"As there was nobody to see, he just
hers
and cried as hard as Dotty
The above picture is one of twenty-seven which illustrate
THE NEW-YEAR'S BARGAIN.
BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.
The author of this book must soon be exalted in the hearts of children by
the side of Miss Alcott : for it is as original, as quaint, and as charming as
any thing of " Aunt Jo's," though totally different in character and style.
Max and Thekla, the hero and heroine, live in the famous Black Forest.
Wandering in the woods one day, they came across an old man who was
making some images. This old man was Father Time, and the images were
the twelve months. He had a jar full of sand, the " sands of time," and
Max put some of it in his pocket, when old Father Time wasn't looking, and
carried it home.
This stealing from Time caused a great commotion, though Max con-
tended that " Time belongs to us all ; " but it resulted in a " Bargain," which
the book will tell you all about.
" The New- Year's Bargain " is an elegant volume, bound in cloth, gilt
and black-lettered, and sells for $2.00.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, Boston.
Eight o'clock ;
The postman's knock !
Five letters for Papa ;
One for Lou,
And none for you.
And three for dear Mamma.
SING-SONG. A Book of Original New Nursery Rhymes, by Miss ROSSETTI,
contains one hundred and twenty songs, and an illustration to each gong
by ARTHUR HUGHES. One elegant square 8vo, bound in cloth, black
and gilt lettered. Price, 2.00.
POSIES FOE CHILDREN- A Book of Verse, selected by Mrs. ANNA C.
LOWELL. Square 16mo. Price, 75 cents.
MAX AND MAURICE, A Youthful History, translated by Rey. CHARLES
T. BROOKS, is one of the drollest works ever made. It is immensely
popular with young and old. Fully illustrated. Price, 1.25.
PUCK'S NIGHTLY PRANKS. Illustrated with Silhouette Pictures,
by PAUL KONEWKA. Fancy covers. Price, 50 cents.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
Boston.
" Sing, Tessa ; sing ! " cried Tommo, twanging away with all his might. PAGE 47.
'The memory of those thirteen pink tails has haunted me ever since." PAGE 9.
AUNT Jo's SCRAP-BAG.
MY BOYS, ETC.
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT,
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," " AN OLD-FASHIONED GIBL," "LITTLE MEN,"
"HOSPITAL SKETCHES."
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1872.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
LOUISA M. ALCOTT,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
CAMBRIDGE:
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.
PREFACE.
A S grandmothers rummage their piece-bags
and bundles in search of gay odds and
ends to make gifts with which to fill the little
stockings that hang all in a row on Christmas
Eve, so I have gathered together some stories,
old and new, to amuse the large family that has
so rapidly and beautifully grown up about me.
I hope that when they promenade in night-
caps and gowns to rifle the plump stockings,
the little " dears " will utter an " Oh ! " of pleas-
ure, and give a prance of satisfaction, as they
pull out this small gift from Aunt Jo's scrap-
CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS,
1871-72.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
MY BOYS 1
TESSA'S SURPRISES 35
Buzz 58
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE . 67
DANDELION 91
MADAM CLUCK, AND HER FAMILY 100
A CURIOUS CALL Ill
TILLY'S CHRISTMAS . . 123
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN 134
BACK WINDOWS 148
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON 158
MY MAY-DAY AMONG CURIOUS BIRDS AND BEASTS 176
OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY 186
PATTY'S PATCHWORK : 193
MISS LOUISA M. ALOOTT'S
RECENT NEW WORKS.
LITTLE WOMEN. PART FIRST.
LITTLE WOMEN. PART SECOND.
AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL.
LITTLE MEN.
HOSPITAL SKETCHES AND CAMP AND FIRE
SIDE STORIES.
It is quite safe to say that the author of " Little Women " is, to-
day, the literary idol of the American fireside. Within three years
her books have achieved an unparalleled success, delighting and in-
structing legions of readers.
$T" All of Miss AlcoWs RECENT NEW WORKS unthout excep-
tion, have our name on their title-pages as her authorized publishers.
They are now bound in a new style of binding, to distinguish
them from imitations, and may be had, put up in a nent box, labelled
" Little Women Library," the five volumes, price, $7.50 ; or, separ-
ately, $1.50 each.
ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
Boston.
AUNT JO'S SCKAP-BAG.
MY BOYS.
G that I have been unusually fortunate
in my knowledge of a choice and pleasing
variety of this least appreciated portion of the human
race, I have a fancy to record some of my experi-
ences, hoping that it may awaken an interest in
other minds, and cause other people to cultivate the
delightful, but too often neglected boys, who now
run to waste, so to speak.
I have often wondered what they thought of the
peculiar treatment they receive, even at the hands
of their nearest friends. While they are rosy, roly-
poly little fellows they are petted and praised,
adorned and adored, till it is a miracle that they are
not utterly ruined. But the moment they outgrow
their babyhood their trials begin, and they are re-
2 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
garded as nuisances till they are twenty-one, when
they are again received into favor.
Yet that very time of neglect is the period when
they most need all manner of helps, and ought to have
them. I like boys and oysters raw ; so, though good
manners are always pleasing, I don't mind the rough
outside burr which repels most people, and perhaps
that is the reason why the burrs open and let me see
the soft lining and taste the sweet nut hidden inside.
My first well-beloved boy was a certain Frank, to
whom I clung at the age of seven with a devotion
which I fear he did not appreciate. There, were six
girls in the house, but I would have nothing to say
to them, preferring to tag after Frank, and perfectly
happy when he allowed me to play with him. I
regret to say that the small youth was something
of a tyrant, and one of his favorite amusements was
trying to make me cry by slapping my hands with
books, hoop-sticks, shoes, any thing that came along
capable of giving a good stinging blow. I believe I
endured these marks of friendship with the fortitude
of a young Indian, and felt fully repaid for a blistered
MY BOYS. 3
palm by hearing Frank tell the other boys " She 's a
brave little thing, and you can't make her cry."
My chief joy was in romping with him in the long
galleries of a piano manufactory behind our house.
What bliss it was to mount one of the cars on which
the workmen rolled heavy loads from room to room,
and to go thundering down the inclined planes, re-
gardless of the crash that usually awaited us at the
bottom! If I could have played foot-ball on the
Common with my Frank and Billy Babcock, life
could have offered me no greater joy at that period.
As the prejudices of society forbid this sport, I
revenged myself by driving hoop all around the mall
without stopping, which the boys could not do.
I can remember certain happy evenings, when we
snuggled in sofa corners and planned tricks and ate
stolen goodies, and sometimes Frank would put his
curly head in my lap and let me stroke it when he
was tired. What the girls did I don't recollect;
their domestic plays were not to my taste, and the
only figure that stands out from the dimness of the
past is that jolly boy with a twinkling eye. This
4 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
memory would be quite radiant but for one sad
thing, a deed that cut me to the soul then, and
which I have never quite forgiven in all these years.
On one occasion I did something very naughty,
and when called up for judgment fled to the dining-
room, locked the door, and from my stronghold
defied the whole world. I could have made my own
terms, for it was near dinner-time and the family
must eat ; but, alas, for the treachery of the human
heart ! Frank betrayed me. He climbed in at the
window, unlocked the door, and delivered me up to
the foe. Nay, he even defended the base act, and
helped bear the struggling culprit to imprisonment.
That nearly broke my heart, for I believed Tie would
stand by me as staunchly as I always stood by him.
It was a sad blow, and I couldn't love or trust him
any more. Peanuts and candy, ginger-snaps and
car-rides were unavailing; even foot-ball could not
reunite the broken friendship, and to this day I
recollect the pang that entered my little heart when
I lost my faith in the loyalty of my first boy.
The second attachment was of quite a different
MY BOYS. 5
sort, and had a happier ending. At the mature age
often, I left home for my first visit to a family of gay
and kindly people in well, why not say right
out ? Providence. There were no children, and at
first I did not mind this, as every one petted me,
especially one of the young men named Christopher.
So kind and patient, yet so merry was this good
Christy that I took him for my private and partic-
ular boy, and loved him dearly, for he got me out
of innumerable scrapes, and never was tired of
amusing the restless little girl who kept the family
in a fever of anxiety by her pranks. He never
laughed at her mishaps and mistakes, never played
tricks upon her like a certain William who composed
the most trying nicknames, and wickedly goaded the
wild visitor into all manner of naughtiness. Christy
stood up for her through every thing ; let her ride
the cows, feed the pigs, bang on the piano, and race
all over the spice mill, feasting on cinnamon and
cloves; brought her down from housetops and fished
her out of brooks ; never scolded, and never seemed
tired of the troublesome friendship of little Tor-
ment.
6 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
In a week I had exhausted every amusement and
was desperately homesick. It has always been my
opinion that I should have been speedily restored
to the bosom of my family but for Christy, and but
for him I should assuredly have ran away before
the second week was out. He kept me, and in the
hour of my disgrace stood by me like a man and
a brother.
One afternoon, inspired by a spirit of benevolence,
enthusiastic but short-sighted, I collected several
poor children in the barn and regaled them on cake
and figs, helping myself freely to the treasures of
the pantry without asking leave, meaning to explain
afterward. Being discovered before the supplies
were entirely exhausted, the patience of the long-
suffering matron gave out, and I was ordered up to
the garret to reflect upon my sins, and the pleasing
prospect of being sent home with the character of
the worst child ever known.
My sufferings were deep as I sat upon a fuizy
little trunk all alone in the dull garret, thinking how
hard it was to do right, and wondering why I was
MY BOYS. 7
scolded for feeding the poor when we were expressly
bidden to do so. I felt myself an outcast, and be-
wailed the disgrace I had brought upon my family.
Nobody could possibly love such a bad child ; and
if the mice were to come and eat me then and there,
a la Bishop Hatto, it would only be a relief to
my friends. At this dark moment I heard Christy
say below, "She meant it kindly, so I wouldn't
mind, Fanny;" and then up came my boy full of
sympathy and comfort. Seeing the tragic expression
of my face, he said not a word, but, sitting down in
an old chair, took me on his knee and held me close
and quietly, letting the action speak for itself. It
did most eloquently; for the kind arm seemed to
take me back from that dreadful exile, and the
friendly face to assure me without words that I had
not sinned beyond forgiveness.
I had not shed a tear before, but now I cried
tempestuously, and clung to him like a shipwrecked
little mariner in a storm. Neither spoke, but he
held me fast and let me cry myself to sleep ; for,
when the shower was over, a pensive peace fell upon
8 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
me, and the dim old garret seemed not a prison, but
a haven of refuge, since my boy came to share it
with me. How long I slept I don't know, but it
must have been an hour, at least; yet my good
Christy never stirred, only waited patiently till I
woke up in the twilight and was not afraid because
he was there. He took me down as meek as a
mouse, and kept me by him all that trying evening,
screening me from jokes, rebukes, and sober looks ;
and when I went to bed he came up to kiss me, and
to assure me that this awful circumstance should
not be reported at home. This took a load off my
heart, and I remember fervently thanking him, and
telling him I never would forget it.
I never have, though he died long ago, and others
have probably forgotten all about the naughty prank.
I often longed to ask him how he knew the surest
way to win a child's heart by the patience, sympa-
thy, and tender little acts that have kept his memory
green for nearly thirty years.
Cy was a comrade after my own heart, and for a
summer or two we kept the neighborhood in a fer-
MY BOYS. 9
ment by our adventures and hair-breadth escapes.
I think I never knew a boy so full of mischief, and
my opportunities of judging have been manifold.
He did not get into scrapes himself, but possessed a
splendid talent for .deluding others into them, and
then morally remarking, " There, I told you so ! "
His way of saying " You dars'nt do this or that,"
was like fire to powder ; and why I still live in the
possession of all my limbs and senses is a miracle to
those who know my youthful friendship with Cy.
It was he who incited me to jump off of the highest
beam in the barn to be borne home on a board with
a pair of sprained ankles. It was he who dared me
to rub my eyes with red peppers, and then sympa-
thizingly led me home blind and roaring with pain.
It was he who solemnly assured me that all the little
pigs would die in agony if their tails were not cut
off, and won me to hold thirteen little squealers
while the operation was performed. Those thirteen
innocent pink tails haunt me yet, and the memory
of that deed has given me a truly Jewish aversion
to pork.
10 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
I did not know him long, but he was a kindred
soul, and must have a place in my list of boys. He
is a big, brown man now, and having done his part
in the war, is at work on his farm. We meet some-
tunes, and though we try to be dignified and proper,
it is quite impossible ; there is a sly twinkle in Cy's
eye that upsets my gravity, and we always burst out
laughing at the memory of our early frolics.
My Augustus ! oh, my Augustus ! my first little
lover, and the most romantic of my boys. At
fifteen I met this charming youth, and thought I had
found my fate. It was at a spelling school in a little
country town where I, as a stranger and visitor from
the city, was an object of interest. Painfully con-
scious of this fact, I sat in a corner trying to look
easy and elegant, with a large red bow under my
chin, and a carnelian ring in full view. Among the
boys and girls who frolicked about me, I saw one
lad of seventeen with "large blue eyes, a noble
brow, and a beautiful straight nose," as I described
him in a letter to my sister. This attractive youth
had a certain air of refinement and ease of manner
MY BOYS. 11
that the others lacked ; and when I found he was the
minister's son, I felt that I might admire him without
loss of dignity. " Imagine my sensations," as Miss
Burney's Evelina says, when this boy came and talked
to me, a little bashfully at first, but soon quite freely,
and invited me to a huckleberry party next day. I
had observed that he was one of the best spellers.
I also observed that his language was quite elegant ;
he even quoted Byron, and rolled his eyes in a most
engaging manner, not to mention that he asked who
gave me my ring, and said he depended on escorting
me to the berry pasture.
Dear me, how interesting it was ! and when I found
myself next day, sitting under a tree in the sunny
field (full of boys and girls, all more or less lover-
ing), with the amiable Augustus at my feet, gallantly
supplying me with bushes to strip while we talked
about books and poetry, I really felt as if I had got
into a novel, and enjoyed it immensely. I believe a
dim idea that Gus was sentimental hovered in my
mind, but I would not encourage it, though I laughed
in my sleeve when he was spouting Latin for my
12 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
benefit, and was uncertain whether to box his ears
or simper later in the day, when he languished over
the gate, and said he thought chestnut hair the love-
liest in the world.
Poor, dear boy! how innocent and soft-hearted and
full of splendid dreams he was, and what deliciously
romantic times we had floating on the pond, while
the frogs sung to his accordion, as he tried to say
unutterable things with his honest blue eyes. It
makes me shiver now to think of the mosquitoes
and the damp; but it was Pauline and Claude Mel-
notte then, and when I went home we promised to
be true to one another, and write every week during
the year he was away at school.
We parted, not in tears by any means ; that sort
of nonsense comes later, when the romance is less
childish, but quite jolly and comfortable, and I
hastened to pour forth the thrilling tale to my faith-
fill sister, who approved of the match, being a per-
fect " mush of sentiment " herself.
I fear it was not a very ardent flame, however, for
Gus did not write every week, and I did not care a
MY BOYS. 13
bit ; nevertheless, I kept his picture and gave it a
sentimental sigh when I happened to think of it,
while he sent messages now and then, and devoted
himself to his studies like an ambitious boy as he
was. I hardly expected to see him again, but soon
after the year was out, to my great surprise he
called. I was so fluttered by the appearance of his
card that I rather lost my head, and did such a silly
thing that it makes me laugh even now. He liked
chestnut hair, and, pulling out my combs, I rushed
down, theatrically dishevelled, hoping to impress my
lover with my ardor and my charms.
I expected to find little Gus ; but, to my great con-
fusion, a tall being with a beaver in his hand rose to
meet me, looking so big and handsome and generally
imposing, that I could not recover myself for several
minutes, and mentally wailed for my combs, feeling
like an untidy simpleton.
I don't know whether he thought me a little
cracked or not, but he was very friendly and pleas-
ant, and told me his plans, and hoped I would make
another visit, and smoothed his beaver, and let me
14 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
see his tail-coat, and behaved himself like a dear,
conceited, clever boy. He" did .not allude to our
love-passages, being shy, and I blessed him for it ;
for really, I don't know what rash thing I might have
done under the exciting circumstances. Just as he
was going, however, he forgot his cherished hat for
a minute, put out both hands, and said heartily, with
his old boyish laugh,
" Now you will come, and we'll go boating and
berrying, and all the rest of it again, won't we ? "
The blue eyes were full of iun and feeling, too, I
fancied, as I blushingly retired behind my locks and
gave the promise. But I never went, and never saw
my little lover any more, for m a few weeks he was
dead of a fever, brought on by too much study,
and so ended the sad history of my fourth boy.
After this, for many years, I was a boyless being ;
but was so busy I did not feel my destitute condi-
tion till I went to the hospital during the war,
and found my little sergeant. His story has been
told elsewhere, but the sequel to it is a pleasant one,
for Baby B. still writes to me now and then, asks
MY BOYS. 15
advice about his future, and gladdens me with good
news of his success as a business man in Kansas.
As if to atone for the former dearth, a sudden
shower of most superior boys fell upon me, after I
recovered from my campaign. Some of the very
best sort it was my fortune to know and like, real
gentlemen, yet boys still, and jolly times they had,
stirring up the quiet old town with their energetic
society.
There was W., a stout, amiable youth, who would
"stand in the middle of a strawberry patch, with his
hands in his pockets, and let us feed him luxuri-
ously. B., a delightful scapegrace, who came once
a week to confess his sins, beat his breast in despair,
vow awful vows of repentance, and then cheer-
fully depart, to break every one of them in the next
twenty-four hours. S. the gentle-hearted giant;
J. the dandy ; sober, sensible B. ; and E., the young
knight without reproach or fear.
But my especial boy of the batch was A., proud
and cold and shy to other people, sad and serious
sometimes when his good heart and tender con-
16 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
science showed him his short-comings, but so grate-
ful for sympathy and a kind word.
I could not get at him as easily as I could the
other lads, but, thanks to Dickens, I found him out
at last.
We played Dolphus and Sophy Tetterby in the
" Haunted Man," at one of the school festivals ; and
during the rehearsals I discovered that my Dolphus
was permit the expression, oh, well-bred readers !
a trump. What fun we had, to be sure, acting
the droll and pathetic scenes together, with a swarm
of little Tetterbys skirmishing about us ! From that
time he has been my Dolphus and I his Sophy, and
my yellow-haired laddie don't forget me, though he
has a younger Sophy now, and some small Tetter-
bys of his own. He writes just the same affectionate
letters as he used to do, though I, less faithful, am
too busy to answer them.
But the best and dearest of all my flock was
my Polish boy, Ladislas Wisniewski, two hic-
coughs and a sneeze will give you the name per-
fectly. Six years ago, as I went down to my early
MY BOYS. 17
breakfast at our Pension in Vevey, I saw that a
stranger had arrived. He was a tall youth, of
eighteen or twenty, with a thin, intelligent face, and
the charmingly polite manners of a foreigner. As
the other boarders came in, one by one, they left the
door open, and a draught of cold autumn air blew in
from the stone corridor, making the new comer
cough, shiver, and cast wistful glances toward the
warm corner by the stove. My place was there,
and the heat often oppressed me, so I was glad of an
opportunity to move.
A word to Madame Vodoz effected the change ;
and at dinner I was rewarded by a grateful smile
from the poor fellow, as he nestled into his warm
seat, after a pause of surprise and a flush -of pleasure
at the small kindness from a stranger. We were
too far apart to talk much, but, as he filled his glass,
the Pole bowed to me, and said low in French,
" I drink the good health to Mademoiselle." "
I returned the wish, but he shook his head with a
sudden shadow on his face, as if the words meant
more than mere compliment to him;
2
18 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
"That boy is sick and needs care. I must see to
him," said I to myself, as I met him in the afternoon,
and observed the military look of his blue and white
suit, as he touched his cap and smiled pleasantly. I
have a weakness for brave boys in blue, and having
discovered that he had been in the late Polish Revo-
lution, my heart wanned to him at once.
That evening he came to me in the salon, and
expressed his thanks in the prettiest broken English
I ever heard. So simple, frank, and grateful was he
that a few words of interest won his little story from
him, and in half an hour we were friends. With
his fellow-students he had fought through the last
outbreak, had suffered imprisonment and hardship
rather than submit, had lost many Mends, his for-
tune and his health, and at twenty, lonely, poor,
and ill, was trying bravely to cure the malady which
seemed fatal.
" If I recover myself of this affair in the chest,
I teach the music to acquire my bread in this so
hospitable country. At Paris, my friends, all two,
find a refuge, and I go to them in spring if I die
MY BOYS. 19
not here. Yes, it is solitary, and my memories are
not gay, but I have my work, and the good God
remains always to me, so I content myself with
much hope, and I wait."
Such genuine piety and courage increased my
respect and regard immensely, and a few minutes
later he added to both by one of the little acts that
show character better than words.
He told me about the massacre, when five hundred
Poles were shot down by Cossacks in the market-
place, merely because they sung their national hymn.
" Play me that forbidden air," I said, wishing to
judge of his skill, for I had heard him practising
softly in the afternoon.
He rose willingly, then glanced about the room
and gave a little shrug which made me ask what he
wanted.
" I look to see if the Baron is here. He is
Russian, and to him my national air will not be
pleasing."
" Then play it. He dare not forbid it here, and I
should rather enjoy that little insult to your bitter
20 , AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
enemy," said I, feeling very indignant with every
thing Russian just.then.
" Ah, mademoiselle, it is true we are enemies, but
we are also gentlemen," returned the boy, proving
that he at least was one.
I thanked him for his lesson in politeness, and as
the Baron was not there he played the beautiful
hymn, singing it enthusiastically in spite of the
danger to his weak lungs. A true musician evi-
dently, for, as he sung his pale face glowed, his eyes
shone, and his lost vigor seemed restored to him.
From that evening we were fast friends ; for the
memory of certain dear lads at home made my
heart open to this lonely boy, who gave me in
return the most grateful affection and service. He
begged me to call him " Varjo," as his mother did.
He constituted himself my escort, errand-boy,
French teacher, and private musician, making those
weeks infinitely pleasant by his winning ways, his
charming little confidences, and faithful friendship.
We had much fun over our lessons, for I helped
him about his English. With a great interest in
MY BOYS. 21
free America, and an intense longing to hear about
our war, the barrier of an unknown tongue did not
long stand between us. Beginning with my bad
French and his broken English, we got on capitally ;
but he outdid me entirely, making astonishing prog-
ress, though he often slapped his forehead, with the
despairing exclamation,
" I am imbecile ! I never can will shall to have
learn this beast of English ! "
But he did, and in a month had added a new
language to the five he already possessed.
His music was the delight of the house ; and he
often gave us little concerts with the help of Madam
Teiblin, a German St. Cecelia, with a cropped head
and a gentlemanly sack, cravat, and collar. Both
were enthusiasts, and the longer they played the
more inspired they got. The piano vibrated, the
stools creaked, the candles danced in their sockets,
and every one sat mute while the four white hands
chased one another up and down the keys, and the
two fine faces beamed with such ecstacy that we
almost expected to see instrument and performers
disappear in a musical whirlwind.
22 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Lake Leman will never seem so lovely again as
when Laddie and I roamed about its shores, floated
on its bosom, or laid splendid plans for the future in
the sunny garden of the old chateau. I tried it
again last year, but the charm was gone, for I missed
my boy with his fun, his music, and the frank, fresh
affection he gave his " little mamma," as he insisted
on calling the lofty spinster who loved him like half
a dozen grandmothers rolled into one.
December roses blossomed in the gardens then,
and Laddie never failed to have a posy ready
for me at dinner. Few evenings passed without
" confidences " in my corner of the salon, and I still
have a pile of merry little notes which I used to find
tucked under my door. He called them chapters of
a great history we were to write together, and
being a "polisson " he illustrated it with droll pic-
tures, and a funny mixture of French and English
romance.
It was very pleasant, but like all pleasant things
in this world of change it soon came to an end.
When I left for Italy we jokingly agreed to meet in
MY BOYS. 23
Paris the next May, but neither really felt that we
should ever meet again, for Laddie hardly expected
to outlive the winter, and I felt sure I should soon
be forgotten. As he kissed my hand there were
tears in my boy's eyes, and a choke in the voice that
tried to say cheerfully,
" Bon voyage, dear and good little mamma. I do
not say adieu, but au revoir"
Then the carriage rolled away, the wistful face
vanished, and nothing remained to me but the
memory of Laddie, and a little stain on my glove
where a drop had fallen.
As I drew near Paris six months later, and found
myself wishing that I might meet Yarjo in the great,
gay city, and wondering if there was any chance of
my doing it, I never dreamed of seeing him so soon ;
but, as I made my way among the crowd of passen-
gers that poured through the station, feeling tired,
bewildered, and homesick, I suddenly saw a blue
and white cap wave wildly in the air, then Laddie's
beaming face appeared, and Laddie's eager hands
grasped mine so cordially that I began to laugh at
24 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
once, and felt that Paris was almost as good as
home.
" Ah, ha ! behold the little mamma, who did not
thought to see again her bad son! Yes, I am
greatly glad that I make the fine surprise for you as
you come all weaiy to this place of noise. Give to
me the billets, for I am still mademoiselle's servant
and go to find the coffers."
He got my trunks, put me into a carriage, and as
we rolled merrily away I asked how he chanced to
meet me so unexpectedly. Knowing where I in-
tended to stay, he had called occasionally till I
notified Madame D. of the day and hour of my
arrival, and then he had come to "make the fine
surprise." He enjoyed the joke like a true boy, and
I was glad to see how well he looked, and how gay
he seemed.
"You are better?" I said.
" I truly hope so. The winter was good to me
and I cough less. It is a small hope, but I do not
enlarge my fear by a sad face. I yet work and save
a little purse, so that I may not be a heaviness to
MY BOYS. 25
those who have the charity to finish me if I fall back
and yet.die."
I would not hear of that, and told him he looked
as well and happy as if he had found a fortune.
He laughed, and answered with his fine bow, " I
have. Behold, you come to make the fete for me.
I find also here my friends Joseph and Napoleon.
Poor as mouses of the church, as you say, but brave
boys, and we work together with much gayety."
When I asked if he had leisure to be my guide
about Paris, for my time was short and I wanted to
see every thing, he pranced, and told me he had prom-
ised himself a holiday, and had planned many excur-
sions the most wonderful, charming, and gay. Then,
having settled me at Madam e's, he went blithely
away to what I afterward discovered were very poor
lodgings, across the river.
Next day began the pleasantest fortnight in all
my year of travel. Laddie appeared early, elegant
to behold in a new hat and buff gloves, and was
immensely amused because the servant informed me
that my big son had arrived.
26 .ir.vr jo's SCRAP-BAG.
I believe the first thing a woman does in Paris is
to buy a new bonnet. I did, or rather stood by and
let " my son " do it in the best of French, only whis-
pering when he proposed gorgeous chapeaus full of
flowers and feathers, that I could not afford it.
" Ah ! we must make our economies, must we ?
See, then, this modest, pearl-colored one, with the
crape rose. Yes, we will have that, and be most
elegant for the Sunday promenade."
I fear I should have bought a pea-green hat with a
yellow plume if he had urged it, so wheedlesome and
droll were his ways and words*. His good taste
saved me, however, and the modest one was sent
home for the morrow, when we were to meet Joseph
and Napoleon and go to the concert in the Tuileries
garden.
Then we set off on our day of sight-seeing, and
Laddie proved himself an excellent guide. "We
had a charming trip about the enchanted city, a
gay lunch at a cafe, and a first brief glimpse of the
Louvre. At dinner-time I found a posy at my place ;
and afterward Laddie came and spent the evening
MY BOYS. 27
in my little salon, playing to me, and having what
he called "babblings and pleasantries." I found
that he was translating " Vanity Fair " into Polish,
and intended to sell it at home. He convulsed me
with his struggles to put cockney English and slang
into good Polish, for he had saved up a list of
words for me to explain to him. Haystack and
bean-pot were among them, I remember ; and when
he had mastered the meanings he fell upon the sofa
exhausted.
Other days like this followed, and we led a happy
life together; for my twelve years' seniority made
our adventures quite proper, and I fearlessly went
anywhere on the arm of my big son. Not to thea-
tres or balls, however, for heated rooms were bad
for Laddie, but pleasant trips out of the city in
the bright spring weather, quiet strolls in the gar-
dens, moonlight concerts in the Champs Elysees;
or, best of all, long talks with music in the little red
salon, with the gas turned low, and the ever-chang-
ing scenes of the Rue de Rivoli under the balcony.
Never were pleasures more cheaply purchased or
28 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
more thoroughly enjoyed, for our hearts were as
light as our purses, and our " little economies " gave
zest to our amusements.
Joseph and Napoleon sometimes joined us, and I
felt in my element with the three invalid soldier
boys, for Napoleon still limped with a wound re-
ceived in the war, Joseph had never recovered from
his two years' imprisonment in an Austrian dun-
geon, and Laddie's loyalty might yet cost him his
life.
Thanks to them, I discovered a joke played upon
me by my "polisson" He told me to call him " ma
drogha," saying it meant " my friend," in Polish. I
innocently did so, and he seemed to find great plea-
ure in it, for his eyes always laughed when I said it.
Using it one day before the other lads, I saw a queer
twinkle in their eyes, and, suspecting mischief, de-
manded the real meaning of the words. Laddie
tried to silence them, but the joke was too good to
keep, and I found to my dismay that I had been
calling him " my darling " in the tenderest manner.
How the three rascals shouted, and what a vain
MY BOYS. 29
struggle it was to try and preserve my dignity when
Laddie clasped his hands and begged pardon, ex-
plaining that jokes were necessary to his health, and
he never meant me to know the full baseness of
this " pleasantrie ! " I revenged myself by giving
him some bad English for his translation, and tell-
ing him of it just as I left Paris.
It was not all fun with my boy^ however ; he had
his troubles, and in spite of his cheerfulness he knew
what heartache was. Walking in the quaint garden
of the Luxembourg one day, he confided to me the
little romance of his life. A very touching little
romance as he told it, with eloquent eyes and voice
and frequent pauses for breath. I cannot give his
words, but the simple facts were these:
He had grown up with a pretty cousin, and at
eighteen was desperately -in love with her. She
returned his affection, but they could not be happy,
for her father wished her to marry a richer man.
In Poland, to marry without the consent of parents
is to incur lasting disgrace ; so Leonore obeyed, and
the young pair parted. This had been a heavy sor-
30 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
row to Laddie, and he rushed into the war hoping
to end his trouble.
" Do you ever hear from your cousin ? " I asked,
as he walked beside me, looking sadly down the
green aisles where kings and queens had loved and
parted years ago.
"I only know that she suffers still, for she remem-
bers. Her husband submits to the Russians, and I
despise him as I have no English to tell ; " and he
clenched his hands with the flash of the eye and
sudden kindling of the whole face that made him
handsome.
He showed me a faded little picture, and when I
tried to comfort him, he laid his head down on the
pedestal of one of the marble queens who guard the
walk, as if he never cared to lift it up again.
But he was all right in a minute, and bravely
put away his sorrow with the little picture. He
never spoke of it again, and I saw no more shadows
on his face till we came to say good-by.
" You have been so kind to me, I wish I had some-
thing beautiful to give you, Laddie," I said, feeling
that it would be hard to get on without my boy.
MY BOYS. 31
" This time it is for always ; so, as a parting sou-
venir, give to me the sweet English good-by."
As he said this, with a despairing sort of look, as
if he could not spare even so humble a friend as my-
self, my heart was quite rent within me, and, re*gard-
less of several prim English ladies, I drew down his
tall head and kissed him tenderly, feeling that in
this world there were no more meetings for us.
Then I ran away and buried myself in an empty
railway carriage, hugging the little cologne bottle he
had given me.
He promised to write, and for five years he has
kept his word, sending me from Paris and Poland
cheery, bright letters in English, at my desire, so
that he might not forget. Here is one as a speci-
men.
" MY DEAR AND GOOD FRIEND, What do you
think of me that I do not write so long time ? Ex-
cuse me, my good mamma, for I was so busy in these
days I could not do this pleasant thing. I write
English without the fear that you laugh at it, be-
32 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
cause I know it is more agreeable to read the own
language, and I think you are not excepted of this
rule. It is good of me, for the expressions of love
and regard, made with faults, take the funny appear-
ance ;* they are ridicule, and instead to go to the
heart, they make the laugh. Never mind, I do it.
" You cannot imagine yourself how stupide is
Paris when you are gone. I fly to my work, and
make no more fetes, it is too sad alone. I tie my-
self to my table and my Vanity (not of mine, for I
am not vain, am I ?). I wish some chapters to finish
themselfs vile, that I send them to Pologne and
know the end. I have a little question to ask you
(of Vanity as always). I cannot translate this, no
one of dictionnaires makes me the words, and I
think it is jargon de prison, this little period.
Behold:
' Mopy, is that your snum ? '
' Nubble your dad and gully the dog/ &c.
" So funny things I cannot explain myself, so I
send to you, and you reply sooner than without it.
MY BOYS. 33
for you have so kind interest in ray work you do not
stay to wait. So this is a little hook for you to make
you write some words to your son who likes it so
much and is fond of you/
"My doctor tells me my lungs are soon to be re-
established ; so you may imagine yourself how glad
I am, and of more courage in my future. You may
one day see your Varjo. in Amerique, if I study
commerce as I wish. So then the last time of seeing
ourselves is not the last. Is that to please you ? I
suppose the grand histoire is finished, n? est ce pas f
You will then send it to me care of M. Gryhomski
Austriche, and he will give to me in clandestine
way at Varsovie, otherwise it will be confiscated at
the frontier by the stupide Russians.
" Now we are dispersed in two sides of world far
apart, for soon I go home to Pologne and am no
more 'juif errant? It is now time I work at my
life in some useful way, and I do it.
" As I am your grand fils, it is proper that I make
you my compliment of happy Christmas and New
Year, is it not ? I wish for you so many as they
34 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
may fulfil long human life. May this year bring
you more and more good hearts to love you (the
only real happiness in the hard life), and may I be
as now, yours for always,
VABJO,"
A year ago he sent me his photograph and a few
lines. I acknowledged the receipt of it, but since
then not a word has come, and I begin to fear that
my boy is dead. Others have appeared to take his
place, but they don't suit, and I keep his corner al-
ways ready for him if he lives. If he is dead, I am
glad to have known so sweet and brave a character,
for it does one good to see even as short-lived and
obscure a hero as my Polish boy, whose dead De-
cember rose embalms for me the memory of Varjo,
the last and dearest of my boys.
It is hardly necessary to add, for the satisfaction
of inquisitive little women, that Laddie was the
original of Laurie, as far as a pale pen and ink
sketch could embody a living, loving boy.
TESSA'S SURPRISES.
I.
T ITTLE TESSA sat alone by the fire, waiting
""-^ for her father to come home from work. The
children were fast asleep, all four in the big bed
behind the curtain ; the wind blew hard outside,
and the snow beat on the window-panes ; the room
was large, and the fire so small and feeble that it
Didn't half warm the little bare toes peeping out of
the old shoes on the hearth.
Tessa's father was an Italian plaster- worker, very
poor, but kind and honest. The mother had died
not long ago, and left twelve-year old Tessa to take
care of the little children. She tried to be very wise
and motherly, and worked for them like any little
woman ; but it was so hard to keep the small bodies
w^arm and fed, and the small souls good and happy,
that poor Tessa was often at her wits' end. She
36 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
always waited for her father, no matter how tired
she was, so that he might find his supper warm, a
bit of fire, and a loving little face to welcome him.
Tessa thought over her troubles at these quiet times,
and made her plans ; for her father left things to her
a good deal, and she had no friends but Tommo, the
harp-boy upstairs, and the lively cricket who lived
in the chimney. To-night her face was very sober,
and her pretty brown eyes very thoughtful as she
stared at the fire and knit her brows, as if perplexed.
She was not thinking of her old shoes, nor the empty
closet, nor the boys' ragged clothes just then. ]STo ;
she had a fine plan in her good little head, and was
trying to discover how she could carry it out.
You see, Christmas was coming in a week ; and
she had set her heart on putting something in the
children's stockings, as the mother used to do, for
while she lived things were comfortable. Now Tessa
had not a penny in the world, and didn't know how
to get one, for all the father's earnings had to go for
food, fire, and rent.
"If there were only fairies, ah! how heavenly that
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 37
would be ; for then, I should tell them all I wish,
and, pop ! behold the fine things in ray lap ! " said
Tessa to herself. " I must earn the money ; there is
no one to give it to me, and I cannot beg. But
what can I do, so small and stupid and shy as I am ?
I must find some way to give the little ones a nice
Christmas. I must! I must! " and Tessa pulled her
long hair, as if that would help her think.
But it didn't, and her heart got heavier and
heavier; for it did seem hard that in a great city
full of fine things, there should be none for poor
Nono, Sep, and little Speranza. Just as Tessa's
tears began to tumble off her eyelashes on to her
brown cheeks, the cricket began to chirp. Of course,
he didn't say a word ; but it really did seem as if he
had answered her question almost as well as a fairy ;
for, before he had piped a dozen shrill notes, an idea
popped into Tessa's head, such a truly splendid
idea that she clapped her hands and burst out
laughing. "I'll doit! I'll doit! if father will let
me," she said to herself, smiling and nodding at the
fire. " Tommo will like to have me go with him
38 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
and sing, while he plays his harp in the streets. I
know many songs, and may get money if I am
not frightened ; for people throw pennies to other
little girls who only play the tambourine. Yes, I
will try ; and then, if I do well, the little ones shall
have a Merry Christmas."
So full of her plan was Tessa, that she ran upstairs
at once, and asked Tommo if he would take her with
him on the morrow. Her friend was delighted, for
he thought Tessa's songs very sweet, and was sure
she would get money if she tried.
" But see, then, it is cold in the streets ; the wind
bites, and the snow freezes one's fingers. The day
is very long, people are cross, and at night one is
ready to die with weariness. Thou art so small,
Tessa, I am afraid it will go badly with thee," said
Tommo, who was a merry, black-eyed boy of four-
teen, with the kindest heart in the world under his
old jacket.
" I do not mind cold and wet and cross people, if
I can get the pennies," answered Tessa, feeling very
brave with such a friend to help her. She thanked
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 39
Torarao, and ran away to get ready, for she felt sure
her father would not refuse her any thing. She
sewed up the holes in her shoes as well as she could,
for she had much of that sort of cobbling to do ; she
mended her only gown, and laid ready the old hood
and shawl which had been her mother's. "Then she
washed out little Ranza's frock and put it to dry,
because she would not be able to do it the next day.
She set the table and got things ready for breakfast,
for Tommo went out early, and must not be kept
waiting for her. She longed to make the beds and
dress the children over night, she was in such a
hurry to have all in order ; but, as that could not be,
she sat down again, and tried over all the songs she
knew. Six pretty ones were chosen ; and she sung
away with all her heart in a fresh little voice so
sweetly that the children smiled in their sleep, and
her father's tired face brightened as he entered, for
Tessa was his cheery cricket on the hearth. When
she had told her plan, Peter Benari shook his head,
and thought it would never do ; but Tessa begged so
hard, he consented at last that she should try it for
40 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
one week, and sent her to bed the happiest little girl
in New York.
Next morning the sun shone, but the cold wind
blew, and the snow lay thick in the streets. As
soon as her father was gone, Tessa flew about and
put everything in nice order, telling the children she
was going out for the day, and they were to mind
Tommo's mother, who would see about the fire and
the dinner ; for the good woman loved Tessa, and
entered into her little plans with all her heart. Nono
and Guiseppe, or Sep, as they called him,* wondered
what she was going away for, and little Ranza cried
at being left ; but Tessa told them they would know
all about it in a week, and have a fine time if they
were good; so they kissed her all round and let
her go.
Poor Tessa's heart beat fast as she trudged away
with Tommo, who slung his harp over his shoulder,
and gave her his hand. It was rather a dirty hand,
but so kind that Tessa clung to it, and kept looking
up at the friendly brown face for encouragement.
" We go first to the cafe, where many French and
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 41
Italians eat the breakfast. They like my music, and
often give me sips of hot coffee, which I like much.
You too shall have the sips, and perhaps the pennies,
for these people are greatly kind," said Tommo,
leading her into a large smoky place, where many
people sat at little tables, eating and drinking.
" See, now, have no fear ; give them ' Bella Monica ; '
that is merry and will make the laugh," whispered
Tommo, tuning his harp.
For a moment Tessa felt so frightened that she
wanted to run away ; but she remembered the empty
stockings at home, and the fine plan, and she re-
solved not to give it up. One fat old Frenchman
nodded to her, and it seemed to help her very much ;
for she began to sing before she thought, and that
was the hardest part of it. Her voice trembled, and
her cheeks grew redder and redder as she went on ;
but she kept her eyes fixed on her t)ld shoes, and so
got through without breaking down, which was very
nice. The people laughed, for the song was merry ;
and the fat man smiled and nodded again. This
gave her courage to try another, and she sung better
42 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
and better each time ; for Tommo played his best,
and kept whispering to her, " Yes ; we go well ; this
is fine. They will give the money and the blessed
coffee."
So they did ; for, when the little concert was over,
several men put pennies in the cap Tessa offered,
and the fat man took her on his knee, and ordered
a mug of coffee, and some bread and butter for them
both. This quite won her heart; and when they
left the cafe, she kissed her hand to the old French-
man, and said to her friend, " How kind they are !
I like this very much ; and now it is not hard."
But Tommo shook his curly head, and answered,
soberly, " Yes, I took you there first, for they love
music, and are of our country ; but up among the
great houses we shall not always do well. The peo-
ple there are busy or hard or idle, and care nothing
for harps and songs. Do not skip and laugh too
soon ; for the day is long, and we have but twelve
pennies yet."
Tessa walked more quietly, and rubbed her cold
hands, feeling that the world was a very big place,
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 43
and wondering how the children got on at home
without the little mother. Till noon they did not"*
earn much, for every one seemed in a hurry, and the
noise of many sleigh-bells drowned the music.
Slowly they made their way up to the great squares
where the big houses were, with fine ladies and
pretty children at the windows. Here Tessa sung
all her best songs, and Tommo played as fast as his
fingers could fly ; but it was too cold to have the
windows open, so the pretty children could not
listen long, and the ladies tossed out a little money,
and soon went back to their own affairs.
All the afternoon the two friends wandered about,
singing and playing, and gathering up their small har-
vest. At dusk they went home, Tessa so hoarse
she could hardly speak, and so tired she fell asleep
over her supper. But she had made half a dollar,
for Tommo divided the money fairly, and she felt
rich with her share. The other days were very much
like this; sometimes they made more, sometimes
less, but Tommo always " went halves ; " and Tessa
kept on, in spite of cold and weariness, for her plans
44 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
grew as her earnings increased, and now she hoped
to get useful things, instead of candy and toys
alone.
On the day before Christmas she made herself as
tidy as she could, for she hoped to earn a good deal.
She tied a bright scarlet handkerchief over the old
hood, and the brilliant color set off her brown cheeks
and bright eyes, as well as the pretty black braids
of her hair. Tommo's mother lent her a pair of
boots so big that they turned up at the toes, but
there were no holes in them, and Tessa felt quite
elegant in whole boots. Her hands were covered
with chilblains, for she had no mittens ; but she put
them under her shawl, and scuffled merrily away in
her big boots, feeling so glad that the week was
over, and nearly three dollars safe in her pocket.
How gay the streets were that day ! how brisk every
one was, and how bright the faces looked, as people
trotted about with big baskets, holly-wreaths, and
young evergreens going to blossom into splendid
Christmas trees !
"If I could have a tree for the children, I'd never
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 45
want any thing again. But I can't ; so I '11 fill the
socks all full, and be happy," said Tessa, as she
looked wistfully into the gay stores, and saw the
heavy baskets go by.
" Who knows what may happen if we do well ? "
returned Tommo, nodding wisely, for he had a plan
as well as Tessa, and kept chuckling over it as he
trudged through the mud. They did not do well,
somehow, for every one seemed so full of their own
affairs they could not stop to listen, even to " Bella
Monica," but bustled away to spend their money in
turkeys, toys, and trees. In the afternoon it began
to rain, and poor Tessa's heart to fail her ; for the
big boots tired her feet, the cold wind made her
hands ache, and the rain spoilt the fine red handker-
chief. Even Tommo looked sober, and didn't whistle
as he walked, for he also was disappointed, and his
plan looked rather doubtful, the pennies came in so
slowly.
" We '11 try one more street, and then go home,
thou art so tired, little one. Come ; let me wipe thy
face, and give me thy hand here in my jacket pocket ;
46 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
there it will be as warm as any kitten ; " and kind
Tommo brushed away the drops which were not all
rain from Tessa's cheeks, tucked the poor hand into
his ragged pocket, and led *her carefully along the
slippery streets, for the boots nearly tripped her up.
II.
AT the first house, a cross old gentleman flapped
his newspaper at them; at the second, a young
gentleman and lady were so busy talking, that they
never turned their heads ; and at the third, a servant
came out and told them to go away, because some
one was sick. At the fourth, some people let them
sing all their songs, and gave nothing. The next
three houses were empty ; and the last of all showed
not a single face, as they looked up anxiously. It was
so cold, so dark and discouraging, that Tessa couldn't
help one sob ; and, as he glanced down at the little
red nose and wet figure beside him, Tommo gave his
harp an angry thump, and said something very fierce
in Italian. They were just going to turn away ; but
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 47
they didn't, for that angry thump happened to be the
best thing they could have done. All of a sudden
a little head appeared at the window, as if the sound
had brought it ; then another and another, till there
were five, of all heights and colors, and five eager
faces peeped out, smiling and nodding to the two
below.
" Sing, Tessa ; sing ! Quick ! quick ! " cried
Tommo, twanging away with all his might, and
showing his white teeth, as he smiled back at the
little gentle-folk.
Bless us ! How Tessa did tune up at that ! She
chirped away like a real bird, forgetting all about the
tears on her cheeks, the ache in her hands, and the
heaviness at her heart. The children laughed, and
clapped their hands, and cried " More ! more ! Sing
another, little girl ! Please, do ! " And away they
went again, piping and playing, till Tessa's breath
was gone, and Tommo's stout fingers tingled well.
" Mamma says, come to the door ; it's too muddy
to throw the money in the street ! " cried out a kindly
child's voice, as Tessa held up the old cap, with be-
seeching eyes.
48 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Up the wide stone steps went the street musicians,
and the whole flock came running down to give a
handful of silver, and ask all sorts of questions.
Tessa felt so grateful, that, without waiting for
Tommo, she sang her sweetest little song all alone.
It was about a lost lamb, and her heart was in the
song; therefore, she sang it well, so well, that a
pretty young lady came down to listen, and stood
watching the bright-eyed child, who looked about
her as she sang, evidently enjoying the light and
warmth of the fine hall, and the sight of the lovely
children with their gay dresses, shining hair, and
dainty little shoes.
" You have a charming voice, child. Who taught
you to sing ? " asked the young lady, kindly.
"My mother. She is dead now; but I do not
forget," answered Tessa, in her pretty broken Eng-
lish.
" I wish she could sing at our tree, since Bella is
ill," cried one of the children, peeping through the
banisters.
"She is not fair enough for the angel, and too
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 49
large to go up in the tree. But she sings sweetly,
and looks as if she would like to see a tree," said the
young lady.
" Oh, so much!" exclaimed Tessa; adding eagerly,
"my sister Ranza is small and pretty as a baby-
angel. She could sit up in the fine tree, and I could
sing for her from under the table."
" Sit down and warm yourself, and tell me about
Ranza," said the kind elder sister, who liked the
confiding little girl, in spite of her shabby clothes.
So Tessa sat down and dried the big boots over
the furnace, and told her story, while Tommo stood
modestly in the background, and the children
listened with faces full of interest.
" O Rose ! Let us see the little girl ; and if she
will do, let us have her, and Tessa can learn our
song, and it will be splendid!" cried the biggest
boy, who sat astride of a chair, and stared at the
harp with round eyes.
" ni ask mamma," said Rose ; and away she went
into the dining-room close by. As the door opened,
Tessa saw what looked to her like a fairy feast,
4
50 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
all silver mugs and flowery plates and oranges and
nuts and rosy wine in tall glass pitchers, and smok-
ing dishes that smelt so deliciously she could not
restrain a little sniff of satisfaction.
"Are you hungry?" asked the boy, in a grand
tone.
" Yes, sir," meekly answered Tessa.
"I say, mamma; she wants something to eat.
Can I give her an orange ? " called the boy, pranc-
ing away into the splendid room, quite like a fairy .
prince, Tessa thought.
A plump, motherly lady came out and looked at
Tessa, asked a few questions, and then told her to
come to-morrow with Ranza, and they would see
what could be done. Tessa clapped her hands for
joy, she didn't mind the chilblains now, and
Tommo played a lively march, he was so pleased.
" Will you come, too, and bring your harp ? You
shall be paid, and shall have something from the
tree, likewise," said the motherly lady, who liked
what Tessa gratefully told about his kindness to her.
u Ah, yes ; I shall come with much gladness, and
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 51
play as never in my life before," cried Tommo, with
a flourish of the old cap that made the children
laugh.
"Give these to your brothers," said the fairy
prince, stuffing nuts and oranges into Tessa's hands.
" And these to the little girl," added one of the
young princesses, flying out of tKe dining-room with
cakes and rosy apples for Ranza.
Tessa didn't know what to say; but her eyes
were full, and she just took the mother's white hand
, in both her little grimy ones, and kissed it many
times in her pretty Italian fashion. The lady under-
stood her, and stroked her cheek "softly, saying to
her elder daughter, " We must take care of this
good little creature. Freddy, bring me your mit-'
tens ; these poor hands must be covered. Alice, get
your play-hood ; this handkerchief is all wet ; and,
Maud, bring the old chinchilla tippet."
The children ran, and in a minute there were
lovely blue mittens on the red hands, a warm hood
over the black braids, and a soft " pussy " round the
sore throat.
52 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
"Ah! so kind, so very kind! I have no way to
say ' thank you ; ' but Ranza shall be for you a
heavenly angel, and I will sing my heart out for
your tree ! " cried Tessa, folding the mittens as if
she would say a prayer of thankfulness if she knew
how.
Then they went away, and the pretty children
called after them, " Come again, Tessa ! come again,
Tommo!" Now the rain didn't seem dismal, the
wind cold, nor the way long, as they bought their
gifts and hurried home, for kind words and the
sweet magic of charity had changed all the world
to them.
I think the good spirits who fly about on Christ-
mas Eve, to help the loving fillers of little stockings,
smiled very kindly on Tessa as she brooded joyfully
over the small store of presents that seemed so mag-
nificent to her. All the goodies were divided evenly
into three parts and stowed away in father's three
big socks, which hung against the curtain. With
her three dollars, she had got a pair of shoes for
Nono, a knit cap for Sep, and r- pair of white stock-
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 53
ings for Ranza ; to her she also gave the new hood ;
to Nono the mittens ; and to Sep the tippet.
" Now the dear boys can go out, and my Ranza
will be ready for the lady to see, in her nice new
things," said Tessa, quite sighing with pleasure to
see how well the gifts looked pinned up beside the
bulging socks, which wouldn't hold them all. The
little mother kept nothing for herself but the pleas-
ure of giving every thing away ; yet, I think, she
was both richer and happier than if she had kept
them all. Her father laughed as he had not done
since the mother died, when he saw how comically
the old curtain had broken out into boots and hoods,
stockings and tippets.
" I wish I had a gold gown and a silver hat for
thee, my Tessa, thou art so good. May the saints
bless and keep thee always ! " said Peter Benari
tenderly, as he held his little daughter close, and
gave her the good-night kiss.
Tessa felt very rich as she crept under the faded
counterpane, feeling as if she had received a lovely
gift, and fell happily asleep with chubby Ranza in
54 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
her arms, and the two rough black heads peeping
out at the foot of the bed. She dreamed wonderful
dreams that night, and woke in the morning to find
real wonders before her eyes. She got up early, to
see if the socks were all right, and there she found
the most astonishing sight. Four socks, instead of
three ; and by the fourth, pinned out quite elegantly,
was a little dress, evidently meant for her, a warm,
woollen dress, all made, and actually with bright
buttons on it. It nearly took her breath away ; so
did the new boots on the floor, and the funny long
stocking like a gray sausage, with a wooden doll
staring out at the top, as if she said, politely, " A
Merry Christmas, ma'am!" Tessa screamed and
danced in her delight, and up tumbled all the chil-
dren to scream and dance with her, making a regular
carnival on a small scale. Everybody hugged and
kissed everybody else, offered sucks of orange, bites
of cake, and exchanges of candy ; every one tried
on the new things, and pranced about in them like
a flock of peacocks. Ranza skipped to and fro airily,
dressed in her white socks and the red hood ; the
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 55
boys promenaded in their little shirts, one with his
creaking new shoes and mittens, the other in his
gay cap and fine tippet ; and Tessa put her dress
straight on, feeling that her father's " gold gown "
was not all a joke. In her long stocking she found
all sorts of treasures ; for Tommo had stuffed it full
of queer things, and his mother had made ginger-
bread into every imaginable shape, from fat pigs to
full omnibuses.
Dear me ! What happy little souls they were
that morning ; and when they were quiet again,, how
like a fairy tale did Tessa's story sound to them.
Ranza was quite ready to be an angel ; and the boys
promised to be marvellously good, if they were only
allowed to see the tree at the "palace," as they
called the great house.
Little Ranza was accepted with delight by the
kind lady and her children, and Tessa learned the
song quite easily. The boys were asked ; and, after
a happy day, the young Italians all returned, to play
their parts at the fine Christmas party. Mamma
and Miss Rose drilled them all ; and, when the fold-
56 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
ing-doors flew open, one rapturous "Oh!" arose
from the crowd of children gathered to the festival.
I assure you, it was splendid ; the great tree glitter-
ing with lights and gifts ; and, on her invisible perch,
up among the green boughs, sat the little golden-
haired angel, all in white, with downy wings, a
shining crown on her head, and the most serene
satisfaction in her blue eyes, as she stretched her
chubby arms to those below, and smiled her baby
smile at them. Before any one could speak, a Toice,
as fresh and sweet as a lark's, sang the Christmas
Carol so blithely, that every one stood still to hear,
and then clapped till the little angel shook on her
perch, and cried out, " Be 'till, or me'll fall ! " How
they laughed at that ; and what fun they had talking
to Ranza, while Miss Rose stripped the treeJHTor the
angel could not resist temptation, and amused her-
self by eating all the bonbons she could reach, till
she was taken down, to dance about like a fairy in a
white frock and red shoes. Tessa and her friends
had many presents; the boys were perfect lambs,
Tommo played for the little folks to dance, and
TESSA'S SURPRISES. 57
every one said something friendly to the strangers,
so that they did not feel shy, in spite of shabby
clothes. It was a happy night; and all their lives
they remembered it as something too beautiful and
bright to be quite true. Before they went home,
the kind mamma told Tessa she should be her
friend, and gave her a motherly kiss, which warmed
the child's heart and seemed to set a seal upon that
promise. It was faithfully kept, for the rich lady
had been touched by Tessa's patient struggles and
sacrifices ; and for many years, thanks to her benev-
olence, there was no end to Tessa's Surprises.
58 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
BUZZ.
T LIVE high up in a city house -all alone. My
* room is a cosy little place, though' there is
nothing very splendid in it, only my pictures
and books, my flowers and my little friend. When
I began to live there, I was very busy and there-
fore very happy; but by and by, when my hurry
was over and I had more time to myself, I often
felt lonely. When I ate my meals I used to wish
for a pleasant companion to eat with me ; and when
I sat by the fire evenings, I thought how much more
social it would be if some one sat opposite. I had
many friends and callers through the day, but the
evenings were often rather dull ; for I couldn't read
much, and didn't care to go out in the stormy
weather.
I was wishing for a cheerful friend one night,
when all of a sudden I found one ; for, sitting on
BUZZ, 59
my hand, I saw a plump, jolly-looking fly. He sat
quietly staring at me, with a mild little hum, as if
to say,
" How are you ? You wanted a friend, and here
I am. Will you have me ? "
Of course I would, for I liked him directly, he was
so cheery and confiding, and seemed as glad to see
me as I was to see him. All his mates were dead
and gone, and he was alone, like myself. So I wag-
gled one finger, by way of welcome, fearing to shake
my hand, lest he should tumble off and feel hurt at
my reception. He seemed to understand me, and
buzzed again, evidently saying,
" Thank you, ma'am. I should like to stay in your
warm room, and amuse you for my board. I won't
disturb you, but do my best to be a good little
friend."
So the bargain was struck, and he stopped to tea.
I found that his manners had been neglected ; for he
was inclined to walk over the butter, drink out of
the cream-pot, and put his fingers in the jelly. A
few taps with my spoon taught him to behave with
60 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
more propriety, and he sipped a drop of milk from
the waiter with a crumb of sugar, as a well-bred fly
should do.
On account of his fine voice, I named him Buzz,
and we soon got on excellently together. He
seemed to like his new quarters, and, after explor-
ing every corner of the room, he chose his favorite
haunts and began to enjoy himself. I always knew
where he was, for he kept up a constant song, hum-
ming and buzzing, like a little kettle getting ready
to boil.
On sunny days, he amused himself by bumping
his head against the window, and watching what
went on outside. It would have given me a head-
ache, but he seemed to enjoy it immensely. Up
in my hanging basket of ivy he made his bower,
and sat there on the moss basking in the sunshine,
as luxuriously as any gentleman in his ^conservatory.
He was interested in the plants, and examined them
daily with great care, walking over the ivy leaves,
grubbing under the moss, and poking his head into
the unfolding hyacinth buds to see how they got on.
BUZZ. 61
The pictures, also, seemed to attract his attention,
for he spent much time skating over the glasses and
studying the designs. Sometimes I would find him
staring at my Madonna, as if he said, " What in the
world are all those topsy-turvy children about ? "
Then he'd sit in the middle of a brook, in a water-
color sketch by Vautin, as if bathing his feet, or
seem to be eating the cherry which one little duck
politely offers another little duck, in Oscar Pletch's
Summer Party. He frequently kissed my mother's
portrait, and sat on my father's bald head, as if try-
ing to get out some of the wisdom stored up there,
like honey in an ill-thatched bee-hive. My bronze
Mercury rather puzzled him, for he could not under-
stand why the young gentleman didn't fly off when
he had four wings and seemed in such a hurry.
I'm afraid he was a trifle vain, for he sat before
the glass a great deal, and I often saw him cleaning
his proboscis, and twiddling his feelers, and I know
he was " prinking," as we say. The books pleased
him, too, and he used to run them over, as if trying
to choose which he would read, and never seemed
62 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
able to decide. He would have nothing to say to
the fat French Dictionary, or my English Plays, but
liked Goethe and Schiller, Emerson and Browning,
as well as I did. Carlyle didn't suit him, and
Richter evidently made his head ache. But Jean
Ingelow's Poems delighted him, and so did her
"Stories Told to a Child." " Fairy Bells" he often
listened to, and was very fond of the pictures in a
photograph book of foreign places and great people.
He frequently promenaded on the piazza of a
little Swiss chalet, standing on the mantel-piece,
and thought it a charming residence for a single
gentleman like himself. The closet delighted him
extremely, and he buzzed in the most joyful manner
when he got among the provisions, for we kept
house together. Such revels as he had in the sugar-
bowl ; such feasts of gingerbread and grapes ; such
long sips of milk, and sly peeps into every uncovered
box and dish ! Once I'm afraid he took too much
cider, for I found him lying on his back, kicking and
humming like a crazy top, and he was very queer all
the rest of that day ; so I kept the bottle corked
BUZZ. 63
after that. But his favorite nook was among the
ferns in the vase which a Parian dancing-girl carried.
She stood just over the stove on one little toe, rat-
tling some castanets, which made- no sound, and
never getting a step farther for all her prancing.
This was a warm and pretty retreat for Buzz, and
there he spent much of his time, swinging on the
ferns, sleeping snugly in the vase, or warming his
feet in the hot air that blew up, like a south wind,
from the stove.
I don't believe there was a happier fly in Boston
than my friend Buzz, and I grew fonder and fonder
of him every day ; for he never got into mischief,
but sung his cheery song, no matter what the
weather was, and made himself agreeable. Then
he was so interested in all I did, it was delightful
to have him round. When I wrote he came and
walked about over my paper to see that it was right,
peeped into my ink-stand, and ran after my pen.
He never made silly or sharp criticisms on my*
stories, but appeared to admire them very much ;
so I am sure he was a good judge. When I sewed,
64 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-RAG.
he sat4n my basket, or played hide-and-seek in the
folds of my work, talking away all the while in the
most sociable manner. He often flew up all of a
sudden, and danced about in the air, as if he was in
such a jolly mood he couldn't keep still, and wanted
me to come and play with him. But, alas ! I had
no wings, and could only sit stupidly still, and laugh
at his pranks. That was his exercise, for he never
went- out, and only took a sniff of air now and then
when I opened the windows.
Well, little Buzz and I lived together many weeks,
and never got tired of one another, which is saying
a good deal. At Christmas I went home for a week
and left my room to take care of itself. I put the
hyacinths into the closet to be warm, and dropped
the curtain, so the frost should not nip my ivy ; but
I forgot Buzz. I really would have taken him with
me, or carried him down to a neighbor's room to be
taken care of while I was away, but I never thought
of him in the hurry of getting my presents and my-
self ready. Off I went without even saying " good-
by," and never thought of my little friend till
BUZZ. 65
Freddy, my small nephew, said to me one evening
at dusk,
" Aunt Jo, tell me a story."
So I began to tell him about Buzz, and all of a
sudden I cried out,
" Mercy on me ! I'm afraid he'll die of cold while
I'm gone."
It troubled me a good deal, and I wanted to know
how the poor little fellow was so much that I would
have gone to see if I had not been so far away.
But it would be rather silly to hurry away twenty
miles to look after one fly : so I finished my visit,
and then went back to my room, hoping to find Buzz
alive and well in spite of the cold.
Alas, no! my little friend was gone. There he
lay on his back on the mantel-piece, his legs meekly
folded, and his wings stiff and still. He had evi-
dently gone to the warm place, and been surprised
when the heat died out and left him to freeze. My
poor little Buzz had sung his last song, danced his
last dance, and gone where the good flies go. I was
very sorry, and buried him among the ivy roots,
5
66 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
where the moss lay green above him, the sun shone
warmly on him, and the bitter cold could never
come. I miss him very much ; when I sit writing,
I miss his cheerful voice and busy wings ; at meals
there is no tidy little body to drink up spilt drops
and eat the crumbs ; in the evenings, when I sit
alone, I want him more than ever, and every day as
I water my plants, I say, softly,
" Grow green, ivy, lie lightly, moss, shine warmly,
sun, and make his last bed pleasant to my little
friend."
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 67
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE.
OU' can>t do tms ' and ' 7 OU mustn't do that,'
from morning to night. Try it yourself and
see how you'd like it," muttered Harry, as he flung
down his hat in sulky obedience to his father's com-
mand to give up a swim in the river and keep him-
self cool with a book that warm summer evening.
" Of course I should like to mind my parents.
Good children always do," began Mr. Fairbairn,
entirely forgetting the pranks of his boyhood, as
people are apt to.
" Glad I didn't know you then. Must have been
a regular prig," growled Harry under his breath.
" Silence, sir ! go to your room, and don't let me
see you till tea-time. You must be taught respect
as well as obedience," and Mr. Fairbairn gave the
table a rap that caused his son to retire precipi-
tately.
68 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
On the stairs he met his sister Kitty looking as
cross as himself.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, pausing
a minute, for misery loves company.
" Mamma will make me dress up in a stiff clean
frock, and have my hair curled over again, just
because some one may come. I want to play in the
garden, and I can't all fussed up this way. I do
hate company and clothes and manners, don't you?"
answered Kitty, with a spiteful pull at her sash.
" I hate being ordered round everlastingly, and
badgered from morning till night. I'd % just like to
be let alone," and Harry went on his way to cap-
tivity with a grim shake of the head and a very
strong desire to run away from home altogether.
" So would I, mamma is so fussy. I never have
any peace of my life," sighed Kitty, feeling that her
lot was a hard one.
The martyr in brown linen went up, and the other
martyr in white cambric went down, both looking as
they felt, rebellious and unhappy, y Yet a stranger
seeing them and their home would hav.e thought
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 69
they had every thing heart could desire. All the
comforts that money could buy, and all the beauty
that taste could give seemed gathered round them.
Papa and mamma loved the two little people dearly,
and no real care or sorrow came to trouble the lives
that would have been all sunshine but for one thing.
With the best intentions in the world, Mr. and Mrs.
Fairbairn.were spoiling their children by constant
fault-finding, too many rules, and too little sympathy
with the active young souls and bodies under their
care./ As Harry said, they were ordered about, cor-
rected and fussed over from morning till night, and
were getting so tired of it that the most desperate
ideas began to enter their heads.
Now, in the house was a quiet old maiden aunt,
who saw the mischief brewing and tried to cure it
by suggesting more liberty and less " nagging," as
the boys call it. But Mr. and Mrs. F. always
silenced her by saying,
" My dear Betsey, you never had a family, so how
can you know any thing about the proper manage-
ment of children ? "
70 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
. They quite forgot that sister Betsey had brought
up a flock of motherless brothers and sisters, and
done it wisely and well, though she never got any
thanks or praise for it, and never expected any for
doing her duty faithfully. If it had not been for
aunty, Harry and Kitty would have long ago carried
out their favorite plan and have run away together,
like Roland and Maybird. She kept them from this
foolish prank by all sorts of unsuspected means, and
was their refuge in troublous times. For all her
quiet ways, aunty was full of fun as well as sympa-
thy and patience, and she smoothed the thorny road
to virtue with the innocent and kindly little arts
that make some people as useful and beloved as
good fairy godmothers were once upon a time.
As they sat at tea that evening papa and mamma
were most affable and lively; but the children's
spirits were depressed by a long day of restraint, and
they sat like well-bred mutes, languidly eating their
supper.
"It's the warm weather. They need something
bracing. I'll give them a dose of iron mixture to-
morrow," said mamma.
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 71
<c Fve taken enough now to make a cooking-stove,"
groaned Kitty, who hated being dosed.
" If you'd let me go swimming every night I'd be
all right," added Harry.
" Not another word on that point. I will not let
you do it, for you will get drowned as sure as you
try," said mamma, who was so timid she had panics
the minute her boy was out of sight.
" Aunt Betsey let her boys go, and they never
came to grief," began Harry.
" Aunt Betsey's ideas and mine differ. Children
are not brought up now as they were in her day,"
answered mamma with a superior air.
"I just wish they were. Jolly good times her
boys had."
" Yes, and girls too, playing any thing they liked,
and not rigged up and plagued with company," cried
Kitty, with sudden interest.
"What do you mean by that?" asked papa, good-
naturedly ; for somehow his youth returned to him
for a minute, and seemed very pleasant.
The children could not explain very well, but
Harry said slowly,
72 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
" If you were to be in our places for a day you'd
see what we mean."
" Wouldn't it be worth your while to try the ex-
periment ? " said Aunt Betsey, with a smile.
Papa and mamma laughed at the idea, but looked
sober when aunty added,
" Why not put yourselves in their places for a day
and see how you like it ? I think you would under-
stand the case better than any one could describe it,
and perhaps do both yourselves and the children a
lasting service."
" Upon my word, that's a droll idea ! What do
you say to it, mamma?" and papa looked much
amused.
" I am willing to try it if you are, just for the fun
of the thing, but I don't think it will do any good ; "
and mamma shook her head as if Aunt Betsey's
plan was a wild one.
The children sat quite speechless with surprise
at this singular proposal, but as its full richness
dawned upon them, they skipped in their chairs and
clapped their hands delightedly.
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 73
" How do you propose to carry out this new edu-
cational frolic?" asked papa, beginning to feel some
curiosity as to the part he was to play.
" Merely let the children do as they like for one
day and have full power over you. Let them plan
your duties and pleasures, order your food, fix your
hours, and punish or reward you as they think
proper. You must promise entire obedience, and
keep the agreement till night."
" Good ! good ! Qh, won't it be fun ! " cried Harry
and Kitty, applauding enthusiastically ; while papa
and mamma looked rather sober as the plan was
developed before them.
" To-morrow is a holiday for us all, and we might
celebrate it by this funny experiment. It will amuse
us and do no harm, at any rate," added aunty, quite
in love with her new scheme.
" Very well, we will. Come, mamma, let us prom-
ise, and see what these rogues will do for us. Play-
ing father and mother is no joke, min<J you ; but you
will have an easier time of it than we do, for we
shall behave ourselves," said papa, with a virtuous
expression.
74 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Mamma agreed, and the supper ended merrily, for
every one was full of curiosity as to the success of
the new play. Harry and Kitty went to bed early,
that they might be ready for the exciting labors of
the next day. Aunt Betsey paid each a short visit
before they slept, and it is supposed that she laid
out the order of performances, and told each what
to do ; for the little people would never have thought
of so many sly things if left to themselves.
At seven, the next morning, as mamma was in
her dressing-room, just putting on her cool, easy
wrapper, in came Kitty with a solemn face, though
her eyes danced with fun, as she said,
" Careless, untidy girl ! Put on a clean dress, do
up your hair properly, and go and practise half an
hour before breakfast."
At first mamma looked as if inclined to refuse, but
Kitty was firm ; and, with a sigh, mamma rustled into
a stiff", scratchy, French print, took her hair out of the
comfortable net, and braided it carefully up ; then,
instead of reading in her arm-chair, she was led to
the parlor and set to learning a hard piece of
music.
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 75
" Can't I have my early cup of tea and my roll ? "
she asked.
" Eating between meals is a very bad habit, and I
can't allow it," said Kitty, in the tone her mother often
used to her. " I shall have a mug of new milk and
a roll, because grown people need more nourishment
than children;" and sitting down, she ate her early
lunch with a relish, while poor mamma played away,
feeling quite out of tune herself.
Harry found papa enjoying the last delightful
dose that makes bed so fascinating of a morning.
As if half afraid to try the experiment, the boy
slowly approached and gave the sleeper a sudden,
hard shake, saying briskly,
" Come, come, come, lazy-bones ! Get up, get up ! "
Papa started as if an earthquake had roused him,
and stared at Harry, astonished for a minute, then
he remembered, and upset Harry's gravity by whin-
ing out,
" Come, you let me alone. It isn't time yet, and
I am so tired."
Harry took the joke, and assuming the stern air
of his father on such occasions, said impressively,
76 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
" You have been called, and now if you are not
down in fifteen minutes you won't have any break-
fast. Not a morsel, sir, not a morsel ; " and, coolly
pocketing his father's watch, he retired, to giggle all
the way downstairs.
When the breakfast bell rang, mamma hurried
into the dining-room, longing for her tea. But
Kitty sat behind the urn, and said gravely,
"Go back, and enter the room properly. Will
you never learn to behave like a lady?"
Mamma looked impatient at the delay, and having
re-entered in her most elegant manner, sat down,
and passed her plate for fresh trout and muffins.
"No fish or hot bread for you, my dear. Eat
your good oatmeal porridge and milk ; that is the
proper food for children."
" Can't I have some tea ? " cried mamma, in de-
spair, for without it she felt quite lost.
" Certainly not. I never was allowed tea when a
little girl, and couldn't think of giving it to you,"
said Kitty, filling a large cup for herself, and sipping
the forbidden draught with a relish.
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 77
Poor mamma quite groaned at this hard fate, but
meekly obeyed, and ate the detested porridge, under-
standing Kitty's dislike to it at last.
Harry, sitting in his father's chair, read the paper,
and ate every thing he could lay his hands on, with
a funny assumption of his father's morning manner.
Aunt Betsey looked on much amused, and now and
then nodded to the children as if she thought things
were going nicely.
Breakfast was half over when papa came in, and
was about to take Harry's place, when his son
said, trying vainly to look grave as he showed the
watch,
" What did I tell you, sir ? You are late again,
sir. No breakfast, sir. I'm sorry, but this habit
must be broken up. Not a word; it's your own
fault, and you must bear the penalty."
" Come, now, that's hard on a fellow ! I'm awful
hungry. Can't I have just a bite of something?"
asked papa, quite taken aback at this stern decree.
" I said not a morsel, and I shall keep my word.
Go to your morning duties, and let this be a lesson
to you."
78 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Papa cast a look at Aunt Betsey, that was both
comic and pathetic, and departed without a word ;
but he felt a sudden sympathy with his son, who
had often been sent fasting from the table for some
small offence.
Now it was that he appreciated aunty's kind
heart, and felt quite . fond of her, for in a few min-
utes she came to him, as he raked the gravel walk
(Harry's duty every day), and slipping a nice, warm,
well-buttered muffin into his hand, said, in her
motherly way,
" My dear, do try and please your father. . He is
right about late rising, but I can't bear to see you
starve."
" Betsey, you are an angel ! " and turning his back
to the house, papa bolted the muffin with grateful
rapidity, inquiring, with a laugh, "Do you think
those rogues will keep it up in this vigorous style
all day?"
"I trust so; it isn't a bit overdone. Hope you
like it," and Aunt Betsey walked away, looking
as if she enjoyed it extremely.
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 79
"Now put on your hat and draw baby up and
down the avenue for half an hour. Don't go on the
grass or you will wet your feet ; and don't play with
baby, I want her to go to sleep ; and don't talk to
papa or he will neglect his work," said Kitty, as
they rose from table.
Now it was a warm morning and baby was heavy
and the avenue was dull, and mamma much pre-
ferred to stay in the house and sew the trimming
on to a new and pretty dress.
"Must I really? Kitty you are a hard-hearted
mamma to make me do it," and Mrs. Fairbairn
hoped her play-parent would relent.
But she did not, and only answered with a mean-
ing loo"k,
" I have to do it every day and you don't let me
off." .
Mamma said no more, but put on her hat and
trundled away with fretful baby, thinking to find
her fellow-sufferer and have a laugh over the joke.
She was disappointed, however, for Harry called
papa away to weed the lettuce-bed, and then shut
80 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
him up in the study to get his lessons, while he
mounted the pony and trotted away to town to buy
a new fishing-rod and otherwise enjoy himself.
When mamma came in, hot and tired, she was met
by Kitty with a bottle in one hand and a spoon in
the other.
" Here is your iron mixture, dear. Now take it
like a good girL"
" I won't ! " and mamma looked quite stubborn.
" Then aunty will hold your hands and I* shall
make you."
"But I don't like it; I don't need it," cried
mamma.
" Neither do I, but you give it to me all the same.
I'm sure you need strengthening more than I do,
you have so many c trials,' " and Kitty looked very
sly as she quoted one of the words often on her
mother's lips.
" You'd better mind, Carrie ; it can't hurt you,
and you know you promised entire obedience. Set
a good example," said aunty.
" But I never thought these little chits would do
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 81
so well. Ugh, how disagreeable it is ! " And
mamma took her dose with a wry face, feeling that
Aunt Betsey was siding with the wrong party.
" Now sit down and hem these towels till dinner-
time. I have so much to do I don't know which
way to turn," continued Kitty, much elated with her
success.
Rest of any sort was welcome, so mamma sewed
busily till callers came. They happened to be some
little friends of Kitty's, and she went to them in the
parlor, telling mamma to go up to nurse and have
her hair brushed and her dress changed, and then
come and see the guests. While she was away
Kitty told the girls the joke they were having, and
begged them to help her carry it out. They agreed, *
being ready for fun and not at all afraid of Mrs.
Fairbairn. So when she came in they all began to
kiss and cuddle and praise and pass her round as if
she was a doll, to her great discomfort and the great
amusement of the little girls.
While this was going on in the drawing-room,
Harry was^tutoring his father in the study, and put-
82 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
ting that poor gentleman through a course of ques-
tions that nearly drove him distracted ; for Harry
got out the hardest books he could find, and selected
the most puzzling subjects. A dusty old history
was rummaged out also, and classical researches fol-
lowed in which papa's memory played him false
more than once, calling forth rebukes from his severe
young tutor. But he came to open disgrace over
his mathematics, for he had no head for figures, and
not being a business man, had not troubled himself
about the matter, so Harry, who was in fine practice,
utterly routed him in mental arithmetic by giving
him regular puzzlers, and when he got stuck offered
no help, but shook his head and called him a stupid
fellow.
The dinner-bell released the exhausted student,
and he gladly took his son's place, looking as if he
had been hard at work. He was faint with hunger,
but was helped last, being " only a boy," and then
checked every five minutes for eating too fast.
Mamma was very meek, and only looked wistfully at
the pie when told in her own words that pastry was
bad for children.
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 83
Any attempts at conversation were promptly
quenched by the worn-out old saying, " Children
should be seen, not heard," while Harry and Kitty
chattered all dinner-time, and enjoyed it to their
heart's content, especially the frequent pecks at
their great children, who, to be even with them,
imitated all their tricks as well as they could.
" Don't whistle at table, papa ; " " keep your hands
still, mamma ; " " wait till you are helped, sir ; "
"tuck your napkin well in, and don't spill your
soup, Caroline."
Aunt Betsey laughed till her eyes were full, and
they had a jolly time, though the , little people had
the best of it, for the others obeyed them in spite of
their dislike to the new rules.
" Now you may play for two hours," was the gra-
cious order issued as they rose from table.
Mamma fell upon a sofa exhausted, an-d papa hur-
ried to read his paper in the shady garden.
Usually these hours of apparent freedom were
spoilt by constant calls, not to run, not to play this
or that, or frequent calls to do errands. The chil-
84 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
dren had mercy, however, and left them in peace ;
which was a wise move on the whole, for the poor
souls found rest so agreeable they privately resolved
to let the children alone in their play-hours.
" Can I go over and see Mr. Hammond ? " asked
papa, wishing to use up the last half-hour of his
time by a neighborly call.
" No ; I don't like Tommy Hammond, so I don't
wish you to play with his father," said Harry, with
a sly twinkle of the eye, as he turned the tables on
his papa.
Mr. Fairbairn gave a low whistle and retired to
the barn, where Harry followed him, and ordered
the man to harness up old Bill.
" Going to drive, sir ? " asked papa, respectfully.
"Don't ask questions," was all the answer he
got.
Old Bill was put into the best buggy and driven
to the hall door. Papa followed, and mamma sprang
up from her nap, ready for her afternoon drive.
" Can't I go ? " she asked, as Kitty came down in
her new hat and gloves.
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. , 85
" No ; there isn't room."
" Why not have the carryall, and let us go, too,
we like it so much," said papa, in the pleading tone
Harry often used.
Kitty was about to consent, for she loved mamma,
and found it hard to cross her so. But Harry was
made of sterner stuff; his wrongs still burned within
him, and he said impatiently,
" We can't be troubled with you. The buggy is
nicest and lightest, and we want to talk over our
affairs. You, my son, can help John turn the hay
on the lawn, and Caroline can amuse baby, or help
Jane with the preserves. Little girls should be
domestic."
" Oh, thunder ! " growled papa.
" Aunt Betsey taught you that speech, you saucy
boy," cried mamma, as the children drove off in high
glee, leaving their parents to the distasteful tasks set
them.
Mrs. Fairbairn wanted to read, but baby was fret-
ful, and there was no Kitty to turn him over to, so
she spent her afternoon amusing the small tyrant,
while papa made hay in the sun and didn't like it.
86 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Just at tea-time the children came home, full of
the charms of their drive, but did not take the
trouble to tell much about it to the stay-at-home
people. Bread and milk was all they allowed their
victims, while they revelled in marmalade and cake,
fruit and tea.
" I expect company this evening, but I don't wish
you to sit up, Caroline ; you are too young, and late
hours are bad for your eyes. Go to bed, and don't
forget to brush your hair and teeth well, five min-
utes for each ; cold cream your hands, fold your rib-
bons, hang up your clothes, put out your boots to be
cleaned, and put in the mosquito bars ; I will come
and take away the light when I am dressed."
Kitty delivered this dread command with effect,
for she had heard and cried over it too often not to
have it quite by heart.
" But I can't go to bed at half-past seven o'clock
of a summer night ! I 'm not sleepy, and this is just
the pleasantest time of the whole day," said mamma,
thinking her bargain a hard one.
" Go up directly, my daughter, and don't discuss
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 87
the matter ; I know what is best for you," and Kitty
sent social, wide-awake mamma to bed, there to
lie thinking soberly till Mrs. Kit came for the
lamp.
" Have you had a happy day, love ? "she asked,
bending over the pillow, as her mother used to do.
u No, ma'am."
" Then it was your own fault, my child. Obey
your parents in all things, and you will be both good
and happy."
" That depends " began mamma, but stopped
short, remembering that to-morrow she would be on
the other side, and any thing she might say now
would be quoted against her.
But Kitty understood, and her heart melted as
she hugged her mother and said in her own caress-
ing way,
" Poor Uttle mamma ! did she have a hard time ?
and didn't she like being a good girl and minding
her parents ? "
Mamma laughed also, and held Kitty close, but all
she said was,
88 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
" Good-night, dear ; don't be troubled : it will be
all right to-morrow."
"I hope so," and with a hearty kiss, Kitty went
thoughtfully downstairs to meet several little Mends
whom she had asked to spend the evening with her.
As the ladies left the room, papa leaned back and
prepared to smoke a cigar, feeling that he needed
the comfort of it after this trying day. But Harry
was down upon him at once.
" A very bad habit, can't allow it. Throw that
dirty thing away, and go and get your Latin lesson
for to-morrow. The study is quiet, and we want this
room."
"But I am tired. I can't study at night. Let
me off till to-morrow, please, sir!" begged papa
who had not looked at Latin since he left school.
" Not a word, sir ! I shall listen to no excuses, and
shall not let you neglect your education on any ac-
count," and Harry slapped the table a la papa in the
most impressive manner.
Mr. Fairbairn went away into the dull study and
made believe do his lesson, but he really Smoked and
meditated.
THE CHILDREN'S JOKE. 89
The young folks had a grand revel, and kept it up
till ten o'clock, while mamma lay awake, longing to
go down and see what they were about, and papa
shortly fell asleep, quite exhausted by the society of
a Latin Grammar.
"Idle boy, is this the way you study?" said
Harry, audaciously tweaking him by the ear.
" No, it 's the way you do; " and feeling that his day
of bondage was* over, papa cast off his allegiance,
tucked a child under each arm, and marched up-
stairs with them, kicking and screaming. Setting
them down at the nursery door, he said, shaking his
finger at them in an awful manner,
" Wait a bit, you rascals, and see what you will get
to-morrow."
With this dark threat he vanished into his own
room, and a minute after a great burst of laughter
set their fears at rest.
" It was a fair bargain, so I 'm not afraid," said
Harry stoutly.
" He kissed us good-night though he did glower
at us, so I guess it was only fun," added Kitty.
90 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
" Hasn't it been a fiinny day ? " asked Harry.
"Don't think I quite like it, every thing is so
turned round," said Kitty.
" Guess they didn't like it very well. Hear 'em
talking in there ; " and Harry held up his finger, for a
steady murmur of conversation had followed the
laughter in papa and mamma's room.
" I wonder if our joke will do any good ? " said
Kitty thoughtfully.
" Wait and see," answered Aunt Betsey, popping
her night-capped head out of her room with a nod
and a smile that sent them to bed full of hope for
the future.
DANDELION. 91
DANDELION.
by the sea lived Ben the fisherman, with
his wife, and little son, who was called Dande-
lion, because he wore yellow pinafores, and had
curly, yellow hair, that covered his head with a
golden fuzz. A very happy family, for Ben was
kind and industrious, Hetty, his wife, a cheerful,
busy creature, and Dandelion the j oiliest three-year-
old baby who ever made sand-pies and paddled on
the beach.
But one day a great trouble came to them. Ben
and his fellow-fishermen sailed blithely away as
usual, and Hetty watched the fleet of white- winged
boats out of the bay, thinking how pretty they
looked with the sunshine on them ; while Dandelion
stood clapping his chubby hands, and saying, as he
always did, " Daddy tummin' soon." But Daddy
did not come soon that time; for a great storm
92 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
arose, and when some of the boats came scudding
home at nightfall, Ben's was not among them.
All night the gale raged, and in the morning, Ben's
boat lay empty and broken on the shore. His mates
shook their heads when they saw the wreck, and
drew their rough hands over their eyes; for Ben
was a good seaman, and they knew he never would
desert his boat alive. They looked for him far and
wide, but could hear nothing of him, and felt sure
that he had perished in the storm. They tried to
comfort poor Hetty, but she would not be comforted.
Her heart seemed broken ; and if it had not been for
her baby, her neighbors feared that she would have
gone to join Ben in his grave under the sea. Dan-
delion didn't understand why every one was so sad,
and why his father stayed away so long; but he
never lost his cheerfulness, never gave up hoping, or
stopped saying, with a contented smile, "Daddy
tummin' soon." The sunshiny little face was Hetty's
only comfort. The sight of the fuzzy yellow head,
bobbing round the house, alone made it endurable ;
and the touch of the loving baby hands kept her
DANDELION. 93
from the despair which made her long to end her
sorrow in the sea.
People don't believe in fairies now-a-days ; never-
theless, good spirits still exist, and help us in our
times of trouble, better even than the little people
we used to read about. One of these household
spirits is called Love, and it took the shape of Dan-
delion, to comfort poor Hetty. Another is called
Labor : a beautiful, happy spirit this is, and it did its
part so well that there was little time for bitter
thoughts or vain regrets ; for Hetty's spinning-wheel
must go, in order to earn bread for Dandelion, whose
mouth was always ready for food, like a hungry
bird's. Busily hummed the wheel ; and, as it flew,
it seemed to catch an echo of the baby's cheerful
song, saying, over and over, "Daddy tummin' soon,"
till Hetty stopped crying as she worked, and listened
to the cheerful whirr. " Yes, I shall see my good
Ben again, if I wait patiently. Baby takes comfort
in saying that, and I will, too ; though the poor dear
will get tired of it soon," she said.
But Dandelion didn't get tired. He firmly be-
94 AUNT JO' 8 SCRAP-BAG.
lieved what he said, and nothing could change his
mind. He had been much troubled at seeing the
boat laid up on the beach, all broken and disman-
tled, but his little mind couldn't take in the idea of
shipwreck and death ; so, after thinking it over, he
decided that Daddy was waiting somewhere for a
new boat to be sent to bring him home. This idea
was so strong that the child gathered together his
store of toy-boats, for he had many, as they were
his favorite plaything, and launched them, one
after another, telling them to find his father, and
bring him home.
As Dandelion was not allowed to play on the
beach, except at low tide, the little boats sailed safely
away on the receding waves, and the child was sure
that some of them would get safely into the distant
port where Daddy was waiting. All the boats were
launched at last, all sailed bravely away ; but none
came back, and little Dandy was much disappointed.
He babbled about it to himself; told the peeps and
the horse-shoes, the snails and the lobsters, of his
trouble; begged the gulls to fly away and find
* DANDELION. 95
Daddy ; and every windy night, when the sea dashed
on the shore and the shutters rattjed, he would want
the lamp put in the window, as it used to be when
"they expected Ben, and tried to make home look
cheerful, even before he got there.
Hetty used to humor the child, though it made
her heart ache to know that the light shone" in vain.
At such times Dandy would prance about the room
in his little shirt, and talk about Daddy as happily
as if long months had not passed without bringing
him back. When fairly in his big, old-fashioned
cradle, the boy would lie, looking more like a dande-
lion than ever, in his yellow flannel night-gown,
playing with his toes, or rocking himself to and fro,
calling the cradle his boat, and blithely telling his
mother that he was sailing " far way to find
Daddy." When tired of play, he lay still, and asked
her to sing to him. She had no heart for the gay
old sea-songs she used to sing for lullabies ; so she
sung hymns in her soft, motherly voice, till the blue
eyes closed and the golden head lay still, looking so
pretty, with the circle of bright hair above the rosy
96 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
face. "My little saint," Hetty called him; and
though she often wept sadly as she watched him,
the bitterness of her grief passed away, and a patient
hope came to her ; for the child's firm faith impressed
her deeply, the pious music of the sweet old hymns
comforted her sore heart, and daily labor kept her
cheerful, in spite of herself. The neighbors won-
dered at the change that came over her, but she
could not explain it; and no one knew that the
three good spirits, called Love, Labor, and Hope,
were working their pleasant miracles.
Six long months went by, and no one ever thought
of seeing Ben again, no one but his little son, who
still watched for him here, and his wife, who waited
to meet him hereafter.
One bright spring day something happened. The
house was as tidy as ever; the wheel hummed
briskly as Hetty sung softly to herself with a cheer-
ful face, though there were white hairs among the
brown, and her eyes had a thoughtful, absent look
at times. Dandelion, more chubby and cheery than
ever, sat at her feet, with the sunshine making a
DANDELION. 97
golden glory of his yellow hair, as he tried his new
boat in the tub of water his mother kept for her
little sailor, or tugged away with his fat fingers at
a big needle which he was trying to pull through
a bit of cloth intended for a sail. The faithful little
soul had not forgotten his father, but had come to
the conclusion that the reason his boats never pros-
pered was because they hadn't large enough sails ;
so he was intent on rigging a new boat lately given
him, with a sail that could not fail to waft Ben
safely home. With his mouth puckered up, his
downy eyebrows knit, and both hands pulling at the
big needle, he was so wrapped in his work that he did
not mind the stopping of the wheel when Hetty fell
into a reverie, thinking of the happy time when
she and Ben should meet again. Sitting so, neither
heard a step come softly over the sand; neither
saw an eager, brown face peer in at the door ; and
neither knew, for a minute, that Ben was watching
them, with a love and longing in his heart that
made him tremble like a woman.
Dandelion saw him first; for, as he 'pulled the
7
98 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
thread through with a triumphant jerk, the small
sailmaker lost his balance, tumbled over, and lay
staring up at the tall man with his blue eyes so wide
open, they looked as if they would never shut again.
All of a sudden, he shouted, with a Joyful shout,
"Daddy's tummin'!" and the next instant, van-
ished, ship and all, in the arms of the man who
wore the rough jacket. Over went the spinning-
wheel, as Hetty vanished likewise ; and for a time
there was nothing but sobbing and kissing, cling-
ing, and thanking Heaven for its kindness to them.
When they grew quieter, and Ben got into his old
chair, with his wife on one knee and his boy on the
other, he told them how he was wrecked in the gale,
picked up by an outward-bound ship, and only able
to get back after months of sickness and delay.
" My boaty fetched him," said Dandelion, feeling
that every thing had turned out just as he expected.
"So it did, my precious; leastways, your faith
helped, I haven't a doubt," cried Hetty, hugging the
curly-headed prophet close, as she told Ben all that
had happened.
DANDELION. 99
Ben didn't say much, but a few great tears rolled
down the rough blue jacket, as he looked from the
queer sail with its two big stitches to the little son,
whose love, he firmly believed, had kept him safe
through many dangers, and brought him home at
last.
When the fine new boat was built, no one thought
it strange that Ben named it " Dandelion ; " no one
laughed at the little sail which always hung over
the fire-place in the small house; and long years
after, when Ben was an old man, and sat by the
door with his grandchildren on his knee, the story
which always pleased them best was that which
ended with the funny words, "Daddy tummin'
100 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
MADAM CLUCK, AND HER FAMILY.
'THHERE never was a prouder mamma than
Madam Cluck when she led forth her family
of eight downy little chicks. Chanticleer, Strut,
Snowball, Speckle, Peep, Peck, Downy, and Blot
were their names ; and no sooner were they out of
the shell than they began to chirp and scratch as
gayly as if the big world in which they suddenly
found themselves was made for their especial benefit.
It was a find brood ; but poor Madam Cluck had bad
luck with her, chicks, for they were her first, and she
didn't know how to manage them. Old Aunt Cockle-
top told her that she didn't, and predicted that " those
poor dears would come to bad ends."
Aunt Cockletop was right, as you will see, when
I have told the sad history of this unfortunate
family. The tragedy began with Chanty, who was
the boldest little cockadoodle who ever tried to crow.
MADAM CLUCK, AND HER FAMILY. 101
Before he had a feather to his bit of a tail, Chanty
began to fight, and soon was known as the most
quarrelsome chick in the farm-yard. Having picked
his brothers and sisters, he tried to do the same to
his playmates, the ducklings, goslings, and young
turkeys, and was so disagreeable that all the fowls
hated him. One day, a pair of bantams arrived,
pretty little white birds, with red crests and nice
yellow feet. Chanty thought he could beat Mr.
Bantam easily, he was so small, and invited him to
fight. Mr. B. declined. Then Chanty called him a
coward, and gave Mrs. B. a peck, which so enraged
her spouse that he flew at Chanty like a game-cock,
and a dreadful fight followed, which ended in Chan-
ty's utter defeat, for he died from his wounds.
Downy and Snowball soon followed ; for the two
sweet little things would swing on the burdock-leaves
that grew over the brook. Sitting side by side, the
plump sisters were placidly swaying up and down
over the clear brown water rippling below, when
ah ! sad to relate the stem broke, and down went
leaf, chickens and all, to a watery death.
102 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
" I'm the most unlucky hen ever hatched! " groaned
poor Madam Cluck ; and it did seem so, for the very
next week, Speckle, the best and prettiest of the
brood, went to walk with Aunt Cockletop, " grass-
hoppering " they called it, in the great field across
the road. What a nice time Speckle did have, to be
sure ; for the grasshoppers were lively and fat, and
aunt was in an unusually amiable mood.
u Never run away from any thing, but face danger
and conquer it, like a brave chick," said the old
biddy, as she went clucking through the grass, with
her gray turban wagging in the wind. Speckle had
hopped away from a toad with a startled chirp,
which caused aunt to utter that remark. The words
had hardly left her beak, when a shadow above
made her look up, give one loud croak of alarm, and
then scuttle away, as fast as legs and wings could
carry her.
Little Speckle, remembering the advice, and un-
conscious of the danger, stood her ground as a great
hawk came circling nearer and nearer, till, with a
sudden dart, he pounced on the poor chicken, and
MADAM CLUCK, AND HER FAMILY. 103
bore it away chirping dismally, "Aunty told me
not to run. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! What shall I
do?"
It was a dreadful blow to Mrs. Cluck ; and Aunt
Cockletop didn't show herself for a whole day after
that story was known, for every fowl in the yard
twitted her with the difference between her preach-
ing and her practice.
Strut, the other son, was the vainest chick ever
seen ; and the great aim of his life was to crow
louder than any other cock in the neighborhood.
He was at it from morning till night, and every one
was tired to death of hearing his shrill, small voice
making funny attempts to produce hoarse little crows,
as he sat on the wall and stretched his yellow neck,
till his throat quite ached with the effort.
"Ah! if I could only fly to the highest beam in
the barn, and give a splendid crow that every one
could hear, I should be perfectly happy," said this
silly little fowl, as he stared up at the loft where the
old cock often sat.
So he tried every day to fly and crow, and at last
104 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
managed to get up ; then how he did strut and rus-
tle .his feathers, while his playmates sat below and
watched him.
''You'll fall and get hurt," said his sister Blot.
"Hold your tongue, you ugly little thing, and
don't talk to me. I'm going to crow, and can't be
interrupted by any silly bit of a hen. Be quiet,
down there, and hear if I can't do it as well as
daddy."
The chicks stopped scratching and peeping, and
sat in a row to hear Strut crow. Perching himself
on the beam, he tried his best, but only a droll
" cock-a-doodle-doo " came of it, and all the chicks
laughed. That made Strut mad, and he resolved to
crow, even if he killed himself doing it. He gave
an angry cluck, flapped his wings, and tried again.
Alas, alas, for poor Strut ! he leaned so far forward
in his frantic effort to get a big crow out, that he
toppled over and fell bump on the hard barn-floor,
killing himself instantly.
For some time after this, Mrs. Cluck kept her three
remaining little ones close to her side, watching over
MADAM CLUCK, AND HER FAMILY. 105
them with maternal care, till they were heartily tired
of her anxious duckings. Peep and Peck were
always together, being very fond of one another.
Peep was a most inquisitive chicken, poking her
head into every nook and corner, and never satisfied
till she had seen all there was to see. Peck was a
glutton, eating every thing she could find, and often
making herself ill by gobbling too fast, and forget-
ting to eat a little gravel to help digest her food.
" Don't go out of the barn, children. I'm going
to lay an egg, and can't look after you just now,"
said their mother one day.
" Yes, ma'am," chirped the chickens ; and then, as
she went rustling into the hay-mow, they began to
run about and enjoy themselves with all their might.
Peep found a little hole into the meal-room, and
slipped in, full of joy at the sight of the bags, boxes,
and bins. " I'll eat all I want,, and then I'll call
Peck," she said ; and having taken a taste of every
thing, she was about to leave, when she heard the
stable-man coming, and in her night couldn't find
the hole, so flew into the meal-bin and hid herself.
106 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
m
Sam never saw her, but shut down the cover of the
bin as he passed, and left. poor Peep to die. No one
knew what had become of her till some days later,
when she was found dead in the meal, with her poor
little claws sticking straight up, as if imploring help.
Peck, meanwhile, got into mischief also ; for, in her
hunt for something good to eat, she strayed into the
sheep-shed, and finding some salt, ate as much as
she liked, not knowing that salt is bad for hens.
Having taken all she wanted, she ran back to the
barn, and was innocently catching gnats when her
mamma came out of the hay-mow, with a loud
" Cut-cut-cut-ca-dar-cut ! "
" Where is Peep ? " asked Mrs. Cluck.
" Don't know, ma. She " there Peck stopped
suddenly, rolled up her eyes, and began to stagger
about as if she was tipsy.
" Mercy on us ! . What's the matter with the
chick ? " cried Mrs. Cluck, in great alarm.
"Fits, ma'am," answered Doctor Drake, who just
then waddled by.
" Oh ! what can I do ? " screamed the distracted
hen.
MAQAM CLUCK, AND HER FAMILY. 107
" Nothing, ma'am ; it's . fatal." And the doctor
waddled on to visit Dame Partlet's son, who was ill
of the pip.
" My child, my child ! don't flap and stagger so !'
Let me hold you! Taste this mint-leaf! Have a
drop of water ! What shall I do ? "
As poor Mrs. Cluck sighed and sobbed, her un-
happy child went scuffling about on her back, gasp-
ing and rolling up her eyes in great anguish, for she
had eaten too much of the fatal salt, and there was
no help for her. When all was over, they buried
the dead chicken under a currant-bush, covered the
little grave with chickweed, and the bereaved parent
wore a black string round her leg for a month.
Blot, " the last of that bright band," needed no
mourning, for she was as black as a crow. This was
the reason why her mother never had loved her as
much as she did the others, who were all white, gray,
or yellow. Poor little Blot had been much neglected
by every one ; but now her lonely mamma discov-
ered how good and affectionate a chicken she was,
for Blot was a great comfort to her, never running
108
away or disobeying in any way, but always close to
her side, ready to creep under her wing, or bripg her
a plump bug when the poor biddy's appetite failed
her. They were very happy together till Thanks-
giving drew near, when a dreadful pestilence seemed
to sweep through the farm-yard; for turkeys, hens,
ducks, and geese fell a prey to it, and were seen by
their surviving relatives, featherless, pale, and stiff,
borne away to some unknown place whence no fowl
returned. Blot was waked one night by a great
cackling and fluttering in the hen-house, and peeping
down from her perch, saw a great hand glide along
the roost, clutch her beloved mother by the leg, and
pull her off, screaming dolefully, "Good-by, good-
by, my darling -child ! "
Aunt Cockletop pecked and croaked fiercely ;
but, tough as she was, the old biddy did not escape,
and many another amiable hen and gallant cocka-
doodle fell a victim to that mysterious hand. In
the morning few remained, and Blot felt that she
was a forlorn orphan, a thought which caused her to
sit with her head under her wing for several hours,
MADAM CLUCK, AND HER FAMILY. 109
brooding over her sad lot, and longing to join her
family in some safe and happy land, where fowls live
in peace. She had her wish very soon, for one day,
when the first snowflakes began to flutter out of the
cold, gray sky, Blot saw a little kitten mewing piti-
fully as it sat under the fence.
" What is the matter, dear ? " asked kind Blot.
" I'm lost, and I can't find my way home," answered
the kitten, shivering with cold. " I live at the red
farm-house over the hill, only I don't know which
road to take."
" I'll show you. Come at once, for night is
coming on, and the snow will soon be too deep for
us," said Blot.
So away they went, as fast as their small legs
could carry them ; but it was a long way, and dusk
came on before the red farm-house appeared.
" Now I'm safe ; thank you very much. Won't
you come in, and stay all night ? ~ My mother will
be glad to see you," said the kit, rubbing her soft
white face against Blot's little black breast.
" It's against the rule to stay out all night, and I
110 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
promised to be in early ; so, good-by, dear." And
off trotted Blot along the snowy road, hoping to get
home before the hen-house door was shut. Faster
and faster fell the snow, darker and darker grew the
night, and colder and colder became poor Blot's
little feet as. she waded through the drifts. The
firelight was shining out into the gloom, as the half-
frozen chicken came into the yard, to find all doors
shut, and no shelter left for her but the bough of a
leafless tree. Too stiff and weak to fly up, she crept
as close as possible to the bright glow which shone
across the door-step, and with a shiver put her little
head under her wing, trying to forget hunger, weari-
ness, and the bitter cold, and wait patiently for
morning. But when morning came, little Blot lay
frozen stiff under a coverlet of snow ; and the
tender-hearted children sighed as they dug a grave
for the last of the unfortunate family of the Clucks.
A CURIOUS CALL. Ill
- A CURIOUS CALL.
T HAVE often wondered what the various statues
standing about the city think of all day, and
what criticisms they would make upon us and our
doings, if they could speak. I frequently stop and
stare at them, wondering if they don't feel lonely ;
if they wouldn't be glad of a nod as wo go by ; and
I always long to offer my umbrella to shield their
uncovered heads on a rainy day, especially to good
Ben Franklin, when the snow lies white on his
benevolent forehead. I was always fond of this old
gentleman ; and one of my favorite stories wljen a
little girl, was that of his early life, and the time
when he was so poor he walked about Philadelphia
with a roll of bread under each arm, eating a third
as he went. I never pass without giving him a
respectful look, and. wishing he could know how
grateful I am for all he had done in the printing
112 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
line; for, without types and presses, where would
the books be?
Well, I never imagined tha"t he understood why
the tall woman in the big bonnet stared "at him ; but
he did, and he liked it, and managed to let me know
it in a very curious manner, as you shall hear.
As I look out, the first thing I see is the great gilt
eagle on the City-Hall dome. There he sits, with
open wings, all day long, looking down on the peo-
ple, who must appear .like ants scampering busily to
and fro about an ant-hill. The sun shines on him
splendidly in the morning ; the gay flag waves and
rustles in the wind above him sometimes ; and the
moonlight turns him to silver when she comes glit-
tering up the sky. When it rains, he never shakes
his feathers ; snow beats on him without disturbing
his stately repose ; and he never puts his head under
his wing at night, but keeps guard in darkness as in
day, like a faithful sentinel. I like the big, lonely
bird, call him my particular fowl, and often wish
he'd turn 'his head and speak to me. One night he
did actually do it, or seemed to ; for I've never been
A CURIOUS CALL. 113
able to decide whether I dreamed what I'm going
to tell you, or wh^her it really happened.
It was a stormy night ; and, as I drew down my
curtain, I said to myself, after peering through the
driving snow to catch a glimpse of my neighbor,
" Poor Goldy ! he'll have a rough time of it. I hope
this northeaster won't blow him off his perch."
Then I sat down by my fire, took my knitting, and
began to meditate. I'm sure I didn't fall asleep;
but I can't prove it, so we'll say no more about
it. All at once there came a tap at my door, as I
thought ; and I said " Come in," just as Mr. Poe did
when that unpleasant raven paid him a call. No
one came, so I went to see who it was. Not a sign
of a human soul in the long hall, only little Jessie,
the poodle, asleep on her mat. Down I sat ; but in
a minute the tap came again ; this time so loud that
I knew it was at the window, and went to open it,
thinking that one of my doves wanted to come in
perhaps. Up went the sash, and in bounced some-
thing so big and so bright that it dazzled and
scared me.
8
114 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
" Don 2 t be frightened, ma'am ; it's only me," said
a hoarse voice. So I collected my wits, rubbed my*
eyes, and looked at my visitor. It was the gold
eagle off the City Hall ! I don't expect to be be-
lieved ; but I wish you'd been here to see, for I give
you my word, it was .a sight to behold. How he
ever got in at such a small window I can't tell ; but
there he was, strutting majestically up and down
the room, his golden plumage rustling, and his keen
eyes flashing as he walked. I really didn't know
what to do. I couldn't imagine what he came for ;
I had my doubts about the propriety of offering
him a chair ; and he was so much bigger than I ex-
pected that I was afraid he might fly away with me,
as the roc did with Sinbad ; so I did nothing but
sidle to the door, ready to whisk out, if my strange
guest appeared to be peckishly inclined. My re-
spectful silence seemed to suit him ; for, after a turn
or two, he paused, nodded gravely, and said affably,
"Good-evening, ma'am. I stepped over to bring
you old Ben's respects, and to see how you were
getting on."
A CURIOUS CALL. 115
" I'm very much obliged, sir. May I inquire who
Mr. Old-Ben is ? I'm afraid I haven't the honor of
his acquaintance."
" Yes, you have ; it's Ben Franklin, of City-Hall
yard. You know him ; and he wished me to thank
you for your interest in him."
" Dear me ! how very odd ! Will you sit down,
sir?"
" Never sit ! I'll perch here ; " and the great fowl
took his accustomed attitude just in front of the
fire, looking so very splendid that I couldn't keep
my eyes off of him.
" Ah ! you often do that. Never mind ; I rather
like it," said the eagle, graciously, as he turned his
brilliant eye upon me. I was rather abashed ; but
being very curious, I ventured to ask a few ques-
tions, as he seemed in a friendly mood.
" Being a woman, sir, I'm naturally of an inquir-
ing turn ; and I must confess that I have a strong
desire to know how it happens that you take your
walks abroad, when you are supposed to be perma-
nently engaged at home ? "
116 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
He shrugged his shoulders, and actually winked
at me, as he replied, "That's all people know of
what goes on under, or rather over, their noses.
Bless you, ma'am! I leave my roost every night,
and enjoy myself in all sorts of larks. Excuse the
expression ; but, being ornithological, it is more
proper for me than for some people who use it."
" What a gay old bird ! " thought I, feeling quite
at home after that. " Please tell me what you do,
when the shades of evening prevail, and you go out
for a frolic?"
" I am a gentleman ; therefore I behave myself,"
returned the eagle, with a stately air. " I must con-
fess, I smoke a great deal : but that's not my fault,
it's the fault of the chimneys. They keep it up all
day, and I have to take it ; just as you poor ladies
have to take cigar smoke, whether you like it or not.
My amusements are of a wholesome kind. I usually
begin by taking a long flight down the harbor, for
a look at the lighthouses, the islands, the shipping,
and the sea. My friends, the gulls, bring their re-
ports to me ; for they are the harbor-police, and I
A CURIOUS CALL. 117
take notes of their doings. The school-ship is an
object of interest to me, and I often perch on the
mast-head, to see how the lads are getting on.
Then I take a turn over the city, gossip with the
weathercocks, pay my compliments to the bells,
inspect the fire-alarm, and pick up information by
listening at the telegraph wires. People often talk
about 'a little bird' who spreads news; but they
don't know how that figure of speech originated.
It is the sparrows sitting on the wires, who receive
the electric shock, and, being hollow-boned, the
news go straight to their heads; they then fly
about, chirping it on the housetops, and the air car-
ries it everywhere. That's the way rumors rise and
news spread."
" If you'll allow, I'll make a note of that inter-
esting fact," said I, wondering if I might believe
him. He appeared to fall into a reverie, while I
jotted down the sparrow story, and it occurred to
me that perhaps I ought to offer my distinguished
guest some refreshment ; but, when I modestly
alluded to it, he said, with an aldermanic air, " No,
thank you ; I've just dined at the Parker House."
118 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Now, I really could not swallow that; and so
plainly betrayed my incredulity, that the eagle ex-
plained. " The savory smells which rise to my nos-
trils from that excellent hotel, with an occasional
sniff from the Tremont, are quite sufficient to satisfy
my appetite ; for, having no stomach, I don't need
much food, and I drink nothing but water."
" I wish others would follow your example in that
latter habit," said I, respectfully, for I was beginning
to see that there was something in my bird, Chough
he was hollow. " Will you allow me to ask if the
other statues in the city fly by night ? "
" They promenade in the parks ; and occasionally
have social gatherings, when they discuss politics,
education, medicine, or any of the subjects in which
they are interested. Ah ! we have grand times when
you are all asleep. It quite repays me for being
obliged to make an owl of myself."
" Do the statues come from the shops to these
parties ? " I asked, resolving to take a late walk the
next moonlight night.
" Sometimes ; but they get lazy and delicate, liv-
A CURIOUS CALL. 119
ing in close, warm places. We laugh at cold and
bad weather, and are so strong and hearty that I
shouldn't be surprised if I saw Webster and Everett
flying round the Common on the new-fashioned
velocipedes, for they believed in exercise. Goethe
and Schiller often step over from De Vries's win-
dow, to flirt with the goddesses, who come down
from their niches on Horticultural Hall. Nice,
robust young women are Pomona and Flora. If
your niminy-piminy girls could see them run, they
would stop tilting through the streets, and learn that
the true Grecian Bend is the line of beauty always
found in straight shoulders, well-opened chest, and
an upright figure, firmly planted on active feet."
" In your rambles don't you find a great deal of
misery ? " said I, to change the subject, for he was
evidently old-fashioned in his notions.
" Many sad sights ! " And he shook his head with
a sigh ; then added, briskly, " But there is a deal of
charity in our city, and it does its work beautifully.
By the by, I heard of a very sweet charity the other
day, a church whose Sunday school is open to all
120 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG. .
the poor children who will come; and there, in
pleasant rooms, with books, pictures, kindly teachers,
and a fatherly minister to welcome them, the poor
little creatures find refreshment for their hungry
souls. I like that ; it's a lovely illustration of the
text, ' Suffer little children to come unto me ; ' and I
call it practical Christianity."
He did like it, my benevolent old bird; for he
rustled his great wings, as if he wanted to clap
them, if there had only been room; and every
feather shone as if a clearer light than that of my
little fire had fallen on it as he spoke.
" You are a literary woman, hey ? " he said sud-
denly, as if he'd got a new idea, and was going to
pounce upon me with it.
" Ahem ! I do a little in that line," I answered,
with a modest cough.
"Then tell people about that place-; write some
stories for the children ; go and help teach them ; do
something, and make others do what they can to
increase the Sabbath sunshine that brightens one
day in the week for the poor babies who live in
shady places."
A CURIOUS CALL. 121
"I should be glad to do my best; and, if I'd
known before " I began.
" You might have known, if you'd looked about
you. People are so wrapped up in their own affairs
they don't do half they might. Now, then, hand me
a bit of paper, and I'll give you the address, so you
won't have any excuse for forgetting what I tell
you."
" Mercy on us ! what will he do next ? " thought
I, as he tweaked a feather out of his breast, gave the
nib a peck, and then coolly wrote these words on
the card I handed him : " Church of the Disciples.
Knock) and it shall be opened!" There it was, in
letters of gold ; and, while I looked at it, feeling
reproached that I hadn't known it sooner, my friend,
he didn't seem a stranger any more, said in a
business-like tone, as he put back his pen, " Now I
must be off. Old Ben reads an article on the ' Abuses
of the Press at the present day,' and I must be there
to report."
" It must be very interesting. I suppose you don't
allow mortals at your meetings ? " said'I, burning to
go, in spite of the storm.
122 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
" No, ma'am. We meet on the Common ; and, in
the present state of the weather, I don't thing flesh
and blood would stand it. Bronze, marble, and
wood, are sterner stuflj and can defy the elements."
" Good evening ; pray, call again," I said, hos-
pitably.
"I will; your eyrie suits me; but don't expect
me to call in the daytime. I'm on duty then, and
can't take my eye off my charge. The city needs a
deal of watching, my dear. Bless me ! it's striking
eight. Tour watch is seven minutes slow by the
Old South. Good-night, good-night!"
And as I opened the window, the great bird soared
away like a flash of light through the storm, leaving
me so astonished at the whole performance that I
haven't got over it yet.
TILLY'S CHRISTMAS. 123
TILLY'S CHRISTMAS.
"T'M so glad to-morrow is Christmas, because I'm
-*- going to have lots o presents."
" So am I glad, though I don't expect any pres-
ents but a pair of mittens."
" And so am I ; but I shan't have any presents at
all."
As the three little girls trudged home from school
they said these things, and as Tilly spoke, both the
others looked at her with pity and some surprise,
for she spoke cheerfully, and they wondered how-
she could be happy when she was so poor she could
have no presents on Christmas.
" Don't you wish you could find a purse full of
money right here in the path?" said Kate, the child
who was going to have " lots of presents." "
"Oh, don't I, if I could keep it honestly!" and
Tilly's eyes shone at the very thought.
124 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
"What would you buy?" asked Bessy, rubbing
her cold hands, and longing for her mittens.
" I'd buy a pair of large, warm blankets, a load
of wood, a shawl for mother, and a pair of shoes for
me ; and if there was enough left, I'd give Bessy a
new hat, and then she needn't wear Ben's old felt
one," answered Tilly.
The girls laughed at that ; but Bessy pulled the
funny hat over her ears, and said she was much
obliged, but she'd rather have candy.
"Let's look, and may be we can find a purse.
People are always going about with money at Christ-
mas time, and some one may lose it here," said Kate.
So, as they went along the snowy road, they
looked about them, half in earnest, half in fun.
Suddenly Tilly sprang forward, exclaiming,
" I see it ! I've found it ! "
The others followed, but all stopped disappointed ;
for it wasn't a purse, it was only a little bird. It
lay upon the snow with its wings spread and feebly
fluttering, as if too weak to fly. Its little feet were
benumbed with cold ; its once bright eyes were dull
TILLY'S CHRISTMAS. 125
with pain, and instead of a blithe song, it could only
utter a faint chirp, now and then, as if crying for
help.
" Nothing but a stupid old robin ; how provok-
ing ! " cried Kate, sitting down to rest.
"I shan't touch it. I found one once, and took
care of it, and the ungrateful thing flew away the
minute it was well," said Bessy, creeping under
Kate's shawl, and putting her hands under her chin
to warm them.
" Poor little birdie ! How pitiful he looks, and
how glad he must be to see some one coming to
help him! I'll take him up gently, and carry him
home to mother. Don't be frightened, dear, I'm
your friend;" and Tilly knelt down in the snow,
stretching her hand to the bird with the tencterest
pity in her face.
Kate and Bessy laughed.
" Don't stop for that thing ; it's getting late and
cold : let's go on and look for the purse," they said,
moving away.
"You wouldn't leave it to dieP' cried Tilly.
126 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
"I'd rather have the bird than the money, so I
shan't look any more. The purse wouldn't be mine,
and I should only be tempted to keep it ; but this
poor thing will thank and love me, and I'm so glad
I came in time."
Gently lifting the bird, Tilly felt its tiny cold
claws cling to her hand, and saw its dim eyes
brighten as it nestled down with a grateful chirp.
"^ow I've got a Christmas present after all," she
said, smiling, as -they walked on. " I always wanted
a bird, and this one will be such a pretty pet
for mei"
"He'll fly away the first chance he gets, and die
anyhow ; so you'd better not waste your time over
him," said Bessy.
" He can't pay you for taking care of him, and
my mother says it isn't worth while to help folks
that can't help us," added Kate.
" My mother says, * Do as you'd be done by ; ' and
I'm sure I'd like any one to help me if I was dying
of cold and hunger. ' Love your neighbor as your-
self? is another of her sayings. This bird is my
TILLY'S CHRISTMAS. 127
little neighbor, and I'll love him and care for him,
as I often wish our rich neighbor would love and
care for us," answered Tilly, breathing her warm
breath over the benumbed bird, who looked up at
her with confiding eyes, quick to feel and know a
friend.
w What a funny girl you are," said Kate ; " caring
for that silly bird, and talking about loving your
neighbor in that sober way. Mr. King don't care
a bit for you, and never will, though he knows how
poor you are ; so I don't think your plan amounts to
much."
"I believe it, though; and shall do my part,
any way. Good-night. I hope you'll have a merry
Christmas, and lots of pretty things," answered
Tilly, as they parted.
Her eyes were full, and she felt so poor as she
went on alone toward the little old house where
she lived. It would have been so pleasant to know
that she was going to have some of the pretty things
all children love to find in their full stockings on
Christmas morning. And pleasanter still to have
128 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
been able to give her mother something nice. So
many comforts were needed, and there was no hope
of getting them ; for they could barely get food and
fire.
" Never mind, birdie, we'll make the best of what
we have, and be merry in spite of every thing. You
shall have a happy Christmas, any way ; and I know
God won't forget us, if every one else does."
She stopped a minute to wipe her eyes, and lean
her cheek against the bird's soft breast, finding great
comfort in the little creature, though it could only
love her, nothing more.
" See, mother, what a nice present I've found,"
she cried, going in with a cheery face that was like
sunshine in the dark room.
" I'm glad of that, dearie ; for I haven't been able
to get my little girl any thing but a rosy apple.
Poor bird ! Give it some of your warm bread and
milk."
" Why, mother, what a big bowlful ! I'm afraid
you gave me all the milk," said Tilly, smiling over
the nice, steaming supper that stood ready for her.
TILLY'S CHRISTMAS. 129
"I've had plenty, dear. Sit down and dry your
wet feet, and put the bird in my basket on this
warm flannel."
Tilly peeped into -the closet and saw nothing
there but dry bread.
"Mother's given me all the milk, and is going
without her tea, 'cause she knows I'm hungry. Now
I'll surprise her, and she shall have a good supper
too. She is going to split wood, and I'll fix it while
she's gone."
So Tilly put down the old tea-pot, carefully
poured out a part of the milk, and from her pocket
produced a great, plummy bun, that one of the
school-children had given her, and she had saved
for her mother. A slice of the dry bread was nicely
toasted, and the bit of butter set by for her put on
it. When her mother came in there was the table
drawn up in a warm place, a hot cup of tea ready,
and Tilly and birdie waiting for her.
Such a poor little supper, and yet such a happy
one ; for love, charity, and contentment were guests
there, and that Christmas eve was a blither one
130 AUXT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
than that up at the great house, where lights shone,
fires blazed, a great tree glittered, and music
sounded, as the children danced and played.
" We must go to bed early, for we've only wood
enough to last over to-morrow. I shall be paid for
my work the day after, and then we can get some,"
said Tilly's mother, as they sat by the fire.
"If my bird was only a fairy bird, and would
give us three wishes, how nice it would be ! Poor
dear, he can't give me any thing ; but it's no mat-
ter," answered Tilly, looking at the robin, who lay
in the basket with his head under his wing, a mere
little feathery bunch.
"He can give you one thing, Tilly, the pleasure
of doing good. That is one of the sweetest things
in life; and the poor can enjoy it as well as the
rich."
As her mother spoke, with her tired hand softly
stroking her little daughter's hair, Tilly suddenly
started and pointed to the window, saying, in a
frightened v/hisper,
" I saw a face, a man's face, looking in ! It's
gone now ; but I truly saw it."
TILLYS CHRISTMAS. 131
" Some traveller attracted by the light perhaps.
I'll go and see." And Tilly's mother went to the
door.
No one was there. The wind blew cold, the stars
shone, the snow lay white on field and wood, and
the Christmas moon was glittering in the sky.
"What sort of a face was it?" asked Tilly's
mother, coming back.
" A pleasant sort of face, I think ; but I was so
startled I don't quite know what it was like. I
wish we had a curtain there," said Tilly.
" I like to have our light shine out in the evening,
for the road is dark and lonely just here, and the
twinkle of our lamp is pleasant to people's eyes as
they go by. We can do so little for our neighbors,
I am glad to cheer the way for them. Now put
these poor old shoes to dry, and go to bed, dearie ;
I'll come soon."
Tilly went, taking her bird with her to sleep in his
basket near by, lest he should be lonely in the night.
Soon the little house was dark and still, and no
one saw the Christmas spirits at their work that night.
132 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
When Tilly opened the door next morning, she
gave a loud cry, clapped her hands, and then stood
still, quite speechless with wonder and delight.
There, before the door, lay a great pile of wood, all
ready to burn, a big bundle and a basket; with a
lovely nosegay of winter roses, holly, and evergreen
tied to the handle.
"Oh, mother! did the fairies do it?" cried Tilly,
pale with her happiness, as she seized the basket,
while her mother took in the bundle.
" Yes, dear, the best and dearest fairy in the world,
called * Charity.' She walks abroad at Christmas
time, does beautiful deeds like this, and does not
stay to be thanked," answered her mother with full
eyes, as she undid the parcel.
There they were, the warm, thick blankets, the
comfortable shawl, the new shoes, and, best of all, a
pretty winter hat for Bessy. The basket was full of
good things to eat, and on the flowers lay a paper
saying,
"For the little girl who loves her neighbor as
herself
TILLY'S CHRISTMAS. 133
" Mother, I really think my bird is a fairy bird,
and all these splendid things come from him," said
Tilly, laughing and crying with joy.
It really did seem so, for as she spoke, the robin
flew to the table, hopped to the nosegay, and perch-
ing among the roses, began to chirp with all his little
might. The sun streamed in on flowers, bird, and
happy child, and no one saw a shadow glide away
from the window ; no one ever knew that Mr. King
had seen and heard the little girls the night before,
or dreamed that the rich neighbor had learned a
lesson from the poor neighbor.
And Tilly's bird was a fairy bird ; for by her love
and tenderness to the helpless thing, she brought
good gifts to herself, happiness to the unknown
giver of them, and a faithful little friend who did
not fly away, but stayed with her till the snow was
gone, making summer for her in the winter-time.
134 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN.
"VTO one would have thought of calling him so,
this ragged, barefooted, freckle-faced Jack,
who spent his days carrying market-baskets for the
butcher, or clean clothes for Mrs. Quinn, selling
chips, or grubbing in the ash-heaps for cinders. But
he was honestly earning his living, doing his duty as
well as he knew how, and serving those poorer and
more helpless than himself, and that is being a gen-
tleman in the best sense of that fine old word. He
had no home but Mrs. Quinn's garret ; and for this he
paid by carrying the bundles and getting the cinders
for her fire. Food and clothes he picked up as he
could ; and his only friend was little Nanny. Her
mother had been kind to him when the death of
his father left him all alone in the world ; and when
she, too, passed away, the boy tried to show his
gratitude by comforting the little girl, who thought
there was no one in the world like her Jack.
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN. 135
Old Mrs. Quinn took care of her, waiting till she
was strong enough to work for herself; but Nanny
had been sick, and still sat about, a pale, little shadow
of her former self, with a white film slowly coming
over her pretty blue eyes. This was Jack's great
trouble, and he couldn't whistle it away as he did
his own worries ; for he was a cheery lad, and when
the baskets were heavy, the way long, the weather
bitter cold, his poor clothes in rags, or his stomach
empty, he just whistled, and somehow things seemed
to get right. But the day he carried Nanny the first
dandelions, and she felt of them, instead of looking
at them, as she said, with such pathetic patience in
her little face, " I don't see 'em ; but I know they're
pretty, and I like 'em lots," Jack felt as if the blithe
spring sunshine was all spoiled ; and when he tried to
cheer himself up with a good whistle, his lips trem-
bled so they wouldn't pucker.
" The poor dear's eyes* could be cured, I ain't a
doubt ; but it would take a sight of money, and
who's agoing to pay it ? " said Mrs. Quinn, scrubbing
away at her tub.
136 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
" How much money ? " asked Jack.
" A hundred dollars, I dare say. Dr. Wilkinson's
cook told me once that he done something to a
lady's eyes, and asked a thousand dollars for it."
Jack sighed a long, hopeless sigh, and went away
to fill the water-pails ; but he remembered the doc-
tor's name, and began to wonder how many years it
would take to earn a hundred dollars.
Nanny was very patient; but, by and by, Mrs.
Quinn began to talk about sending her to some
almshouse, for she was too poor to be burdened with
a helpless child. The fear of this nearly broke
Jack's heart ; and he went about with such an
anxious face that it was a mercy Nanny did not see
it. Jack was only twelve, but he had a hard load to
carry just then ; for the thought of his little friend,
doomed to lifelong darkness for want of a little
money, tempted him to steal more than once, and
gave him the first fierce, bitter feeling against those
better off than he. When he carried nice dinners to
the great houses and saw the plenty that prevailed
there, he couldn't help feeling that it wasn't fair for
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN. 137
some to have so much, and others so little. When
he saw pretty children playing in the park, or driv-
ing with their mothers, so gay, so well cared for, so
tenderly loved, the poor boy's eyes would fill to
think of poor little Nanny, with no friend in the
world but himself, and he so powerless to help her.
When he one day mustered courage to ring at
the great doctor's bell, begging to see him a minute,
and the servant answered, gruffly, as he shut the
door, " Go along ! he can't be bothered with the like
of you ! " Jack clenched his hands hard as he went
down the steps, and said to himself, with a most un-
boyish tone, " I'll get the money somehow, and moke
him let me in ! "
He did get it, and in a most unexpected way ; but
he never forgot the desperate feeling that came to
him that day, and all his life long he was very
tender to people who were tempted in their times
of trouble, and yielded, as he was saved from doing,
by what seemed an accident.
Some days after his, attempt at the doctor's, as he
was grubbing in a newly-deposited ash-heap, with
138 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
the bitter feeling very bad, and the trouble very
heavy, he found a dirty old pocket-book, and put it
in his bosom "without stopping to examine it; for
many boys and girls were scratching, like a brood
of chickens, all round him, and the pickings were
unusually good, so no time must be lost. " Findings
is havings " was one of the laws of the ash-heap
haunters ; and no one thought of disputing another's
right to the spoons and knives that occasionally
found their way into the ash-barrels ; while bottles,
old shoes, rags, and paper, were regular articles of
traffic among them. Jack got a good basketful 'that
day ; and when the hurry was over sat down to rest
and clear the dirt off his face with an old silk duster
which he had picked out of the rubbish, thinking
Mrs. Quinn might wash it up for a handkerchief.
But he didn't wipe his dirty face that day ; for, with
the rag, out tumbled a pocket-book ; and on opening
it he saw money. Yes ; a roll of bills, with two
figures on all of them, three tens and one twenty.
It took his breath away for a minute ; then he
hugged the old book tight in both his grimy hands,
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN. 139
and rocked to and fro all in a heap among the oys-
ter-shells and rusty tin kettles, saying to himself,
with tears running down his cheeks, "O Nanny!
O Nanny ! now I can do it ! "
I don't think a basket of cinders ever travelled at
such a rate before as Mrs. Quinn's did that day ; for
Jack tore home at a great pace, and burst into the
room, waving the old duster, and shouting, " Hooray !
I've got it ! I've got it ! "
It is no wonder Mrs. Quinn thought he had lost
his wits ; for he looked like a wild boy, with his face
all streaked with tears and red ashes, as ho danced
a double-shuffle till he was breathless, then show-
ered the money into Nanny's lap, and hugged her
with another " Hooray ! " which ended in a choke.
When they got him quiet and heard the story, Mrs.
Quinn rather damped his joy, by telling him the
money wasn't his, and he ought to advertise it.
" But I want it for Nanny ! " cried Jack ; " and
how can I ever find who owns it, when there was
ever so many barrels emptied in that heap, and no
one knows where they came from ? "
140 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
u It's very like you won't find the owner, and you
can do as you please; but it's honest to try, I'm
thinking, for some poor girl may have lost her eam-
in's this way, and we wouldn't like that ourselves,"
said Mrs. Quinn, turning over the shabby pocket-
book, and carefully searching for some clue to its
owner.
Nanny looked very sober, and Jack grabbed up
the money as if it were too precious to lose. But
he wasn't comfortable about it; and after a hard
fight with himself he consented to let Mrs. Quinn
ask their policeman what they should do. He was
a kindly man ; and when he heard the story, said
he'd do what was right, and if he couldn't find an
owner, Jack should have the fifty dollars back.
How hard it was to wait ! how Jack thought and
dreamed of his money, day and night ! How Nanny
ran to the door to listen when a heavy step came
up the stairs ! and how wistfully the poor darkened
eyes turned to the light which they longed to see
again.
Honest John Floyd did his duty, but he didn't
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN. 141
find the owner ; so the old purse came back at last,
and now Jack could keep it with a clear conscience.
Nanny was asleep when it happened ; and as they
sat counting the dingy bills, Mrs. Quinn said to the
boy, " Jack, you'd better keep this for yourself. I
doubt if it's enough to do the child any good ; and
you need clothes and shoes, and a heap of things,
let alone the books you hanker after so much. It
ain't likely you'll ever find another wallet. It's all
luck about Nanny's eyes ; and maybe you are only
throwing away a chance you'll never have again."
Jack leaned his head on his arms and stared at the
money, all spread out there, and looking so magnifi-
cent to him that it seemed as if it could buy half the
world. He did need clothes; his hearty boy's ap-
petite did long for better food; and, oh! how
splendid it would be to go and buy the books he had
wanted so long, the books that would give him a
taste of the knowledge which was more enticing to
his wide-awake young mind than clothes and food to
his poor little body. It wasn't an easy thing to do ;
but he was so used to making small sacrifices that
142 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
the great one was less hard ; and when he had
brooded over the money a few minutes in thought-
ful silence, his eye went from the precious bits of
paper to the dear little face in the trundle-bed, and
he said, with a decided nod, " I'll give Nanny the
chance, and work for my things, or go without 'em."
Mrs. Quinn was a matter-of-fact body; but her
hard old face softened when he said that, and she
kissed him good-night almost as gently as if she'd
been his mother.
Next day, Jack presented himself at Dr. Wilkin-
son's door, with the money in one hand and Nanny
in the other, saying boldly to the gruff servant, " I
want to see the doctor. I can pay ; so you'd better
let me in."
I'm afraid cross Thomas would have shut the door
in the boy's face again, if it had not been for the lit-
tle blind girl, who looked up at him so imploringly
that he couldn't resist the mute appeal.
" The doctor's going out ; but maybe he'll see you
a minute ; " and with that he led them into a room
where stood a tall man putting on his gloves.
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN. 143
Jack was a modest boy ; but he was so afraid that
Nanny would lose her chance, that he forgot himself,
and told the little story as fast as he could told it
well, too, I fancy; for the doctor listened attentively,
his eye going from the boy's eager, flushed face, to
the pale patient one beside him, as if the two little
figures, shabby though they were, illustrated the story
better than the finest artist could have done. When
Jack ended, the doctor sat Nanny on his knee, gently
lifted up the half-shut eyelids, and after examining
the film a minute, stroked her pretty hair, and said
so kindly that she nestled her little hand confidingly
into his, " I think I can help you, my dear. Tell me
w^here you live, and I'll attend to it at once, for it's
high time something was done."
Jack told him, adding, with a manly air, as he
showed the money, "I can pay you, sir, if fifty
dollars is enough."
" Quite enough," said the doctor, with a droll
smile.
" If it isn't, I'll work for the rest, if you'll trust
me. Please save Nanny's eyes, and I'll do any
144 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
thing to pay you!" cried Jack, getting red and
choky in his earnestness.
The doctor stopped smiling, and held out his hand
in a grave, respectful way, as he said, " I'll trust you,
my boy. We'll cure Nanny first; and you and I
will settle the bill afterward."
Jack liked that; it was a gentlemanly way of
doing things, and he showed his satisfaction by
smiling all over his face, and giving the big, white
hand a hearty shake with both his rough ones.
The doctor was a busy man ; but he kept them
some time, for there were no children in the fine
house, and it seemed pleasant to have a little girl
sit on his knee and a bright boy stand beside his
chair; and when, at last, they went away, they
looked as if he had given them some magic medicine,
which made them forget every trouble they had
ever known.
Next day the kind man came to give Nanny her
chance. She had no doubt, and very little fear, but
looked up at him so confidingly when all was ready,
that he stooped down and kissed her softly before
he touched her eyes.
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN. 145
"Let Jack hold my hands; then I'll be still, and
not mind if it hurts me," she said. So Jack, pale
with anxiety, knelt down before her, and kept the
little hands steadily in his all through the minutes
that seemed so long to him.
" What do you see, my child ? " asked the doctor,
when he had done something to both eyes, with a
quick, skilful hand.
Nanny leaned forward, with the film all gone, and
answered, with a little cry of joy, that went to the
hearts of those who heard it, "Jack's face! I see it!
oh, I see it ! "
Only a freckled, round face, with wet eyes and
tightly-set lips ; but to Nanny it was as beautiful as
the face of an angel ; and when she was laid away
with bandaged eyes to rest, it haunted all her
dreams, for it was the face of the little friend who
loved her best.
Nanny's chance was not a failure ; and when she
saw the next dandelions he brought her, all the sun-
shine came back into the world brighter than ever
for Jack. Well might it seem so ; for his fifty dollars
10
146 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
bought him many things that money seldom buys.
The doctor wouldn't take it at first ; but when Jack
said, in the manful tone the doctor liked although it
made him smile, " It was a bargain, sir. I wish to
pay my debts; and I shan't feel happy if Nanny
don't have it all for her eyes. Please do ! I'd
rather," then he took it; and Nanny did have it,
not only for her eyes, but in clothes and food and
care, many times over ; for it was invested in a bank
that pays good interest on every mite so given.
Jack discovered that fifty dollars was far less than
most people would have had to pay, and begged
earnestly to be allowed to work for the rest. The
doctor agreed to this, and Jack became his errand-
boy, serving with a willingness that made a pleasure
of duty ; soon finding that many comforts quietly got
into his life; that much help was given without
words ; and that the days of hunger and rags, heavy
burdens and dusty ash-heaps, were gone by for
ever.
The happiest hours of Jack's day were spent in the
doctor's chaise, when he made his round of visits;
MY LITTLE GENTLEMAN. 147
for while he waited, the boy studied or read, and
while they drove hither and thither, the doctor
talked with him, finding an eager mind as well as a
tender heart and a brave spirit under the rough
jacket of his little serving-man. But he never called
him that; for, remembering the cheerfulness, self-
denial, honesty, and loyalty to those he loved, shown
by the boy, the good doctor proved his respect for
the virtues all men should covet, wherever they are
found, and always spoke of Jack with a smile, as
"My Little Gentleman."
148 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
BACK WINDOWS.
A S I sit working at my back window, I look out
"*** on a long row of other people's back win-
dows; and it is quite impossible for me to help
seeing and being interested in my neighbors. There
are a good many children in those houses; and
though I don't know one of their names, I know
them a great deal better than they think I <Jo. I
never spoke a word to any of them, and never
expect to do so ; yet, I have my likes and dislikes
among them, and could tell them things that they
have said and done, which would astonish them
very much, I assure you.
First, the babies, for there are three : the aristo-
cratic baby, the happy-go-lucky baby, and the for-
lorn baby. The aristocratic baby lives in a fine,
well-furnished room, has a pretty little mamma,
who wears white gowns, and pink ribbons in her
BACK WINDOWS. 149
cap ; likewise, a fond young papa, who evidently
thinks this the most wonderful baby in Boston.
There is a stout, motherly lady, who is the grandma,
I fancy, for she is always hovering about "the
dear " with cups, blankets, or a gorgeous red worsted
bird to amuse it. Baby is a plump, rosy^sweet-faced
little creature, always smiling and kissing its hand
to the world in general. In its pretty white frocks,
with its own little pink or blue ribbons, and its
young mamma proudly holding it up to see and be
seen, my aristocratic neighbor has an easy life of it,
and is evidently one of the little lilies who do
nothing but blossom in the sunshine.
The happy-go-lucky baby is just able to toddle ;
and I seldom pull up my curtain in the morning
without seeing him at his window in his yellow
flannel night-gown, taking a look at the weather.
No matter whether it^rains or shines, there he is,
smiling and nodding, and looking so merry, that it
is evident he has plenty of sunshine bottled up
in his own little heart for private use. I depend
on seeing him, and feel as if the world was not right
150 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
until this golden little sun rises to shine upon me.
He don't seem to have any one to take care of him,
but trots about all day, and takes care of himself.
Sometimes he is up in the chambers with the girl,
while she makes beds, and he helps ; then he takes
a stroll into the parlor, and spins the gay curtain-
tassels to his heart's content; next, he dives into
the kitchen (I hope he does not tumble downstairs,
but I dare say he wouldn't mind if he did), and he
gets pushed about by all the busy women, as they
u fly round." I rather think it gets too. hot for him
there about dinner-time; for he often comes out
into the yard for a walk at noon, and seems to find
endless wonders and delights in the ash-barrel, the
water-butt, two old flower-pots, and a little grass
plat, in which he plants a choice variety of articles,
in the firm faith they will come up in full bloom. I
hope the big spoon and his own red shoe will sprout
and appear before any trouble is made about their
mysterious disappearance. At night I see a little
shadow bobbing about on the curtain, and watch it,
till, with a parting glimpse at a sleepy face at the
BACK WINDOWS. 151
window, my small sun sets, and I leave him to hia
dreams.
The forlorn baby roars all day, and I don't blame
him ; for he is trotted, shaken, spanked, and scolded
by a very cross nurse, who treats him like a meal-
bag. I pity that little neighbor, and don't believe
he will stand it long ; for I see him double up his
tiny fists, and spar away at nothing, as if getting
ready for a good tussle with the world by and by, if
he lives to try it.
Then the boys, bless their buttons ! how amus-
ing they are. One young man, aged about ten,
keeps hens; and the trials of that boy are really
pathetic. The biddies get out every day or two,
and fly away all over the neighborhood, like feathers
when you shake a pillow. They cackle and crow,
and get up on sheds and fences, and trot down the
streets, all at once, and that poor fellow spins round
after them like a distracted top. One by one he
gets them and comes lugging them back, upside
down, in the most undignified attitude, and shuts
them uj>, and hammers away, and thinks they are
152 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
all safe, and sits down to rest, when a triumphant
crow from some neighboring shed tells him that
that rascally black rooster is out again for another
promenade. I'm not bloodthirsty ; but I really do
long for Thanksgiving, that my neighbor Hen-ry
may find rest for the sole of his foot ; for, not till his
poultry are safely eaten will he ever know where
they are.
Another boy has a circus about once a week, and
tri^s to break his neck jumping through hoops,
hanging to a rope by his heels, turning somersaults
in the air, and frightening his mother out of her wits
by his pranks. I suspect that he has been to see
Leotard, and I admire his energy, for he is never
discouraged; and, after tumbling flat, half-a-dozen
times, he merely rubs his elbows and knees, and
then up and takes another.
There is a good, domestic boy, who brushes and
curls his three little sisters' hair every morning, and
must do it very gently, for they seem to like it;
and I often see them watch at the back gate for
him, and clap their hands, and run to meet him, sure
BACK WINDOWS. 153
of being welcomed as little sisters like to be met by
the big brothers whom they love. I respect that
virtuous boy.
The naughty boy is very funny ; and the running
fight he keeps up with the cross cook is as good as
a farce. He is a torment, but I think she could
tame him, if she took the right way. The other
day she wouldn't let him in because she had washed
up her kitchen and his boots were muddy. He
wiped them on the grass, but that wouldn't do;
and, after going at her with his head down, like a
battering-ram, he gave it up, or seemed to ; for, the
minute she locked the door behind her and came
out to take in her clothes, that sly dog whipped up
one of the low windows, scrambled in, and danced
a hornpipe all over the kitchen, while the fat cook
scolded and fumbled for her key, for she couldn't
follow through the window. Of course he was off
upstairs by the time she got in ; but I'm afraid he
had a shaking, for I saw him glowering fiercely as
he came out later with a basket, going some " con-
founded errand." Occasionally his father brings
154 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
him out and whips him for some extra bad offence,
during which performance he howls dismally; but
when he is left sitting despondently and miracu-
lously on an old chair without any seat, he soon
cheers up, boos at a strange cat, whistles to his dog,
who is just like him, or falls back on that stand-
ing cure for all the ills that boys are heir to, and whit-
tles vigorously. I know I ought to frown upon this
reprehensible young person, and morally close my
eyes to his pranks ; but I really can't do it, and am
afraid I find this little black sheep the most interest-
ing of the flock.
The girls have tea-parties, make calls, and play
mother, of course ; and the sisters of the good boy
have capital times up in a big nursery, with such
large dollies that I can hardly tell which are the
babies and which the mammas. One little girl
plays about at home with a dirty face, tumbled hair,
and an old pinafore on. She won't be made tidy,
and I see her kick and cry when they try to make
her neat. Now and then there is a great dressing
and curling ; and then I see her prancing away in
BACK WINDOWS. 155
her light boots, smart hat, and pretty dress, looking
as fresh as a daisy. But I don't admire her ; for I've
been behind the scenes, you see, and I know that
she likes to be fine rather than neat.
So is the girl who torments her kitty, slaps her
sister, and runs away when her mother tells her not
to go out of the yard. But the housewifely little
girl who tends the baby, washes the cups, and goes
to school early with a sunshiny face and kiss all
round, she, now, is a neighbor worth having, and I'd
put a good mark against her name if I knew it.
I don't know as it would be proper for me to men-
tion the grown-up people over the way. They go
on very much as the children do ; for there is the
lazy, dandified man, who gets up late, and prinks ;
the cross man, who swears at the shed-door when it
won't shut; the fatherly man, who sits among his
children every evening; and the cheery old man up
in the attic, who has a flower in his window, and
looks out at the world with very much the same
serene smile as my orange-colored baby.
The women, too, keep house, make calls, and play
156 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
mother; and some don't do it well either. The for-
lorn baby's mamma never seems to cuddle and com-
fort him ; and some day, when the little fist lies cold
and quiet, I'm afraid she'll wish she had. Then the
naughty boy's mother. I'm very sure, if she put
her arms round him sometimes, and smoothed that
rough head of his, and spoke to him as only mothers
can speak, that it would tame him far better than
the scoldings and thrashings ; for I know there is a
true boy's heart, warm and tender, somewhere under
the jacket that gets dusted so often. As for the fine
lady who lets her children do as they can, while she
trims her bonnet, or makes panniers, I wouldn't be
introduced to her on any account. But as some
might think it was unjustifiable curiosity on my part
to see these things, and an actionable offence to
speak of them, I won't mention them.
I sometimes \vonder if the kind spirits who feel
an interest in mortals ever take a look at us on the
shady side which we don't show the world, seeing
the trouble, vanities, and sins which we think no one
knows. If they love, pity, or condemn us ? What
BACK WINDOWS. 157
records they keep, and what rewards they prepare
for those who are so busy with their work and play
that they forget who may be watching their back
windows with clearer eyes and truer charity than
any inquisitive old lady with a pen in her hand ?
158 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON.
" T TERE comes our pretty little girl," I said to
A Kate, as we sat resting on the seat beside
the footpath that leads from Dinan on the hill to
Lehon in the valley.
Yes, there she was, trotting toward us in her
round cap, blue woollen gown, white apron, and
wooden shoes. On her head was a loaf of buck-
wheat bread as big as a small wheel, in one hand a
basket full of green stuff, while the other led an old
goat, who seemed in no hurry to get home. We had
often seen this rosy, bright-eyed child, had nodded
to her, but never spoken, for she looked rather shy
and always seemed in haste. Now the sight of the
goat reminded us of an excuse for addressing her,
and as she was about to pass with the respectful
little curtsey of the country, my friend said in
French :
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 159
"Stay, please. I want to speak to you." She
stopped at once and stood looking at us under her
long eyelashes in a timid, yet confiding way, very
pretty to see.
" We want to drink goat's milk every morning :
can you let us have it, little one ? "
" Oh, yes, mademoiselle ! Nannette gives fine milk,
and no one has yet engaged her," answered the child,
her whole face brightening at the prospect.
" What name have you ? "
"Marie Rosier, mademoiselle."
" And you live at Lehon ? "
" Yes, mademoiselle."
" Have you parents ? "
" Truly, yes, of the best. My father has a loom,
my mother works in the field and mill with brother
Yvon, and I go to school and care for Nannette and
nurse little Bebe."
"What school?"
" At the convent, mademoiselle. The good sisters
teach us the catechism, also to write and read and
sew. I like it much," and Marie glaheed at the
160 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
little prayer in her apron pocket, as if proud to
show she could read it.
"What age have you?"
a Ten years, mademoiselle."
" You are young to do so much, for we often see
you in the market buying and selling, and sometimes
digging in your garden there below, and bringing
water from the river. Do you love work as well as
school?"
" Ah, no ; but mademoiselle knows it is necessary
to work ; every one does, and I am glad to do my
part. Yvon works much harder than I, and the
father sits all day at his loom, yet he is sick and
suffers much. Yes, I am truly glad to help," and
little Marie settled the big loaf as if quite ready to
bear her share of the burdens.
" Shall we go and see your father about the goat ?
and if he agrees will you bring the milk fresh and
warm every morning?" I asked, thinking that a
sight of that blooming face would brighten our days
for us.
" Oh, yes ! "I always do it for the ladies, and you
LITTLE MARIE OF LEUON. 161
will find the milk quite fresh and warm, hey, Nan-
nette ?" and Marie laughed as she pulled the goat from
the hedge where she was nibbling the young leaves.
We followed the child as she went clattering
down the stony path, and soon came into the
narrow street bounded on one side by the row of
low, stone houses, and on the other by the green,
wet meadow full of willows, and the rapid mill-
stream. All along this side of the road sat women
and children, stripping the bark from willow twigs
to be used in basket-making. A busy sight and
a cheerful one; for the women gossiped in their
high, clear voices, the children sang and laughed,
and the babies crept about as freely as young
lambs.
We found Marie's home a very poor one. Only
two rooms in the little hut, the lower one with its
earthern floor, beds in the wall, smoky fire, and
single window where the loom stood. At it sat
a pale, dark man who stopped work as we entered,
and seemed glad to rest while we talked to him, or
rather while Kate did, for I could not understand
11
162 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
his odd French, and preferred to watch Marie during
the making of the bargain.
Yvon, a stout lad of twelve, was cutting up brush
with an old sickle, and little Bebe, looking like
a Dutch doll in her tiny round cap, tight blue gown,
and bits of sabots, clung to Marie as she got the
supper.
I wondered what the children at home would
have said to such a supper. A few cabbage leaves
made the soup, and this, with the dry black bread
and a sip of sour wine, was all they had. There
were no plates or bowls, but little hollow places in
the heavy wooden table near the edge, and into
these fixed cups Marie ladled the soup, giving each
a wooden spoon from a queer rack in the middle;
the kettle stood at one end, the big loaf lay at
the other, and all stood round eating out of their
little troughs, with Nannette and a rough dog close
by to receive any crusts that might be left.
Presently the mother came in, a true Breton
woman; rosy and robust, neat and cheery, though
her poor clothes were patched all over, her hands
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 163
more rough and worn with Lard work than any
I ever saw, and the fine hair under her picturesque
cap gray at thirty with much care.
I saw then where Marie got the brightness that
seemed to shine in every feature of her little face,
for the mother's coming was like a ray of sunshine
in that dark place, and she had a friendly word
and look for every one.
Our little arrangement was soon made, and we
left them all smiling and nodding as if the few
francs we were to pay would be a fortune to
them.
Early next morning we were wakened by Fran-
coise the maid, who came up to announce that
the goat's milk had arrived. Then we heard a
queer, quick, tapping sound on the stairs, and to our
great amusement, Nannette walked into the room,
straight up to my bedside, and stood there looking
at me with her mild yellow eyes as if she was quite
used to seeing night-caps. Marie followed with a
pretty little bowl in her hand, and said, laughing
at our surprise, " See, dear mademoiselle ; in this
164 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
way I make sure that the milk is quite fresh and
warm;" and kneeling down, she milked the bowl
full in a twinkling, while Nannette quietly chewed
her cud and sniffed at a plate of rolls on the
table.
The warm draught was delicious, and we drank
each our portion with much merriment.
"It is our custom," said Fran9oise; who stood
by with her arms folded, and looked on in a lofty
manner.
"What had you for your own breakfast?" I
asked, as I caught Marie's eye hungrily fixed on the
rolls and some tempting little cakes of chocolate
left from our lunch the day before.
"My good bread, as usual, mademoiselle, also sor-
rel salad and and water," answered Marie, as if
trying to make the most of her scanty meal.
"Will you eat the rolls and put the chocolate
in your pocket to nibble at school ? You must be
tired with this long walk so early."
She hesitated, but could not resist ; and said in a
low tone, as she held the bread in her hand without
eating it,
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 165
"Would mademoiselle be angry if I took it to
Bebe? She has never tasted the beautiful white
bread, and it would please her much."
I emptied the plate into her basket, tucked in the
chocolate, and added a gay picture for baby, which
unexpected treasures caused Marie to clasp her
hands and turn quite red with delight.
After that she came daily, and we had merry
times with old Nannette and her little mistress,
whom we soon learned to love, so busy, blithe, and
grateful was she.
We soon found a new way to employ her, for the
boy who drove our donkey did not suit us, and we
got the donkey- woman to let us have Marie in the
afternoon when her lessons were done. She liked
that, and so did we ; for she seemed to understand
the nature of donkeys, and could manage them with-
out so much beating and shouting as the boy thought
necessary. Such pleasant drives as we had, we two
big women in the droll wagon, drawn by the lit-
tle gray donkey that looked as if made of an old
trunk, so rusty and rough was he as he went trot-
166 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
ting along, his long ears wagging, and his small
hoofs clattering over the fine, hard road, while
Marie sat on the shaft with a long whip, talking and
laughing, and giving Andre a poke now and then,
crying " E ! E ! houp la ! " to make him go.
We found her a capital little guide and story-
teller, for her grandmother had told her all the tales
and legends of the neighborhood, and it was very
pleasant to hear her repeat them in pretty peasant
French, as we sat among the ruins, while Kate
sketched, I took notes, and Marie held the big par-
asol over us.
Some of these stories were charming ; at least as
she told them, with her little face changing from gay
to sad as she gesticulated most dramatically.
The romance of "Gilles de Bretagne" was one of
her favorites. How he carried off his child-wife
when she was only twelve, how he was imprisoned
and poisoned, and at last left to starve in a dungeon,
and would stand at his window crying, "Bread,
bread ; for the love of God ! " yet no one dared to
give him any, till a poor peasant woman went in
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 167
the night and gave him half her black loaf. Not
once, but every night, for six months, though she
robbed her children to do it. And when he was
dying, it was she who took a priest to him that
he might confess through the bars of his cell.
"So good, ah, so good, this poor woman! It
is beautiful to hear of that, mademoiselle ! " little
Marie would say, with her black eyes full, and her
lips trembling.
But the story she liked best of all was about the
peasant girl and her grandmother.
" See then, dear ladies, it was in this way. In the
time of the great war many poor people were shot
because it was feared they would burn the chateaus.
In one of these so sad parties being driven to St.
Malo to be shot, was this young girl. Only fifteen,
dear ladies, behold how young is this ! and see the
brave thing she did ! With her went the old grand-
mother whom she loved next the good God. They
went slowly, she was so old, and one of the officers
who guarded them had pity on the pretty girl, and
said to her as they were a little apart from the rest,
168 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
1 Come,*you are young and can run. I will save you ;
it is a pity so fine a little girl be shot.'
" Then she was glad and thanked him much, say-
ing, ' And the grandmother also ? You will save her
with me ? ' * It is impossible,' says the officer. ' She
is too old to run. I can save but one, and her life is
nearly over ; let her go, and do you fly into the next
wood. I will not betray you, and w^hen we come up
with the gang it will be too late to find you.'
" Then the great temptation of Satan came to this
girl. She had no wish to suffer, but she could not
leave the good old grandmere to die alone. She
wept, she prayed, and the saints gave her courage.
" ' No, I will not go,' she said'; and in the morning at
St. Malo she was shot with the old mother in her arms."
" Could you do that for your grandmere ? " I once
asked, as she stopped for breath, because this tale
always excited her. She crossed herself devoutly,
and answered with fire in her eyes and a resolute
gesture of her little brown hands,
" I should try, mademoiselle."
I think she would, and succeed, too, for she was a
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 169
brave and tender-hearted child, as she soon after
proved.
A long drought parched the whole country that
summer, and the gardens suffered much, especially
the little plats in Lehon, for most of them were on
the steep hillside behind the huts, and unless it
rained water had to be carried up from the stream -
below. The cabbages and onions on which these
poor people depend, when fresh salads are gone,
were dying in the baked earth, and a hard winter
was before them if this little store failed.
The priests prayed for rain in the churches, and
long processions streamed out of the gates to visit
the old stone cross called the " Croix de Saint Esprit,"
and, kneeling there in crowds, the people implored
the blessing of rain to save their harvest. We felt
great pity for them, but liked little Marie's way of
praying best.
She did not come one morning, but sent her brother,
who only laughed, and said Marie had hurt her foot,
when we inquired for her. Anxious to know if she
was really ill we went to see her in the afternoon,
170 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
and heard a pretty little story of practical Chris-
tianity.
Marie lay asleep on her mother's bed in the wall,
and her father, sitting by her, told the tale in a low
voice, pausing now and then to look at her, as if his
little daughter had done something to be proud of.
It seems that in the village there was an old woman,
frightfully disfigured by fire, and not quite sane as the
people thought. She was harmless, but never showed
herself by day, and only came out at night to work
in her garden or take the air. Many of the ignorant
peasants feared her, however, for the country abounds
in fairy legends, and strange tales of ghosts and gob-
lins. But the more charitable left bread at her door,
and took in return the hose she knit or the thread
she spun.
' During the drought it was observed that her gar-
den, though the steepest and stoniest, was never
dry; her cabbages flourished when her neighbors'
withered, and her onions stood up green and tall
as if some special rain-spirit watched over them.
People wondered and shook their heads, but could
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 171
not explain it, for Mother Lobineau was too infirm
to carry much water up the steep path, and who
would help her unless some of her own goblin
friends did it?
This idea was suggested by the story of a peasant
returning late at night, who had seen something
white flitting to and fro in the garden-patch, and
when he called to it saw it vanish most mysteriously.
This made quite a stir in the town ; others watched
also, saw the white phantom in the starlight, and
could not tell where it went when it vanished
behind the chestnut trees on the hill, till one man,
braver than the rest, hid himself behind these trees
and discovered the mystery. The sprite was Marie,
in her little shift, who stepped out of the window of
the loft where she slept on to a bough of the tree,
and thence to the hill, for the house was built so
close against the bank that it was " but a step from
garret to garden," as they say in Morlaix.
In trying to escape from this inquisitive neighbor,
Marie hur.t her foot, but was caught, and confessed that
it was she who went at night to water poor Mother
172 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Lobineau's cabbages ; because if they failed the old
woman might starve, and no one else remembered
her destitute and helpless state.
The good-hearted people were much touched
by this silent sermon on loving one's neighbor as
one's self, and Marie was called the "little saint,"
and tended carefully by all the good women. Just
as the story ended, she woke up, and at first seemed
inclined to hide under the bedclothes. But we had
her out in a minute, and presently she was laughing
over her good deed, with a true child's enjoyment
of a bit of roguery, saying in her simple way,-
"Yes; it was so droll to go running about en
chemise, like the girl in the tale of the 'Midsummer
Eve,' where she pulls the Saint Johnswort flower,
and has her wish to hear all the creatures talk. I
liked it much, and Yvon slept so like the dormouse
that he never heard me creep in and out. It was
hard to bring much water, but the poor cabbages
were so glad, and Mother Lobineau felt that all had
not forgotten her."
We took care that little Saint Marie was not
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 173
forgotten, but quite well, and all ready for her con-
firmation when the day came. This is a pretty sight,
and for her sake we went to the old church of St.
Sauveur to see it. It was a bright spring day, and
the gardens were full of early flowers, the quaint
streets gay with proud fathers and mothers in holi-
day dress, and flocks of strangers pausing to see the
long procession of little girls with white caps and
veils, gloves and gowns, prayer-books and rosaries,
winding through the sunny square into the shadowy
church with chanting and candles, garlands and
crosses.
The old priest was too ill to perform the service,
but the young one who took his place announced,
after it was over, that if they would pass the house
the good old man would bless them from his bal-
cony. That was the best of all, and a sweet sight,
as the feeble, fatherly old priest leaned from his
easy-chair to stretch his trembling hands over the
little flock so like a bed of snowdrops, while the
bright eyes and rosy faces looked reverently up at
him, and the fresh voices chanted the responses
174 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
as the curly heads under the long veils bowed and
passed by.
We learned afterward that our Marie had been
called in and praised for her secret charity, a great
honor, because the good priest was much beloved
by all his flock, and took a most paternal interest
in the little ones.
That was almost the last we saw of our little
friend, for we left Dinan soon after, bidding the
Lehon family good-by, and leaving certain warm
souvenirs for winter-time. Marie cried and clung
to us at parting, then smiled like an April day, and
waved her hand as we went away, never expecting
to see her any more.
But the next morning, just as we were stepping
on board the steamer to go down the Ranee to St.
Malo, we saw a little white cap come bobbing
through the market-place, down the steep street,
and presently Marie appeared with two great
bunches of pale yellow primroses and wild blue
hyacinths in one hand, while the other held her
sabots that she might run the faster. Rosy and
LITTLE MARIE OF LEHON. 175
smiling and breathless with haste she came racing
up to us, crying,
" Behold my souvenir for the dear ladies. I do
not cry now. No; I am glad the day is so fine.
JBon voyage ! bon voyage ! "
We thanked and kissed and left her on the shore,
bravely trying not to cry, as she waved her wooden
shoes and kissed her hand till we were out of sight,
and had nothing but the soft colors and sweet
breath of our nosegays to remind us of Little Marie
of Lehon.
176 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
MY MAY-DAY AMONG CURIOUS BIRDS
AND BEASTS.
"D EING alone in London, yet wishing to celebrate
^-* the day, I decided to pay my respects to the
lions at the the Zoological Gardens. A lovely place
it was, and I enjoyed myself immensely ; for May-
day in England is just what it should be, mild,
sunny, flowery, and spring-like. As I walked along
the well-kept paths, between white and rosy haw-
thorn hedges, I kept coming upon new and curious
sights ; for the birds and beasts are so skilfully
arranged, that it is more like travelling through a
strange and pleasant country than visiting a men-
agerie.
The first thing I saw was a great American bison ;
and I was so glad to meet with any one from home,
that I'd have patted him with pleasure, if he had
shown any cordiality toward me. He didn't, how-
ever, but stared savagely with his fiery eyes, and put
MAY-DAY AMONG BIRDS AND BEASTS. 177
down his immense head with a sullen snort, as if
he'd have tossed me with great satisfaction. I did
not blame him, for the poor fellow was homesick,
doubtless, for his own wide prairies and the free life
he had lost. So I threw him some fresh clover, and
went on to the pelicans.
I never knew before what handsome birds they
were ; not graceful, but with such snowy plumage,
tinged with pale pink and faint yellow. They had
j ust had their bath, and stood arranging their feathers
with their great bills, uttering a queer cry now and
then, and nodding to one another sociably. When
fed, they gobbled up the fish, never stopping to swal-
low it till the pouches under their bills were full;
then they leisurely emptied them, and seemed to
enjoy their lunch with the grave deliberation of reg-
ular Englishmen.
Being in a hurry to see the lions, I went on to the
long row of cages, and there found a splendid sight.
Six lions and lionesses, in three or four different
cages, sitting or standing in dignified attitudes, and
eying the spectators with a mild expression in their
12
178 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
fine eyes. One lioness was ill, and lay on her bed,
looking very pensive, while her mate moved restlessly
about her, evidently anxious to do something for her,
and much afflicted by her suffering. I liked this lion
very much, for, though the biggest, he was very
gentle, and had a noble face.
The tigers were rushing about, as tigers usually
are ; some creeping noiselessly to and fro, some leap-
ing up and down, and some washing their faces with
their velvet paws. All looked and acted so like cats,
that I wasn't at all surprised to hear one of them purr
when the keeper scratched her head. It was a very
loud and large purr, but no fireside -pussy could have
done it better, and every one laughed at the sound.
There were pretty spotted leopards, panthers, and
smaller varieties of the same species. I sat watch-
ing them a long time, longing to let some of the
wild things out for a good run, they seemed so un-
happy barred in those small dens.
Suddenly the lions began to roar, the tigers to
snarl, and all to get very much excited about some-
thing, sniffing at the openings, thrusting their paws
MAY-DAY AMONG BIRDS AND BEASTS. 179
through the bars, and lashing their tails impatiently.
I couldn't imagine what the trouble was, till, far down
the line, I saw a man with a barrow full of lumps of
raw meat. This was their dinner ; and, as they were
fed but once a day, they were ravenous. Such roars
and howls and cries as arose, while the man went
slowly down the line, gave one a good idea of the
sounds to be heard in Indian forests and jungles.
The lions behaved best, for they only paced up and
down, with an occasional cry ; but the tigers were
quite frantic ; for they tumbled one over the other,
shook the cages, and tried to reach t the bystanders,
just out of reach behind the bar that kept us at a
safe distance. One lady had a fright, for the wind
blew the end of her shawl within reach of a tiger's
great claw, and he clutched it, trying to drag her
nearer. The shawl came off, and the poor lady ran
away screaming, as if a whole family of wild beasts
were after her.
When the lumps of meat were thrown in, it was
curious to see how differently the animals behaved.
The tigers snarled and fought and tore and got
180 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
so savage I was very grateful that they were safely
shut up. In a few minutes, nothing but white bones
remained, and then they howled for more. One
little leopard was better bred than the others, for he
went up on a shelf in the cage, and ate his dinner
in a quiet, proper manner, which was an example to
the rest.
The lions ate in dignified silence, all but my
favorite, who earned his share to his sick mate, and
by every gentle means in his power tried to make
her eat. She was too ill, however, and turned away
with a plaintive moan which seemed to grieve
him sadly. He wouldn't touch his dinner, but lay
down near her, with the lump between his paws, as
if guarding it for her ; and there I left him patiently
waiting, in spite of his hunger, till his mate could
share it with him. As I took a last look at his fine
old face, I named him Douglas, and walked away,
humming to myself the lines of the ballad,
"Dougks, Douglas,
Tender and true."
As a contrast to the wild beasts, I went to see the
MAY-DAY AMONG BIRDS AND BEASTS. 181
monkeys who lived in a fine large house, all to them-
selves. Here was every variety, from the great
ugly chimpanzee to the funny little fellows who
played like boys, and cut up all sorts of capers. A
mamma sat tending her baby, and looking so like
a little old woman that I laughed till the gray
monkey with the blue nose scolded at me. He was
a cross old party, and sat huddled up in the straw,
scowling at every one, like an ill-tempered old
bachelor. Half a dozen little ones teased him cap-
itally by dropping bits of bread, nut-shells, and
straws down on him from above, as they climbed
about the perches or swung by their tails. One
poor little chap had lost the curly end of his tail,
I'm afraid the gray one bit it off, and kept trying
to swing like the others, forgetting that the strong,
curly end was what he held on with. He would
run up the bare boughs, and give a jump, expecting
to catch and swing, but the lame tail wouldn't hold
him, and down he'd go, bounce on to the straw.
At first he'd sit and stare about him, as if much
amazed to find himself there ; theft he'd scratch his
182 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
little round head, and begin to scold violently, which
seemed to delight the other monkeys; and finally,
he'd examine his poor little tail, and appear to
understand the misfortune which had befallen him.
The funny expression of his face was irresistible,
and I enjoyed seeing him very much, and gave him
a bun to comfort him when I went away.
The snake-house came next, and I went in, on my
way to visit the rhinoceros family. I rather like
snakes, since I had a tame green one, who lived
under the doorstep, and would come out and play
with me on sunny days. These snakes I found very
interesting, only they got under their blankets and
wouldn't come out, and I wasn't allowed to poke
them ; so I missed seeing several of the most curious.
An ugly cobra laid and blinked at me through the
glass, looking quite as dangerous as he was. There
were big and little snakes, black, brown, and
speckled, lively and lazy, pretty and plain ones,
but I liked the great boa best.
When I came to his cage, I didn't see any thing
but the branch of a tree, such as I had seen in other
MAY-DAY AMONG BIRDS AND BEASTS. 183
cages, for ihe snakes to wind up and down. " Where
is he, I wonder ? I hope he hasn't got out," I said to
myself, thinking of a story I read once of a person
in a menagerie, who turned suddenly and saw a
great boa gliding toward him. As I stood wonder-
ing if the big worm could be under the little flat
blanket before me, the branch began to move all at
once, and with a start, I saw a limb swing down
to stare at me with the boa's glittering eyes. He
was so exactly the color of the bare bough, and lay
so still, I had not seen him till he came to take a
look at me. A very villainous looking reptile he
was, and I felt grateful that I didn't live in a country
where such unpleasant neighbors might pop in upon
you unexpectedly. He was kind enough to take a
promenade and show me his size, which seemed
immense, as he stretched himself, and then knotted
his rough, grayish body into a great loop, with the
fiery-eyed head in the middle. He was not one of
the largest kind, but I was quite satisfied, and
left him to his dinner of rabbits, which I hadn't the
heart to stay and see him devour alive.
184 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
I was walking toward the camel's pagoda, when,
all of a sudden a long, dark, curling thing came over
my shoulder, and I felt warm breath in my face.
"It's the boa!" I thought, and gave a skip which
carried me into the hedge, where I stuck, much to
the amusement of some children riding on the ele-
phant whose trunk had frightened me. He had
politely tried to tell me to clear the way, which I
certainly had done with all speed. Picking myself
out of the hedge, I walked beside him, examining
his clumsy feet, and peering up at his small, intel-
ligent eye. I'm very sure he winked at me, as if
enjoying the joke, and kept poking his trunk into
my pocket, hoping to find something eatable.
I felt as if I had got into a foreign countiy as
I looked about me and saw elephants and camels
walking among the trees; flocks of snow-white
cranes stalking over the grass, on their long scarlet
legs ; striped zebras racing in their paddock ; queer
kangaroos hopping about, with little ones in their
pouches; pretty antelopes chasing one another;
and, in an immense wire-covered aviary, all sorts
MAY-DAY AMONG BIRDS AND BEASTS. 185
of brilliant birds were flying about, as gaily as if at
home.
One of the curiosities was a sea-cow, who lived in
a tank of salt water, and came at the keeper's call
to kiss him, and flounder on its flippers along the
margin of the tank after a fish. It was very like
a seal, only much larger, and had four fins instead
of two. Its eyes were lovely, so dark and soft and
liquid ; but its mouth was not pretty, and I declined
one of the damp kisses which it was ready to dis-
pense at' word of command.
The great polar bear lived next door, and spent
his time splashing in and out of a pool of water, or
sitting on a block of ice, panting, as if the mild
spring day was blazing midsummer. He looked
very unhappy, and I thought it a pity that they
didn't invent a big refrigerator for him.
These are not half of the wonderful creatures I
saw, but I have not room to tell more; only I
advise all who can to pay a visit to the Zoological
Gardens when they go to London, for it is one of
the most interesting sights in that fine old city.
186 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY.
T TURRYING to catch a certain car at a certain
corner late one stormy night, I was suddenly
arrested by the sight of a queer-looking bundle
lying in a door- way.
" Bless my heart, it's a child ! O John ! I'm afraid
he's frozen ! " I exclaimed to my brother, as we both
bent over the bundle.
Such a little fellow as he was, in the big, ragged
coat, such a tired, baby face, under the fuzzy cap,
such a purple, little hand, still holding fast a few
papers; such a pathetic sight altogether, was the
boy, lying on the stone step, with the snow drifting
over him, that it was impossible to go by.
" He is asleep ; but he'll freeze, if left so long.
Here ! wake up, my boy, and go home, as fast as you
can," cried John, with a gentle shake, and a very
gentle voice ; for the memory of a dear little lad,
OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY. 187
safely tucked up at home, made him fatherly kind
to the small vagabond.
The moment he was touched, the boy tumbled
up, and, before he was half awake, began his usual
cry, with an eye to business.
"Paper, sir? Herald!' 'Transkip!' Last"
a great gape swallowed up the " last edition," and he
stood blinking at us like a very chilly young owl.
"I'll buy 'em all if you'll go home, my little
chap; it's high time you were abed," said John,
whisking tlie damp papers into one pocket, and his
purse out of another, as he spoke.
" All of 'em ? why, there's six ! " croaked the
boy, for he was as hoarse as a raven.
" Never mind, I can kindle the fire with 'em. Put
that in your pocket ; and trot home, my man, as fast
as possible."
" Where do you live ? " I asked, picking up the
fifty cents that fell from the little fingers, too be-
numbed to hold it.
"Mills Court, out of Hanover. Cold, ain't it?"
said the boy, blowing on his purple hands, and hop-
188 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
ping feebly from one leg to the other, to take the
stiffness out.
" He can't go all that way in this storm, such a
mite, and so used up with cold and sleep, John."
"Of course he can't; we'll put him in a car,"
began John ; when the boy wheezed out,
" No ; I've got ter wait for Sam. He'll be along
as soon's the theatre's done. He said he would ;
and so I'm waitin'."
" Who is Sam ? " I asked.
"He's the feller I lives with. I ain't got any
folks, and he takes care o' me."
" Nice care, indeed ; leaving a baby like you to
wait for him here such a night as this," I said
crossly.
" Oh, he's good to me Sam is, though he does
knock me round sometimes, when I ain't spry. The
big fellers shoves me back, you see ; and I gets cold,
and can't sing out loud ; so I don't sell my papers,
and has to work 'em off late."
" Hear the child talk ! One would think he was
sixteen, instead of six," I said, half laughing.
OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY. 189
" I'm 'most ten. Hi ! ain't that a oner ? " cried
the boy, as a gust of sleet slapped him in the face,
when he peeped to see if Sam was coming. " Hullo !
the lights is out ! Why, the play's done, and the
folks gone, and Sam's forgot me."
It was very evident that Sam had forgotten his
little protege ; and a strong desire to shake Sam
possessed me.
" No use waitin' any longer ; and now my papers
is sold, I ain't afraid to go home," said the boy,
stepping down like a little old man with the rheu-
matism, and preparing to trudge away through the
storm.
" Stop a bit, my little Casabianca ; a car will be
along in fifteen minutes ; and while waiting you can
warm yourself over there," said John, with the
purple hand in his.
" My name's Jack Hill, not Gassy Banks, please,
sir," said the little party, with dignity.
" Have you had your supper, Mr. Hill ? " asked
John laughing.
"I had some peanuts, and two sucks of Joe's
orange ; but it warn't very fillin'," he said, gravely.
190 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
"I should think not. Here ! one stew; and be
quick, please," cried John, as we sat down in a warm
corner of the confectioner's opposite.
"While little Jack shovelled in the hot oysters,
with his eyes shutting up now and then, in spite of
himself, we looked at him, and thought again of
little Rosy-face at home, safe in his warm nest, with
mother-love watching over him. Xodding toward
the ragged, grimy, forlorn, little creature, drop-
ping asleep over his supper like a tired baby, I
said,
" Can you imagine our Freddy out alone at this
hour, trying to * work off' his papers, because afraid
to go home till he has ? "
"Fd rather not try," answered brother John,
winking hard, as he stroked the little head beside
him, which, by the by, looked very like a ragged,
yellow door mat. I think brother John winked hard,
but I can't be sure, for I know I did; and for a
minute there seemed to be a dozen little newsboys
dancing before my eyes.
" There goes our car ; and it's the last," said John,
looking at me.
OUR LITTLE NEWSBOY. 191
"Let it go, but don't leave the boy;" and I
frowned at John for hinting such a thing.
"Here is his car. Now, my lad, bolt your last
oyster, and come on."
" Good-night, ma'am ! thankee, sir 1 " croaked the
grateful little voice, as the child was caught up in
John's strong hands and set down on the car-step.
With a word to the conductor, and a small busi-
ness transaction, we left Jack coiled up in a corner,
to finish his nap as tranquilly as if it wasn't mid-
night, and a "knocking round" might not await
him at his journey's end.
We didn't mind the storm much, as we plodded
home ; and when I told the story to Rosy-face, next
day, his interest quite reconciled me to the sniffs
and sneezes of a bad cold.
"If I saw that poor little boy, Aunt Jo, Td
love him lots ! " said Freddy, with a world of pity
in his beautiful child's eyes.
And, believing that others also would be kind to
little Jack, and such as he, I tell the story.
When busy fathers hurry home at night, I hope
192 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
they'll buy their papers of the small boys, who get
" shoved back ; " the feeble ones, who grow hoarse,
and can't " sing out ; " the shabby ones, who, evi-
dently, have only forgetful Sams to care for them ;
and the hungry-looking ones, who don't get what is
" fillin'." For love of the little sons and daughters
safe at home, say a kind word, buy a paper, even if
you don't want it ; and never pass by, leaving them
to sleep forgotten in the streets at midnight, with
no pillow but a stone, no coverlet but the pitiless
snow, and not even a tender-hearted robin to drop
leaves over them.
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 193
PATTY'S PATCHWORK.
T PERFECTLY hate it ! and something dreadful
* ought to be done to the woman who invented
it," said Patty, in a pet, sending a shower of gay
pieces flying over the carpet as if a small whirlwind
and a rainbow had got into a quarrel.
Puss did not agree with Patty, for, after a sur-
prised hop when the flurry came, she calmly laid,
herself down on a red square, purring comfortably
and winking her yellow eyes, as if she thanked the
little girl for the bright bed that set off her white fur
so prettily. This cool performance made Patty
laugh and say more pleasantly,
" Well, it is tiresome, isn't it, Aunt Pen ? "
" Sometimes ; but we all have to make patchwork,
my dear, and do the best we can with the pieces
given us."
"Do we?" and Patty opened her eyes in great
astonishment at this new idea.
13
194 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
"Our lives are patchwork, and it depends on us a
good deal how the bright and dark bits get put to-
gether so that .the whole is neat, pretty, and useful
when it is done," said Aunt Pen soberly.
"Deary me, now she is going to preach," thought
Patty ; but she rather liked Aunt Pen's preachments,
for a good deal of fun got mixed up with the moral-
izing ; and she was so good herself that children could
never say in their naughty little minds, " You are
just as bad as we, so you needn't talk to us, ma'am."
"I gave you that patchwork to see what you
would make of it, and it is as good as a diary to me,
for I can tell by the different squares how you felt
when you made them," continued Aunt Pen, with a
twinkle in her eye as she glanced at the many-col-
ored bits on the carpet.
"Can you truly? just try and see," and Patty
looked interested at once.
Pointing with the yard-measure, Aunt Pen said,
tapping a certain dingy, puckered, brown and purple
square,
" That is a bad day ; don't it look so ? "
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 195
" Well, it was, I do declare ! for that was the Mon-
day piece, when every thing went wrong and I didn't
care how my work looked," cried Patty, surprised at
Aunt Pen's skill in reading the calico diary.
" This pretty pink and white one so neatly sewed
is a good day ; this funny mixture of red, blue, and
yellow with the big stitches is a merry day ; that one
with spots on it is one that got cried over ; this with
the gay flowers is a day full of good little plans and
resolutions ; and that one made of dainty bits, all
stars and dots and tiny leaves, is the one you made
when you were thinking about the dear new baby
there at home."
" Why, Aunt Pen, you are a fairy ! How did you
know? they truly are just as you say, as near as I
can remember. I rather like that sort of patchwork,"
and Patty sat down upon the floor to collect, exam-
ine, and arrange her discarded work with a new in-
terest in it.
"I see what is going on, and I have queer plays in
my mind just as you little folks do. Suppose you
make this a moral bed-quilt as some people make
196 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
album quilts. See how much patience, persever-
ance, good nature, and industry you can put into it.
Every bit will have a lesson or a story, and when
you lie under it you will find it a real comforter,"
said Aunt Pen, who wanted to amuse the child and
teach her something better even than the good old-
fashioned accomplishment of needlework.
" I don't see how I can put that sort of thing into
it," answered Patty, as she gently lifted puss into
her lap, instead of twitching the red bit roughly from
under her.
" There eroes a nice little piece of kindness this
o . *
very minute," laughed Aunt Pen, pointing to the
cat and the red square.
Patty laughed also, and looked pleased as she
stroke^ Mother Bunch, while she said thought-
fully,-
"I see what you mean now. I am making two
kinds of patchwork at the same time ; and this that
I see is to remind me of the other kind that I don't
see."
" Every task, no matter how small or homely, that
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 197
gets well and cheerfully done, is a fine thing ; and
the sooner we learn to use up the dark and bright
bits (the pleasures and pains, the cares and duties)
into a cheerful, useful life, the sooner we become
real comforters, and every one likes to cuddle about
us. Don't you see, deary ? "
" That's what you are, Aunt Pen ; " and Patty put
up her hand to hold fast by that other strong, kind,
helpful hand that did so much, yet never was tired,
cold, or empty.
Aunt Pen took the chubby little one in both her
own, and said, smiling, yet with meaning in her eyes,
as she tapped the small forefinger, rough with impa-
tient and unskilful sewing,
" Shall we try and see what a nice little comforter
we can make this month, while you wait to be called
home to see mamma and the dear new baby ? "
"Yes, I'd like to try;" and Patty gave Aunt
Pen's hand a hearty shake, for she wanted to be
good, and rather thought the new fancy would lend
a charm to the task which we all find rather tire-
some and hard.
198 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
So the bargain was made, and the patch Patty
sewed that day was beautiful to behold ; for she was
in a delightfully moral state of mind, and felt quite
sure that she was going to become a model for all
-children to follow, if they could. The next day her
ardor had cooled a little, and being in a hurry to go
out to play, she slighted her work, thinking no one
would know. But the third day she got so angry
with her patch that she tore it in two, and declared
it was all nonsense to fuss about being good and
thorough and all the rest of it.
Aunt Pen did not say much, but made her mend
and finish her patch and add it to the pile. After
she went to bed that night Patty thought of it, and
wished she could do it over, it looked so badly. But
as it could not be, she had a penitent fit, and resolved
to keep her temper while she sewed, at any rate, for
mamma was to see the little quilt when it was done,
and would want to know all about it.
Of course she did not devote herself to being good
all the time, but spent her days in lessons, play, mis-
chief and fun, like any other lively, ten-year-older.
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 199
But somehow, whenever the sewing-hour came, she
remembered that talk ; and as she worked she fell
into the way of wondering whether Aunt Pen could
guess from the patches what sort of days she had
passed. She wanted to try and see, but Aunt Pen
refused to read any more calico till the quilt was
done: tken, she said in a queer, solemn way, she
should make the good and bad days appear in a
remarkable manner.
This puzzled Patty very much, and she quite
ached to know what the joke would be ; meantime
the pile grew steadily, and every day, good or bad,
added to that other work called Patty's life. She
did not think much about that part of it, but uncon-
sciously the quiet sewing-time had its influence on
her, and that little " conscience hour," as she some-
times called it, helped her very much.
One day she said to herself as she took up her
work, " Now I'll puzzle Aunt Pen. She thinks my
naughty tricks get into the patches ; but I'll make
this very- nicely and have it gay, and then I don't
see how she will ever guess what I did this morn-
ing."
200 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Now you must know that Tweedle-dee the can-
ary, was let out every day to fly about the room
and enjoy himself. Mother Bunch never tried to
catch him, though he often hopped temptingly near
her. He was a droll little bird, and Patty liked to
watch his promenades, for he did funny things.
That day he had made her laugh by trying to fly
away with a shawl, picking up the fringe with
which to line the nest he was always trying to build.
It was so heavy he tumbled on his back and lay
kicking and pulling, but had to give it up and con-
tent himself with a bit of thread.
Patty was forbidden to chase or touch him at
these times, but always felt a strong desire to have
just one grab at him and see how he felt. That day,
being alone in the dining-room, she found it impos-
sible to resist; and when Tweedle-dee came trip-
ping pertly over the table-cloth, cocking his head
on one side with shrill chirps and little prancings,
she caught him, and for a minute held him fast in
spite of his wrathful pecking.
She put her thimble on his head, laughing to see
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 201
how funny he looked, and just then he slipped out
of her hand. She clutched at him, missed him, but
alas, alas ! he left his little tail behind him. Every
feather in his blessed little tail, I do assure you;
and there sat Patty with the yellow plumes in her
hand and dismay in her face. Poor Tweedle-dee
retired to his cage much afflicted, and sung no more
that day, but Patty hid the lost tail and never said
a word about it.
" Aunt Pen is so near-sighted she won't mind, and
maybe he will have another tail pretty soon, or she
will think he is moulting. If she asks of course I
shall tell her."
Patty settled it in that way, forgetting that the
slide was open and Aunt Pen in the kitchen. So
she made a neat blue and buff patch, and put it
away, meaning to puzzle aunty when the reading-
time came. But Patty got the worst of it, as you
will see by and by.
Another day she strolled into the store-room and
saw a large tray of fresh buns standing there. Now,
it was against the rule to eat between meals, and
' 202 v AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
new hot bread or cake was especially forbidden.
Patty remembered both these things, but could not
resist temptation. One plump, brown bun, with a
lovely plum right in the middle, was so fascinating
it was impossible to let it alone ; so Patty whipped
it into her pocket, ran to the garden, and hiding
behind the big lilac-bush, ate it in a great hurry.
It was just out of the oven, and so hot it burned
her throat, and lay like a live coal in her little
stomach after it was down, making her very uncom-
fortable for several hours.
" Why do you keep sighing ? " asked Aunt Pen, as
Patty sat down to her work.
"I don't feel very well."
" You have eaten something that disagrees with
you. Did you eat hot biscuits for breakfast ? "
" No, ma'am, I never do," and Patty gave another
little gasp, for the bun lay very heavily on both
stomach and conscience just then.
" A drop or two of ammonia will set you right,"
and Aunt Pen gave her some. It did set the stomach
right, but the conscience still worried her, for she
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 203
could not make up her mind to " fess" the sly, greedy
thing she had done.
" Put a white patch in the middle of those green
ones," said Aunt Pen, as Patty sat soberly sewing
her daily square.
" Why ? " asked the little girl, for aunty seldom
interfered in her arrangement of the quilt.
" It will look pretty, and match the other three
squares that are going at the corners of that middle
piece."
" Well, I will," and Patty sewed away, wondering
at this sudden interest in her work, and why Aunt
Pen laughed to herself as she put away the ammonia
bottle.
These are two of the naughty little things that
got worked into the quilt ; but there were good ones
also, and Aunt Pen's sharp eyes saw them all.
At the window of a house opposite Patty often
saw a little girl who sat there playing with an old
doll or a torn book. She never seemed to run about
or go out, and Patty often wondered if she was sick,
she looked so thin and sober, and was so quiet.
204 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Patty began by making faces at her for fun, but the
little girl only smiled back, and nodded so good-
naturedly that Patty was ashamed of herself.
" Is that girl over there poor ? " she asked suddenly
as she watched her one day;
" Very poor : her mother takes in sewing, and the
child is lame," answered Aunt Pen, without looking
up from the letter she was writing.
" Her doll is nothing but an old shawl tied round
with a string, and she don't seem to have but one
book. Wonder if she'd like to have me come
and play with her," said Patty to herself, as she
stood her own big doll in the window, and nodded
back at the girl who bobbed up and down in her
chair with delight at this agreeable prospect.
" You can go and sec her some day if you like,"
said Aunt Pen, scribbling away.
Patty said no more then, but later in the afternoon
she remembered this permission, and resolved to try
if aunty would find out her good doings as well as
her bad ones. So, tucking Blanche Augusta Arabella
Maud under one arm, her best picture-book under
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 205
the other, and gathering a little nosegay of her own
flowers, she slipped across the road, knocked, and
marched boldly upstairs.
Mrs. Brown, the sewing-woman, was out, and no
one there but Lizzie in her chair at the window,
looking lonely and forlorn.
" How do you do ? My name is Patty, and I live
over there, and I've come to play with you," said
one child in a friendly tone.
" How do you do ? My name is Lizzie, and Fin
very glad to see you. What a lovely doll ! " returned
the other child gratefully; and then the ceremony
of introduction was over, and they began to play as
if they had known each other for ever so long.
To poor Lizzie it seemed as if a little fairy had
suddenly appeared to brighten the dismal room with
flowers and smiles and pretty things ; while Patty
felt her pity and good-will increase as she saw Liz-
zie's crippled feet, and watched her thin face brighten
and glow with interest and delight over book and
doll and posy. " It felt good," as Patty said after-
ward ; " sort of warm and comfortable in my heart,
206 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
and I liked it ever so much." She stayed an hour,
making sunshine in a shady place, and then ran
home, wondering if Aunt Pen would find that out.
She found her sitting with her hands before her,
and such a sad look in her face that Patty ran to her,
saying anxiously,
" What's the matter, aunty ? Are you sick ? "
"No, dear; but I have sorrowful news for you.
Come sit in my lap and let me tell you as gently as
I can."
" Mamma is dead ! " cried Patty, with a look of
terror in her rosy face.
" No, thank God ! but the dear, new baby only
stayed a week, and we shall never see her in this
world."
With a cry of sorrow Patty threw herself into the
arms outstretched to her, and on Aunt Pen's loving
bosom sobbed away the first bitterness of her grief
and disappointment.
" Oh, I wanted a little sister so much, and I was
going to be so fond of her, and was so glad she
came, and now I can't sec or have her even for a
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 207
day ! I'm so disappointed I don't think I can bear
it," sobbed Patty.
" Think of poor mamma, and bear it bravely for
her sake," whispered Aunt Pen, wiping away her
own and Patty's tears.
"Oh, dear me! there's the pretty quilt I was
going to make for baby, and now it isn't any use,
and I can't bear to finish it ; " and Patty broke out
afresh at the thought of so much love's labor lost.
" Mamma will love to see it, so I wouldn't give it
up. Work is the best cure for sorrow ; and I think
you never will be sorry you tried it. Let us put a
bright bit of submission with this dark trouble,' and
work both into your little life as patiently as we can,
deary."
Patty put up her trembling lips, and kissed Aunt
Pen, grateful for the tender sympathy and the help-
ful words. "I'll try," was all she said; and then
they sat talking quietly together about the dear,
dead baby, who only stayed long enough to make a
place in every one's heart, and leave them aching
when she went.
208 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Patty did try to bear her first trouble bravely,
and got on very well after the first day or two,
except when the sewing-hour came. Then the sight
of the prett^ patchwork recalled the memory of the
cradle it was meant^to cover, and reminded her that
it was empty now. Many quiet tears dropped 011
Patty's work ; and sometimes she had to put it down
and sob, for she had longed so for a little sister it
was very hard to give her up, and put away all the
loving plans she had made for the happy time when
baby came. A great many tender little thoughts and
feelings got sewed into the gay squares ; and if a small
stain showed here and there, I think they only added
to its beauty in the eyes of those who knew what
made them. Aunt Pen never suggested picking out
certain puckered bits and grimy stitches, for she
knew that just there the little fingers trembled, and
the blue eyes got dim as they touched and saw the
delicate, flowery bits left from baby's gowns.
Lizzie was full of sympathy, and came hopping
over on her crutches with her only treasure, a black
rabbit, to console her friend. But of all the comfort
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 209
given, Mother Bunch's share was the greatest and
best ; for that very first sad day, as Patty wandered
about the house disconsolately, puss came hurrying to
meet her, and in her dumb way begged her mistress
to follow and see the fine surprise prepared for her.
Four plump kits as white as snow, with four gray
tails all wagging in a row, as they laid on their
proud mamma's downy breast, while she purred over
them with her yellow eyes full of supreme content.
It was in the barn, and Patty lay for an hour with
her head close to Mother Bunch, and her hands
softly touching the charming little Bunches, who
squeaked and tumbled and sprawled about with
their dim eyes blinking, their tiny pink paws fumb-
ling, and their dear gray tails waggling in the sweet-
est way. Such a comfort as they were to Patty no
words could tell, and nothing will ever convince me
that Mrs. Bunch did not know all about baby, and
so lay herself out to cheer up her little mistress like
a motherly, loving old puss, as she was.
As Patty lay on the rug that evening while Aunt
Pen sung softly in the twilight, a small, white figure
14
210 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
came pattering over the straw carpet, and dropped
a soft, warm ball down by Patty's cheek, saying, as
plainly as a loud, confiding pun* could say it,
" There, my dear, this is a lonely time for you, I
know, so I've brought my best and prettiest darling
to comfort you ; " and with that Mother Bunch sat
down and washed her face, while Patty cuddled lit-
tle Snowdrop, and forgot to cry about baby.
Soon after this came a great happiness to Patty
in the shape of a letter from mamma, saying she
must have her little girl back a week earlier than
they had planned.
" I'm sorry to leave you, aunty, but it is so nice
to be wanted, and I'm all mamma has now, you
know, so I must hurry and finish my work to sur-
prise her with. How shall we finish it off? There
ought to be something regularly splendid to go all
round," said Patty, in a great bustle, as she laid out
her pieces, and found that only a few more were
needed to complete the "moral bed-quilt."
"I must try and find something. We will put
this white star, with the blue round it, in the middle,
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 211
for it is the neatest and prettiest piece, in spite of
the stains. I will sew in this part, and you may-
finish putting the long strips together," said Aunt
Pen, rummaging her bags and bundles for something
fine to end off with.
"I know! I've got something!" and away hur-
ried Lizzie, who was there, and much interested in
the work.
She came hopping back again, presently, with a
roll in her hand, which she proudly spread out,
saying,
" There ! mother gave me that ever so long ago,
but I never had any quilt to use it for, and now it's
just what you want. You can't buy such chintz
now-a-days, and I'm so glad I had it for you."
" It's regularly splendid ! " cried Patty, in a rap-
ture ; and so it was, for the 'pink and white was all
covered with animals, and the blue was full of birds
and butterflies and bees flying about as naturally as
possible. Really lovely were the little figures and
the clear, soft colors, and Aunt Pen clapped her
hands, while Patty hugged her friend, and declared
that the quilt was perfect now.
212 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
Mrs. Brown begged to be allowed to quilt it when
the patches were all nicely put together, and Patty
was glad to have her, for that part of the work was
beyond her skill. It did not come home till the
morning Patty left, and Aunt Pen packed it up
without ever unrolling it.
" We will look at it together when we show it to
mamma," she said ; and Patty was in such a hurry
to be off that she made no objection.
A pleasant journey, a great deal of hugging and
kissing, some tears and tender laments for baby,
and then it was time to show the quilt, which
mamma said was just what she wanted to throw
over her feet as she lay on the sofa.
If there were any fairies, Patty would have been
sure they had done something to her bed-cover, for
when she proudly unrolled it, what do you think
she saw?
Right in the middle of the white star, which was
the centre-piece, delicately drawn with indelible
ink, was a smiling little cherub, all head and wings,
and under it these lines,
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 213
" WhUe sister dear lies asleep,
Baby careful watch will keep."
Then in each of the four gay squares that were at
the corners of the strip that framed the star, was a
white bit bearing other pictures and couplets that
both pleased and abashed Patty as she saw and read
them.
In one was seen a remarkably fine bun, with the
lines,
"Who stole the hot bun
And got burnt well?
Go ask the lilac bush,
Guess it can tell."
In the next was a plump, tailless bird, who seemed
to be saying mournfully, -
"My little tail, my little tail!
This bitter loss I still bewail ;
But rather ne'er have tail again
Than Patty should deceive Aunt Pen."
The third was less embarrassing, for it was a pretty
bunch of flowers so daintily drawn one could almost
214 AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
think they smelt them, and these lines were un-
derneath :
* Every flower to others given,
Blossoms fair and sweet in heaven."
The fourth was a picture of a curly-haired child
sewing, with some very large tears rolling down her
cheeks and tumbling off her lap like marbles, while
some tiny sprites were catching and flying away
with them as if they were very precious :
" Every tender drop that fell,
Loving spirits caught and kept ;
And Patty's sorrow lighter grew
For the gentle tears she wept."
" Oh, aunty ! what does it all mean ? " cried Patty,
who had looked both pleased and ashamed as she
glanced from one picture to the other.
" It means, dear, that the goods and bads got into
the bed-quilt in spite of you, and there they are to
tell their own story. The bun and the lost tail, the
posy you took to poor Lizzie, and the trouble you
PATTY'S PATCHWORK. 215
bore so sweetly. It is just so with our lives, though
we don't see it quite as clearly as this. Invisible hands
paint our faults and virtues, and by and by wo. have
to see them, so we must be careful that they are
good and lovely, and we are not ashamed to let
the eyes that love us best read there the history of
our lives."
As Aunt Pen spoke, and Patty listened with a
thoughtful face, mamma softly drew the pictured
coverlet over her, and whispered, as she held her lit-
tle daughter close,
" My Patty will remember this ; and if all her
years tell as good a story as this month, I shall not
fear to read the record, and she will be in truth my
little comforter."
Cambridge : Press of John Wilson and Son.
