THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERSWHO LIVE ON THE ROUND BALL THAT FLOATS IN THE AIR

BY

JANE ANDREWS

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS FORMERLY SUPERVISOR INBOSTON PUBLIC SCHOOLS

FOR

MY THREE LITTLE FRIENDS

Marnie, Bell, and Geordie

I HAVE WRITTEN THESE STORIES

CONTENTS. 

MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWSTHE BALL ITSELFTHE LITTLE BROWN BABYAGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTERHOW AGOONACK LIVES THROUGH THE LONG SUMMERGEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERTTHE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDENTHE STORY OF PEN-SETHE LITTLE DARK GIRLLOUISE, THE CHILD OF THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER RHINELOUISE, THE CHILD OF THE WESTERN FORESTTHE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS

MEMORIAL OF MISS JANE ANDREWS. [Born Dec. 1, 1833. Died July 15, 1887. ]

BY LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS. 

Perhaps the readers and lovers of this little book will be glad of afew pages, by way of introduction, which shall show them somewhat ofMiss Andrews herself, and of her way of writing and teaching, as anold friend and schoolmate may try to tell it; and, to begin with, aglimpse of the happy day when she called a few of her friends togetherto listen to the stories contained in this volume, before they wereoffered to a publisher. 

Picture to yourselves a group of young ladies in one of the loveliestof old-fashioned parlors, looking out on a broad, elm-shaded streetin the old town of Newburyport. The room is long and large, with widemahogany seats in the four deep windows, ancient mahogany chairs, andgreat bookcases across one side of the room, with dark pier-tables andcentre-table, and large mirror, --all of ancestral New England solidityand rich simplicity; some saintly portraits on the wall, a moderneasel in the corner accounting for fine bits of coloring on canvas, crayon drawings about the room, and a gorgeous firescreen of autumntints; nasturtium vines in bloom glorifying the south window, andGerman ivy decorating the north corner; choice books here and there, not to look at only, but to be assimilated; with an air of quietrefinement and the very essence of cultured homeness pervadingall;--this is the meagre outline of a room, which, having once satwithin, you would wish never to see changed, in which many pure andnoble men and women have loved to commune with the lives which havebeen so blent with all its suggestions that it almost seems a part oftheir organic being. 

But it was twenty-five years ago [This memorial was written in 1887. ]that this circle of congenial and expectant young people were drawntogether in the room to listen to the first reading of the MSS. Of"The Seven Little Sisters. " I will not name them all; but one whoseyouthful fame and genius were the pride of all, Harriet Prescott (nowMrs. Spofford), was Jane's friend and neighbor for years, and heardmost of her books in MSS. They were all friends, and in a verysympathetic and eager attitude of mind, you may well believe; forin the midst, by the centre-table, sits Jane, who has called themtogether; and knowing that she has really written a book, each onefeels almost that she herself has written it in some unconscious way, because each feels identified with Jane's work, and is ready to be asproud of it, and as sure of it, as all the world is now of the successof Miss Jane Andrews's writings for the boys and girls in these littlestories of geography and history which bear her name. 

I can see Jane sitting there, as I wish you could, with her MSS. Onthe table at her side. She is very sweet and good and noble-looking, with soft, heavy braids of light-brown hair carefully arranged on herfine, shapely head; her forehead is full and broad; her eyes large, dark blue, and pleasantly commanding, but with very gentle and dreamyphases interrupting their placid decision of expression; her featuresare classic and firm in outline, with pronounced resolution in theclose of the full lips, or of hearty merriment in the open laugh, illuminated by a dazzle of well-set teeth; her complexion freshand pure, and the whole aspect of her face kind, courageous, andinspiring, as well as thoughtful and impressive. The poise of her headand rather strongly built figure is unusually good, and suggestiveof health, dignity, and leadership; yet her manners and voice are sogentle, and her whole demeanor so benevolent, that no one could beoffended at her taking naturally the direction of any work, or theplanning of any scheme, which she would also be foremost in executing. 

But there she sits looking up at her friends, with her papers in hand, and the pretty businesslike air that so well became her, and bespeaksthe extreme criticism of her hearers upon what she shall read, becauseshe really wants to know how it affects them, and what mistakes orfaults can be detected; for she must do her work as well as possible, and is sure they are willing to help. "You see, " says Jane, "I havededicated the book to the children I told the stories to first, when the plan was only partly in my mind, and they seemed to growby telling, till at last they finished themselves; and the childrenseemed to care so much for them, that I thought if they were put intoa book other children might care for them too, and they might possiblydo some good in the world. "

Yes, those were the points that always indicated the essential aimand method of Jane's writing and teaching, the elements out of whichsprang all her work; viz. , the relation of her mind to the actualindividual children she knew and loved, and the natural growth of herthought through their sympathy, and the accretion of all she read anddiscovered while the subject lay within her brooding brain, as wellas the single dominant purpose to do some good in the world. There wasdefiniteness as well as breadth in her way of working all through herlife. 

I wish I could remember exactly what was said by that critical circle;for there were some quick and brilliant minds, and some pungent powersof appreciation, and some keen-witted young women in that group. Perhaps I might say they had all felt the moulding force of some veryoriginal and potential educators as they had been growing up intotheir young womanhood. Some of these were professional educators oflasting pre-eminence; others were not professed teachers, yet in thetruest and broadest sense teachers of very wide and wise and inspiringinfluence; and of these Thomas Wentworth Higginson had come moreintimately and effectually into formative relations with the minds andcharacters of those gathered in that sunny room than any other person. They certainly owed much of the loftiness and breadth of their aimin life, and their comprehension of the growth and work to beaccomplished in the world, to his kind and steady instigation. I wishI could remember what they said, and what Jane said; but all that haspassed away. I think somebody objected to the length of the title, which Jane admitted to be a fault, but said something of wishing toget the idea of the unity of the world into it as the main idea of thebook. I only recall the enthusiastic delight with which chapterafter chapter was greeted; we declared that it was a fairy tale ofgeography, and a work of genius in its whole conception, and in itsabsorbing interest of detail and individuality; and that any publisherwould demonstrate himself an idiot who did not want to publish it. Iremember Jane's quick tossing back of the head, and puzzled brow whichbroke into a laugh, as she said: "Well, girls, it can't be as good asyou say; there must be some faults in it. " But we all exclaimed thatwe had done our prettiest at finding fault, --that there wasn't aghost of a fault in it. For the incarnate beauty and ideality andtruthfulness of her little stories had melted into our being, and leftus spellbound, till we were one with each other and her; one with theSeven Little Sisters, too, and they seemed like our very own littlesisters. So they have rested in our imagination and affection as wehave seen them grow into the imagination and affection of generationsof children since, and as they will continue to grow until theold limitations and barrenness of the study of geography shall betransfigured, and the earth seem to the children an Eden which lovehas girdled, when Gemila, Agoonack, and the others shall have won themto a knowledge of the brotherhood of man and the fatherhood of God. 

I would like to bring before young people who have read her books somequalities of her mind and character which made her the rare woman, teacher, and writer that she was. I knew her from early girlhood. Wewent to the same schools, in more and more intimate companionship, from the time we were twelve until we were twenty years of age; andour lives and hearts were "grappled" to each other "with links ofsteel" ever after. She was a precocious child, early matured, andstrong in intellectual and emotional experiences. She had a remarkablyclear mind, orderly and logical in its processes, and loved to takeup hard problems. She studied all her life with great joy andearnestness, rarely, if ever, baffled in her persistent learningexcept by ill-health. She went on at a great pace in mathematics for ayoung girl; every step seemed easy to her. She took everythingsevere that she could get a chance at, in the course or out ofit, --surveying, navigation, mechanics, mathematical astronomy, andconic sections, as well as the ordinary course in mathematics; thecalculus she had worked through at sixteen under a very able and exactteacher, and took her diploma from W. H. Wells, a master who allowednothing to go slipshod. She was absorbed in studies of this kind, andtook no especial interest in composition or literature beyond what wasrequired, and what was the natural outcome of a literary atmosphereand inherited culture; that is, her mind was passively rather thanactively engaged in such directions, until later. At the normal schoolshe led a class which has had a proud intellectual record as teachersand workers. She was the easy victor in every contest; with aninclusive grasp, an incisive analysis, instant generalization, a verytenacious and ready memory, and unusual talent for every effort ofstudy, she took and held the first place as a matter of course untilshe graduated, when she gave the valedictory address. This valedictorywas a prophetic note in the line of her future expression; for itgave a graphic illustration of the art of teaching geography, to theconsideration of which she had been led by Miss Crocker's logical, suggestive, and masterly presentation of the subject in the schoolcourse. Her ability and steadiness of working power, as well assingleness of aim, attracted the attention of Horace Mann, who wasabout forming the nucleus of Antioch College; and he succeeded ingaining her as one of his promised New England recruits. She hadattended very little to Latin, and went to work at once to prepare forthe classical requirements of a college examination. This she did withsuch phenomenal rapidity that in six weeks she had fitted herselffor what was probably equivalent to a Harvard entrance examinationin Latin. She went to Antioch, and taught, as well as studied for awhile, until her health gave way entirely; and she was prostrate foryears with brain and spine disorders. Of course this put an end to hercollege career; and on her recovery she opened her little school inher own house, which she held together until her final illness, andto which she devoted her thoughts and energies, her endowments andattainments, as well as her prodigal devotion and love. 

The success of "The Seven Little Sisters" was a great pleasure toher, partly because her dear mother and friends were so thoroughlysatisfied with it. Her mother always wished that Jane would giveher time more exclusively to writing, especially as new outlines ofliterary work were constantly aroused in her active brain. She wroteseveral stories which were careful studies in natural science, andwhich appeared in some of the magazines. I am sure they would be wellworth collecting. She had her plan of "Each and All" long in her mindbefore elaborating, and it crystallized by actual contact with theneeds and the intellectual instincts of her little classes. In factall her books grew, like a plant, from within outwards; they were bornin the nursery of the schoolroom, and nurtured by the suggestions ofthe children's interest, thus blooming in the garden of a true andnatural education. The last book she wrote, "Ten Boys Who Lived on theRoad from Long Ago to Now, " she had had in her mind for years. Thislittle book she dedicated to a son of her sister Margaret. I am sureshe gave me an outline of the plan fully ten years before she wroteit out. The subject of her mental work lay in her mind, growing, gathering to itself nourishment, and organizing itself consciouslyor unconsciously by all the forces of her unresting brain and allthe channels of her study, until it sprung from her pen complete ata stroke. She wrote good English, of course, and would neversentimentalize, but went directly at the pith of the matter; and, ifshe had few thoughts on a subject, she made but few words. I don'tthink she did much by way of revising or recasting after her thoughtwas once committed to paper. I think she wrote it as she wouldhave said it, always with an imaginary child before her, to whoseintelligence and sympathy it was addressed. Her habit of mind was tocomplete a thought before any attempt to convey it to others. Thismade her a very helpful and clear teacher and leader. She seemedalways to have considered carefully anything she talked about, andgave her opinion with a deliberation and clear conviction whichaffected others as a verdict, and made her an oracle to a greatmany kinds of people. All her plans were thoroughly shaped beforeexecution; all her work was true, finished, and conscientious in everydepartment. She did a great deal of quiet, systematic thinking fromher early school days onward, and was never satisfied until shecompleted the act of thought by expression and manifestation in someway for the advantage of others. The last time I saw her, which wasfor less than five minutes accorded me by her nurse during her lastillness, she spoke of a new plan of literary work which she had inmind, and although she attempted no delineation of it, said she wasthinking it out whenever she felt that it was safe for her to think. Her active brain never ceased its plans for others, for working towardthe illumination of the mind, the purification of the soul, and theelevation and broadening of all the ideals of life. I remember hersitting, absorbed in reflection, at the setting of the sun everyevening while we were at the House Beautiful of the Peabodys [We spentnearly all our time at West Newton in a little cottage on the hill, where Miss Elizabeth Peabody, with her saintly mother and father, madea paradise of love and refinement and ideal culture for us, and wherewe often met the Hawthornes and Manns; and we shall never be able tomeasure the wealth of intangible mental and spiritual influence whichwe received therefrom. ] at West Newton; or, when at home, gazingevery night, before retiring, from her own house-top, standing ather watchtower to commune with the starry heavens, and receive thatexaltation of spirit which is communicated when we yield ourselves tothe "essentially religious. " (I use this phrase, because it delightedher so when I repeated it to her as the saying of a child in lookingat the stars. )

No one ever felt a twinge of jealousy in Jane's easy supremacy; shenever made a fuss about it, although I think she had no mockmodesty in the matter. She accepted the situation which her uniformcorrectness of judgment assured to her, while she always accordedgenerous praise and deference to those who excelled her in departmentswhere she made no pretence of superiority. 

There were some occasions when her idea of duty differed from aconventional one, perhaps from that of some of her near friends; butno one ever doubted her strict dealing with herself, or her singlenessof motive. She did not feel the need of turning to any otherconscience than her own for support or enlightenment, and wasinflexible and unwavering in any course she deemed right. She neverapologized for herself in any way, or referred a matter of her ownexperience or sole responsibility to another for decision; neither didshe seem to feel the need of expressed sympathy in any private lossor trial. Her philosophy of life, her faith, or her temperament seemedequal to every exigency of disappointment or suffering. She generallykept her personal trials hidden within her own heart, and recoveredfrom every selfish pain by the elastic vigor of her power forunselfish devotion to the good of others. She said that happiness wasto have an unselfish work to do, and the power to do it. 

It has been said that Jane's only fault was that she was too good. I think she carried her unselfishness too often to a short-sightedexcess, breaking down her health, and thus abridging her opportunitiesfor more permanent advantage to those whom she would have died toserve; but it was solely on her own responsibility, and in consequenceof her accumulative energy of temperament, that made her unconsciousof the strain until too late. 

Her brain was constitutionally sensitive and almost abnormally active;and she more than once overtaxed it by too continuous study, or by adisregard of its laws of health, or by a stupendous multiplicity ofcares, some of which it would have been wiser to leave to others. Shetook everybody's burdens to carry herself. She was absorbed in theaffairs of those she loved, --of her home circle, of her sisters'families, and of many a needy one whom she adopted into hersolicitude. She was thoroughly fond of children and of all that theysay and do, and would work her fingers off for them, or nurse them dayand night. Her sisters' children were as if they had been her own, andshe revelled in all their wonderful manifestations and development. Her friends' children she always cared deeply for, and was hungry fortheir wise and funny remarks, or any hint of their individuality. Manyof these things she remembered longer than the mothers themselves, andtook the most thorough satisfaction in recounting. 

I have often visited her school, and it seemed like a home with amother in it. There we took sweet counsel together, as if we had cometo the house of God in company; for our methods were identical, anda day in her school was a day in mine. We invariably agreed as to theends of the work, and how to reach them; for we understood each otherperfectly in that field of art. 

I wish I could show her life with all its constituent factors ofancestry, home, and surroundings; for they were so inherent in herthoughts and feelings that you could hardly separate her from them inyour consideration. But that is impossible. Disinterested benevolencewas the native air of the house into which she was born, and she wasan embodiment of that idea. To devote herself to some poor outcast, toreform a distorted soul, to give all she had to the most abject, to doall she could for the despised and rejected, --this was her craving andabsorbing desire. I remember some comical instances of the pursuanceof this self-abnegation, where the returns were, to say the least, disappointing; but she was never discouraged. It would be easy to namemany who received a lifelong stimulus and aid at her hands, eitherintellectual or moral. She had much to do with the development of someremarkable careers, as well as with the regeneration of many poor andabandoned souls. 

She was in the lives of her dear ones, and they in hers, to a veryunusual degree; and her life-threads are twined inextricably in theirsforever. She was a complete woman, --brain, will, affections, all, tothe greatest extent, active and unselfish; her character was a harmonyof many strong and diverse elements; her conscience was a great rockupon which her whole nature rested; her hands were deft and cunning;her ingenious brain was like a master mechanic at expedients; andin executive and administrative power, as well as in device andcomprehension, she was a marvel. If she had faults, they areindistinguishable in the brightness and solidity of her wholecharacter. She was ready to move into her place in any sphere, andadjust herself to any work God should give her to do. She mustbe happy, and shedding happiness, wherever she is; for that is aninseparable quality and function of her identity. 

She passed calmly out of this life, and lay at rest in her own home, in that dear room so full of memories of her presence, with flowersto deck her bed, and many of her dearest friends around her; while theverses which her beloved sister Caroline had selected seemed easily tospeak with Jane's own voice, as they read:--

 Prepare the house, kind friends; drape it and deck it With leaves and blossoms fair: Throw open doors and windows, and call hither The sunshine and soft air. 

 Let all the house, from floor to ceiling, look Its noblest and its best; For it may chance that soon may come to me A most imperial guest. 

 A prouder visitor than ever yet Has crossed my threshold o'er, One wearing royal sceptre and a crown Shall enter at my door;

 Shall deign, perchance, sit at my board an hour, And break with me my bread; Suffer, perchance, this night my honored roof Shelter his kingly head. 

 And if, ere comes the sun again, he bid me Arise without delay, And follow him a journey to his kingdom Unknown and far away;

 And in the gray light of the dawning morn We pass from out my door, My guest and I, silent, without farewell, And to return no more, --

 Weep not, kind friends, I pray; not with vain tears Let your glad eyes grow dim; Remember that my house was all prepared, And that I welcomed him. 

THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 

THE BALL ITSELF. 

Dear children, I have heard of a wonderful ball, which floats in thesweet blue air, and has little soft white clouds about it, as it swimsalong. 

There are many charming and astonishing things to be told of thisball, and some of them you shall hear. 

In the first place, you must know that it is a very big ball; farbigger than the great soft ball, of bright colors, that little Charleyplays with on the floor, --yes, indeed; and bigger than cousin Frank'slargest football, that he brought home from college in the spring;bigger, too, than that fine round globe in the schoolroom, that Emmaturns about so carefully, while she twists her bright face all intowrinkles as she searches for Afghanistan or the Bosphorus Straits. Long names, indeed; they sound quite grand from her little mouth, butthey mean nothing to you and me now. 

Let me tell you about _my_ ball. It is so large that trees can grow onit; so large that cattle can graze, and wild beasts roam, upon it; solarge that men and women can live on it, and little children too, --asyou already know, if you have read the title-page of this book. Insome places it is soft and green, like the long meadow between thehills, where the grass was so high last summer that we almost lostMarnie when she lay down to roll in it; in some parts it is coveredwith tall and thick forests, where you might wander like the "babesin the wood, " nor ever find your way out; then, again, it is steep andrough, covered with great hills, much higher than that high one behindthe schoolhouse, --so high that when you look up ever so far you can'tsee the tops of them; but in some parts there are no hills at all, andquiet little ponds of blue water, where the white water-lilies grow, and silvery fishes play among their long stems. Bell knows, for shehas been among the lilies in a boat with papa. 

Now, if we look on another side of the ball, we shall see no ponds, but something very dreary. I am afraid you won't like it. A greatplain of sand, --sand like that on the seashore, only here there is nosea, --and the sand stretches away farther than you can see, on everyside; there are no trees, and the sunshine beats down, almost burningwhatever is beneath it. 

Perhaps you think this would be a grand place to build sand-houses. One of the little sisters lives here; and, when you read of her, youwill know what she thinks about it. Always the one who has tried itknows best. 

Look at one more side of my ball, as it turns around. Jack Frost musthave spent all his longest winter nights here, for see what a palaceof ice he has built for himself. Brave men have gone to those lonelyplaces, to come back and tell us about them; and, alas! some heroeshave not returned, but have lain down there to perish of cold andhunger. Doesn't it look cold, the clear blue ice, almost as blue asthe air? And look at the snow, drifts upon drifts, and the air filledwith feathery flakes even now. 

We won't look at this side longer, but we shall come back again to seeAgoonack in her little sledge. Don't turn over yet to find the story;we shall come to it all in good time. 

Now, what do you think of my ball, so white and cold, so soft andgreen, so quiet and blue, so dreary and rough, as it floats along inthe sweet blue air, with the flocks of white clouds about it?

I will tell you one thing more. The wise men have said that this earthon which we live is nothing more nor less than just such a ball. Ofthis we shall know when we are older and wiser; but here is the littlebrown baby waiting for us. 

THE LITTLE BROWN BABY. 

Far away in the warm country lives a little brown baby; she has abrown face, little brown hands and fingers, brown body, arms, andlegs, and even her little toes are also brown. 

And this baby wears no little frock nor apron, no little petticoat, nor even stockings and shoes, --nothing at all but a string of beadsaround her neck, as you wear your coral; for the sun shines verywarmly there, and she needs no clothes to keep her from the cold. 

Her hair is straight and black, hanging softly down each side of hersmall brown face; nothing at all like Bell's golden curls, or Marnie'ssunny brown ones. 

Would you like to know how she lives among the flowers and the birds?

She rolls in the long soft grass, where the gold-colored snakes are atplay; she watches the young monkeys chattering and swinging among thetrees, hung by the tail; she chases the splendid green parrots thatfly among the trees; and she drinks the sweet milk of the cocoanutfrom a round cup made of its shell. 

When night comes, the mother takes her baby and tosses her up into thelittle swinging bed in the tree, which her father made for her fromthe twisting vine that climbs among the branches. And the wind blowsand rocks the little bed; and the mother sits at the foot of the treesinging a mild sweet song, and this brown baby falls asleep. Then thestars come out and peep through the leaves at her. The birds, too, areall asleep in the tree; the mother-bird spreading her wings over theyoung ones in the nest, and the father-bird sitting on a twig closeby with his head under his wing. Even the chattering monkey has curledhimself up for the night. 

Soon the large round moon comes up. She, too, must look into theswinging bed, and shine upon the closed eyes of the little brown baby. She is very gentle, and sends her soft light among the branches andthick green leaves, kissing tenderly the small brown feet, and thecrest on the head of the mother-bird, who opens one eye and looksquickly about to see if any harm is coming to the young ones. Thebright little stars, too, twinkle down through the shadows to blessthe sleeping child. All this while the wind blows and rocks the littlebed, singing also a low song through the trees; for the brown motherhas fallen asleep herself, and left the night-wind to take care of herbaby. 

So the night moves on, until, all at once, the rosy dawn breaks overthe earth; the birds lift up their heads, and sing and sing; the greatround sun springs up, and, shining into the tree, lifts the shut lidsof the brown baby's eyes. She rolls over and falls into her mother'sarms, who dips her into the pretty running brook for a bath, and rollsher in the grass to dry, and then she may play among the birds andflowers all day long; for they are like merry brothers and sistersto the happy child, and she plays with them on the bosom of the roundearth, which seems to love them all like a mother. 

This is the little brown baby. Do you love her? Do you think you wouldknow her if you should meet her some day?

A funny little brown sister. Are all of them brown?

We will see, for here comes Agoonack and her sledge. 

AGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTER. 

What is this odd-looking mound of stone? It looks like the great brickoven that used to be in our old kitchen, where, when I was a littlegirl, I saw the fine large loaves of bread and the pies and puddingspushed carefully in with a long, flat shovel, or drawn out with thesame when the heat had browned them nicely. 

Is this an oven standing out here alone in the snow?

You will laugh when I tell you that it is not an oven, but a house;and here lives little Agoonack. 

Do you see that low opening, close to the ground? That is the door;but one must creep on hands and knees to enter. There is anothersmaller hole above the door: it is the window. It has no glass, asours do; only a thin covering of something which Agoonack's fathertook from the inside of a seal, and her mother stretched over thewindow-hole, to keep out the cold and to let in a little light. 

Here lives our little girl; not as the brown baby does, among thetrees and the flowers, but far up in the cold countries amid snow andice. 

If we look off now, over the ice, we shall see a funny little clumsything, running along as fast as its short, stout legs will permit, trying to keep up with its mother. You will hardly know it to be alittle girl, but might rather call it a white bear's cub, it is sooddly dressed in the white, shaggy coat of the bear which its fatherkilled last month. But this is really Agoonack; you can see her round, fat, greasy little face, if you throw back the white jumper-hood whichcovers her head. Shall I tell you what clothes she wears?

Not at all like yours, you will say; but, when one lives in coldcountries, one must dress accordingly. 

First, she has socks, soft and warm, but not knit of the white yarnwith which mamma knits yours. Her mamma has sewed them from the skinsof birds, with the soft down upon them to keep the small brown feetvery warm. Over these come her moccasins of sealskin. 

If you have been on the seashore, perhaps you know the seals thatare sometimes seen swimming in the sea, holding up their brown heads, which look much like dogs' heads, wet and dripping. 

The seals love best to live in the seas of the cold countries: herethey are, huddled together on the sloping rocky shores, or swimmingabout under the ice, thousands and thousands of silver-gray coatedcreatures, gentle seal-mothers and brave fathers with all their prettyseal-babies. And here the Esquimaux (for that is the name by whichwe call these people of the cold countries) hunt them, eat them fordinner, and make warm clothes of their skins. So, as I told you, Agoonack has sealskin boots. 

Next she wears leggings, or trousers, of white bear-skin, very roughand shaggy, and a little jacket or frock, called a jumper, of thesame. This jumper has a hood, made like the little red riding-hoodswhich I dare say you have all seen. Pull the hood up over the short, black hair, letting it almost hide the fat, round face, and you haveAgoonack dressed. 

Is this her best dress, do you think?

Certainly it is her best, because she has no other, and when she goesinto the house--but I think I won't tell you that yet, for there issomething more to be seen outside. 

Agoonack and her mother are coming home to dinner, but there is no sunshining on the snow to make it sparkle. It is dark like night, andthe stars shine clear and steady like silver lamps in the sky, but faroff, between the great icy peaks, strange lights are dancing, shootinglong rosy flames far into the sky, or marching in troops as if eachlight had a life of its own, and all were marching together along thedark, quiet sky. Now they move slowly and solemnly, with no noise, and in regular, steady file; then they rush all together, flame intogolden and rosy streamers, and mount far above the cold, icy mountainpeaks that glitter in their light; we hear a sharp sound like Dsah!Dsah! and the ice glows with the warm color, and the splendor shineson the little white-hooded girl as she trots beside her mother. 

It is far more beautiful than the fireworks on Fourth of July. Sometimes we see a little of it here, and we say there are northernlights, and we sit at the window watching all the evening to see themmarch and turn and flash; but in the cold countries they are far morebrilliant than any we have seen. 

[Illustration]

It is Agoonack's birthday, and there is a present for her before thedoor of the house. I will make you a picture of it. "It is a sled, "you exclaim. Yes, a sled; but quite unlike yours. In the faraway coldcountries no trees grow; so her father had no wood, and he took thebones of the walrus and the whale, bound them together with strips ofsealskin, and he has built this pretty sled for his little daughter'sbirthday. 

It has a back to lean against and hold by, for the child will go oversome very rough places, and might easily fall from it. And then, yousee, if she fell, it would be no easy matter to jump up again andclimb back to her seat, for the little sled would have run away fromher before she should have time to pick herself up. How could it run?Yes, that is the wonderful thing about it. When her father made thesled he said to himself, "By the time this is finished, the two littlebrown dogs will be old enough to draw it, and Agoonack shall havethem; for she is a princess, the daughter of a great chief. "

Now you can see that, with two such brisk little dogs as the brownpuppies harnessed to the sled, Agoonack must keep her seat firmly, that she may not roll over into the snow and let the dogs run awaywith it. 

You can imagine what gay frolics she has with her brother who runs ather side, or how she laughs and shouts to see him drive his bone ballwith his bone bat or hockey, skimming it over the crusty snow. 

Now we will creep into the low house with the child and her mother, and see how they live. 

Outside it is very cold, colder than you have ever known it to be inthe coldest winter's day; but inside it is warm, even very hot. And the first thing Agoonack and her mother do is to take off theirclothes, for here it is as warm as the place where the brown babylives, who needs no clothes. 

It isn't the sunshine that makes it warm, for you remember I told youit was as dark as night. There is no furnace in the cellar; indeed, there is no cellar, neither is there a stove. But all this heat comesfrom a sort of lamp, with long wicks of moss and plenty of walrus fatto burn. It warms the small house, which has but one room, and over itthe mother hangs a shallow dish in which she cooks soup; but most ofthe meat is eaten raw, cut into long strips, and eaten much as onemight eat a stick of candy. 

They have no bread, no crackers, no apples nor potatoes; nothing butmeat, and sometimes the milk of the reindeer, for there are no cows inthe far, cold northern countries. But the reindeer gives them a greatdeal: he is their horse as well as their cow; his skin and his flesh, his bones and horns, are useful when he is dead, and while he lives heis their kind, gentle, and patient friend. 

There is some one else in the hut when Agoonack comes home, --a littledark ball, rolled up on one corner of the stone platform which isbuilt all around three sides of the house, serving for seats, beds, and table. This rolled-up ball unrolls itself, tumbles off the seat, and runs to meet them. It is Sipsu, the baby brother of Agoonack, --around little boy, who rides sometimes, when the weather is not toocold, in the hood of his mother's jumper, hanging at her back, andpeering out from his warm nestling-place over the long icy plain towatch for his father's return from the bear-hunt. 

When the men come home dragging the great Nannook, as they call thebear, there is a merry feast. They crowd together in the hut, bringingin a great block of snow, which they put over the lamp-fire to meltinto water; and then they cut long strips of bear's meat, and laughand eat and sing, as they tell the long story of the hunt of Nannook, and the seals they have seen, and the foot-tracks of the reindeer theyhave met in the long valley. 

Perhaps the day will come when pale, tired travellers will come totheir sheltering home, and tell them wonderful stories, and sharetheir warmth for a while, till they can gain strength to go on theirjourney again. 

Perhaps while they are so merry there all together, a very greatsnowstorm will come and cover the little house, so that they cannotget out for several days. When the storm ends, they dig out the lowdoorway, and creep again into the starlight, and Agoonack slips intoher warm clothes and runs out for Jack Frost to kiss her cheeks, andleave roses wherever his lips touch. If it is very cold indeed, shemust stay in, or Jack Frost will give her no roses, but a cold, frostybite. 

This is the way Agoonack lives through the long darkness. But I haveto tell you more of her in another chapter, and you will find it isnot always dark in the cold northern countries. 

HOW AGOONACK LIVES THROUGH THE LONG SUMMER. 

It is almost noon one day when Agoonack's mother wraps the little girlin her shaggy clothes and climbs with her a high hill, promising apleasant sight when they shall have reached the top. 

It is the sun, the beautiful, bright, round sun, which shines andsmiles at them for a minute, and then slips away again below the far, frozen water. 

They haven't seen him for many months, and now they rejoice, for thenext day he comes again and stays longer, and the next, and the next, and every day longer and longer, until at last he moves above them inone great, bright circle, and does not even go away at all at night. His warm rays melt the snow and awaken the few little hardy flowersthat can grow in this short summer. The icy coat breaks away from theclear running water, and great flocks of birds with soft white plumagecome, like a snowstorm of great feathery flakes, and settle among theblack rocks along the seashore. Here they lay their eggs in the manysafe little corners and shelves of the rock; and here they circleabout in the sunshine, while the Esquimau boys make ready theirlong-handled nets and creep and climb out upon the ledges of rock, and, holding up the net as the birds fly by, catch a netful to carryhome for supper. 

The sun shines all day long, and all night long, too; and yet hecan't melt all the highest snowdrifts, where the boys are playingbat-and-ball, --long bones for sticks, and an odd little round one fora ball. 

It is a merry life they all live while the sunshine stays, for theyknow the long, dark winter is coming, when they can no longer climbamong the birds, nor play ball among the drifts. 

The seals swim by in the clear water, and the walrus and her young oneare at play; and, best of all, the good reindeer has come, for the sunhas uncovered the crisp moss upon which he feeds, and he is roamingthrough the valleys where it grows among the rocks. 

The old men sit on the rocks in the sunshine, and laugh and sing, andtell long stories of the whale and the seal, and the great whitewhale that, many years ago, when Agoonack's father was a child, cameswimming down from the far north, where they look for the northernlights, swimming and diving through the broken ice; and they watchedher in wonder, and no one would throw a harpoon at this white lady ofthe Greenland seas, for her visit was a good omen, promising a mildwinter. 

Little Agoonack comes from her play to crouch among the rocky ledgesand listen to the stories. She has no books; and, if she had, shecouldn't read them. Neither could her father or mother read to her:their stories are told and sung, but never written. But she isa cheerful and contented little girl, and tries to help her dearfriends; and sometimes she wonders a great while by herself about whatthe pale stranger told them. 

And now, day by day, the sun is slipping away from them; gone for afew minutes to-day, to-morrow it will stay away a few more, untilat last there are many hours of rosy twilight, and few, very few, ofclear sunshine. 

But the children are happy: they do not dread the winter, but theyhope the tired travellers have reached their homes; and Agoonackwants, oh, so much! to see them and help them once more. The fatherwill hunt again, and the mother will tend the lamp and keep the housewarm; and, although they will have no sun, the moon and stars arebright, and they will see again the streamers of the great northernlight. 

Would you like to live in the cold countries, with their long darknessand long sunshine?

It is very cold, to be sure, but there are happy children there, andkind fathers and mothers, and the merriest sliding on the very best ofice and snow. 

GEMILA, THE CHILD OF THE DESERT. 

It is almost sunset; and Abdel Hassan has come out to the door ofhis tent to enjoy the breeze, which is growing cooler after the day'sterrible heat. The round, red sun hangs low over the sand; it will begone in five minutes more. The tent-door is turned away from the sun, and Abdel Hassan sees only the rosy glow of its light on the hills inthe distance which looked so purple all day. He sits very still, andhis earnest eyes are fixed on those distant hills. He does not move orspeak when the tent-door is again pushed aside, and his two children, Alee and Gemila, come out with their little mats and seat themselvesalso on the sand. You can see little Gemila in the picture. How gladthey are of the long, cool shadows, and the tall, feathery palms! howpleasant to hear the camels drink, and to drink themselves at the deepwell, when they have carried some fresh water in a cup to their silentfather! He only sends up blue circles of smoke from his long pipe ashe sits there, cross-legged, on a mat of rich carpet. He never sat ina chair, and, indeed, never saw one in his life. His chairs are mats;and his house is, as you have heard, a tent. 

Do you know what a tent is?

I always liked tents, and thought I should enjoy living in one; andwhen I was a little girl, on many a stormy day when we couldn't go toschool, I played with my sisters at living in tents. We would take asmall clothes-horse and tip it down upon its sides, half open; then, covering it with shawls, we crept in, and were happy enough for therest of the afternoon. I tell you this, that you may also play tentssome day, if you haven't already. 

The tent of Gemila's father is, however, quite different from ours. Two or three long poles hold it up, and over them hangs a cloth madeof goats'-hair, or sometimes sheepskins, which are thick enough tokeep out either heat or cold. The ends of the cloth are fastened downby pegs driven into the sand, or the strong wind coming might blowthe tent away. The tent-cloth pushes back like a curtain for the door. Inside, a white cloth stretched across divides this strange house intotwo rooms; one is for the men, the other for the women and children. In the tent there is no furniture like ours; nothing but mats, and lowcushions called divans; not even a table from which to eat, nor abed to sleep upon. But the mats and the shawls are very gorgeous andcostly, and we are very proud when we can buy any like them for ourparlors. And, by the way, I must tell you that these people have beenasleep all through the heat of the day, --the time when you would havebeen coming home from school, eating your dinner, and going back toschool again. They closed the tent-door to keep out the terrible blazeof the sun, stretched themselves on the mats, and slept until justnow, when the night-wind began to come. 

Now they can sit outside the tent and enjoy the evening, and themother brings out dates and little hard cakes of bread, with plenty ofbutter made from goats' milk. The tall, dark servant-woman, with looseblue cotton dress and bare feet, milks a camel, and they all taketheir supper, or dinner perhaps I had better call it. They have noplates, nor do they sit together to eat. The father eats by himself:when he has finished, the mother and children take the dates and breadwhich he leaves. We could teach them better manners, we think; butthey could teach us to be hospitable and courteous, and more polite tostrangers than we are. 

When all is finished, you see there are no dishes to be washed and putaway. 

The stars have come out, and from the great arch of the sky they lookdown on the broad sands, the lonely rocks, the palm-trees, and thetents. Oh, they are so bright, so steady, and so silent, in thatgreat, lonely place, where no noise is heard! no sounds of people orof birds or animals, excepting the sleepy groaning of a camel, or thelow song that little Alee is singing to his sister as they lie upontheir backs on the sand, and watch the slow, grand movement of thestars that are always journeying towards the west. 

Night is very beautiful in the desert; for this is the desert, whereAbdel Hassan the Arab lives. His country is that part of our roundball where the yellow sands stretch farther than eye can see, andthere are no wide rivers, no thick forests, and no snow-covered hills. The day is too bright and too hot, but the night he loves; it is hisfriend. 

He falls asleep at last out under the stars, and, since he has beensleeping so long in the daytime, can well afford to be awake veryearly in the morning: so, while the stars still shine, and there isonly one little yellow line of light in the east, he calls hiswife, children, and servants, and in a few minutes all is bustle andpreparation; for to-day they must take down the tent, and move, withall the camels and goats, many miles away. For the summer heat hasnearly dried up the water of their little spring under the palm-trees, and the grass that grew there is also entirely gone; and one cannotlive without water to drink, particularly in the desert, nor can thegoats and camels live without grass. 

Now, it would be a very bad thing for us, if some day all the waterin our wells and springs and ponds should dry up, and all the grass onour pleasant pastures and hills should wither away. 

What should we do? Should we have to pack all our clothes, our books, our furniture and food, and move away to some other place where therewere both water and grass, and then build new houses? Oh, how muchtrouble it would give us! No doubt the children would think it greatfun; but as they grew older they would have no pleasant home toremember, with all that makes "sweet home" so dear. 

And now you will see how much better it is for Gemila's father than ifhe lived in a house. In a very few minutes the tent is taken down, thetent-poles are tied together, the covering is rolled up with the pegsand strings which fastened it, and it is all ready to put up againwhenever they choose to stop. As there is no furniture to carry, themats and cushions only are to be rolled together and tied; and nowAchmet, the old servant, brings a tall yellow camel. 

Did you ever see a camel? I hope you have some time seen a living onein a menagerie; but, if you haven't, perhaps you have seen a pictureof the awkward-looking animal with a great hump upon his back, a longneck, and head thrust forward. A boy told me the other day, that, whenthe camel had been long without food, he ate his hump: he meant thatthe flesh and fat of the hump helped to nourish him when he had nofood. 

Achmet speaks to the camel, and he immediately kneels upon the sand, while the man loads him with the tent-poles and covering; after whichhe gets up, moves on a little way, to make room for another to comeup, kneel, and be loaded with mats, cushions, and bags of dates. 

Then comes a third; and while he kneels, another servant comes fromthe spring, bringing a great bag made of camels'-skin, and filled withwater. Two of these bags are hung upon the camel, one on each side. This is the water for all these people to drink for four days, whilethey travel through a sandy, rocky country, where there are no springsor wells. I am afraid the water will not taste very fresh after it hasbeen kept so long in leather bags; but they have nothing else to carryit in, and, besides, they are used to it, and don't mind the taste. 

Here are smaller bags, made of goats'-skin, and filled with milk; andwhen all these things are arranged, which is soon done, they are readyto start, although it is still long before sunrise. The camels havebeen drinking at the spring, and have left only a little muddy water, like that in our street-gutters; but the goats must have this, or noneat all. 

And now Abdel Hassan springs upon his beautiful black horse, that hassuch slender legs and swift feet, and places himself at the head ofthis long troop of men and women, camels and goats. The women areriding upon the camels, and so are the children; while the servantsand camel-drivers walk barefooted over the yellow sand. 

It would seem very strange to you to be perched up so high on acamel's back, but Gemila is quite accustomed to it. When she was verylittle, her mother often hung a basket beside her on the camel, andcarried her baby in it; but now she is a great girl, full six yearsold, and when the camel kneels, and her mother takes her place, thechild can spring on in front, with one hand upon the camel's roughhump, and ride safely and pleasantly hour after hour. Good, patientcamels! God has fitted them exactly to be of the utmost help to thepeople in that desert country. Gemila for this often blesses andthanks Him whom she calls Allah. 

All this morning they ride, --first in the bright starlight; but soonthe stars become faint and dim in the stronger rosy light that isspreading over the whole sky, and suddenly the little girl seesstretching far before her the long shadow of the camels, and she knowsthat the sun is up, for we never see shadows when the sun is not up, unless it is by candlelight or moonlight. The shadows stretch out veryfar before them, for the sun is behind. When you are out walking veryearly in the morning, with the sun behind you, see how the shadow ofeven such a little girl as you will reach across the whole street; andyou can imagine that such great creatures as camels would make evenmuch longer shadows. 

Gemila watches them, and sees, too, how the white patches of sandflush in the morning light; and she looks back where far behind arethe tops of their palm-trees, like great tufted fans, standing darkagainst the yellow sky. 

She is not sorry to leave that old home. She has had many homesalready, young as she is, and will have many more as long as shelives. The whole desert is her home; it is very wide and large, andsometimes she lives in one part, sometimes in another. 

As the sun gets higher, it begins to grow very hot. The fatherarranges the folds of his great white turban, a shawl with many folds, twisted round his head to keep off the oppressive heat. The servantsput on their white fringed handkerchiefs, falling over the head anddown upon the neck, and held in place by a little cord tied, round thehead. It is not like a bonnet or hat, but one of the very best thingsto protect the desert travellers from the sun. The children, too, cover their heads in the same way, and Gemila no longer looks out tosee what is passing: the sun is too bright; it would hurt her eyes andmake her head ache. She shuts her eyes and falls half asleep, sittingthere high upon the camel's back. But, if she could look out, therewould be nothing to see but what she has seen many and many timesbefore, --great plains of sand or pebbles, and sometimes high, barerocks, --not a tree to be seen, and far off against the sky, the lowpurple hills. They move on in the heat, and are all silent. It isalmost noon now, and Abdel Hassan stops, leaps from his horse, andstrikes his spear into the ground. The camel-drivers stop, thecamels stop and kneel, Gemila and Alee and their mother dismount. Theservants build up again the tent which they took down in the morning;and, after drinking water from the leathern bags, the family are soonunder its shelter, asleep on their mats, while the camels and servantshave crept into the shadow of some rocks and lain down in the sand. The beautiful black horse is in the tent with his master; he istreated like a child, petted and fed by all the family, caressed andkissed by the children. Here they rest until the heat of the day ispast; but before sunset they have eaten their dates and bread, loadedagain the camels, and are moving, with the beautiful black horse andhis rider at the head. 

They ride until the stars are out, and after, but stop for a fewhours' rest in the night, to begin the next day as they began this. Gemila still rides upon the camel, and I can easily understand thatshe prays to Allah with a full heart under the shining stars so clearand far, and that at the call to prayer in the early dawn her prettylittle veiled head is bent in true love and worship. But I must tellyou what she sees soon after sunrise on this second morning. Acrossthe sand, a long way before them, something with very long legs isrunning, almost flying. She knows well what it is, for she has oftenseen them before, and she calls to one of the servants, "See, there isthe ostrich!" and she claps her hands with delight. 

The ostrich is a great bird, with very long legs and small wings; andas legs are to run with, and wings to fly with, of course he can runbetter than he can fly. But he spreads his short wings while running, and they are like little sails, and help him along quite wonderfully, so that he runs much faster than any horse can. 

Although he runs so swiftly, he is sometimes caught in a very odd way. I will tell you how. 

He is a large bird, but he is a very silly one, and, when he is tiredof running, he will hide his head in the sand, thinking that becausehe can see no one he can't be seen himself. Then the swift-footed Arabhorses can overtake him, and the men can get his beautiful feathers, which you must have often seen, for ladies wear them in their bonnets. 

All this about the ostrich. Don't forget it, my little girl: some timeyou may see one, and will be glad that you know what kind of a fellowhe is. 

The ostrich which Gemila sees is too far away to be caught; besides, it will not be best to turn aside from the track which is leadingthem to a new spring. But one of the men trots forward on his camel, looking to this side and to that as he rides; and at last our littlegirl, who is watching, sees his camel kneel, and sees him jump offand stoop in the sand. When they reach the place, they find a sort ofgreat nest, hollowed a little in the sand, and in it are great eggs, almost as big as your head. The mother ostrich has left them there. She is not like other mother-birds, that sit upon the eggs to keepthem warm; but she leaves them in the hot sand, and the sun keeps themwarm, and by and by the little ostriches will begin to chip the shell, and creep out into the great world. 

The ostrich eggs are good to eat. You eat your one egg for breakfast, but one of these big eggs will make breakfast for the whole family. And that is why Gemila clapped her hands when she saw the ostrich: shethought the men would find the nest, and have fresh eggs for a day ortwo. 

This day passes like the last: they meet no one, not a single man orwoman, and they move steadily on towards the sunset. In the morningagain they are up and away under the starlight; and this day is ahappy one for the children, and, indeed, for all. 

The morning star is yet shining, low, large, and bright, when ourwatchful little girl's dark eyes can see a row of black dots on thesand, --so small you might think them nothing but flies; but Gemilaknows better. They only look small because they are far away; they arereally men and camels, and horses too, as she will soon see whenthey come nearer. A whole troop of them; as many as a hundred camels, loaded with great packages of cloths and shawls for turbans, carpetsand rich spices, and the beautiful red and green morocco, of which, when I was a little girl, we sometimes had shoes made, but we see itoftener now on the covers of books. 

All these things belong to the Sheik Hassein. He has been to the greatcities to buy them, and now he is carrying them across the desertto sell again. He himself rides at the head of his company on amagnificent brown horse, and his dress is so grand and gay that itshines in the morning light quite splendidly. A great shawl withgolden fringes is twisted about his head for a turban, and he wears, instead of a coat, a tunic broadly striped with crimson and yellow, while a loose-flowing scarlet robe falls from his shoulders. His faceis dark, and his eyes keen and bright; only a little of his straightblack hair hangs below the fringes of his turban, but his beard islong and dark, and he really looks very magnificent sitting upon hisfine horse, in the full morning sunlight. 

Abdel Hassan rides forward to meet him, and the children from behindwatch with great delight. 

Abdel Hassan takes the hand of the sheik, presses it to his lips andforehead, and says, "Peace be with you. "

Do you see how different this is from the hand-shakings and"How-do-you-do's" of the gentlemen whom we know? Many grandcompliments are offered from one to another, and they are very politeand respectful. Our manners would seem very poor beside theirs. 

Then follows a long talk, and the smoking of pipes, while the servantsmake coffee, and serve it in little cups. 

Hassein tells Abdel Hassan of the wells of fresh water which he leftbut one day's journey behind him, and he tells of the rich cities hehas visited. Abdel Hassan gives him dates and salt in exchange forcloth for a turban, and a brown cotton dress for his little daughter. 

It is not often that one meets men in the desert, and this day willlong be remembered by the children. 

The next night, before sunset, they can see the green feathery tops ofthe palm-trees before them. The palms have no branches, but only greatclusters of fern-like leaves at the top of the tree, under which growthe sweet dates. 

Near those palm-trees will be Gemila's home for a little while, forhere they will find grass and a spring. The camels smell the water, and begin to trot fast; the goats leap along over the sand, and thebarefooted men hasten to keep up with them. 

In an hour more the tent is pitched under the palm-trees, and all haverefreshed themselves with the cool, clear water. 

And now I must tell you that the camels have had nothing to drinksince they left the old home. The camel has a deep bag below histhroat, which he fills with water enough to last four or five days;so he can travel in the desert as long as that, and sometimes longer, without drinking again. Yet I believe the camels are as glad as thechildren to come to the fresh spring. 

Gemila thinks so at night, as she stands under the starlight, pattingher good camel Simel, and kissing his great lips. 

The black goats, with long silky ears, are already cropping the grass. The father sits again at the tent-door, and smokes his long pipe; thechildren bury their bare feet in the sand, and heap it into littlemounds about them; while the mother is bringing out the dates and thebread and butter. 

It is an easy thing for them to move: they are already at home again. But although they have so few cares, we do not wish ourselves in theirplace, for we love the home of our childhood, "be it ever so humble, "better than roaming like an exile. 

But all the time I haven't told you how Gemila looks, nor what clothesshe wears. Her face is dark; she has a little straight nose, fulllips, and dark, earnest eyes; her dark hair will be braided when itis long enough. On her arms and her ankles are gilded bracelets andanklets, and she wears a brown cotton dress loosely hanging halfway tothe bare, slender ankles. On her head the white fringed handkerchief, of which I told you, hangs like a little veil. Her face is pleasant, and when she smiles her white teeth shine between her parted lips. 

She is the child of the desert, and she loves her desert home. 

I think she would hardly be happy to live in a house, eat from atable, and sleep in a little bed like yours. She would grow restlessand weary if she should live so long and so quietly in one place. 

THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN MAIDEN. 

[Illustration]

I want you to look at the picture on this page. It is a little deer:its name is the chamois. Do you see what delicate horns it has, andwhat slender legs, and how it seems to stand on that bit of rock andlift its head to watch for the hunters. 

Last summer I saw a little chamois like that, and just as small: itwas not alive, but cut or carved of wood, --such a graceful prettylittle plaything as one does not meet every day. 

Would you like to know who made it, and where it came from?

It was made in the mountain country, by the brother of my goodJeannette, the little Swiss maiden. 

Here among the high mountains she lives with her father, mother, andbrothers; and far up among those high snowy peaks, which are seenbehind the house, the chamois live, many of them together, eatingthe tender grass and little pink-colored flowers, and leaping andspringing away over the ice and snow when they see the men coming upto hunt them. 

I will tell you by and by how it happened that Jeannette's tallbrother Joseph carved this tiny chamois from wood. But first you mustknow about this small house upon the great hills, and how they live upthere so near the blue sky. 

One would think it might be easier for a child to be good and pure sofar up among the quiet hills, and that there God would seem to comeclose to the spirit, even of a little girl or boy. 

On the sides of the mountains tall trees are growing, --pine and firtrees, which are green in winter as well as in summer. If you go intothe woods in winter, you will find that almost all the trees havedropped their pretty green leaves upon the ground, and are standingcold and naked in the winter wind; but the pines and the firs keep ontheir warm green clothes all the year round. 

It was many years ago, before Jeannette was born, that her fathercame to the mountains with his sharp axe and cut down some of thefir-trees. Other men helped him, and they cut the great trees intostrong logs and boards, and built of them the house of which I havetold you. Now he will have a good home of his own for as long as helikes to live there, and to it will come his wife and children as Godshall send them, to nestle among the hills. 

Then he went down to the little town at the foot of the mountain, andwhen he came back, he was leading a brown, long-eared donkey, and uponthat donkey sat a rosy-cheeked young woman, with smiling brown eyes, and long braids of brown hair hanging below a little green hat set onone side of her head, while beautiful rose-colored carnations peepedfrom beneath it on the other side. Who was this? It wasn't Jeannette:you know I told you this was before she was born. Can you guess, ormust I tell you that it was the little girl's mother? She had come upthe mountain for the first time to her new home, --the house built ofthe fir and the pine, --where after awhile were born Jeannette's twotall brothers, and at last Jeannette herself. 

It was a good place to be born in. When she was a baby she used to lieon the short, sweet grass before the doorstep, and watch the cowsand the goats feeding, and clap her little hands to see how rosy thesunset made the snow that shone on the tops of those high peaks. Andthe next summer, when she could run alone, she picked the blue-eyedgentians, thrusting her small fingers between their fringed eyelids, and begging them to open and look at little Jean; and she stained herwee hands among the strawberries, and pricked them with the thornsof the long raspberry-vines, when she went with her mother in theafternoon to pick the sweet fruit for supper. Ah, she was a happylittle thing! Many a fall she got over the stones or among the brownmoss, and many a time the clean frock that she wore was dyed red withthe crushed berries; but, oh, how pleasant it was to find them ingreat patches on the mountain-side, where the kind sun had warmed theminto such delicious life! I have seen the children run out of schoolto pick such sweet wild strawberries, all the recess-time, up in thefields of Maine; and how happy they were with their little stainedfingers as they came back at the call of the bell!

In the black bog-mud grew the Alpen roses, and her mother said, "Donot go there, my little daughter, it is too muddy for you. " But atnight, when her brother came home from the chamois hunt, he took offhis tall, pointed hat, and showed his little sister the long spray ofroses twisted round it, which he had brought for her. He could go inthe mud with his thick boots, you know, and never mind it. 

Here they live alone upon the mountain; there are no near neighbors. At evening they can see the blue smoke curling from the chimney of onehouse that stands behind that sunny green slope, a hundred yards fromtheir door, and they can always look down upon the many houses of thetown below, where the mother lived when she was young. 

Many times has Jeannette wondered how the people lived down there, --somany together; and where their cows could feed, and whether there wereany little girls like herself, and if they picked berries, and hadsuch a dear old black nanny-goat as hers, that gave milk for hersupper, and now had two little black kids, its babies. She didn't knowabout those little children in Maine, and that they have littlekids and goats, as well as sweet red berries, to make the days passhappily. 

She wanted to go down and see, some day, and her father promised that, when she was a great girl, she should go down with him on market-days, to sell the goats'-milk cheeses and the sweet butter that her mothermade. 

When the cows and goats have eaten all the grass near the house, herfather drives them before him up farther among the mountains, wheremore grass is growing, and there he stays with them many weeks: hedoes not even come home at night, but sleeps in a small hut among therocks, where, too, he keeps the large clean milk-pails, and the littleone-legged stool upon which he sits at morning and night to milk thecows and goats. 

When the pails are full, the butter is to be made, and the cheese; andhe works while the animals feed. The cows have little bells tied totheir necks, that he may hear and find them should they stray too far. 

Many times, when he is away, does his little daughter at home listen, listen, while she sits before the door, to hear the distant tinklingof the cow-bells. She is a loving little daughter, and she thinks ofher father so far away alone, and wishes he was coming home to eatsome of the sweet strawberries and cream for supper. 

Last summer some travellers came to the house. They stopped at thedoor and asked for milk; the mother brought them brimming bowlsful, and the shy little girl crept up behind her mother with her birch-barkbaskets of berries. The gentlemen took them and thanked her, and onetold of his own little Mary at home, far away over the great sea. Jeannette often thinks of her, and wonders whether her papa has gonehome to her. 

While the gentlemen talked, Jeannette's brother Joseph sat upon thebroad stone doorstep and listened. Presently one gentleman, turningto him, asked if he would come with them over the mountain to lead theway, for there are many wild places and high, steep rocks, and theyfeared to get lost. 

Joseph sprang up from his low seat and said he would go, brought histall hat and his mountain-staff, like a long, strong cane, with asharp iron at the end, which he can stick into the snow or ice ifthere is danger of slipping; and they went merrily on their way, overthe green grass, over the rocks, far up among the snow and ice, andthe frozen streams and rivers that pour down the mountain-sides. 

Joseph was brave and gay; he led the way, singing aloud until theechoes answered from every hillside. It makes one happy to sing, andwhen we are busy and happy we sing without thinking of it, as thebirds do. When everything is bright and beautiful in nature aroundus, we feel like singing aloud and praising God, who made the earth sobeautiful; then the earth also seems to sing of God who made it, and the echo seems like its answer of praise. Did you ever hear theecho, --the voice that seems to come from a hill or a house far away, repeating whatever you may say? Among the mountains the echoes answereach other again and again. Jeannette has often heard them. 

That night, while the mother and her little girl were eating theirsupper, the gentlemen came back again, bringing Joseph with them. Hecould not walk now, nor spring from rock to rock with his Alpen staff;he had fallen and broken his leg, and he must lie still for many days. But he could keep a cheerful face, and still sing his merry songs; andas he grew better, and could sit out again on the broad bench besidethe door, he took his knife and pieces of fine wood, and carvedbeautiful things, --first a spoon for his little sister, with gentianson the handle; then a nice bowl, with a pretty strawberry-vine carvedall about the edge. And from this bowl, and with this spoon, she ateher supper every night, --sweet milk, with the dry cakes of rye breadbroken into it, and sometimes the red strawberries. I know his littlesister loved him dearly, and thanked him in her heart every time sheused the pretty things. How dearly a sister and brother can love eachother!

Then he made other things, --knives, forks, and plates; and at lastone day he sharpened his knife very sharp, chose a very nice, delicatepiece of wood, and carved this beautiful chamois, just like a livingone, only so small. My cousin, who was travelling there, bought it andbrought it home. 

When the summer had passed, the father came down from the highpastures; the butter and cheese making was over, and the autumn workwas now to be done. Do you want to know what the autumn work was, andhow Jeannette could help about it? I will tell you. You must know thata little way down the mountain-side is a grove of chestnut-trees. Didyou ever see the chestnut-trees? They grow in our woods, and onthe shores of some ponds. In the spring they are covered with long, yellowish blossoms, and all through the hot summer those blossoms areat work, turning into sweet chestnuts, wrapped safely in round, thornyballs, which will prick your fingers sadly if you don't take care. Butwhen the frost of the autumn nights comes, it cracks open the pricklyball and shows a shining brown nut inside; then, if we are careful, we may pull off the covering and take out the nut. Sometimes, indeed, there are two, three, or four nuts in one shell; I have found them somyself. 

Now the autumn work, which I said I would tell you about, is to gatherthese chestnuts and store them away, --some to be eaten, boiled orroasted, by the bright fire in the cold winter days that are coming;and some to be nicely packed in great bags, and carried on the donkeydown to the town to be sold. The boys of New England, too, know whatgood fun it is to gather nuts in the fall, and spread them over thegarret floor to dry, and at last to crack and eat them by the winterhearth. So when the father says one night at supper-time, "It isgrowing cold; I think there will be a frost to-night, " Jeannette knowsvery well what to do; and she dances away right early in the eveningto her little bed, which is made in a wooden box built up against theside of the wall, and falls asleep to dream about the chestnut woods, and the squirrels, and the little brook that leaps and springs fromrock to rock down under the tall, dark trees. 

She has gone to bed early, that she may wake with the first daylight, and she is out of bed in a minute when she hears her father's cheerfulcall in the morning, "Come, children, it is time to be off. "

Their dinner is packed in a large basket. The donkey stands readybefore the door, with great empty bags hanging at each side, and theygo merrily over the crisp white frost to the chestnut-trees. How thefrost has opened the burrs! He has done more than half their work forthem already. How they laugh and sing and shout to each other as theygather the smooth brown nuts, filling their baskets, and running topour them into the great bags! It is merry autumn work. The sun looksdown upon them through the yellow leaves, and the rocks give themmossy seats; while here and there comes a bird or a squirrel to seewhat these strange people are doing in their woods. 

Jeannette declares that the chestnut days are the best in the year. Perhaps she is right. I am sure I should enjoy them, shouldn't you?She really helps, although she is but a little girl, and her fathersays at night that his little Jean is a dear, good child. It makesher very happy. She thinks of what he has said while she undresses atnight, unbraiding her hair and unlacing her little blue bodice withits great white sleeves, and she goes peacefully to sleep, to dreamagain of the merry autumn days. And while she dreams good angels mustbe near her, for she said her sweet and reverent prayer on her knees, with a full and thankful heart to the All-Father who gave her so manyblessings. 

She is our little mountain sister. The mountain life is a fresh andhappy one. I should like to stay with this little sister a long, longtime. 

THE STORY OF PEN-SE. 

Dear children, have you ever watched the sun set? If you live in thecountry, I am almost sure you have many times delighted yourselveswith the gold and rosy clouds. But those of you who live in the citydo not often have the opportunity, the high houses and narrow streetsshut out so much of the sky. 

I am so happy as to live in the country; and let me tell you where Igo to see the sun set. 

The house in which I live has some dark, narrow garret stairs leadingfrom the third story into a small garret under the roof, and manyand many a time do I go up these narrow stairs, and again up to thescuttle-window in the roof, open it, and seat myself on the top stepor on the roof itself. Here I can look over the house-tops, and evenover the tree-tops, seeing many things of which I may perhaps tell youat some time; but to-night we are to look at the sunset. 

Can you play that you are up here with me, looking past the houses, past the elm-trees and the low hills that seem so far away, to wherethe sun hangs low, like a great red ball, so bright that we can hardlylook at it? Watch it with me. Now a little part has disappeared; nowit is half gone, and in a minute more we see nothing but the train ofbright clouds it has left behind. 

Where did it go?

It seemed to slip down over the edge of the world. To-morrow morning, if you are up early, you will see it come back again on the otherside. As it goes away from us to-night, it is coming to somebody wholives far away, round the other side of the world. While we had thesunshine, she had night; and now, when night is coming to us, it ismorning for her. 

I think men have always felt like following the sun to the unknownWest, beyond its golden gate of setting day, and perhaps that has ledmany a wanderer on his path of discovery. Let us follow the sun overthe rolling earth. 

The sun has gone; shall we go, too, and take a peep round there to seewho is having morning now?

The long, bright sunbeams are sliding over the tossing ocean, andsparkling on the blue water of a river upon which are hundreds ofboats. The boats are not like those which we see here, with whitesails or long oars. They are clumsy, square-looking things, withoutsails, and they have little sheds or houses built upon them. We willlook into one, and see what is to be seen. 

There is something like a little yard built all around this boat;in it are ducks, --more ducks than you can well count. This is theirbedroom, where they sleep at night; but now it is morning, and theyare all stirring, --waddling about as well as they can in the crowd, and quacking with most noisy voices. They are waking up Kang-hy, theirmaster, who lives in the middle of the boat; and out he comes from thedoor of his odd house, and out comes little Pen-se, his daughter, wholikes to see the ducks go for their breakfast. 

The father opens a gate or door in the basket-work fence of the ducks'house, and they all crowd and hurry to reach the water again, afterstaying all night shut up in this cage. There they go, tumbling anddiving. Each must have a thorough bath first of all; then the olddrake leads the way, and they swim off in the bright water along theshore for a hundred yards, and then among the marshes, where they willfeed all day, and come back at night when they hear the shrill whistleof Kang-hy calling them to come home and go to bed. 

Pen-se and her father will go in to breakfast now, under the bambooroof which slides over the middle part of the boat, or can be pushedback if they desire. As Kang-hy turns to go in, and takes off hisbamboo hat, the sun shines on his bare, shaved head, where only onelock of hair is left; that is braided into a long, thick tail, andhangs far down his back. He is very proud of it, and nothing wouldinduce him to have it cut off. Now it hangs down over his loose bluenankeen jacket, but when he goes to work he will twist it round uponthe crown of his head, and tuck the end under the coil to keep it outof the way. Isn't this a funny way for a man to wear his hair? Pen-sehas hers still in little soft curls, but by and by it will be braided, and at last fastened up into a high knot on the top of her head, asher mother's is. Her little brother Lin already has his head shavedalmost bare, and waits impatiently for the time when his single lockof hair will be long enough to braid. 

When I was a child it was a very rare thing to see people such asthese in our own land, but now we are quite familiar with these oddways of dressing, and our streets have many of these funny names ontheir signs. 

Shall we look in to see them at breakfast? Tea for the children aswell as for the father and mother. They have no milk, and do not liketo drink water, so they take many cups of tea every day. And here, too, are their bowls of rice upon the table, but no spoons or forkswith which to eat it. Pen-se, however, does not need spoon or fork;she takes two small, smooth sticks, and, lifting the bowl to hermouth, uses the sticks like a little shovel. You would spill the riceand soil your dress if you should try to do so, but these childrenknow no other way, and they have learned to do it quite carefully. 

The sticks are called chopsticks; and up in the great house on thehill, where Pen-se went to carry fish, lives a little lady who hasbeautiful pearl chopsticks, and wears roses in her hair. Pen-se oftenthinks of her, and wishes she might go again to carry the fish, andsee some of the beautiful things in that garden with the high walls. Perhaps you have in your own house, or in your schoolroom, pictures ofsome of the pretty things that may have been there, --little childrenand ladies dressed in flowery gowns, with fans in their hands;tea-tables and pretty dishes, and a great many lovely flowers andbeautiful birds. 

But now she must not stop to think. Breakfast is over, and the fathermust go on shore to his work, --carrying tea-boxes to the store of agreat merchant. Lin, too, goes to his work, of which I will by and bytell you; and even Pen-se and her little sister, young as they are, must go with their mother, who has a tanka-boat in which she carriesfresh fruit and vegetables, to the big ships which are lying offshore. The two little girls can help at the oars, while the mothersteers to guide the boat. 

I wish I could tell you how pleasant it is out on the river thisbright morning. A hundred boats are moving; the ducks and geesehave all gone up the stream; the people who live in the boats havebreakfasted, and the fishermen have come out to their work. Thisis Lin's work. He works with his uncle Chow, and already his bluetrousers are stripped above his knees, and he stands on the wetfishing-raft watching some brown birds. Suddenly one of them plungesinto the water and brings up a fish in its yellow bill. Lin takes itout and sends the bird for another; and such industrious fishermenare the brown cormorants that they keep Lin and his uncle busy all themorning, until the two large baskets are filled with fish, and thenthe cormorants may catch for themselves. Lin brings his bamboo pole, rests it across his shoulders, hangs one basket on each end, and goesup into the town to sell his fish. Here it was that Pen-se went onthat happy day when she saw the little lady in the house on the hill, and she has not forgotten the wonders of that day in the streets. 

The gay sign-posts in front of the shops, with colors flying; the busyworkmen, --tinkers mending or making their wares; blacksmiths with alltheir tools set up at the corners of the streets; barbers withgrave faces, intently braiding the long hair of their customers;water-carriers with deep water-buckets hung from a bamboo pole likeLin's fish-baskets; the soldiers in their paper helmets, wadded gowns, and quilted petticoats, with long, clumsy guns over their shoulders;and learned scholars in brown gowns, blue bordered, and golden birdson their caps. The high officers, cousins to the emperor, have thesacred yellow girdle round their waists, and very long braided tailshanging below their small caps. Here and there you may see a high, narrow box, resting on poles, carried by two men. It is the only kindof carriage which you will see in these streets, and in it is a ladygoing out to take the air; although I am sadly afraid she gets butlittle, shut up there in her box. I would rather be like Pen-se, apoor, hardworking little girl, with a fresh life on the river, and ahard mat spread for her bed in the boat at night. How would you liketo live in a boat on a pleasant river with the ducks and geese? Ithink you would have a very jolly time, rocked to sleep by the tide, and watched over by the dancing boat-lights. But this poor ladycouldn't walk, or enjoy much, if she were allowed. Shall I tell youwhy? When she was a very little girl, smaller than you are, smallerthan Pen-se is now, her soft baby feet were bound up tightly, the toesturned and pressed under, and the poor little foot cramped so thatshe could scarcely stand. This was done that her feet might nevergrow large, for in this country on the other side of the world one isconsidered very beautiful who has small feet; and now that she is agrown lady, as old perhaps as your mamma, she wears such little shoesyou would think them too small for yourself. It is true they are verypretty shoes, made of bright-colored satin, and worked all overwith gold and silver thread, and they have beautiful white soles ofrice-paper; and the poor lady looks down at them and says to herselfproudly, "Only three inches long. " And forgetting how much thebandages pained her, and not thinking how sad it is only to be ableto hobble about a little, instead of running and leaping as childrenshould, she binds up the feet of Lou, her dear little daughter, in thegreat house on the hill, and makes her a poor, helpless child; notso happy, with all her flower-gardens, gold and silver fish, andbeautiful gold-feathered birds, as Pen-se with her broad, bare feet, and comfortable, fat little toes, as she stands in the wet tanka-boat, helping her mother wash it with river-water, while the leather shoesof both of them lie high and dry on the edge of the wharf, until thewet work is done. 

But we are forgetting Lin, who has carried his fish up into the townto sell. Here is a whole street where nothing is sold but food. Ishould call it Market Street, and I dare say they do the same in a wayof their own. 

What will all these busy people have for dinner to-day? Fatbears'-paws, brought from the dark forest fifty miles away, --thesewill do for that comfortable-looking mandarin with the red ball onthe top of his cap. I think he has eaten something of the same kindbefore. A birds'-nest soup for my lady in the great house on the hill;birds' nests brought from the rocks where the waves dash, and thebirds feel themselves very safe. But "Such a delicious soup!" saidMadam Faw-Choo, and Yang-lo, her son, sent the fisherman again to theblack rocks for more. 

What will the soldiers have, --the officer who wears thick satin boots, and doesn't look much like fighting in his gay silk dress? A stew offat puppies for him, and only boiled rats for the porter who carriesthe heavy tea-boxes. But there is tea for all, and rice, too, as muchas they desire; and, although I shouldn't care to be invited to dinewith any of them, I don't doubt they enjoy the food very much. 

In the midst of all this buying and selling Lin sells his fish, someto the English gentleman, and some to the grave-faced man in the bluegown; and he goes happily home to his own dinner in the boat. Riceagain, and fried mice, and the merry face and small, slanting blackeyes of his little sister to greet him. After dinner his father hasa pipe to smoke, before he goes again to his work. After all, why noteat puppies and mice as well as calves and turtles and oysters? And asfor birds'-nest soup, I should think it quite as good as chicken pie. It is only custom that makes any difference. 

So pass the days of our child Pen-se, who lives on the great riverwhich men call the child of the ocean. But it was not always so. She was born among the hills where the tea grows with its glossy, myrtle-like leaves, and white, fragrant blossoms. When the tea-plantswere in bloom, Pen-se first saw the light; and when she was hardlymore than a baby she trotted behind her father, while he gathered theleaves, dried and rolled them, and then packed them in square boxes tocome in ships across the ocean for your papa and mine to drink. 

Here, too, grew the mulberry-trees, with their purple fruit and white;and Pen-se learned to know and to love the little worms that eat themulberry-leaves, and then spin for themselves a silken shell, and fallinto a long sleep inside of it. She watched her mother spin off thefine silk and make it into neat skeins, and once she rode on hermother's back to market to sell it. You could gather mulberry-leaves, and set up these little silkworm boxes on the windowsill of yourschoolroom. I have seen silk and flax and cotton all growing in apleasant schoolroom, to show the scholars of what linen and silk andcotton are made. 

Now those days are all past. She can hardly remember them, she was solittle then; and she has learned to be happy in her new home on theriver, where they came when the fire burned their house, and thetea-plants and the mulberry-trees were taken by other men. 

Sometimes at night, after the day's work is over, the ducks havecome home, and the stars have come out, she sits at the door of theboat-house, and watches the great bright fireflies over the marshes, and thinks of the blue lake Syhoo, covered with lilies, where gildedboats are sailing, and the people seem so happy. 

Up in the high-walled garden of the great house on the hill, thenight-moths have spread their broad, soft wings, and are flittingamong the flowers, and the little girl with the small feet lies on hersilken bed, half asleep. She, too, thinks of the lake and the lilies, but she knows nothing about Pen-se, who lives down upon the river. 

See, the sun has gone from them. It must be morning for us now. 

THE LITTLE DARK GIRL. 

In this part of the world, Manenko would certainly be considereda very wild little girl. I wonder how you would enjoy her for aplaymate. She has never been to school, although she is more thanseven years old, and doesn't know how to read, or even to tell herletters; she has never seen a book but once, and she has never learnedto sew or to knit. 

If you should try to play at paper dolls with her, she would make veryfunny work with the dresses, I assure you. Since she never wore a gownor bonnet or shoes herself, how should she know how to put them on tothe doll? But, if she had a doll like herself, I am sure she wouldbe as fond of it as you are of yours; and it would be a very cunninglittle dolly, I should think. Perhaps you have one that looks somewhatlike this little girl in the picture. 

Now I will tell you of some things which she can do. 

She can paddle the small canoe on the river; she can help to hoe theyoung corn, and can find the wild bees' honey in the woods, gather thescarlet fruit when it is fully ripe and falls from the trees, and helpher mother to pound the corn in the great wooden mortar. All this, andmuch more, as you will see, Manenko can do; for every little girl onthe round world can help her mother, and do many useful things. 

Would you like to know more of her, --how she looks, and where shelives, and what she does all day and all night?

Here is a little round house, with low doorways, most like those of adog's house; you see we should have to stoop in going in. Look at theround, pointed roof, made of the long rushes that grow by the river, and braided together firmly with strips of mimosa-bark; fine, softgrass is spread all over this roof to keep out the rain. 

If you look on the roof of the house across the street you will seethat it is covered with strips of wood called shingles, which are laidone over the edge of the other; and when it is a rainy day you can seehow the rain slips and slides off from these shingles, and runs anddrips away from the spout. 

Now, on this little house where Manenko lives there are no shingles, but the smooth, slippery grass is almost as good; and the rain slidesover it and drips away, hardly ever coming in to wet the peopleinside, or the hard beds made of rushes, like the roof, and spreadupon the floor of earth. 

In this house lives Manenko, with Maunka her mother, Sekomi herfather, and Zungo and Shobo her two brothers. 

They are all very dark, darker than the brown baby. I believe youwould call them black, but they are not really quite so. Their lipsare thick, their noses broad, and instead of hair, their heads arecovered with wool, such as you might see on a black sheep. This woolis braided and twisted into little knots and strings all over theirheads, and bound with bits of red string, or any gay-looking thread. They think it looks beautiful, but I am afraid we should not agreewith them. 

Now we will see what clothes they wear. 

You remember Agoonack, who wore the white bear's-skin, because shelived in the very cold country; and the little brown baby, who worenothing but a string of beads, because she lived in the warm country. Manenko, too, lives in a warm country, and wears no clothes; but onher arms and ankles are bracelets and anklets, with little bits ofcopper and iron hanging to them, which tinkle as she walks; and shealso, like the brown baby, has beads for her neck. 

Her father and mother, and Zungo her brother, have aprons and mantlesof antelope skins; and they, too, wear bracelets and anklets likehers. 

Little Shobo is quite a baby and runs in the sunshine, like his littlesister, without clothes. Dear little Shobo! how funny and happy hemust look, and how fond he must be of his little sister, and ourlittle sister, Manenko! We have all seen such little dark brothersand sisters. His short, soft wool is not yet braided or twisted, butcrisps in little close curls all over his head. 

In the morning they must be up early, for the father is going to hunt, and Zungo will go with him. The mother prepares the breakfast, smallcakes of bread made from the pounded corn, scarlet beans, eaten withhoney, and plenty of milk from the brown cow. She brings it in a deepjug, and they dip in their hands for spoons. 

All the meat is eaten, and to-day the men must go out over the broad, grassy fields for more. They will find the beautiful young antelope, so timid and gentle as to be far more afraid of you than you would beof them. They are somewhat like small deer, striped and spotted, andthey have large, dark eyes, so soft and earnest you cannot help lovingthem. Here, too, are the buffalo, like large cows and oxen with stronghorns, and the great elephants with long trunks and tusks. Sometimeseven a lion is to be met, roused from his sleep by the noise of thehunters; for the lion sleeps in the daytime and generally walks abroadonly at night. When you are older you can read the stories of famouslion and elephant hunters, and of strange and thrilling adventures inthe "Dark Continent. "

It would be a wonderful thing to you and me to see all these strangeor beautiful animals, but Zungo and his father have seen them so manytimes that they are thinking only of the meat they will bring home, and, taking their long spears and the basket of ground nuts and mealwhich the mother has made ready, they are off with other huntersbefore the sun is up. 

Now the mother takes her hoe, and, calling her little girl to help, hoes the young corn which is growing on the round hill behind thehouse. I must tell you something about the little hill. It looks likeany other hill, you would think, and could hardly believe that thereis anything very wonderful to tell about it. But listen to me. 

A great many years ago there was no hill there at all, and the groundwas covered with small white ants. You have seen the little ant-housesmany a time on the garden-path, and all the ants at work, carryinggrains of sand in their mouths, and running this way and that, as ifthey were busy in the most important work. Oh, the little ants arevery wise! They seem to know how to contrive great things and arenever idle. "Go to the ant; consider her ways, and be wise, " said oneof the world's wisest men. 

Well, on the spot where this hill now stands the white ants began towork. They were not satisfied with small houses like those which wehave seen, but they worked day after day, week after week, and evenyears, until they had built this hill higher than the house in whichI live, and inside it is full of chambers and halls, and wonderfularched passages. They built this great house, but they do not livethere now. I don't know why they moved, --perhaps because they didn'tlike the idea of having such near neighbors when Sekomi began tobuild his hut before their door. But, however it was, they went, and, patient little creatures that they are, built another just like it amile or so away; and Sekomi said: "The hill is a fine place to plantmy early corn. "

There is but little hoeing to do this morning, and, while the workgoes on, Shobo, the baby, rolls in the grass, sucking a piece ofsugar-cane, as I have seen children suck a stick of candy. Haven'tyou?

The mother has baskets to make. On the floor of the hut is a heap offine, twisting tree-roots which she brought from the forest yesterday, and under the shadow of her grassy roof she sits before the doorweaving them into strong, neat baskets, like the one in which the mencarried their dinner when they went to hunt. While she works otherwomen come too with their work, sit beside her in the shade, andchatter away in a very queer-sounding language. We couldn't understandit at all; but we should hear them always call Manenko's motherMa-Zungo, meaning Zungo's mother, instead of saying Maunka, which youremember I told you is her name. Zungo is her oldest boy, youknow, and ever since he was born she has been called nothing butMa-Zungo, --just as if, when a lady comes into your school, the teachershould say: "This is Joe's mother, " or "This is Teddy's mamma, " sothat the children should all know her. 

So the mother works on the baskets and talks with the women; butManenko has heard the call of the honey-bird, the brisk little chirpof "Chiken, chiken, chik, churr, churr, " and she is away to the woodto follow his call, and bring home the honey. 

She runs beneath the tall trees, looking up for the small brown bird;then she stops and listens to hear him again, when close beside hercomes the call, "Chiken, chiken, chik, churr, churr, " and there sitsthe brown bird above a hole in the tree, where the bees are flying inand out, their legs yellow with honey-dust. It is too high for Manenkoto reach, but she marks the place and says to herself: "I will tellRa when he comes home. " Who is Ra? Why, that is her name for "father. "She turns to go home, but stops to listen to the wild shouts and songsof the women who have left the huts and are coming down towards theriver to welcome their chief with lulliloo, praising him by suchstrange names as "Great lion, " "Great buffalo. "

The chief comes from a long journey with the young men up the riverin canoes, to hunt the elephant, and bring home the ivory tusks, from which we have many beautiful things made. The canoes are full oftusks, and, while the men unload them, the women are shouting: "Sleep, my lord, my great chief. " Manenko listens while she stands under thetrees, --listens for only a minute, and then runs to join her motherand add her little voice to the general noise. 

The chief is very proud and happy to bring home such a load; beforesunset it will all be carried up to the huts, the men will dress intheir very best, and walk in a gay procession. Indeed, they can'tdress much; no coats or hats or nicely polished boots have they to puton, but some will have the white ends of oxen's tails in their hair, some a plume of black ostrich feathers, and the chief himself has avery grand cap made from the yellow mane of an old lion. The drum willbeat, the women will shout, while the men gather round a fire, androast and eat great slices of ox-meat, and tell the story of theirfamous elephant-hunt. How they came to the bushes with fine, silveryleaves and sweet bark, which the elephant eats, and there hiding, watched and waited many hours, until the ground shook, with the heavytread of a great mother-elephant and her two calves, coming up fromthe river, where they had been to drink. Their trunks were fullof water, and they tossed them up, spouting the water like a fineshower-bath over their hot heads and backs, and now, cooled andrefreshed, began to eat the silvery leaves of the bushes. Then thehunters threw their spears thick and fast; after two hours, the greatcreature lay still upon the ground, --she was dead. 

So day after day they had hunted, loading the canoes with ivory, andsailing far up the river; far up where the tall rushes wave, twistedtogether by the twining morning-glory vines; far up where thealligators make great nests in the river-bank, and lay their eggs, and stretch themselves in the sunshine, half asleep inside their scalyarmor; far up where the hippopotamus is standing in his drowsy dreamon the bottom of the river, with the water covering him, head and all. He is a great, sleepy fellow, not unlike a very large, dark-brown pig, with a thick skin and no hair. Here he lives under the water all day, only once in a while poking up his nose for a breath of fresh air. Andhere is the mother-hippopotamus, with her baby standing upon her neck, that he may be nearer the top of the water. Think how funny he mustlook. 

All day long they stand here under the water, half asleep, sometimesgiving a loud grunt or snore, and sometimes, I am sorry to say, tipping over a canoe which happens to float over their heads. But atnight, when men are asleep, the great beasts come up out of the riverand eat the short, sweet grass upon the shore, and look about to seethe world a little. Oh, what mighty beasts! Men are so small and weakbeside them. And yet, because the mind of man is so much above theirs, he can rule them; for God made man to be king of the whole earth, andgreater than all. 

All these wonderful things the men have seen, and Manenko listens totheir stories until the moon is high and the stars have almost fadedin her light. Then her father and Zungo come home, bringing theantelope and buffalo meat, too tired to tell their story until thenext day. So, after eating supper, they are all soon asleep upon themats which form their beds. It is a hard kind of bed, but a good one, if you don't have too many mice for bedfellows. A little bright-eyedmouse is a pretty creature, but one doesn't care to sleep with him. 

These are simple, happy people; they live out of doors most of thetime, and they love the sunshine, the rain, and the wind. They haveplenty to eat, --the pounded corn, milk and honey, and scarlet beans, and the hunters bring meat, and soon it will be time for the wildwater-birds to come flocking down the river, --white pelicans and brownducks, and hundreds of smaller birds that chase the skimming fliesover the water. 

If Manenko could read, she would be sorry that she has no books;and if she knew what dolls are, she might be longing every day for abeautiful wax doll, with curling hair, and eyes to open and shut. Butthese are things of which she knows nothing at all, and she is happyenough in watching the hornets building their hanging nests on thebranches of the trees, cutting the small sticks of sugar-cane, orfollowing the honey-bird's call. 

If the children who have books would oftener leave them, and studythe wonders of the things about them, --of the birds, the plants, thecurious creatures that live and work on the land and in the air andwater, --it would be better for them. Try it, dear children; open youreyes and look into the ways and forms of life in the midst of whichGod has placed you, and get acquainted with them, till you feel thatthey, too, are your brothers and sisters, and God your Father andtheirs. 

LOUISE, THE CHILD OF THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER RHINE. 

Have you heard of the beautiful River Rhine--how at first it hides, alittle brook among the mountains and dark forests, and then steals outinto the sunshine, and leaps down the mountain-side, and hurriesaway to the sea, growing larger and stronger as it runs, curling andeddying among the rocks, and sweeping between the high hills where thegrape-vines grow and the solemn old castles stand?

How people come from far and near to see and to sail upon thebeautiful river! And the children who are so blessed as to be bornnear it, and to play on its shores through all the happy young yearsof their lives, although they may go far away from it in the afteryears, never, never forget the dear and beautiful River Rhine. 

It is only a few miles away from the Rhine--perhaps too far for you towalk, but not too far for me--that we shall find a fine large house, a house with pleasant gardens about it, broad gravel walks, and soft, green grass-plats to play upon, and gay flowering trees and bushes, while the rose-vines are climbing over the piazza, and openingrose-buds are peeping in at the chamber windows. 

Isn't this a pleasant house? I wish we could all live in as charminga home, by as blue and lovely a river, and with as large and sweeta garden, or, if we might have such a place for our school, howdelightful it would be!

Here lives Louise, my blue-eyed, sunny-haired little friend, and herein the garden she plays with Fritz and sturdy little Gretchen. Andhere, too, at evening the father and mother come to sit on thepiazza among the roses, and the children leave their games, to nestletogether on the steps while the dear brother Christian plays softlyand sweetly on his flute. 

Louise is a motherly child, already eight years old, and alwayswilling and glad to take care of the younger ones; indeed, she callsGretchen _her_ baby, and the little one loves dearly her child-mamma. 

They live in this great house, and they have plenty of toys and books, and plenty of good food, and comfortable little beds to sleep in atnight, although, like Jeannette's, they are only neat little boxesbuilt against the side of the wall. 

But near them, in the valley, live the poor people, in small, lowhouses. They eat black bread, wear coarse clothes, and even thechildren must work all day that they may have food for to-morrow. 

The mother of Louise is a gentle, loving woman; she says to herchildren: "Dear children, to-day we are rich, we can have all thatwe want, but we will not forget the poor. You may some day be pooryourselves, and, if you learn now what poverty is, you will be moreready to meet it when it comes. " So, day after day, the great stovein the kitchen is covered with stew-pans and kettles, in which arecooking dinners for the sick and the poor, and day after day, as thedinner-hour draws near, Louise will come, and Fritz, and even littleGretchen, saying: "Mother, may I go?" "May I go?" and the motheranswers: "Dear children, you shall all go together"; and she fills thebowls and baskets, and sends her sunny-hearted children down into thevalley to old Hans the gardener, who has been lame with rheumatism somany years; and to young Marie, the pale, thin girl, who was so merryand rosy-cheeked in the vineyard a year ago; and to the old, old womanwith the brown, wrinkled face and bowed head, who sits always in thesunshine before the door, and tries to knit; but the needles drop fromthe poor trembling hands, and the stitches slip off, and she cannotsee to pick them up. She is too deaf to hear the children as they comedown the road, and she is nodding her poor old head, and feeling aboutin her lap for the lost needle, when Louise, with her bright eyes, spies it, picks it up, and before the old woman knows she has come, a soft little hand is laid in the brown, wrinkled one, and the littlegirl is shouting in her ear that she has brought some dinner frommamma. It makes a smile shine in the old half-blind eyes. It is alwaysthe happiest part of the day to her when the dear little lady comeswith her dinner. And it made Louise happy too, for nothing repays usso well as what we do unselfishly for others. 

These summer days are full of delight for the children. It is not allplay for them, to be sure; but then, work is often even more charmingthan play, as I think some little girls know when they have beenhelping their mothers, --running of errands, dusting the furniture, and sewing little squares of patchwork that the baby may have acradle-quilt made entirely by her little sister. 

Louise can knit, and, indeed, every child and woman in that countryknits. You would almost laugh to see how gravely the little girl takesout her stocking, for she has really begun her first stocking, andsits on the piazza-steps for an hour every morning at work. Then thelittle garden, which she calls her own, must be weeded. The gardenerwould gladly do it, but Louise has a hoe of her own, which her fatherbought in the spring, and, bringing it to his little daughter, said:"Let me see how well my little girl can take care of her own garden. "And the child has tried very hard; sometimes, it is true, she wouldlet the weeds grow pretty high before they were pulled up, but, on thewhole, the garden promises well, and there are buds on her moss-rosebush. It is good to take care of a garden, for, besides the pleasurethe flowers can bring us, we learn how watchful we must be to root outthe weeds, and how much trimming and care the plants need; so we learnhow to watch over our own hearts. 

She has books, too, and studies a little each day, --studies at homewith her mother, for there is no school near enough for her to go toit, and while she and Fritz are so young, their mother teaches them, while Christian, who is already more than twelve years old, has goneto the school upon that beautiful hill which can be seen from Louise'schamber window, --the school where a hundred boys and girls arestudying music. For, ever since he was a baby, Christian has lovedmusic; he has sung the very sweetest little songs to Louise, while shewas yet so young as to lie in her cradle, and he has whistled untilthe birds among the bushes would answer him again, and now, when hecomes home from school to spend some long summer Sunday, he alwaysbrings the flute, and plays, as I told you in the beginning of thestory. 

When the summer days are over, what comes next? You do not surelyforget the autumn, when the leaves of the maples turn crimson andyellow, and the oaks are red and brown, and you scuff your feet alongthe path ankle-deep in fallen leaves!

On the banks of the Rhine the autumn is not quite like ours. You shallsee how our children of the great house will spend an autumn day. 

Their father and mother have promised to go with them to the vineyardsas soon as the grapes are ripe enough for gathering, and on this sunnySeptember morning the time has really come. 

In the great covered baskets are slices of bread and German sausage, bottles of milk and of beer, and plenty of fresh and delicious prunes, for the prune orchards are loaded with ripe fruit. This is theirdinner, for they will not be home until night. 

Oh, what a charming day for the children! Little Gretchen is rollingin the grass with delight, while Louise runs to bring her own littlebasket, in which to gather grapes. 

They must ride in the broad old family carriage, for the little onescannot walk so far; but, when they reach the river, they will take aboat with white sails, and go down to where the steep steps and pathlead up on the other side, up the sunny green bank to the vineyard, where already the peasant girls have been at work ever since sunrise. Here the grapes are hanging in heavy, purple clusters; the sun haswarmed them through and through, and made them sweet to the veryheart. Oh, how delicious they are, and how beautiful they look, heapedup in the tall baskets, which the girls and women are carrying ontheir heads! How the children watch these peasant-girls, all dressedin neat little jackets, and many short skirts one above another, redand blue, white and green. On their heads are the baskets of grapes, and they never drop nor spill them, but carry them steadily down thesteep, narrow path to the great vats, where the young men stand onshort ladders to reach the top, and pour in the purple fruit. Thenthe grapes are crushed till the purple juice runs out, and that iswine, --such wine as even the children may drink in their little silvercups, for it is even better than milk. You may be sure that they havesome at dinner-time, when they cluster round the flat rock below thedark stone castle, with the warm noonday sun streaming across theirmossy table, and the mother opens the basket and gives to every one ashare. 

Below them is the river, with its boats and beautiful shining water;behind them are the vine-covered walls of that old castle where twohundred years ago lived armed knights and stately ladies; and allabout them is the rich September air, full of the sweet fragranceof the grapes, and echoing with the songs and laughter of thegrape-gatherers. On their rocky table are purple bunches of fruit, intheir cups the new wine-juice, and in their hearts all the joy of themerry grape season. 

There are many days like this in the autumn, but the frost will comeat last, and the snow too. This is winter, but winter brings the bestpleasure of all. 

When two weeks of the winter had nearly passed, the children, as youmay suppose, began to think of Christmas, and, indeed, their bestand most loving friend had been preparing for them the sweetest ofChristmas presents. Ten days before Christmas it came, however. Canyou guess what it was? Something for all of them, --something whichChristian will like just as well as little Gretchen will, and thefather and mother will perhaps be more pleased than any one else. 

Do you know what it is? What do you think of a little baby brother, --alittle round, sweet, blue-eyed baby brother as a Christmas present forthem all?

When Christmas Eve came, the mother said: "The children must havetheir Christmas-tree in my room, for baby is one of the presents, andI don't think I can let him be carried out and put upon the table inthe hall, where we had it last year. "

So all day long the children are kept away from their mother's room. Their father comes home with his great coat-pockets very full ofsomething, but, of course, the children don't know what. He comes andgoes, up stairs and down, and, while they are all at play in the snow, a fine young fir-tree is brought in and carried up. Louise knows it, for she picked up a fallen branch upon the stairs, but she doesn'ttell Fritz and Gretchen. 

How they all wait and long for the night to come! They sit at thewindows, watching the red sunset light upon the snow, and cannot thinkof playing or eating their supper. The parlor door is open, and allare waiting and listening. A little bell rings, and in an instantthere is a scampering up the broad stairs to the door of mother'sroom; again the little bell rings, and the door is opened wide bytheir father, who stands hidden behind it. 

At the foot of their mother's white-curtained bed stands the littlefir-tree; tiny candles are burning all over it like little stars, andglittering golden fruits are hanging among the dark-green branches. On the white-covered table are laid Fritz's sword and Gretchen's bigdoll, they being too heavy for the tree to hold. Under the branchesLouise finds charming things; such a little work-box as it is adelight to see, with a lock and key, and inside, thimble and scissors, and neat little spools of silk and thread. Then there are the fairystories of the old Black Forest, and that most charming of all littlebooks, "The White Cat, " and an ivory cup and ball for Fritz. Do youremember where the ivory comes from? And, lest Baby Hans should thinkhimself forgotten, there is an ivory rattle for him. 

There he lies in the nurse's arms, his blue eyes wide open withwonder, and in a minute the children, with arms full of presents, havegathered round the old woman's arm-chair, --gathered round the best andsweetest little Christmas present of all. And the happy mother, whosits up among the pillows, taking her supper, while she watches herchildren, forgets to eat, and leaves the gruel to grow cold, but herheart is warm enough. 

Why is not Christian here to-night? In the school of music, away onthe hill, he is singing a grand Christmas hymn, with a hundred youngvoices to join him. It is very grand and sweet, full of thanks and oflove. It makes the little boy feel nearer to all his loved ones, andin his heart he is thanking the dear Father who has given them thatbest little Christmas present, --the baby. 

LOUISE, THE CHILD OF THE WESTERN FOREST. 

There are many things happening in this world, dear children, --thingsthat happen to you yourselves day after day, which you are too youngto understand at the time. By and by, when you grow to be as old as Iam, you will remember and wonder about them all. 

Now, it was just one of these wonderful things, too great for theyoung children to understand, that happened to our little Louise andher brothers and sister when the Christmas time had come around again, and the baby was more than a year old. 

It was a cold, stormy night; there were great drifts of snow, andthe wind was driving it against the windows. In the beautiful greatparlor, beside the bright fire, sat the sweet, gentle mother, andin her lap lay the stout little Hans. The children had their littlechairs before the fire, and watched the red and yellow flames, whileLouise had already taken out her knitting-work. 

They were all very still, for their father seemed sad and troubled, and the children were wondering what could be the matter. Their motherlooked at them and smiled, but, after all, it was only a sad smile. Ithink it is hardest for the father, when he can no longer give to wifeand children their pleasant home; but, if they can be courageous andhappy when they have to give it up, it makes his heart easier andbrighter. 

"I must tell the children' to-night, " said the father, looking at hiswife, and she answered quite cheerfully: "Yes, tell them; they willnot be sad about it I know. "

So the father told to his wondering little ones that he had lost allhis money; the beautiful great house and gardens were no longer his, and they must all leave their pleasant home near the Rhine, and crossthe great, tossing ocean, to find a new home among the forests or theprairies. 

As you may suppose, the children didn't fully understand this. Idon't think you would yourself. You would be quite delighted with thepacking and moving, and the pleasant journey in the cars, and the newand strange things you would see on board the ship, and it would bequite a long time before you could really know what it was to loseyour own dear home. 

So the children were not sad; you know their mother said they wouldnot be. But when they were safely tucked up in their little beds, andtenderly kissed by the most loving lips, Louise could not go to sleepfor thinking of this strange moving, and wondering what they shouldcarry, and how long they should stay. For she had herself once been ona visit to her uncle in the city, carrying her clothes in a new littlesquare trunk, and riding fifty miles in the cars, and she thought itwould be quite a fine thing that they should all pack up trunks fullof clothing, and go together on even a longer journey. 

A letter had been written to tell Christian, and the next day he camehome from the school. His uncles in the city begged him to stay withthem, but the boy said earnestly: "If my father must cross the sea, Itoo must go with him. "

They waited only for the winter's cold to pass away, and when thefirst robins began to sing among the naked trees, they had left thefine large house, --left the beautiful gardens where the childrenused to play, left the great, comfortable arm-chairs and sofas, thebookcases and tables, and the little beds beside the wall. Besidestheir clothes, they had taken nothing with them but two great woodenchests full of beautiful linen sheets and table-cloths. These had beengiven to the mother by her mother long ago, before any of the childrenwere born, and they must be carried to the new home. You will see, byand by, how glad the family all were to have them. 

Did you ever go on board a ship? It is almost like a great house uponthe water, but the rooms in it are very small, and so are the windows. Then there is the long deck, where we may walk in the fresh air andwatch the water and the sea-birds, or the sailors at work upon thehigh masts among the ropes, and the white sails that spread out like awhite bird's wings, and sweep the ship along over the water. 

It was in such a ship that our children found themselves, withtheir father and mother, when the snow was gone and young grasswas beginning to spring up on the land. But of this they could seenothing, for in a day they had flown on the white wings far out overthe water, and as Louise clung to her father's hand and stood upon thedeck at sunset, she saw only water and sky all about on every side, and the red clouds of the sunset. It was a little sad, and quitestrange to her, but her younger brothers and sisters were alreadyasleep in the small beds of the ship, which, as perhaps you know, arebuilt up against the wall, just as their beds were at home. Louisekissed her father and went down, too, to bed, for you must know thaton board ship you go _down_ stairs to bed instead of _up_ stairs. 

After all, if father, mother, brother, and sister can still cling toeach other and love each other, it makes little difference where theyare, for love is the best thing in the universe, and nothing is goodwithout it. 

They lived for many days in the ship, and the children, after a littletime, were not afraid to run about the deck and talk with the sailors, who were always very kind to them. And Louise felt quite at homesitting in her little chair beside the great mast, while she knit uponher stocking, --a little stocking now, one for the baby. 

Christian had brought his flute, and at night he played to them as heused at home, and, indeed, they were all so loving and happy togetherthat it was not much sorrow to lose the home while they kept eachother. 

Sometimes a hard day would come, when the clouds swept over them, andthe rain and the great waves tossed the ship, making them all sick, and sad too, for a time; but the sun was sure to come out at last, asI can assure you it always will, and, on the whole, it was a pleasantjourney for them all. 

It was a fine, sunny May day when they reached the land again. Notime, though, for them to go Maying, for only see how much is tobe done! Here are all the trunks and the linen-chests, and all thechildren, too, to be disposed of, and they are to stop but two days inthis city. Then they must be ready for a long journey in the cars andsteamboats, up rivers and across lakes, and sometimes for miles andmiles through woods, where they see no houses nor people, exceptinghere and there a single log cabin with two or three ragged children atplay outside, or a baby creeping over the doorstep, while farther onamong the trees stands a man with his axe, cutting, with heavy blows, some tall trees into such logs as those of which the house is built. 

These are new and strange sights to the children of the River Rhine. They wonder, and often ask their parents if they, too, shall live in alittle log house like that. 

How fresh and fragrant the new logs are for the dwelling, and howsweet the pine and spruce boughs for a bed! A good new log house inthe green woods is the best home in the world. 

Oh, how heartily tired they all are when at last they stop! They havebeen riding by day and by night. The children have fallen asleep withheads curled down upon their arms upon the seats of the car, and themother has had very hard work to keep little Hans contented and happy. But here at last they have stopped. Here is the new home. 

They have left the cars at a very small town. It has ten or twelvehouses and one store, and they have taken here a great wagon withthree horses to carry them yet a few miles farther to a lonely, thoughbeautiful place. It is on the edge of a forest. The trees are verytall, their trunks moss-covered; and when you look far in among themit is so dark that no sunlight seems to fall on the brown earth. Butoutside is sunshine, and the young spring grass and wild flowers, different from those which grow on the Rhine banks. 

But where is their house?

Here is indeed something new for them. It is almost night; no house isnear, and they have no sleeping-place but the great wagon. But theircheerful mother packs them all away in the back part of the wagon, on some straw, covering them with shawls as well as she can, and bidsthem good-night, saying, "You can see the stars whenever you open youreyes. "

It is a new bed and a hard one. However, the children are tired enoughto sleep well; but they woke very early, as you or I certainly shouldif we slept in the great concert-hall of the birds. Oh, how thosebirds of the woods did begin to sing, long before sunrise! AndChristian was out from his part of the bed in a minute, and off fourmiles to the store, to buy some bread for breakfast. 

An hour after sunrise he was back again, and Louise had gatheredsticks, of which her father made a bright fire. And now the mother isteaching her little daughter how to make tea, and Fritz and Gretchenare poking long sticks into the ashes to find the potatoes which werehidden there to roast. 

To them it is a beautiful picnic, like those happy days in the grapeseason; but Louise can see that her mother is a little grieved athaving them sleep in the wagon with no house to cover them. And whenbreakfast is over she says to the father that the children must betaken back to the village to stay until the house is built. He, too, had thought so; and the mother and children go back to the littletown. 

Christian alone stays with his father, working with his small axe ashis father does with the large one; but to both it is very hard workto cut trees; because it is something they have never done before. They do their best, and when he is not too tired, Christian whistlesto cheer himself. 

After the first day a man is hired to help, and it is not a greatwhile before the little house is built--built of great, rough logs, still covered with brown bark and moss. All the cracks are stuffedwith moss to keep out the rain and cold, and there is one window and adoor. 

It is a poor little house to come to after leaving the grand old oneby the Rhine, but the children are delighted when their father comeswith the great wagon to take them to their new home. 

And into this house one summer night they come--without beds, tables, or chairs; really with nothing but the trunks and linen-chests. Thedear old linen-chests, see only how very useful they have become! Whatshall be the supper-table for this first meal in the new house? Whatbut the largest of the linen-chests, round which they all gather, somesitting on blocks of wood, and the little ones standing! And aftersupper what shall they have for beds? What but the good old chestsagain! For many and many a day and night they are used, and the motheris, over and over again, thankful that she brought them. 

As the summer days go by, the children pick berries in the woods andmeadows, and Fritz is feeling himself a great boy when his fatherexpects him to take care of the old horse, blind of one eye, bought todrag the loads of wood to market. 

Louise is learning to love the grand old trees where the birds andsquirrels live. She sits for hours with her work on some mossy cushionunder the great waving boughs, and she is so silent and gentle thatthe squirrels learn to come very near her, turning their heads everyminute to see if she is watching, and almost laughing at her withtheir sharp, bright eyes, while they are cramming their cheeks full ofnuts--not to eat now, you know, but to carry home to the storehousesin some comfortable hollow trees, to be saved for winter use. When thesnow comes, you see, they will not be able to find any nuts. 

One day Louise watched them until she suddenly thought, "Why don't we, too, save nuts for the winter?" and the next day she brought abasket and the younger children, instead of her knitting-work. Theyfrightened away the squirrels, to be sure, but they carried home afine large basketful of nuts. 

Oh, how much might be seen in those woods on a summer day!--birds andflowers, and such beautiful moss! I have seen it myself, so soft andthick, better than the softest cushion to sit on, and then so lovelyto look at, with its long, bright feathers of green. 

Sometimes Louise has seen the quails going out for a walk; the motherwith her seven babies all tripping primly along behind her, the wee, brown birds; and all running, helter-skelter, in a minute, if theyhear a noise among the bushes, and hiding, each one, his head under abroad leaf, thinking, poor little foolish things, that no one can seethem. 

Christian whistles to the quails a long, low call; they will look thisway and that and listen, and at last really run towards him withoutfear. 

Before winter comes the log house is made more comfortable; beds andchairs are bought, and a great fire burns in the fireplace. But do thebest they can the rain will beat in between the logs, and after thefirst snowstorm one night, a white pointed drift is found on thebreakfast-table. They laugh at it, and call it ice-cream, but theyalmost feel more like crying, with cold blue fingers, and toes thateven the warm knit stockings can't keep comfortable. Never mind, theswift snowshoes will make them skim over the snow-crust like birdsflying, and the merry sled-rides that brother Christian will give themwill make up for all the trouble. They will soon love the winter inthe snowy woods. 

Their clothes, too, are all wearing out. Fritz comes to his motherwith great holes in his jacket-sleeves, and poor Christian's knees areblue and frost-bitten through the torn trousers. What shall be done?

Louise brings out two old coats of her father's. Christian is wrappedin one from head to foot, and Fritz looks like the oddest little manwith his great coat muffled around him, crossed in front and buttonedaround behind, while the long sleeves can be turned back almost to hisshoulders. Funny enough he looks, but it makes him quite warm; and inthis biting wind who would think of the looks? So our little friendis to drive poor old Major to town with a sled-load of wood every day, while his father and brother are cutting trees in the forest. 

Should you laugh to see a boy so dressed coming up the street with aload of wood? Perhaps you wouldn't if you knew how cold he would bewithout this coat, and how much he hopes to get the half-dollar forhis wood, and bring home bread and meat for supper. 

How wise the children grow in this hard work and hard life! Fritzfeels himself a little man, and Louise, I am sure, is as useful asmany a woman, for she is learning to cook and tend the fire, whileeven Gretchen has some garters to knit, and takes quite good care ofthe baby. 

Little Hans will never remember the great house by the Rhine; he wastoo little when they came away; but by and by he will like to hearstories about it, which, you may be sure, Louise will often tell herlittle brother. 

The winter is the hardest time. When Christmas comes there is not evena tree, for there are no candles to light one and no presents to give. But there is one beautiful gift which they may and do all give to eachother, --it makes them happier than many toys or books, --it is love. Itmakes even this cold dreary Christmas bright and beautiful to them. 

Next winter will not be so hard, for in the spring corn will beplanted, and plenty of potatoes and turnips and cabbages; and theywill have enough to eat and something to sell for money. 

But I must not stay to tell you more now of the backwoods life ofLouise and her brothers and sister. If you travel some day to theWest, perhaps you will see her yourself, gathering her nuts under thetrees, or sitting in the sun on the doorstep with her knitting. Thenyou will know her for the little sister who has perhaps comeclosest to your heart, and you will clasp each other's hands in trueaffection. 

THE SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS. 

Here, dear children, are your seven little sisters. Let us count themover. First came the brown baby, then Agoonack, Gemila, Jeannette, Pen-se, Manenko, and Louise. Seven little sisters I have called them, but Marnie exclaims: "How can they be sisters when some are black, some brown, and some white; when one lives in the warm country andanother in the cold, and Louise upon the shores of the Rhine? Sallieand I are sisters, because we have the same father and live heretogether in the same house by the seaside; but as for those sevenchildren, I can't believe them to be sisters at all. "

Now let us suppose, my dear little girl, that your sister Sallieshould go away, --far away in a ship across the ocean to the warmcountries, and the sun should burn her face and hands and make themso brown that you would hardly know her, --wouldn't she still be yoursister Sallie?

And suppose even that she should stay away in the warm countries andnever come back again, wouldn't she still be your dear sister? andwouldn't you write her letters and tell her about home and all thatyou love there?

I know you would. 

And now, just think if you yourself should take a great journeythrough ice and snow and go to the cold countries, up among the whitebears and the sledges and dogs; suppose even that you should have anodd little dress of white bear-skin, like Agoonack, wouldn't you thinkit very strange if Sallie shouldn't call you her little sister justbecause you were living up there among the ice?

And what if Minnie, too, should take it into her head to sail acrossthe seas and live in a boat on a Chinese river, like Pen-se, and drivethe ducks, eat rice with chopsticks, and have fried mice for dinner;why, you might not want to dine with her, but she would be your sweet, loving sister all the same, wouldn't she?

I can hear you say "Yes" to all this, but then you will add: "Fatheris our father the same all the time, and he isn't Pen-se's father, norManenko's. "

Let us see what makes you think he is your father. Because he lovesyou so much and gives you everything that you have--clothes to wear, and food to eat, and fire to warm you?

Did he give you this new little gingham frock? Shall we see what itis made of? If you ravel out one end of the cloth, you can find thelittle threads of cotton which are woven together to make your frock. Where did the cotton come from?

It grew in the hot fields of the South, where the sun shines verywarmly. Your father didn't make it grow, neither did any man. It istrue a man, a poor black man, and a very sad man he was too, put thelittle seeds into the ground, but they would never have grown if thesun hadn't shone, the soft earth nourished, and the rain moistenedthem. And who made the earth, and sent the sun and the rain?

That must be somebody very kind and thoughtful, to take so much careof the little cotton-seeds. I think that must be a father. 

Now, what did you have for breakfast this morning?

A sweet Indian cake with your egg and mug of milk? I thought so. Whomade this breakfast? Did Bridget make the cake in the kitchen? Yes, she mixed the meal with milk and salt and sugar. But where did she getthe meal? The miller ground the yellow corn to make it. But who madethe corn?

The seeds were planted as the cottonseeds were, and the same kind caresupplied sun and rain and earth for them. Wasn't that a father? Notyour father who sits at the head of the table and helps you at dinner, who takes you to walk and tells you stories, but another Father; yourFather, too, he must be, for he is certainly taking care of you. 

And doesn't he make the corn grow, also, on that ant-hill behindManenko's house? He seems to take the same care of her as of you. 

Then the milk and the egg. They come from the hen and the cow; but whomade the hen and the cow?

It was the same kind Father again who made them for you, and madethe camels and goats for Gemila and Jeannette; who made also the wildbees, and taught them to store their honey in the trees, for Manenko;who made the white rice grow and ripen for little Pen-se, and thesea-birds and the seals for Agoonack. To every one good food toeat--and more than that; for must it not be a very loving father whohas made for us all the beautiful sky, and the stars at night, and theblue sea; who sent the soft wind to rock the brown baby to sleepand sing her a song, and the grand march of the Northern Lights forAgoonack--grander and more beautiful than any of the fireworks youknow; the red strawberries for little Jeannette to gather, and thebeautiful chestnut woods on the mountain-side? Do you remember allthese things in the stories?

And wasn't it the same tender love that made the sparkling water andsunshine for Pen-se, and the shining brown ducks for her too; thesprings in the desert and the palm-trees for Gemila, as well as thewarm sunshine for Manenko, and the beautiful River Rhine for Louise?

It must be a very dear father who gives his children not only allthey need for food and clothing, but so many, many beautiful things toenjoy. 

Don't you see that they must all be his children, and so all sisters, and that he is your Father, too, who makes the mayflowers bloom, andthe violets cover the hills, and turns the white blossoms into black, sweet berries in the autumn? It is your dear and kind Father who doesall this for his children. He has very many children; some of themlive in houses and some in tents, some in little huts and some underthe trees, in the warm countries and in the cold. And he loves themall; they are his children, and they are brothers and sisters. Shallthey not love each other?