clover above her head, and cried fromher very heart--"I want to go home!"

The dwarf gave a hideous yell of disappointment, and at this instantthe stock came tumbling head over heels into the midst, crying--"Oh!the pills, the powders, and the draughts! oh, the lotions andembrocations! oh, the blisters, the poultices, and the plasters! menmay well be so short-lived!"

And Amelia found herself in bed in her own home. 

AT HOME AGAIN. 

By the side of Amelia's bed stood a little table, on which were so manybig bottles of medicine, that Amelia smiled to think of all the stockmust have had to swallow during the month past. There was an open Bibleon it too, in which Amelia's mother was reading, whilst tears trickledslowly down her pale cheeks. The poor lady looked so thin and ill, soworn with sorrow and watching, that Amelia's heart smote her, as ifsome one had given her a sharp blow. 

"Mamma, Mamma! Mother, my dear, dear Mother!"

The tender, humble, loving tone of voice was so unlike Amelia's oldimperious snarl, that her mother hardly recognized it; and when she sawAmelia's eyes full of intelligence instead of the delirium of fever, and that (though older and thinner and rather pale) she lookedwonderfully well, the poor worn-out lady could hardly restrain herselffrom falling into hysterics for very joy. 

"Dear Mamma, I want to tell you all about it, " said Amelia, kissing thekind hand that stroked her brow. 

But it appeared that the doctor had forbidden conversation; and thoughAmelia knew it would do her no harm, she yielded to her mother's wishand lay still and silent. 

"Now, my love, it is time to take your medicine. "

But Amelia pleaded--"Oh, Mamma, indeed I don't want any medicine. I amquite well, and would like to get up. "

"Ah, my dear child!" cried her mother, "what I have suffered ininducing you to take your medicine, and yet see what good it has doneyou. "

"I hope you will never suffer any more from my wilfulness, " saidAmelia; and she swallowed two tablespoonfuls of a mixture labelled "Tobe well shaken before taken, " without even a wry face. 

Presently the doctor came. 

"You're not so very angry at the sight of me to-day, my little lady, eh?" he said. 

"I have not seen you for a long time, " said Amelia; "but I know youhave been here, attending a stock who looked like me. If your eyes hadbeen touched with fairy ointment, however, you would have been awarethat it was a fairy imp, and a very ugly one, covered with hair. I havebeen living in terror lest it should go back underground in the shapeof a black cat. However, thanks to the four-leaved clover, and the oldwoman of the heath, I am at home again. "

On hearing this rhodomontade, Amelia's mother burst into tears, for shethought the poor child was still raving with fever. But the doctorsmiled pleasantly, and said--"Ay, ay, to be sure, " with a little nod, as one should say, "We know all about it;" and laid two fingers in acasual manner on Amelia's wrist. 

"But she is wonderfully better, madam, " he said afterwards to hermamma; "the brain has been severely tried, but she is marvellouslyimproved: in fact, it is an effort of nature, a most favourable effort, and we can but assist the rally; we will change the medicine. " Which hedid, and very wisely assisted nature with a bottle of pure waterflavoured with tincture of roses. 

"And it was so very kind of him to give me his directions in poetry, "said Amelia's mamma; "for I told him my memory, which is never good, seemed going completely, from anxiety, and if I had done anything wrongjust now, I should never have forgiven myself. And I always foundpoetry easier to remember than prose, "--which puzzled everybody, thedoctor included, till it appeared that she had ingeniously discovered arhyme in his orders--

 'To be kept cool and quiet, With light nourishing diet. '

Under which treatment Amelia was soon pronounced to be well. 

She made another attempt to relate her adventures, but she found thatnot even Nurse would believe in them. 

"Why you told me yourself I might meet with the fairies, " said Amelia, reproachfully. 

"So I did, my dear, " Nurse replied, "and they say that it's that put itinto your head. And I'm sure what you say about the dwarfs and all isas good as a printed book, though you can't think that ever I wouldhave let any dirty clothes store up like that, let alone your frocks, my dear. But for pity's sake, Miss Amelia, don't go on about it to yourmother, for she thinks you'll never get your senses right again, andshe has fretted enough about you, poor lady; and nursed you night andday till she is nigh worn out. And anybody can see you've been ill, Miss, you've grown so, and look paler and older like. Well, to be sure, as you say, if you'd been washing and working for a month in a placewithout a bit of sun, or a bed to lie on, and scraps to eat, it wouldbe enough to do it; and many's the poor child that has to, and getsworn and old before her time. But, my dear, whatever you think, give into your mother; you'll never repent giving in to your mother, my dear, the longest day you live. "

So Amelia kept her own counsel. But she had one confidant. 

When her parents brought the stock home on the night of Amelia's visitto the haycocks, the bulldog's conduct had been most strange. His usualgood-humour appeared to have been exchanged for incomprehensible fury, and he was with difficulty prevented from flying at the stock, who onher part showed an anger and dislike fully equal to his. 

Finally the bulldog had been confined to the stable, where he remainedthe whole month, uttering from time to time such howls, with his snubnose in the air, that poor Nurse quite gave up hope of Amelia'srecovery. 

"For indeed, my dear, they do say that a howling dog is a sign ofdeath, and it was more than I could abear. "

But the day after Amelia's return, as Nurse was leaving the room with atray which had carried some of the light nourishing diet ordered by thedoctor, she was knocked down, tray and all, by the bulldog, who cametearing into the room, dragging a chain and dirty rope after him, andnearly choked by the desperate efforts which had finally effected hisescape from the stable. And he jumped straight on to the end ofAmelia's bed, where he lay, _thudding_ with his tail, and givingshort whines of ecstasy. And as Amelia begged that he might be left, and as it was evident that he would bite any one who tried to take himaway, he became established as chief nurse. When Amelia's meals werebrought to the bedside on a tray, he kept a fixed eye on the plates, asif to see if her appetite were improving. And he would even take asnack himself, with an air of great affability. 

And when Amelia told him her story, she could see by his eyes, and hisnose, and his ears, and his tail, and the way he growled whenever thestock was mentioned, that he knew all about it. As, on the other hand, he had no difficulty in conveying to her by sympathetic whines thesentiment, "Of course I would have helped you if I could; but they tiedme up, and this disgusting old rope has taken me a month to worrythrough. "

So, in spite of the past, Amelia grew up good and gentle, unselfish andconsiderate for others. She was unusually clever, as those who havebeen with the "Little People" are said always to be. 

And she became so popular with her mother's acquaintances that theysaid--"We will no longer call her Amelia, for it is a name we learnt todislike, but we will call her Amy, that is to say, 'Beloved. '"

 * * * * *

"And did my godmother's grandmother believe that Amelia had really beenwith the fairies, or did she think it was all fever ravings?"

"That, indeed, she never said, but she always observed that it was apleasant tale with a good moral, which was surely enough for anybody. "

THE END. 

_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay. _

[Transcriber's Note: The following statement was in the edition from whichthis copy was acquired. ]

_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, complete, and uniform Edition published. 

It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. Per vol. , issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these willappear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Serieswill be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover wasspecially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing. _

_The following is a list of the books included inthe Series_--

1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES. 

2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES. 

3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY-TALES. 

4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING. 

5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES. 

6. SIX TO SIXTEEN. 

7. LOB-LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES. 

8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL. 

9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS. 

10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATETHEATRICALS, &c. 

11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES. 

12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN. 

13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I. 

14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II. 

15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE. 

16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS. 

17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand--WonderStories--Tales of the Khoja, and other translations. 

18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. Ewing's Letters. 

 * * * * *

S. P. C. K. , NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W. C.