Skip to main content

Full text of "Little Sunshine's holiday, a picture from life"

See other formats

^:fr^ ~ a..£»,- Sd it 


COSY coRNeR semes 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 


Works of 

Miss Mulock 

Little Sunshine's Holiday 
The Little Lame Prince 
Adventures of a Brownie 
His Little Mother 
Jolin Halifax, Gentleman 



200 Summer St., Boston, Mass. 

i He Gerrr>ar-» 

(See page 139.) 





CllusttateU bg 



Copyright, igoo 
By L. C. Page and Company 


All rights reserved 

Colonial }9rcss 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 

Boston, Mass., U. S. A.. 




The German Pictures . . . Frontispiece 
Sunshine says Good-bye to the Gardener 

AND His Wife 15 

Sunshine and Franky ..... 40 
Nelly and Sunny on the Steps ... 59 
" Her little bare feet pattering along 

THE floor " 75 

Four Little Highland Girls , , . ^^ 
Little Sunshine Goes Fishing . . .101 
"Engaged in single combat" . . .118 
Two Little Churchgoers .... 163 
Climbing the "Mountain" . . . .187 
Tailpiece 207 



While writing this title, I paused, considering 
whether the little girl to whom it refers would not 
say of it, as she sometimes does of other things, 
"You make a mistake." For she is such a very 
accurate little person. She cannot bear the slight- 
est alteration of a fact. In herself and in other 
people she must have the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth. For instance, one day, 
overhearing her mamma say, " I had my shawl 
with me," she whispered, " No, mamma, not your 
shawl ; it was your waterproof." 

Therefore, I am sure she would wish me to 
explain at once that " Little Sunshine " is not her 
real name, but a pet name, given because she is 
such a sunshiny child; and that her "holiday" 
was not so much hers — seeing she was then not 
three years old, and every day was a holiday — as 



her papa's and mamma's, who are very busy 
people, and who took her with them on one of 
their rare absences from home. They felt they 
could not do without her merry laugh, her little 
pattering feet, and her pretty curls, — even for 
a month. And so she got a " holiday " too, 
though it was quite unearned : as she has never 
been to school, and her education has gone no 
farther than a crooked .S", a round O, an M for 
mamma, and a D for — but this is telling. 

Of course Little Sunshine has a Christian name 
and surname, like other little girls, but I do not 
choose to give them. She has neither brother nor 
sister, and says "she doesn't want any, — she had 
rather play with papa and mamma." She is not 
exactly a pretty child, but she has very pretty 
yellow curls, and is rather proud of " my curls." 
She has only lately begun to say " I " and " my," 
generally speaking of herself, baby-fashion, in the 
third person, — as " Sunny likes that," " Sunny did 
so-and-so," etc. She always tells everything she 
has done, and everything she is going to do. If 
she has come to any trouble — broken a teacup, 
fbr Instance — and her mamma says, " Oh, I am 
so sorry ! Who did that ? " Little Sunshine will 
creep up, hanging her head and blushing, " Sunny 
did it ; she won't ever do it again." But the idea 
of denying it would never come into her little 


head. Everybody has always told the exact truth 
to her, and so she tells the truth to everybody, 
and has no notion of there being such a thing as 
falsehood in the world. 

Still, this little girl is not a perfect character. 
She sometimes flies into a passion, and says, " I 
won't," in a very silly way, — it is always so silly 
to be naughty. And sometimes she feels thor- 
oughly naughty, — as we all do occasionally, — and 
then she says, of her own accord, " Mamma, Sunny 
had better go into the cupboard " (her mamma's 
dressing-closet). There she stays, with the door 
close shut, for a little while ; and then comes out 
again smiling, " Sunny is quite good now." She 
kisses mamma, and is all right. This is the only 
punishment she has ever had — or needed, for she 
never sulks, or does anything underhand or mean 
or mischievous ; and her wildest storm of passion 
only lasts a few minutes. To see mamma look- 
ing sad and grave, or hear her say, " I am so sorry 
that my little girl is naughty," will make the child 
good again immediately. 

So you have a faint idea of the little person who 
was to be taken on this long holiday ; first in a 
" pufF-pufF," then in a boat, — which was to her 
a most remarkable thing, as she lives in a riverless 
county, and, except once crossing the Thames, 
had scarcely ever beheld water. Her mamma had 


told her, however, of all the wonderful things she 
was to see on her holiday, and for a week or two 
past she had been saying to every visitor that came 
to the house, " Sunny is going to Scotland. Sunny 
is going in a puff-pufF to Scotland. And papa will 
take her in a boat, and she will catch a big salmon. 
Would you like to see Sunny catch a big salmon ? " 
For it is the little girl's firm conviction that to see 
Sunny doing anything m>ust be the greatest possi- 
ble pleasure to those about her, — as perhaps it is. 

Well, the important day arrived. Her mamma 
was very busy. Little Sunshine helping her, — to 
" help mamma " being always her grand idea. 
The amount of work she did, in carrying her 
mamma's clothes from the drawers to the port- 
manteau, and carrying them back again ; watching 
her dresses being folded and laid in the trunk, then 
jumping in after them, smoothing and patting 
them down, and, lastly, sitting upon them, cannot 
be told. Every now and then she looked up, 
'' Mamma, isn't Sunny a busy girl ? " — which 
could not be denied. 

The packing-up was such a great amusement — 
to herself, at least — that it was with difficulty 
she could be torn from it, even to get her dinner, 
and be dressed for her journey, part of which was 
to take place that day. At last she was got ready, 
a good while before anybody else, and then she 

r ••■V ■-■:». t^' . ^■.••- > 

^'. • Sunshine 

, i)i;:byc to Vhe 
' TQCirdener & 
ff ■ "h'is coiFe 


Stood and looked at herself from head to foot in a 
large mirror, and was very much interested in the 
sight. Her travelling-dress was a gray water- 
proof cloak, with a hood and pockets, where she 
could carry all sorts of things, — her gloves, a 
biscuit, the head of her dolly (its body had come 
ofF), and two or three pebbles, which she daily 
picked up in the garden, and kept to wash in her 
bath night and morning, " to make them clean," 
for she has an extraordinary delight in things being 
"quite clean." She had on a pair of new boots, 
— buttoned boots, the first she ever had, — and she 
was exceedingly proud of them, as well as of her 
gray felt hat, underneath which was the usual 
mass of curly yellow hair. She shook it from 
side to side like a little lion's mane, calling out, 
" Mamma, look at Sunny's curls ! Such a lot of 
curls ! " 

When the carriage came to the door, she 
watched the luggage being put in very gravely. 
Then all the servants came to say good-bye to 
her. They were very kind servants, and very 
fond of Little Sunshine. Even the gardener and 
his wife looked quite sorry to part with her, but in 
her excitement and delight the little lady of course 
did not mind it at all. 

" Good-bye ! good-bye ! I'm going to Scotland," 
she kept saying, and kissing her hand. " Sunny's 


going to Scotland in a pufF-puff. But she'll come 
back again, she will." 

' After which kind promise, meant to cheer them 
up a little, she insisted on jumping into the 
carriage "all by her own self," — she dearly likes 
doing anything " all mv own self," — and, kissing 
her hand once more, was driven away with her 
mamma and her nurse (whose name is Lizzie) 
to meet her papa in London. 

Having been several times in a " puff-puff," and 
once in London, she was not a bit frightened at 
the streets or the crowd. Onlv in the confusion 
at Euston Square she held very tight to her 
mamma's hand, and at last whispered, " Alamma, 
take her ! up in you arms, up in vou own arm.s ! " 
— her phrase when she was almost a baby. And 
though she is now a big girl, who can walk, and 
even run, she clung tightly to her mamma's neck, 
and would not be set down again until transferred 
to her papa, and taken by him to look at the 

Papa and his little girl are both \ery fond of 
engines. This was such a large one, newly 
painted, with its metal-work so clean and shiny, 
that it was quite a picture. Though sometimes it 
gave a snort and a puff like a li\"e creature. Sunny 
was not afraid of it, but sat in her papa's arms 
watching it, and then walked gravely up and 


down with him, holding his hand and making all 
sorts of remarks on the things she saw, which 
amused him exceedingly. She also informed him 
of what she was going to do, — how she should 
jump into the puff-pufF, and then jump out again, 
and sleep in a cottage, in a quite new bed, where 
Sunny had never slept before. She chattered so 
fast, and was so delighted at everything about her, 
that the time went rapidly by ; and her papa, who 
could not come to Scotland for a week yet, was 
obliged to leave her. When he kissed her, poor 
Little Sunshine set up a great cry. 

" I don't want vou to go away. Papa ' papa ! " 
Then, bursting into one of her pathetic little furies, 
" 1 won't let papa go away ! I won't I " 

She clung to him so desperately that her little 
arms had fairlv to be untied from round his neck, 
and it was at least two minutes and a half before 
she could be comforted. 

But when the train began to move, and the 
carriageful of people to settle down for the journey. 
Sunny recovered herself, and grew interested in 
watching them. They were all gentlemen, and 
as each came in, mamma had suggested that if he 
objected to a child, he had better choose another 
carriaee ; but nobodv did. One — who looked 
like the father of a family — said: "Ma'am, he 
must be a verv selfish kind of man who does 


object to children, — that is, good children." So 
mamma earnestly hoped that hers would be a good 

So she was, — for a | ime. There were 

such interesting things to see out of the window : 
puff-pufFs without end, some moving on the rails, 
some standing still, — some with a long train 
behind them, some without. What perplexed 
and troubled Little Sunshine most was to see the 
men who kept running across the rails and duck- 
ing under the engines. She got quite excited 
about them. 

" That poor man must not go on the rails, else 
the pufF-pufF will run over him and hurt him. 
Then Sunny must pick him up, and take him to 
her nursery, and cuddle him." (She always wants 
to cuddle everybody who is ill or hurt.) " Mam- 
ma, tell that poor man he mustnt go on the 

And even when mamma explained that the 
man knew what he was about, and was not likely 
to let himself be run over by anv pufF-puff, the 
little girl still looked anxious and unhappy, until 
the train swept right awav into the open country, 
with fields and trees, and cows and baa-lambs. 
These last delighted her much. She kept nodding 
her head and counting them. " There's papa 
baa-lambs, and mamma baa-lambs, and little baby 


baa-lambs, just like I ittt Sunny ; and they all 
run about tognheri -aiidthev are so happy.'' 

Everything, - - lo jked as happy as the 

lambs and the chiL ^c was a bright September 
dav, the trees just beginning to change colour, and 
the rich midland counties of England — full of 
farms and pasture-lands, with low hills sloping 
up to the horizon — looked specially beautiful. 
But the people in the carriage did not seem to 
notice anything. They were all gentlemen, as I 
said, and they had all got their afternoon papers, 
and were reading hard. Not much wonder, as the 
newspapers were terribly interesting that day, — 
the day after the capitulation of Sedan, when the 
Emperor Louis Napoleon surrendered himselt and 
his army to King William of Prussia. When 
Little Sunshine has grown a woman, she will 
understand all about it. But now she only sat 
looking at the baa-lambs out of the window, and 
now and then pulling, rather crossly, at the news- 
paper in her mamma's hand. " I don't want you 
to read ! " In her day, may there never be read 
such dreadful things as her mamma read in those 
newspapers ! 

The gentlemen at last put down theirs, and 
began to talk together, loudly and fast. Sun- 
shine's mamma listened, now to them, now to her 
little girl, who asked all sorts of questions, as 


usual. " What's that ? you tell me about that," 
she is always saying, as she twists her fingers 
tight in those of her mamma, who answers at 
once, and exactly, so far as she knows. When 
she does not know, — and even mammas cannot 
be expected to understand everything, — she says, 
plainly, " My little girl, I don't know." And her 
little girl always believes her, and is satisfied. 

Sunshine was growing rather tired now ; and the 
gentlemen kept on talking, and did not take any 
notice of her, or attempt to amuse her, as strangers 
generally do, she being such a lively and easily 
amused child, r^er mamma, fearful of her rest- 
lessness, struck out a brilliant idea. 

Little Sunshine has a cousin Georgy, whom she 
is very fond of, and who a few days before had 
presented her with some pears. These pears had 
but one fault, — they could not be eaten, being as 
hard as bullets, and as sour as crabs. They tried 
the little girl's patience exceedingly, but she was 
very good. She v/ent every morning to look at 
them as they stood ranged in a row along mamma's 
window-sill, and kissed them one by one to make 
them ripe. At last they did ripen, and were grad- 
ually eaten, — except one, the biggest and most 
beautiful of all. " Suppose," mamma suggested, 
" that we keep it two days more, then it will be 
quite ripe ; mamma will put it in her pocket, and 


we wiil eat it in the train half-way to Scotland." 
Little Sunshine looked disappointed, but she did 
not cry, nor worry mamma, — who, she knows, 
never changes her mind when once she says No, 
— and presently forgot all about it. Until, lo ! 
just as the poor little girl was getting dull and 
tired, with nothing to do, and nobody to play with, 
mamma pulled out of her pocket — the identical 
pear ! Such a pear ! so large and so pretty, — 
almost too pretty to eat. The child screamed 
with delight, and immediately began to make 
public her felicity. 

" That's mamma's pear ! " said she, touching 
the coat-sleeve of the old gentleman next her, — a 
very grim old gentlemen, — an American, thin and 
gaunt, with a face not unlike the wolf in Little 
Red Ridinghood. " That's mamma's pear. Mam- 
ma 'membered (remembered) to bring Sunny that 
pear ! " 

" Eh ? " said the old gentleman, shaking the 
little fingers off, not exactly in unkindness, but as 
if it were a fly that had settled on him and fidgeted 
him. But Sunny, quite unaccustomed to be 
shaken off, immediately drew back, shyly and 
half offended, and did not look at him again. 

He went on talking, in a cross and " cantan- 
kerous " way, to another gentlemen, with a gray 
beard, — an Lidian officer, just come from Cash- 


mere, which he declared to be the finest country 
in the world \ while the American said angrily 
"that it was nothing like Virginia." But as 
neither had been in the other country, they were 
about as able to judge the matter as most people 
are when they dispute about a thing. Neverthe- 
less, they discussed the question so violently, that 
Little Sunshine, who is not used to quarrelling, or 
seeing people quarrel, opened her blue eyes wide 
with astonishment. 

Fortunately, she was engrossed by her pear, 
which took a long time to eat. First, it had to 
be pared, — in Ion? parings, which twisted and 
dangled like Sunshine's curls. Then these parings 
had to be thrown out of the window to the little 
birds, which were seen sitting here and there on 
the telegraph wires. Lastly, the pear had to be 
eaten slowly and deliberately. She fed mamma, 
herself, and Lizzie, too, turn and turn about, in 
the most conscientious way ; uttering at each 
mouthful that ringing laugh which I wish 1 could 
put into paper and print ; but I can't. By the 
time all was done. Sunshine had grown sleepy. 
She cuddled down in her mamma's arms, with 
a whispered request for " Maymie's apron." 

Now here a confession must be made. The 
one consolation of life to this little person is the 
flannel apron upon which her first nurse used to 


wash her when she was a baby. She takes the 
two corners of it to stroke her face with one hand, 
while she sucks the thumb of the other, — and so 
she lies, meditating with open eyes, till at last she 
goes to sleep. She is never allowed to have the 
apron in public, so to-day her mamma was obliged 
to invent a little " Maymie's apron " — a small 
square of flannel — to comfort her on the long 
railway journey. This being produced, though 
she was a little ashamed, and blushed in her pretty 
childish way, she turned her back on the gentle- 
men in the carriage and settled down in deep 
content, her eyes fixed on mamma's face. Gradu- 
ally they closed — and the lively little woman lay 
fast asleep, warm and heavy, in her mamma's 

There she might have slept till the journey's 
end, but for those horrid gentlemen, who began to 
quarrel so fiercely about French and Prussians, 
and which had the right of it in this terrible war, 
— a question which you little folks even when 
you are great big folks fifty years hence may 
hardly be able to decide, — that they disturbed 
the poor child in her happy sleep, and at last she 
started up, looking round her with frightened eyes, 
and began to scream violently. She had been so 
good all the way, so little trouble to anybody, that 
mamma could not help thinking it served the 


gentlemen right, and told them, severely, that " if 
gentlemen did differ, they need not do it so angrily 
as to waken a child." At which they all looked 
rather ashamed, and were quiet for the rest of the 

It did not last much longer ; and again the little 
girl had the fun of jumping out of a puff-puff and 
into a carriage. The bright day closed ; it was 
already dusk, and pouring rain, and they had to 
drive a long way, stop at several places, and see 
several new people whom Little Sunshine had 
never seen before. She was getting tired and 
hungry, but still kept good and did not cry ; and 
when at last she came to the cottage which her 
mamma had told her about, where lived an old 
gentleman and lady who had been very kind to 
mamma, and dear grandmamma, too, for many 
years, and would be very kind to the little girl, 
Sunny ran in at once, as merry as possible. 

After awhile mamma followed, and lo ! there 
was Little Sunshine, quite at home already, sitting 
in the middle of the white sheep-skin hearth-rug, 
having taken half her " things " off, chattering in 
the most friendly manner, and asking to be lifted 
up to see " a dear little baby and a mamma," 
which was a portrait of the old lady's eldest sister 
as an infant in her mother's arms, about seventy 
years ago. 


And what do you think happened next ? Sunny 
actually sat up to supper, which she had never 
done in all her life before, — supper by candle- 
light : a mouthful of fowl, and a good many mouth- 
fuls of delicious cream, poured, with a tiny bit of 
jam in the middle of it, into her saucer. And she 
made a large piece of dry toast into " fishes," and 
swam them in her mamma's tea, and then fished 
them out with a teaspoon, and ate them up. 
Altogether it was a wonderful meal and left her 
almost too wide awake to go to bed, if she had 
not had the delight of sleeping in her mamma's 
room instead of a nursery, and being bathed, 
instead of in her own proper bath, in a washing- 
tub ! 

This washing-tub was charming. She eyed it 
doubtfully, she walked around it, she peered over 
it ; at last she slowly got into it. 

"Come and see me in my bath; come and see 
Sunny in her bath," cried she, inviting all the 
family, half of whom accepted the invitation. 
Mamma heard such shouts of laughing, with her 
little girl's laugh clearer than all, that she was 
obliged to go up-stairs to see what was the matter. 
There was Sunshine frolicking about and splashing 
like a large fish in the tub, the maids and mistresses 
standing round, exceedingly amused at their new 
plaything, the little " water baby." 


But at last the clay's excitement was over, and 
Sunny lay in her white nightgown, cuddled up 
like a round ball in her mamma's lap, sucking her 
Maymie's apron, and listening to the adventures 
of Tommy Tinker. Tommy Tinker is a young 
gentleman about whom a story, " a quite new 
story, which Sunny never heard before," has to be 
told every night. Mamma had done this for two 
months, till Tommy, his donkey, his father, John 
Tinker, who went about the country crying " Pots 
and kettles to mend," his schoolfellow, Jack, and 
his playfellow, Mary, were familiar characters, 
and had gone through so much that mamma was 
often puzzled as to what should happen to them 
next ; this night especially, when she herself was 
rather tired, but fortunately the little girl grew 
sleepy very soon. 

So she said her short prayers, ending with 
" God make Sunny a good little girl " (to which 
she sometimes deprecatingly adds, " but Sunny is 
a good girl "), curled down in the beautiful large 
strange bed, — such a change from her little crib 
at home, — and was fast asleep in no time. 

Thus ended the first day of Little Sunshine's 


Next morning Little Sunshine was awake very 
early, sitting upright in bed, and trying to poke 
open her mamma's eyes ; then she looked about 
her in the new room with the greatest curiosity. 

" There's my tub ! There's Sunny's tub ! I want 
to go into my tub again ! " she suddenly cried, with 
a shout of delight, and insisted on pattering over 
to it on her bare feet, and swimming all sorts of 
things in it, — a comb, a brush, biscuits, the soap- 
dish and soap, and a large penny, which she had 
found. These kept her amused till she was ready 
to be dressed, after which she went independently 
down-stairs, where her mamma found her, as 
before, sitting on the white rug, and conversing 
cheerfully with the old gentleman and lady, and 
the rest of the family. 

After breakfast she was taken into the garden. 
It was a very nice garden, with lots of apple-trees 
in it, and many apples had fallen to the ground. 
Sunshine picked them up and brought them in her 
pinafore, to ask mamma if she might eat them, — 



for she never eats anything without saying, " May 
I ? " and when it is given to her she always says, 
"Thank you." 

Then she went back into the garden again, and 
saw no end of curious things. Everybody was so 
kind to her, and petted her as if there had never 
been a child in the house before, which certainly 
there had not for a great many years. She and 
her mamma would willingly have stayed ever so 
much longer in the dear little cottage, but there 
was another house in Scotland, where were wait- 
ing Sunshine's two aunties ; not real aunties, for 
she has none, nor uncles neither; but she is a 
child so well loved, that she has heaps of adopted 
aunts and uncles, too. These, — Auntie Weirie 
and Auntie Maggie, — with other kind friends, 
expected her without fail that very night. 

So Sunny was obliged to say good-bye, and 
start again, which she did on her own two little 
feet, for the fly forgot to come ; and her mamma, 
and her Lizzie, and two more kind people, had to 
make a rush of more than a mile, or they would 
have missed the train. If papa, or anybody at 
home, had seen them, — half walking, and half 
running, and carrying the little girl by turns, or 
making her run between them, till she said, mourn- 
fully, "Sunny can't run. Sunny is so tired!" — 
how sorry they would have been ! 


And when at the station she lost her mamma, 
who was busy about luggage, poor Sunny's troubles 
seemed great indeed. She screamed until mamma 
heard her ever so far off, and when she caught 
sight of her again, she clung around her neck in 
the most frantic way. " I thought you was lost ; 
I thought you was lost." 

(Sunny's grammar is not perfect yet. She can- 
not understand tenses ; she says " brang " instead 
of " brought," and once being told that this was 
not right, she altered it to " I brung," which, 
indeed, had some sense, for do we not say " I 
rang," and " I rung ? " Perhaps Little Sunshine 
will yet write a book on grammar — who knows ?) 

Well, she parted from her friends, quite cheer- 
fully of course, — she never cries after anybody 
but her mamma and papa, — and soon made 
acquaintance with her fellow travellers, who this 
time were chiefly ladies. It being nearly one 
o'clock, two of them took a beautiful basket of 
lunch : sandwiches, and cakes, and grapes. Little 
Sunshine watched it with grave composure until 
she saw the grapes, which were very fine. Then 
she could not help whispering to her rriamma, very 
softly, "Sunny likes grapes." 

" Hush ! " said mamma, also in a whisper. 
"They are not ours, so we can't have them," — 
an answer which always satisfies this little girl. 


She said no more. But perhaps the young lady 
who was eating the grapes saw the silent, wistful 
eyes, for she picked off the most beautiful half of 
the bunch and handed it over. " Thank you," 
said Sunny, in the politest way. " Look, mamma ! 
grapes ! — shall I give you one ? " And the delight 
of eating them, and feeding mamma with them, 
"like a little bird," altogether comforted her for 
the troubles with which she began her journey. 

Then she grew conversational, and informed 
everybody that Sunny was going to Scotland, to 
a place where she had never been before, and 
that she was to row in a boat and catch big salmon, 
— which no doubt interested them much. She 
herself was so interested in everything she saw, 
that it was impossible not to share her enjoyment. 
She sat or stood at the carriage window and 
watched the view. It was quite different from 
anything she had been used to. Sunny lives in 
a very pretty but rather level country, full of 
woods and lanes, and hedges and fields ; but she 
had never seen a hill or a river, or indeed (except 
the Thames) any sort of water bigger than a 
horse-pond. Mamma had sometimes shown her 
pictures of mountains and lakes, but doubted if 
the child had taken it in, and was therefore quite 
surprised when she called out, all of a sudden, 
" There's a mountain ! " 


And a mountain it really was, — one of those 
Westmoreland hills, bleak and bare, which gradu- 
ally rise up before travellers' eyes on the North 
journey, a foretaste of all the beautiful things that 
are coming. Mamma, delighted, held up her little 
girl to look at it, — the first mountain Sunny ever 
saw, — with its long, smooth slopes, and the sheep 
feeding on them, dotted here and there like white 
stones, or moving about like walking daisies. 

Little Sunshine was greatly charmed with the 
" baa-lambs." She had seen plenty this spring, — 
white baa-lambs and black baa-lambs, and white 
baa-lambs with black faces, — but never so many 
at a time. And they skipped about in such a 
lively way, and stood so funnily in steep places, 
with their four little legs all screwed up together, 
looking at the train as it passed, that she grew 
quite excited, and wanted to jump out and play 
with them. 

To quiet her, mamma told her a story about 
the mountains, how curious they looked in winter, 
all covered with snow ; and how the lambs were 
sometimes lost in the snow, and the shepherds 
went out to find them, and carried them home 
in their arms, and warmed them by the fireside 
and fed them, until they opened their eyes, and 
stretched their little frozen legs, and began to run 
about the floor. 


Little Sunshine listened, with her wide blue 
eyes fixed on the mountain, and then upon her 
mamma's face, never saying a word, till at length 
she burst out quite breathless, for she does not yet 
know words enough to get out her thoughts, with : 

" I want a little baa-lamb. No," — she stopped 
and corrected herself, — "I want two little baa- 
lambs. I would go and fetch them in out of the 
snow, and carry them in my little arms, and lay 
them on Maymie's apron by my nursery fire, and 
warm them, and make them quite well again. 
And the two dear little baa-lambs would play 
about together — so pretty." 

It was a long speech, — the longest she had ever 
made all at once, — and the little girl's eyes 
sparkled and her cheeks grew hot, with the dif- 
ficulty she had in getting it out, so that mamma 
might understand. But mamma understands a 
good deal. Only it was less easy to explain to 
Sunny that she could neither have a lamb to play 
with, nor go out on the mountain to fetch it. 
However, mamma promised that if ever a little 
lamb were lost in the snow near her own house, 
and her gardener were to find it, he should be 
allowed to bring it in, and Sunny should make 
it warm by the fire and be kind to it, until it was 
quite well again. 

But still the child went back now and then to 


the matter in a melancholy voice. " I don't like 
a dear little baa-lamb to be lost in the snow. I 
want a little baa-lamb in my nursery. I would 
cuddle it and take such care of it " (for the 
strongest instinct of this little woman is to "take 
care" of people). "Mamma, some day may 
Sunny have a little baa-lamb to take care of?" 

Mamma promised ; for she knew well that if 
Sunnv grows up to be a woman, with the same 
instinct of protection that she has now, God may 
send her many of His forlorn " lambs " to take 
care of. 

Presently the baa-lambs were forgotten in a 
new sight, — a stream; a real, flowing, tumbling 
stream, — which ran alongside of the railway for 
ever so far. It jumped over rocks, and made 
itself into white foamy whirlpools ; it looked so 
very much alive, and so unlike any water that 
Sunny had ever seen before, that she was quite 

" What's that \ What's that ? " she kept saying ; 
and at last, struck with a sudden idea, " Is it 
Scotland ? " 

What her notion of Scotland was, — whether a 
place, or a person, or a thing, — her mamma could 
not make out, but the name was firmly fixed in 
her mind, and she recurred to it constantly. All 
the long, weary journey, lasting till long after her 


proper bedtime, she never cried or fretted, or 
worried anybody, but amused herself without ceas- 
ing at what she saw. She ate her dinner merrily 
— "such a funny dinner, — no plates, no forks, 
no table-cloth " — and her tea, — milk drank out of 
a horn cup, instead of "great-grandpapa's mug, 
which he had when he was a little boy," — which 
she used when at home. 

As the day closed in, she grew tired of looking 
out of the window, snuggled up in her mam- 
ma's arms, and, turning her back upon the people 
in the carriage, whispered, blushing very much : 
" Maymie's apron — Sunny wants the little May- 
mie's apron ; " and lay sucking it meditatively, till 
she dropped asleep. 

She was asleep when the train reached Scotland. 
She did not see the stars coming out over the 
Grampian Hills, nor the beautiful fires near Gart- 
sherrie — that ring of iron furnaces, blazing 
fiercely into the night — which are such a won- 
derful sight to behold. And she only woke up in 
time to have her hat and cloak put on, and be told 
that she was really in Scotland, and would see her 
aunties in a minute more. And, sure enough, in 
the midst of the bustle and confusion, there was 
Auntie Weirie's bright face at the carriage-door, 
with her arms stretched out to receive the sleepy 
little traveller. 


Four or five miles were yet to be accomplished, 
but it was in a comfortable carriage, dark and 


The little girl's tongue was altogether silent, — 
but she was not asleep, for all of a sudden she 
burst out, as if she had been thinking over the 
matter for a long time, " Mamma, you forgot the 


Everybody laughed ; and mamma explained to 

her most accurate little daughter that she had 

given up the tickets while Sunny was asleep. 

Auntie Weirie forboded merrily how Sunny would 

" keep mamma in order " by and by. 

Very sleepy and tired the poor child was ; but, 

except one entreaty for " a little drop of milk," 

which somehow was got at, — she made no 

complaint, and never once cried until the carriage 

stopped at the house-door. 

Oh, such a door and such a house ! Quite a 

fairy palace ! And there, standing waiting, was a 
pretty lady, — not unlike a fairy lady, — who took 
Little Sunshine in her arms and carried her off, 
unresisting, to a beautiful drawing-room, where, in 
the great tall mirrors, she could see herself every- 
where at full length. 

What a funny figure she was, trotting about 
and examining everything, as she always does on 
entering a strange room ! Her little water-proof 


cloak made her look as broad as she was long ; 
and when she tossed off her hat, her curls tumbled 
about in disorder, and her face and hands were so 
dirty that mamma was quite ashamed. But no- 
body minded it, and everybody welcomed her, and 
the pretty lady carried her off again up-stairs into 
the most charming extempore nursery, next to 
her mamma's room, where she could run in and 
out, and be as happy as a queen. 

She was as happy as a queen, when she woke 
up next morning to all the wonders of the house. 
First there was a poll-parrot, who could say not 
only, " Pretty Poll ! " but a great many other 
words : could bark like a dog, grunt like a pig, and 
do all sorts of wonderful things. He lived chiefly 
in the butler's pantry, but was brought out on 
occasion for the amusement of visitors. Sunny 
was taken to see him directly ; and there she stood, 
watching him intently, laughing sometimes In her 
sudden, ecstatic way, with her head thrown back, 
and her little nose all crumpled up, till, being only 
a button of a nose at best, it nearly disappeared 

And then, In the breakfast-room there were two 
dogs, — Jack, a young rough Scotch terrier, and 
Bob, a smooth terrier, very ugly and old. Now 
Sunny's dog at home. Rose, who was a puppy 
when she was a baby, so that the two were 


brought up together, is the gentlest creature imag- 
inable. She will let Sunny roll over her, and pull 
her paws and tail, and even put her little fat hand 
into her mouth, without growling or biting. But 
these strange dogs were not used to children. 
Sunny tried to make friends with them, as she 
tries to do with every live creature she sees ; even 
crying one day because she could not manage to 
kiss a spider, it ran away so fast. But Bob and 
Jack did not understand her affection at all. 
When she stroked and patted them, and vainly 
tried to carry them in her arms, by the legs, head, 
tail, or anywhere she could catch hold of, they 
escaped away, scampering off as fast as they 
could. The little girl looked after them with 
mournful eyes ; it was hard to see them frolicking 
about, and not taking the least notice of her. 

But very soon somebody much better than 
a little dog began to notice her, — a kind boy 
named Franky, who, though he was a school- 
boy, home for the holidays, did not think it in 
the least beneath his dignity to be good to a little 
girl. She sat beside him at prayers, during which 
time she watched him carefully, and evidently 
made up her mind that he was a nice person, and 
.one to be played with. So when he began playing 
with her, she responded eagerly, and they were 
soon the best of friends. 



Presently Franky had to leave her and go with 
his big brother down to the bottom of a coal mine, 
about which he had told such wonderful stories, 
that Little Sunshine, had she been bigger, would 
certainly have liked to go too. "You jump into 
a basket, and are let down, v*-^*- 

down, several hundred feet, w^^"^"*^ 

till you touch the bottom, 
and then you find a new 

world underground : long passages, so narrow 
that you cannot stand upright, and loftier rooms 
between, and men working — as black as the 
coal themselves — with lights in their caps. Also 
horses, dragging trucks full of coal, — horses 
that have never seen the daylight since they were 


taken down the pit, perhaps seven or ten years 
ago, and will never see daylight again as long 
as they live. Yet they live happily, are kindly 
treated, and have comfortable stables, all in the 
dark of the coal mine, — and no doubt are quite 
as content as the horses that work in the outside 
world, high above their heads." 

Sunshine heard all this. I cannot say that she 
understood it, being such a very little girl, you 
know ; but whenever Franky opened his lips she 
watched him with intense admiration, and when 
he was gone she looked quite sad. However, 
she soon found another friend in the pretty 
lady, Franky's mamma. Her own mamma was 
obliged to go out directly after breakfast, so this 
other mamma took Sunny under her especial 
protection, and showed her all about the house. 
First, they visited the parrot, who went through 
all his performances over again. Then they pro- 
ceeded up-stairs to what used to be the nursery, 
only the little girls had grown into big girls, and 
were now far away at school. But their mamma 
showed Sunny their old toy-cupboard, where were 
arranged, in beautiful order, playthings so lovely 
that it was utterlv impossible such very tiny 
fingers could safely be trusted with them. 

So Little Sunshine was obliged to practise the 
lesson she has learnt with her mamma's china 


cabinet at home, — " Look and not touch." Ever 
since she was a baby, Wedgwood ware, Sevres and 
Dresden china, all sorts of delicate and precious 
things, have been left within her reach on open 
shelves ; but she was taught from the first that 
she must not touch them, and she never does. 
" The things that Sunny may play with," such as 
a small plaster hand, a bronze angel, and a large 
agate seal, she takes carefully out from among the 
rest, and is content with them, — just as content 
as she was with one particular doll which the 
pretty lady chose out from among these countless 
treasures and gave to her to play with. 

Now Sunny has had a good many dolls, — 
wooden dolls, gutta-percha dolls, dolls made of 
linen with faces of wax, — but none of them had 
ever lasted, entire, for more than twenty-four hours. 
They always met with some misfortune or other, 

— lost a leg or an arm \ their heads dropped ofF, 
and the sawdust ran out of their bodies, leaving 
them mere empty bits of calico, not dolls at all. 
The wrecks she had left behind her at home — 
bodies without heads, heads without bodies, arms 
and legs sewed upon bodies that did not belong to 
them, or strewed about separately in all directions 

— would have been melancholv to think of, only 
that she loved them quite as well in that dis- 
membered condition as when they v^ere new. 


But this was a dolly, — such a dolly as Sunny 
had never had before. Perfectly whole, with a 
pretty waxen face, a nose, and two eyes ; also 
hair, real hair that could be combed. This she at 
once proceeded to do with her mamma's comb, 
just as her Lizzie did her own hair every morn- 
ing, until the comb became full of long flaxen 
hairs — certainly not mamma's — and there grew 
a large bald place on the top of dolly's head, 
which Sunny did not understand at all. There- 
upon her Lizzie came to the rescue, and proposed 
tying up the poor remnant of curls with a blue 
ribbon, and dressing dolly, whose clothes took oft* 
and on beautifully, in her out-of-doors dress, so 
that Sunshine might take her a walk, in the garden. 

Lizzie is a very ingenious person in mending 
and dressing dollies, and has also the gift of 
unlimited patience with her charge; so the toilet 
went off very well, and soon both Sunshine and 
her doll were ready to go out with Franky's 
mamma and see the cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, 
and all the wonders of the outside establishment, 
which was a very large one. 

Indeed, the pretty lady showed her so many 
curious things, and played with her so much, that 
when, just before dark, her own mamma came 
back, and saw a little roly-poly figure, hugging a 
large doll, running as fast as ever it could along 


the gravel-walk to meet her, she felt convinced 
that the first day in Scotland had been a most 
delightful one, altogether perfect in its u^ay. So 
much so that, when put to bed. Sunny again for- 
got Tommy Tinker. She was chattering so much 
of all she had seen, that it was not until the last 
minute that she remembered to ask for a " story." 

There was no story in mamma's head to-night. 
Instead, she told something really true, which had 
happened in the street near the house where she 
had spent the day : 

A poor little boy, just come out of school, was 
standing on the top of the school-door steps, with 
his books in his hand. Suddenly a horse that was 
passing took fright, rushed up the steps, and 
knocked the boy down. He fell several feet, and 
a huge stone fell after, just on the top of him — 
and — and — 

Mamma stopped. She could not tell any more 
of the pitiful story. Her child's eyes were fixed 
upon her face, which Little Sunny reads some- 
times as plain as any book. 

" Mamma, was the poor little boy hurt .-* " 

" Yes, my darling." 

" Very much hurt ? " 

" Very much, indeed." 

Sunny sat upright, and began speaking loud and 
fast, in her impetuous, broken way. 


" I want to go and see that poor little boy. I 
will bring him to my nursery and put him in my 
little bed, and take care of him. Then he will get 
quite well." 

And she looked much disappointed when her 
mamma explained that this was not necessary ; 
somebody having already carried the little boy 
home to his mamma. 

" Then his mamma will cuddle him, and kiss 
the sore place, and he will be quite well soon. Is 
he quite well ? " 

"Yes," answered Sunny's mamma, after a 
minute's thought, — "yes, he is quite well now; 
nothing will ever hurt him any more." 

Sunny was perfectly satisfied. 

But her mamma, when she kissed the little 
curly head, and laid it down on its safe pillow, 
thought of that other mother, — mourning over a 
dead child,— thoughts which Little Sunshine could 
not understand, nor was there any need she should. 
She may, some day, when she has a little girl of 
her own. 


Little Sunshine had never yet beheld the sea. 
That wonderful delight, a sea-beach, with little 
waves running in and running back again, playing 
at bo-peep among shingle and rocks, or a long 
smooth sandy shore, where you may pick up shells 
and seaweed and pebbles, and all sorts of curious 
things, and build castles and dig moats, filled with 
real water, — all this was unknown to the little 
girl. So her mamma, going to spend a day with 
a dear old friend, who lived at a lovely sea-side 
house, thought she would take the child with her. 
Also " the big child, " as her Sunny sometimes 
called Lizzie, who enjoyed going about and seeing 
new places as much as the little child. 

They started directly after breakfast one morn- 
ing, leaving behind them the parrot, the dogs, and 
everything except Franky, who escorted them in 
the carriage through four or five miles of ugly 
town streets, where all the little children who ran 
about (and there seemed no end of them) had very 
rough bare heads, and very dirty bare feet. 



Sunny was greatly struck by them. 

" Look, mamma, that little boy has got no 
shoes and stockings on ! Shall Sunny take off hers 
and give them to that poor little boy ? " 

And she was proceeding to unbutton her shoes, 
when her mamma explained that — the boy being 
quite a big boy — Sunny's shoes would certainly 
not fit him, and if they did, he would probably not 
put them on ; since in Scotland little boys and 
girls often go barefooted, and like it. Had not 
papa once taken off Sunny's shoes and stockings, 
and let her run about upon the soft warm grass of 
the lawn, calling her " his little Scotch girl .? " 

Sunny accepted the reasoning, but still looked 
perplexed at the bare feet. They were " so dirty," 
and she cannot bear to have the least speck of 
4irt on feet or hands or clothes, or anywhere about 
her. Her Auntie Weirie, on whose lap she sat, 
and of whom she had taken entire possession, — 
children always do, — was very much amused. 

She put them safely into the train, which soon 
started, — on a journey which mamma knew well, 
but which seemed altogether fresh when seen 
through her child's eyes. Such wonderful things 
for Sunshine to look at! Mountains, — she thor- 
oughly understood mountains now ; and a broad 
river, gradually growing broader still, until it was 
almost sea. Ships, too — some with sails, and 


some with chimneys smoking; "a puff-puff on 
the water," Sunny called them. Every now and 
then there was a little "puff-puff" dragging a big 
ship after it, and going so fast, fast, — the big ship 
looking as proud as if it were sailing along all by 
its own self, and the little one puffing and blow- 
ing as busily as possible. Sunny watched them 
with much curiosity, and then started a brilliant 

" That's a papa-boat and that's a baby-boat, 
and the baby-boat pulls the papa-boat along ! So 
funny ! " 

And she crumpled up her little face, and, toss- 
ing up her head, laughed her quite indescribable 
laugh, which makes everybody else laugh too. 

There were various other curious things to be 
seen on the river, especially some things which 
mamma told her were called " buovs." These of 
course she took to mean little " boys," and 
looked puzzled, until mamma described them 
as " big red thimbles," which she understood, 
and noticed each one with great interest ever 

But it would be vain to tell all the things she 
saw, and all the delight she took in them. Occa- 
sionally her little face grew quite grave, such 
difficulty had she in understanding the wonders 
that increased more and more. And when at last 


the journey was ended and the train stopped, the 
little girl was rather troubled, and would not let 
go of her mamma for a single minute. 

For the lovelv autumn weather of yesterday 
had changed into an equinoctial gale. Inland, 
one did not so much perceive it, but at the seaside 
it was terrible. People living on that coast will 
long remember this particular day as one of the 
wildest of the season, or for several seasons. 
The wind blew, and the sea roared, as even 
mamma, who knew the place well, had seldom 
heard. Instead of tiny wavelets running after 
Sunny's little feet, as had been promised her, there 
were huge " white horses " rising and falling in 
the middle of the river; while along the shore the 
waves kept pouring in, and dashing themselves in 
and out of the rocks, with force enough to knock 
any poor little girl down. Sunny could not go 
near them, and the wind was so high that her hat 
had to be tied on ; and her cloak, a cape of violet 
wool, which Auntie Weirie had rushed to fetch 
at the last minute, in case of rain, was the greatest 
possible blessing. Still, fasten it as Lizzie would, 
the wind blew it loose again, and tossed her curls 
all over her face in a furious fashion, which the 
little girl could not understand at all. 

"Sunny don't like it," said she, pitifully; and, 
forgetful of all the promised delights, — shells, 


and pebbles, and castles of sand, — took refuge 
gladly in-doors. 

However, this little girl is of such a happy 
nature in herself that she quickly grows happy 
anywhere. And the house she came to was such 
a beautiful house, with a conservatory full of 
flowers, — she is so fond of flowers, — and a large 
hall to play in besides. Her merry voice was 
soon heard in all directions, rather to her mamma's 
distress, as the dear mistress of the house was not 
well. But Sunny comprehends that she must 
always speak in a whisper when people are not 
well ; so she was presently quieted down, and 
came into the dining-room and ate her dinner by 
mamma's side, as good as gold. She has always 
dined with mamma ever since she could sit up in 
a chair, so she behaves quite properly, — almost 
like a grown-up person. When she and mamma 
are alone, they converse all dinner-time ; but when 
there are other people present, she is told that 
" little girls must be seen and not heard," — a rule 
which she observes as far as she can. Not alto- 
gether, I am afraid, for she is very fond of talking. 

Still, she was good, upon the whole, and enjoyed 
herself much, until she had her things put on 
again, ready to start once more, in a kind lady's 
carriage, which was ordered to drive slowly along 
the shore, that Sunny might see as much as pos- 


sible, without being exposed to the wind and 
spray. She was much interested, and a little 
awed. She ceased to chatter, and sat looking out 
of the carriage window on the curve of shore, 
over which the tide came pouring in long rollers, 
and sweeping back again in wide sheets of water 
mixed with white foam. 

" Does Sunny like the waves ? " asked the kind 
lady, who has a sweet way with children, and is 
very good to them, though she has none of her 

" Yes, Sunny likes them," said the little girl, 
after a pause, as if she were trving to make up 
her mind. " 'Posing (supposing) Sunny were to go 
and swim upon them? If — if mamma would 
come too ? " 

" But wouldn't Sunny be afraid ? " 

" No," very decidedly this time. " Sunny 
would be quite safe if mamma came too." 

The lady smiled at mamma; who listened, 
scarcely smiling, and did not say a word. 

It was a terrible day. The boats, and even big 
ships, were tossing about like cockle-shells on the 
gray, stormy sea ; and the mountains, hiding them- 
selves in mist, at last altogether disappeared. 
Then the rain began to fall in sheets, as it often 
does fall hereabouts, — soaking, blinding rain. At 
the station it was hardlv possible to keep one's 


footing : the little girl, if she had not been in her 
Lizzie's arms, would certainly have been blown 
down before she got into the railway carriage. 
Once there, — safely sheltered from the storm, 

— she did not mind it in the least. She jumped 
about, and played endless tricks, to the great 
amusement of two ladies, — evidently a mamma 
and a grandmamma, — who compared her with 
their own little people, and were very kind to her, 

— as indeed everybody is when she travels. Still, 
even they might have got tired out, if Sunny had 
not fortunately grown tired herself, and began to 
yawn in the midst of her fun in a droll way. 

Then mamma slyly produced out of her pocket 
the child's best travelling companion, — the little 
Maymie's apron. Sunny seized it with a scream 
of delight, cuddled down, sucking it, in her 
mamma's arms, and in three minutes was sound 
asleep. Nor did she once wake up till the train 
stopped, and Lizzie carried her, so muffled up that 
nobody could have told whether it was a little girl 
or a brown paper parcel, to the carriage where faith- 
ful Franky waited for her, and had waited ever 
so long. 

Fun and Franky always came together. Sunny 
shook herself wide awake at once, — fresh as a 
rose, and lively as a kitten. Oh, the games that 
began, and lasted all the four miles that the car- 


riage drove through the pelting rain ! Never u^as 
a big boy kinder to a little girl ; so patient, so con- 
siderate ; letting her do anything she liked W\\\i 
him ; never cross, and never rough, — in short, a 
thorough gentleman, as all boys should be to all 
girls, and all men to all women, whether old or 
young. And when home was reached, the fire, 
like the welcome, was so warm and bright that 
Sunny seemed to have lost all memory of her day 
at the seaside, — the stormy waves, the dreary 
shore, the wild wind, and pouring rain. She was 
such a contented little girl that she never heeded 
the weather outside. But her mamma did a little, 
and thought of sailors at sea, and soldiers fighting 
abroad, and many other things. 

The happy visit was now drawing to a close. 
Perhaps as well, lest, as some people foretold. 
Sunny might get " quite spoiled," — if love spoils 
anybody, which I do not believe. Certainly this 
child's fehcities were endless. Everybody played 
with her ; everybody was kind to her. Franky 
and Franky's mamma, her two aunties, the parrot, 
the dogs Bob and Jack, were her companions by 
turns. There was another dog, Wallace by name, 
but she did not play with him, as he was an older 
and graver and bigger animal, — much bigger than 
herself indeed. She once faintly suggested riding 
him, " as if he was a pony," but the idea was not 


caught at, and fell to the ground, as, doubtless^ 
Sunny would have done immediately, had she car- 
ried out her wish. 

Wallace, though big, was the gentlest dog 
imaginable. He was a black retriever, belonging 
to Franky's elder brother, a grown-up young gen- 
tleman ; and his devotion to his master was entire. 
The rest of the family he just condescended to 
notice, but Mr. John he followed everywhere 
with a quiet persistency, the more touching 
because poor Wallace was nearly blind. He had 
lost the sight of one eye by an accident, and could 
see out of the other very little. They knew how 
little, by the near chance he had often had of being 
run over by other carriages in following theirs ; so 
that now Franky's mamma never ventured to take 
him out with her at all. He was kept away from 
streets, but allowed to run up and down in the 
country, where his wonderful sense of smell pre- 
served him from any great danger. 

This sense of smell, common to all retrievers, 
seemed to have been doubled by Wallace's blind- 
ness. He could track his master for miles and 
miles, and find anything that his master had touched. 
Once, just to try him, Mr. John showed him a 
halfpenny, and then hid it under a tuft of grass, 
and walked on across the country for half a mile 
or more. Of course the dog could not see where 


he hid it, and had been galloping about in all direc- 
tions ever since ; yet when his master said, " Wal- 
lace, fetch that halfpenny," showing him another 
one, Wallace instantly turned back, smelling cau- 
tiously about for twenty yards or so; then, having 
caught the right scent, bounding on faster and 
faster, till out of sight. In half an hour more he 
came back, and ran direct to his master with the 
halfpenny in his mouth. 

Since, Mr. John had sent the dog for his stick, 
his cap, or his handkerchief, often considerable 
distances ; but Wallace always brought the thing 
safe back, whatever it was, and laid it at his mas- 
ter's feet. Mr. John was very proud of Wallace, 
and very fond of him. 

Sunny was not old enough to understand these 
clevernesses of the creature, but she fully appre- 
ciated one trick of his. He would hold a bit of 
biscuit or sugar on his nose, quite steady, for 
several minutes, while his master said " Trust," 
not attempting to eat it ; but when Mr. John said 
" Paid for ! " Wallace gobbled it up at once. 
This he did several times, to Sunshine's great 
delight, but always with a sort of hesitation, as 
if he considered it a little below the dignity of 
such a very superior animal. And the minute 
they were gone he would march away with his 
slow, blind step, following his beloved master. 


But all pleasures come to an end, and so did 
these of Little Sunshine's. First, Franky went 
ofF to school, and she missed him out of the house 
very much. Then one day, instead of the reg- 
ular morning amusements, she had to be dressed 
quickly, to eat her breakfast twice as fast as usual, 
and have her " things " put on all in a hurry, " to 
go by the pufF-puff." Her only consolation was 
that Dolly should have her things put on too, — 
poor Dolly ! who, from constant combing, was 
growing balder and balder every day, and whose 
clothes were slowly disappearing, so that it re- 
quired all Lizzie's ingenuity to dress her decently 
for the journey. 

This done. Sunny took her in her arms, and 
became so absorbed in her as hardly to notice 
the affectionate adieux of her kind friends, some 
of whom went with her to the station : so she 
scarcely understood that it was good-bye. And 
besides, it is only elder folks who understand 
good-byes, not little people. All the better, too. 

Sunshine was delighted to be in a puff-pufF 
again, and to see more mountains. She watched 
them till she was tired, and then went comfortably 
to sleep, having first made Dolly comfortable 
too, lying as snug in her arms as she did in her 
mamma's. But she and Dolly woke up at the 
journey's end j when, indeed, Sunny became so 


energetic and lively, that, seeing her mamma and 
\j\tjX\q carrying each a bag, she insisted on carry- 
ing something too. Seizing upon a large luncheon 
basket which the pretty lady had filled with no 
end of good things, she actually lifted it, and 
bore it, tottering under its weight, for several 

" See, mamma. Sunny can carry it," said she 
in triumph, and her mamma never hinders the 
little girl from doing everything she can do ; 
wishing to make her a useful and helpful woman, 
who will never ask anybody else to do for her 
what she can do for herself. 

The place they were going to was quite dif- 
ferent from that they had left. It was only 
lodgings, — in a house on the top of a hill, — but 
they were nice lodgings, and it was a bright 
breezy hill, sloping down to a beautiful glen, 
through which ran an equally beautiful stream. 
Thence, the country sloped up again, through 
woods and pasture-lands, to a dim range of 
mountains, far in the horizon. A very pretty 
place outside, and not bad inside, only the little 
girl's " nursery " was not so large and cheerful 
as the one she was used to, and she missed the 
full house and the merry companions. How- 
ever, being told that papa was coming to-mor- 
row, she brightened up, and informed everybody. 


whether Interested or not In the fact, that " Sunny 
was going to see papa jump out of a puff-pufF, 
to-morrow." " To-morrow " being still to her 
a very indefinite thing; but "papa jumping out 
of a pufF-pufF" has long been one of the great 
features of her existence. 

Still, to-day she would have been rather dull, 
if, when she went out into the garden, there had 
not come timidly forward, to look at her, a little 
girl, whose name mamma Inquired, and found that 
It was Nelly. 

Here a word or two ought to be said about 
Nelly, for she turned out the greatest comfort 
to solitary little Sunny, In this strange place. 
Nelly was not exactly " a young lady ; " indeed, at 
first she hung back In a sweet, shy way, as doubt- 
ful whether Sunny's mamma yvould allow the 
child to play with her. But Nelly was such a 
good little girl, so well brought-up, and sensible, 
though only ten years old, that a princess might 
have had her for a playfellow without any disad- 
vantage. And as soon as mamma felt sure that 
Sunny would learn nothing bad from her, — 
which Is the only real objection to playfellows, 

— she allowed the children to be together as 
much as ever thev liked. 

Nelly called Sunshine " a bonnle wee lassie," 

— words which, not understanding what they 

Tiellie and S»4nr\ui 
on ^ha sVeps. 

--4.' (StBt^ 

|||lf|.:.-Mf:-,P.|'-'lli.'iHM ' l'"-' Mi>l"Ulli|%l\|i||[||||p |l|^^ 


meant, had already offended her several times 
since she came to Scotland. 

, " I'm not a bonnie wee lassie, — I'm Sunny ; 
mamma's little Sunny, I am ! " cried she, almost 
in tears. But this was the only annoyance that 
Nelly ever gave her. 

Very soon the two children were sitting to- 
gether in a most charming play-place, — some 
tumble-down, moss-grown stone steps leading 
down to the garden. From thence you could 
see the country for miles, and watch the rail- 
way trains winding along like big serpents, with 
long feathers of steam and smoke streaming from 
their heads in the daylight, and great red fiery 
eyes gleaming through the dark. 

Nelly had several stories to tell about them : 
how once a train caught fire, and blazed up, — 
they saw the blaze from these steps, — and very 
dreadful it was to look at ; also, she wanted to 
know if Sunny had seen the river below ; such a 
beautiful little river, only sometimes people were 
drowned in it, — two young ladies who were bath- 
ing, and also a schoolmaster, who had fallen into 
a deep hole, which was now called the Dominie's 

Nelly spoke broad Scotch, but her words were 
well chosen, and her manner very simple and 
gentle and sweet. She had evidentlv been care- 


fully educated, as almost all Scotch children are. 
She went to school, she said, every morning, so 
that she could only play with Sunny of afternoons ; 
but to-morrow afternoon, if the lady allowed, — 
there was still that pretty, polite hesitation at any- 
thing that looked like intrusiveness, — she would 
take Sunny and her Lizzie a walk, and show them 
all that was to be seen. 

Sunny's mamma not only allowed this, but 
was glad of it. Little Nelly seemed a rather grave 
and lonely child. She had no brothers and sisters, 
she said, but lived with her aunts, who were 
evidently careful over her. She was a useful 
little body ; went many a message to the village, 
and did various things about the house, as a girl 
of ten can often do ; but she was always neatly 
dressed, her hands and face quite clean, and 
her pretty brown hair, the chief prettiness she had, 
well combed and brushed. And, above all, she 
never said a rude or ugly word. 

It was curious to see how Little Sunshine, who, 
though not shy or repellent, is never affectionate 
to strangers, and always declines caresses, saying 
"she only kisses papa and mamma," accepted 
Nelly's kiss almost immediately, and allowed her 
to make friends at once. Nay, when bedtime 
arrived, she even invited her to " come and see 
Sunny in her bath," a compliment she only pays 


occasionally to her chief favourites. Soon the two 
solitary children were frolicking together, and the 
gloomy little nursery — made up extempore out of 
a back bedroom — ringing with their laughter. 

At last, fairly tired with her day's doings, Sunny 
condescended to go to sleep. Her mamma sat up 
for an hour or two longer, writing letters, and 
listening to the child's soft breathing through the 
open door, to the equally soft soughing of the 
wind outside, and the faint murmur of the stream, 
deep below in the glen. Then she also went to 


Nelly turned out more and more of an acqui- 
sition every day. Pretty as this new place was, 
Little Sunshine was not quite so happy as the 
week before. She had not so many things to 
amuse her out of doors, and indoors she was kept 
more to her nursery than she approved of or was 
accustomed to, being in her own home mamma's 
little friend and companion all day long. Now 
mamma was often too busy to attend to her, and 
had to slip away and hide out of sight ; for when 
ever Sunny caught sight of her, the wail of 
" Mamma, mamma, I want you ! " was really sad 
to hear. 

Besides, she had another tribulation. In the 
nearest house, a short distance down the lane, 
lived six children whom she knew and was fond of, 
and had come to Scotland on purpose to play with. 
But alas ! one of them caught the measles, and. 
Little Sunshine never having had measles, or anv- 
thing, — in fact never having had a day's illness or 
taken a dose of physic in her life, — the elders 



decided that it was best to keep the little folks 
apart. Mamma tried hard not to let Sunny find 
out that her dear playfellows of old lived so near ; 
but one day these sharp little ears caught their 
names, and from that time she was always wanting 
to go and play with them, and especially with 
their "little baby." 

" I want to see that little baby, mamma \ may 
Sunny go and cuddle the dear little baby r " 

But it was the baby which had the measles, and 
some of the rest were not safe. So there was 
nothing for it but to give orders to each household 
that when they saw one another they were to run 
away at once ; which thev most honourably did. 
Still, it was hard for Sunny to see her little friends 
— whom she recognised at once, though they had 
not met for eight months — galloping about, as 
merry as possible, playing at " ponies," and all 
sorts of things, while she was kept close to her 
Lizzie's side and not allowed to go near them. 

Thus, but for kind little Nelly, the child 
would have been dull, — at least, as dull as such a 
sunshiny child could well be, — which was not 
saying much. If she grows up with her present 
capacity for enjoying herself, little Sunny will be 
a blessing wherever she goes, since happy-minded 
people alwavs make others happy. Still, Nelly 
was welcome company, especially of afternoons. 


The days passed on very much aHke. Before 
breakfast. Sunny always went a walk with her 
mamma, holding hands, and talking like two 
grown-up persons, — about the baa-lambs, and 
calves, and cows, which they met on their way 
along the hillside. It was a beautiful hillside, 
and everything looked so peaceful in the early 
morning. They seldom met anybody, except 
once, when thev were spoken to by a funny-look- 
ing man, who greatly offended Sunny by asking if 
she were a bov or girl, but added, " It's a fine bairn, 
anyhow ! " Then he went on to say how he had 
just come " frae putting John M'Ewen in his 
coffin, ve ken \ I'm gaun to Glasgow, but I'll be 
back here o' Saturday. Ay, av, I'll be back o' Sat- 
urday," as if the assurance must be the greatest 
satisfaction to Sunnv and her mamma. Mamma 
thought he must have been drunk, but no, he was 
only foolish, — a poor half-witted fellow, whom all 
the neighbourhood knew, and were good to. He 
had some queer points. Among the rest, a most 
astonishing memory. He would go to church, 
and then repeat the sermon, or long bits of it, off 
by heart, to the first person he met. Though 
silly, he was quite capable of taking care of him- 
self, and never harmed anybody. Everybody, 
Nelly said, was kind to '' daft John." Still, Sunny 
did not fancy him, and when she came home she 


toid her papa a long stor)' about " that ugly 
man ! 

She had great games with her papa now and 
then, and was very happy whenever she could get 
hold of him. But her great companion was Nelly. 
From the minute Nelly came out of school till 
seven o'clock, — Sunny's bedtime, — they were in- 
separable ; and the way the big girl devoted herself 
to the little one, the patience with which she sub- 
mitted to all her vagaries, and allowed herself to 
be tvrannised over, — never once failingr in good- 
temper and pleasantness, — was quite pretty to see. 
They played in the garden together, they went 
walks, thev gathered blackberries, made them into 
jam, in a little saucer by the fire, and then ate 
them up. With a wooden spade, and a " luggie " 
to fill with earth, they used to go up the hillside, 
or down to the glen, sometimes disappearing for 
so long that mamma was rather unhappy in her 
mind, only Nelly was such a cautious little person, 
that whenever she went she was sure to bring her 
two charges home in safety. 

One day, Nelly not being attainable, mamma 
went with the " big child " and the little one to 
the Dominie's Hole. 

It was a real long walk, especially for such tiny 
feet, that eighteen months ago could barely toddle 
alone ; all across the field of the baa-lambs, which 


always interested Sunny so much that it was diffi- 
cult to get her past them \ she wanted to play with 
them and "cuddle" them, and was much sur- 
prised when they invariably ran away. However, 
she was to-day a little consoled by mamma's hold- 
ing her upon the top of the stone dike at the end 
of the field, to watch " the water running " be- 
tween the trees of the glen. 

In Scotland water runs as I think it never does 
in England, — so loudly and merrily, so fast and 
bright. Even when it is brown water, — as when 
coming over peat it often is, — there is a beauty 
about it beyond all quiet Southern streams. Here, 
however, it was not coloured, but clear as crystal 
in every channel of the little river, and it was 
divided into tiny channels by big stones, and shal- 
low, pebbly watercourses, and overhanging rocks 
covered with ferns, and heather, and mosses. Be- 
neath these were generally round pools, where the 
river settled dark and still, though so clear that 
you could easily see to the bottom, which looked 
only two or three feet deep, when perhaps it was 
twelve or fifteen. 

The Dominie's Hole was one of these. You 
descended to it bv a winding path through the 
glen, and then came suddenly out upon a sheltered 
nook surrounded bv rocks, over which the honey- 
suckles crept, and the birk or mountain ash grew 


out of every possible cranny. Down one of these 
rocks the pent-up stream poured in a noisy Httle 
waterfall, forming below a deep bathing-pool, cut 
in the granite — I think it was granite — like a 
basin, with smooth sides and edges. Into this 
pool, many years ago, the poor young " Dominie," 
or schoolmaster, had dived, and striking his head 
against the bottom, had been stunned and drowned. 
He was found floating, dead, in the lonely little 
pool, which ever after bore his name. 

A rather melancholy place, and the damp, sun- 
less chill of it made it still more gloomy, pretty 
as it was. Little Sunshine, who cannot bear 
living in shadow, shivered involuntarily, and 
whispered, " Mamma, take her ! " as she always 
does in any doubtful or dangerous circumstances. 
So mamma was obliged to carry her across several 
yards of slippery stones, green with moss, that she 
might look up to the waterfall, and down to the 
Dominie's Hole. She did not quite like it, evi- 
dently, but was not actually frightened, — she is 
such a very courageous person whenever she is in 
her mamma's arms. 

When set down on her own two feet, the case 
was different. She held by her mamma's gown, 
looked at the noisy tumbling water with anxious 
eyes, and seemed relieved to turn her back upon 
it, and watch the half-dozen merry rivulets into 


which it soon divided, as they spread themselves 
in and out over the shallow channel of the stream. 
What charming little baby rivers they were ! 
Sunny and her mamma could have played among 
them for hours, damming them up with pebbles, 
jumping over them, floating leaves down them, 
and listening to their ceaseless singing, and their 
dancing too, with bubbles and foam gliding on 
their surface like little fairy boats, till — pop! — 
all suddenly vanished, and were seen no more. 

It was such a thirsty place, too, — until mamma 
made her hand into a cup for the little girl, and 
then the little girl insisted on doing the same for 
mamma, which did not answer quite the same 
purpose, being so small. At last mamma took 
out of her pocket a letter (it was a sad letter, with 
a black edge, but the child did not know that), 
and made its envelope into a cup, from which 
Sunny drank in the greatest delight. Afterward 
she administered it to her mamma and her Lizzie, 
till the saturated paper began to yield, — its in- 
nocent little duty was done. However, Sunny 
insisted on filling it again herself, and was greatly 
startled when the bright, fierce-running water took 
it right out of her hand, whirled it along for a 
yard or two, and then sunk it, soaked through, 
in the first eddy which the stream reached. 

Poor child ! she looked after her frail treasure 


with eyes in which big tears — and Sunny's tears, 
when they do come, are so very big ! — were just 
beginning to rise ; and her rosy mouth fell at the 
corners, with that pitiful look mamma knows 
well, though it is not often seen. 

*•' Never mind, my darling ; mamma will make 
her another cup out of the next letter she has. 
Or, better still, she will find her own horn cup, 
that has been to Scotland so often, and gone about 
for weeks in mamma's pocket, years ago. Now 
Sunny shall have it to drink out of." 

" And to swim ? May Sunny have it to swim ? " 

" No, dear, because, though it would not go 
down to the bottom like the other cup, it might 
swim right away and be lost, and then mamma 
would be so sorry. No, Sunny can't have it to 
swim, but she may drink out of it as often as she 
likes. Shall we go home and look for it } " 

" Yes." 

The exact truth, told in an intelligible and 
reasonable way, always satisfies this reasonable 
child, who has been accustomed to have every 
prohibition explained to her, so far as was possi- 
ble. Consequently, the sense of injustice, which 
even very young children have, when it is roused, 
never troubles her. She knows mamma will give 
her everything she can, and when she does not, 
it is simply because she can't ; and she tells 


Sunny why she can't, whenever Sunny can under- 
stand it. 

So they climbed contentedly up the steep brae, 
and went home. 

Nothing else happened here — at least to the 
child. If she had a rather dull life, it was a 
peaceful one. She was out-of-doors a great deal, 
with Lizzie and Nelly of afternoons, with her 
mamma of early mornings. Generally, each day, 
the latter contrived to get a quiet hour or two ; 
while her child played about the garden steps, and 
she sat reading the newspaper, — the terrible news- 
paper ! When Sunny has grown up a woman, she 
will know what a year this year 1870 has been, and 
understand how, many a time, when her mamma 
was walking along with her, holding her little hand 
and talking about all the pretty things they saw, she 
was thinking of other mothers and other children, 
who, instead of running merrily over sunshiny 
hillsides, were weeping over dead fathers, or 
dying miserably in burnt villages, or starving, day 
by day, in besieged cities. This horrible war, 
brought about, as war almost always is, by a i^vf 
wicked, ambitious men, made her feel half frantic. 

One day especially, — the day the Prussians 
came and sat down before Paris, and began the 
siege, — Little Sunshine was playing about, with 
her little wooden spade, and a " luggie," that her 


papa had lately bought for her ; filling it with peb- 
bles, and then digging in the garden-beds, with all 
her small might. Her mamma sat on the garden 
steps, reading the newspaper. Sunny did not 
approve of this at all. 

" Come and build me a house. Put that 
down," pulling at the newspaper, " and build 
Sunny a house. Please, mamma," in a very gentle 
tone, — she knows in a minute, by mamma's look, 
when she has spoken too roughly, — " Please, 
mamma, come and build Sunny a house." 

And getting no answer, she looked fixedly at 
her mamma, — then hugged her tight around the 
neck and began to sob for sympathy. Poor 
lamb ! She had evidently thought only little girls 
cried, — not mammas at all. 

The days ran on fast, fast 5 and it was time for 
another move and another change in Little Sun- 
shine's holiday. Of course she did not under- 
stand these changes ; but she took them cheerfully, 
— she was the very best of little travellers. The 
repeated packing had ceased to be an interst to 
her; she never wanted now to jump upon mam- 
ma's gowns, and sit down on her bonnets, by way 
of being useful ; but still the prospect of going in 
a pufF-pufF was always felicitous. She told Nelly 
all about it ; and how she was afterward to sail in 
a boat, with Maurice and Maurice's papa (Mau- 


rice was a little playfellow, of whom more pres- 
ently), how they were to go fishing and catch big 

"Wouldn't you like to catch a big salmon?" 
she asked Nelly, not recognising in the least that 
she was parting with her, probably never to meet 
again in all their lives. But the elder child looked 
sad and grave during the whole of that day. And 
when for the last time Nelly put her arms around 
Sunny and kissed her over and over again, Sunny 
being of course just as merry as ever, and quite 
unconscious that they were bidding one another 
good-bye, it was rather hard for poor little Nelly. 

However, the child did not forget her kind 
companion. For weeks and even months after- 
wards, upon hearing the least allusion to this 
place. Sunshine would wake up into sudden re- 
membrance. "Where's Nelly? I want to see 
Nelly, — I want Nelly to come and play with 
me ;" and look quite disappointed when told 
that Nelly was far away, and couldn't come. 
Which was, perhaps, as much as could be 
expected of three years old. 

Always happy in the present, and frightened at 
nothing so long as she was " close by mamma," 
Little Sunshine took her next journey. On the 
way she stayed a night at the seaside place where 
she had been taken before, and this time the 



weather was kind. She wandered with her Lizzie 
on the beach, and watched the waves for a long 
time ; then she went indoors to play with some 
other httle children, and to pay a visit to the dear 
old lady who had 
been ill, when she 
was here last. 
Here, I am afraid, 
she did not behave 
quite as well as she 
ought to have done, 
— being tired and 
sleepy \ nor did she 
half enough value 
the kind little pres- 
ents she got ; but 

she will some day, 

and understand the 

difference between 

eighty years of age 

and three, and how 

precious to a little 

child is the blessing 

of an old woman. 

Sunny went to bed rather weary and forlorn, 

but she woke up, next morning, and ran in to papa 

and mamma, still in her nightgown, with her little 

bare feet pattering along the floor, looking as 


bright as the sunshine itself. Which was very 
bright that day, — a great comfort, as there was 
a ten hours' sea-voyage before the little woman, 
who had never been on board a steamboat, and 
never travelled so long at a time in all her life. 
She made a good breakfast to start with, sitting at 
table with a lot of grown-up people whose faces 
were as blithe as her own, and behaving very well, 
considering. Then came another good-bye, of 
course unheeded by Little Sunshine, and she was 
away on her travels once more. 

But what happened to her next must be put 
into a new chapter. 


The pier Sunny started from was one near the 
mouth of a large estuary or firth, where a great 
many ships of all sorts are constantly coming and 
going. Sometimes the firth is very stormy, as on 
the first day when she was there, but to-day 
it was smooth as glass. The mountains around it 
looked half asleep in a sunshiny haze, and upon 
the river itself was not a single ripple. The 
steamers glided up and down in the distance as 
quietly as swans upon a lake. You could just 
catch the faint click-clack of their paddle-wheels, 
and see the long trail of smoke following after 
them, till it melted into nothing. 

"Where's Sunny's steamboat ? Sunny is going 
to sail in a steamboat," chattered the little girl ; 
who catches up everything, sometimes even the 
longest words and the queerest phrases, nobody 
knows how. 

Sunny*s steamboat lay alongside the pier. Its 
engines were puffing and its funnel smoking; and 
when she came to the gangway she looked rather 



frightened, and whispered, " Mamma, take her," 
holding out those pathetic little arms. 

Mamma took her, and from that safe eminence 
she watched everything: the men loosing the 
ropes from the pier, the engines moving, the sea- 
gulls flying about in little flocks, almost as tame 
as pigeons. She was much amused by these sea- 
gulls, which always follow the steamers, seeming 
to know quite well that after every meal on board 
they are sure to get something. She called her 
Lizzie to look at them, — her Lizzie who always 
sympathises with her in everything. Now it was 
not quite easy, as Lizzie also had never been on 
board a steamer before, and did not altogether 
relish it. 

But she, too, soon grew content and happy, for 
it was a beautiful scene. There was no distant 
view, the mountains being all in a mist of heat, 
but the air was so bright and mild, with just 
enough saltness in it to be refreshing, that it must 
have been a very gloomy person who did not 
enjoy the day. Little Sunshine did to the ut- 
most. She could not talk, but became absorbed 
in looking about her, endless wonder at every- 
thing she saw or heard shining* in her blue eyes. 
Soon she heard something which brightened them 
still more. 

" Hark, mamma ! music ! Sunny hears music." 


It was a flute played on the lower deck, and 
played exceedingly well. 

Now this little girl has a keen sense of music. 
Before she could speak, singing always soothed 
her ; and she has long been in the habit of com- 
manding extempore tunes, — "a tune that Sunny 
never heard before," sometimes taking her turn to 
offer one. " Mamma, shall I sing you a song, — 
a song you never heard before ? " (Which cer- 
tainly mamma never had ). She distinguishes 
tunes at once, and is very critical over them. 
"Sunny likes it," or "Sunny don't like it, — it 
isn't pretty ;" and at the sound of any sort of 
music she pricks up her ears, and will begin to 
cry passionately if not taken to listen. 

This flute she went after at once. It was 
played by a blind man, who stood leaning against 
the stairs leading to the higher deck, his calm, 
sightless face turned up to the dazzling sunshine. 
It could not hurt him ; he seemed even to enjoy 
it. There was nobody listening, but he played on 
quite unconsciously, one Scotch tune after an- 
other, the shrill, clear, pure notes floating far over 
the sea. Sunny crept closer and closer, — her 
eyes growing larger and larger with intense delight, 
— till the man stopped playing. Then she whis- 
pered, " Mamma, look at that poor man ! Some- 
kin wrong with his eyes." 


Sunny has been taught that whenever there is 
" somekin (something) wrong" with anybody, — 
when they are blind, or lame, or ugly, or queer- 
looking, we are very sorry for them, but we never 
notice it ; and so, though she has friends who can 
not run about after her, but walk slowly with a 
stick, or even two sticks, — also other friends who 
only feel her little face, and pass their hands over 
her hair, saying how soft it is, — mamma is never 
afraid of her making any remark that could wound 
their feelings. 

" Hush ! the poor man can't see, but we must 
not say anything about it. Come with mamma, 
and we will give him a penny." All sorts of 
money are " pennies " to Sunny, — brown pennies, 
white pennies, yellow pennies ; only she much 
prefers the brown pennies, because they are larg- 
est, and spin the best. • 

So she and mamma went up together to the 
poor blind man. Sunny looking hard at him ; and 
he was not pleasant to look at, as his blindness 
seemed to have been caused by smallpox. But the 
little girl said not a word, only put the white 
" penny " into his hand and went away. 

I wonder whether he felt the touch of those 
baby fingers, softer than most. Perhaps he did, for 
he began to play again, the " Flowers of the For- 
est," with a pathos that even mamma in all her life 


had never heard excelled. The familiar mountains, 
the gleaming river, the " sunshiny " child, with 
her earnest face, and the blind man playing there, 
in notes that almost spoke the well-known words, 

" Thy frown canna fear me, thy smile canna cheer me, 
For the flowers o' the forest are a wede away." 

It was a picture not easily to be forgotten. 

Soon the steamer stopped at another pier, where 
were waiting a number of people, ready to embark 
on a large excursion boat which all summer long 
goes up and down the firth daily, taking hundreds 
of passengers, and giving them twelve pleasant 
hours of sea air and mountain breezes. She was 
called the lona^ and such a big boat as she 
was ! She had two decks, with a saloon below. 
On the first deck, the passengers sat in the open 
air, high up, so as to see all the views; the second 
was under cover, with glass sides, so that they 
could still see all about ; the third, lower yet, was 
the cabin, where they dined. There was a ladies' 
cabin, too, where a good many babies and children, 
with their nurses and mammas, generally stayed 
all the voyage. Altogether, a most beautiful boat, 
with plenty of play-places for little folk, and 
comfortable nooks for elder ones ; and so big, too, 
that, as she came steaming down the river, she 
looked as if she could carry a townful of people. 


Indeed, this summer, when nobody has travelled 
abroad, owing to the war, the lona had carried 
regularly several hundreds a day. 

Sunny gazed with some amazement from the 
pier, where she had disembarked, in her mamma's 
arms. It is fortunate for Sunny that she has a 
rather tall mamma, so that she feels safely ele- 
vated above any crowd. This was a crowd such 
as she had never been in before ; it jostled and 
pushed her, and she had to hold very tight round 
her mamma's neck ; so great was the confusion, 
and so difficult the passage across the gangway to 
the deck of the lona. Once there, however, 
she was as safe and happy as possible, playing all 
sorts of merry tricks, and wandering about the 
boat in all directions, with her papa, or her Lizzie, 
or two young ladies who came with her, and were 
very kind to her. But after awhile these quitted 
the boat, and were watched climbing up a moun- 
tainside as cleverly as if they had been young 
deer. Sunny would have liked to climb a moun- 
tain too, and mamma promised her she should 
some day. 

She was now in the very heart of the Highlands. 
There were mountains on all sides, reflected every- 
where in the narrow seas through which the boat 
glided. Now and then came houses and piers, 
funny little " baby " piers, at which the lona 


Stopped and took up or set down passengers, when 
everybody rushed to the side to look on. Sunny 
rushed likewise ; she became so interested and 
excited in watching the long waves the boat left 
behind her when her paddles began to move 
again, that her mamma was sometimes frightened 
out of her life that the child should overbalance 
herself and tumble in. Once or twice poor 
mamma spoke so sharply that Sunny, utterly 
unaccustomed to this, turned around in mute sur- 
prise. But little girls, not old enough to under- 
stand danger, do not know what terrors mammas 
go through sometimes for their sakes. 

It was rather a relief when Sunny became very 
hungry, and the bag of biscuits, and the bottle of 
milk occupied her for a good while. Then she 
turned sleepy. The little Maymie's apron being 
secretly produced, she, laughing a little, began to 
suck it, under cover of mamma's shawl. Soon 
she fell asleep, and lay for nearly an hour in per- 
fect peace, her eyes shut upon mountains, sea, and 
sky ; and the sun shining softly upon her little 
face and her gold curls, that nestled close into 
mamma's shoulder. Such a happy child ! 

Almost cruel it seemed to wake her up, but 
necessary ; for there came another change. The 
Iona*s voyage was done. The next stage of 
the journey was through a canal, where were sights 


to be seen so curious that papa and mamma were 
as much interested in them as the little girl, who 
was growing quite an old traveller now. She 
woke up, rubbed her eyes, and, not crying at all, 
was carried ashore, and into the middle of another 
crowd. There was a deal of talking and scram- 
bling, and rushing about with bags and cloaks, then 
all the heavier luggage was put into two gigantic 
wagons, which four great horses walked awav 
with, and the passengers walked in a long string 
of twos and threes, each after the others, for about 
a quarter of a mile, till they came to the canal- 
side. There lay a boat, so big that it could only 
go forward and backward, — I am sure if it had 
wanted to turn itself around it could not possibly 
have done so ! On board of it all the people 
began to climb. Very funny people some of 
them were. 

There was one big tall gentleman in a dress 
Sunny had never seen before, — a cap on his head 
with a feather in it, a bag with furry tails dangling 
from his waist, and a petticoat like a little girl. 
He had also rather queer shoes and stockings, and 
when he took out from his ankle, as it seemed, a 
shiny-handled sort of knife, and slipped it back 
again. Sunny was very much surprised. 

" Mamma," she whispered, " what does that 
gentleman keep his knife in his stocking for } " 


A question to which mamma could only answei 
" that she really didn't know. Perhaps he hadn't 
got a pocket." 

" Sunny will give him her pocket, — her French 
pinafore with pockets in it, shall she ? " 

Mamma thought the big Highlander might not 
care for Sunny's pretty muslin pinafore, with em- 
broidery and Valenciennes lace, sewn for her by 
loving, dainty hands ; and as the boat now moved 
away, and he was seen stalking majestically off 
along the road, there was no need to ask him the 

For a little while the boat glided along the 
smooth canal, so close to either side that you felt 
as if you could almost pluck at the bushes, and 
ferns, and trailing brambles, with fast-ripening 
berries, that hung over the water. On the other 
side was a foot-road, where, a little way behind, a 
horse was dragging, with a long rope, a small, 
deeply laden canal-boat, not pretty like this one, 
which went swiftly and merrily along by steam. 
But at last it came to a stand, in front of two 
huge wooden gates which shut the canal in, and 
through every crevice of which the pent-in water 
kept spouting in tiny cataracts. 

" That's the first of the locks," said papa, who 
had seen it all before, and took his little girl to the 
end of the boat to show her the wonderful sight. 


She was not old enough to have it explained, or 
to understand what a fine piece of engineering 
work this canal is. It cuts across country from 
sea to sea, and the land not being level, but rising 
higher in the middle, and as you know water will 
not run up a hillside and down again, these locks 
had to be made. They are, so to speak, boxes of 
water with double gates at either end. The boat 
is let into them, and shut in \ then the water upon 
which it floats is gradually raised or lowered ac- 
cording as may be necessary, until it reaches the 
level of the canal beyond the second gate, which 
is opened and the boat goes in. There are eight 
or nine of these locks within a single mile, — a 
very long mile, which occupies fully an hour. So 
the captain told his passengers they might get out 
and walk, which many of them did. But Sun- 
shine, her papa and mamma, were much more 
amused in watching the great gates opening and 
shutting, and the boat rising or falling through the 
deep sides of the locks. Besides, the little girl 
called it " a bath," and expressed a strong desire 
to jump in and " swim like a fish," with mamma 
swimming after her ! So mamma thought it as 
well to hold her fast by her clothes the whole 

Especially when another interest came, — three 
or four little Highland girls running alongside, 



jabbering gayly, and holding out glasses of milk. 
Her own bottle being nearly drained, Sunny begged 
for some ; and the extraordinary difficulty papa 
had in stretching over to get the milk without 
spilling it, and return the empty glass without 
breaking it, was a piece of fun more delightful 
than even the refreshing draught. " Again ! " she 

said, and wanted the performance all repeat?ed for 
her private amusement. 

She had now resumed her old tyranny over her 
papa, whom she pursued everywhere. He could 
not find a single corner of the boat in which to 
hide and read his newspaper quietly, without hear- 
ing the cry, " Where's my papa ? Sunny must go 
after papa," and there was the little figure clutch- 


ing at his legs. " Take her up in your arms ! up 
in your own arms ! " To which the victim, not 
unwillingly, consented, and carried her everywhere. 

Little Sunshine's next great diversion was din- 
ner. It did not happen till late in the afternoon, 
when she had gone through, cheerfully as ever, 
another change of boat, and was steaming away 
through the open sea, which, however, was fortu- 
nately calm as a duck-pond, or what would have 
become of this little person ? 

Papa questioned very much whether she was not 
far too little a person to dine at the cabin-table 
with all the other grown-up passengers, but 
mamma answered for her that she would behave 
properly, — she always did whenever she promised. 
For Sunny has the strongest sense of keeping a 
promise. Her one argument when wanting a 
thing, an argument she knows never denied, is, 
" Mamma, you promised." And her -shoemaker, 
who once neglected to send home her boots, has 
been immortalised in her memory as " Mr. James 
So-and-so, who broke his promise." 

So, having promised to be good, she gravely 
took her papa's hand and walked with him down 
the long cabin to her place at the table. There 
she sat, quite quiet, and very proud of her posi- 
tion. She ate little, being too deeply occupied in 
observing everything around her. And she talked 


Still less, only whispering mysteriously to her 
mamma once or twice. 

" Sunny would like a potato, with butter on 
it." " Might Sunny have one little biscuit — just 
one ? " 

But she troubled nobody, spilt nothing, not 
even her glass of water, though it was so big that 
with both her fat hands she could scarcely hold 
it ; and said " Thank you " politely to a gentle- 
man who handed her a piece of bread. In short, 
she did keep her promise, conducting herself 
throughout the meal with perfect decorum. But 
when it was over, I think she was rather glad. 

" Sunny may get down now ? " she whispered ; 
adding, " Sunny was quite good, she was." For 
the little woman always likes to have her virtues 

And in remounting the companion-ladder, 
rather a trial for her small legs, she looked at the 
steward, who was^ taking his money, and observed 
to him, in a confidential tone, " Sunny has had a 
good dinner; Sunny liked it," — at which the 
young man couldn't help laughing. 

But everybody laughs at Sunny, or with her, — 
she has such an endless fund of enjoyment in 
everything. The world to her is one perpetual 
kaleidoscope of ever changing delights. 

Immediately after dinner she had a pleasure 


quite new. Playing about the deck, she suddenly 
stopped and listened. 

" Mamma, hark ! there's music. May Sunny 
go after the music ? " And her little feet began 
to dance rather than walk, as, pulling her mamma 
by the hand, she " went after " a German band 
that was playing at the other end of the vessel. 

Little Sunshine had never before heard a band, 
and this was of wind instruments, played very 
well, as most German musicians can play. The 
music seemed to quiver all through her, down to 
her very toes. And when the dance-tune stopped, 
and her dancing feet likewise, and the band struck 
up the beautiful " Wacht am Rhein," — the 
" Watch on the Rhine," — (oh ! if its singers had 
only stopped there, defending their fatherland, and 
not invaded the lands of other people !), this little 
girl, who knew nothing about French and Prussians, 
stood absorbed in solemn delight. Her hands 
were folded together (a trick she has), her face 
grew grave, and a soul far deeper than three years 
old looked out of her intent eyes. For when 
Sunny is earnest, she is very earnest ; and when 
she turns furious, half a dozen tragedies seem 
written in her firm-set mouth, knitted brow, and 
flashing eyes. 

She was disposed to be furious for a minute, 
when her Lizzie tried to get her away from the 


music. But her mamma let her stay, so she did 
stay close to the musicians, until the playing was 
all done. 

It was growing late in the afternoon, near her 
usual bedtime, but no going to bed was possible. 
The steamboat kept ploughing on through lonely 
seas, dotted with many islands, larger or smaller, 
with high mountains on every side, some of them 
sloping down almost to the water's edge. Here 
and there was a solitary cottage or farmhouse, 
but nothing like a town or village. The steam- 
boat seemed to have the whole world to itself, — 
sea, sky, mountains, — a magnificent range of 
mountains ! behind which the sun set in such 
splendour that papa and mamma, watching it to- 
gether, quite forgot for the time being the little 
person who was not old enough to care for sun- 

When they looked up, catching the sound of 
her laughter, there she was, in a state of the high- 
est enjoyment, having made friends, all of her 
own accord, with two gentlemen on board, who 
played with her and petted her extremely. One 
of them had just taken out of his pocket a won- 
derful bird, which jumped out of a box, shook 
itself, warbled a most beautiful tune, and then 
popped down in the box again ; not exactly a toy 
for a child, as only about half a dozen have ever 


been made, and they generally cost about a hun- 
dred guineas apiece. 

Of course Sunny was delighted. She listened 
intently to the warble, and whenever the bird 
popped down and hid itself again, she gave a 
scream of ecstasy. But she cannot enjoy things 

" May mamma come and see it ? Mamma 
would like to see it, she would ! " And, run- 
ning back. Sunny drew her mamma, with all her 
little might, over to where the gentlemen were 

They were very polite to the unknown lady, 
and went over the performance once again for her 
benefit. And they were exceedingly kind to her 
little girl, showing a patience quite wonderful, 
unless, indeed, they had little girls of their own. 
They tried pertinaciously to find out Sunny's 
name, but she as persistently refused to disclose it, 
— that is, anything more than her Christian name, 
which is rather a peculiar one, and which she 
always gives with great dignity and accuracy, at 
full length. (Which, should they really have 
little girls of their own, and should they buy this 
book for them and read it, those two gentlemen 
will probably remember ; nor think the worse of 
themselves that their kindness helped to while 
away what might otherwise have been rather 


dreary, the last hour of the voyage, — a very long 
voyage for such a small traveller.) 

It was ended at last. The appointed pier, a 
solitary place where only one other passenger was 
landed, stood out distinct in the last rays of sunset. 
Once again the child was carried across one of 
those shaky gangways, — neither frightened nor 
cross and quite cheerful and wide-awake still. 
Nay, she even stopped at the pier-head, her atten- 
tion caught by some creatures more weary than 

Half a dozen forlorn sheep, their legs tied 
together, and their heads rolling about, with the 
most piteous expression in their open eyes, lay 
together, waiting to be put on board. The child 
went up to them and stroked their faces. 

" Poor little baa-lambs, don't be so frightened ; 
you won't be frightened, now Sunny has patted 
you," said she, in her tenderest voice. And then, 
after having walked a few yards : 

"Sunny must go back. Please, mamma, may 
Sunny go back to say good-bye to those poor little 
baa-lambs ? " 

But the baa-lambs had already been tossed on 
board, and the steamer was away with them into 
the dark. 

Into the dark poor little Sunny had also to go ; a 
drive of nine miles across country, through dusky 


glens, and coming out by loch sides, and under the 
shadow of great mountains, above whose tops 
the stars were shining. Only the stars, for there 
was no moon, and no lamps to the carriage ; and 
the driver, when spoken to, explained — in slow 
Highland English, and in a mournful manner, evi- 
dently not understanding the half of what was said 
to him — that there were several miles farther to 
go, and several hills to climb yet \ and that the 
horse was lame, and the road not as safe as it 
might be. A prospect which made the elders of 
the party not perfectly happy, as may well be 

But the child was as merry as possible, though 
it was long past her tea-time and she had had no 
tea, and past bedtime, yet there was no bed to go 
to ; she kept on chattering till it was quite dark, 
and then cuddled down, making " a baby " of her 
mamma's hand, — a favourite amusement. And 
so she lay, the picture of peace, until the carriage 
stopped at the welcome door, and there stood a 
friendly group with two little boys in front of it. 
After eleven hours of travelling, Little Sunshine 
had reached a shelter at last ! 


Sunrise among the mountains. Who that has 
ever seen it can forget it ? Sunny's mamma 
never could. 

Arriving here after dark, she knew no more of 
the place than the child did. But the first thing 
she did on waking next morning was to creep 
past the sofa where Sunny lay, — oh, so fast 
asleep ! having had a good scream over-night, as 
was natural after all her fatigues, — steal cau- 
tiously to the window, and look out. 

Such a sight ! At the foot of a green slope, or 
sort of rough lawn, lay the little loch so often 
spoken of, upon which Sunny was to go a-fishing 
and catch big salmon with Maurice's papa. 
Round it was a ring of mountains, so high that 
they seemed to shut out half the sky. These 
were reflected in the water, so solidly and with 
such a sharp, clear outline, that one could hardly 
believe it was only a reflection. Above their 
summit was one mass of deep rose-colour, and 
this also was repeated in the loch, so that you could 


not tell which was reddest, the water or the sky. 
Everything was perfectly still ; not a ripple moved, 
not a leaf stirred, not a bird was awake. An 
altogether new and magic world. 

Sunny was too much of a baby yet to care for 
sunrise, or, indeed, for anything just now, except a 
good long sleep, so her mamma let her sleep her 
fill ; and when she woke at last she was as bright 
as a bird. 

Long before she was dressed, she heard down- 
stairs the voices of the five little boys who were 
to be her companions. Their papa and mamma 
having no objection to their names being told, I 
give them, for they were five very pretty names : 
Maurice, Phil, Eddie, Franky, and Austin Thomas. 
The latter being the youngest, though by no 
means the smallest or thinnest, generally had his 
name in full, with variations, such as Austin 
Tummas, or Austin Tummacks. Maurice, too, 
was occasionally called Maurie, — but not often, 
being the eldest, you see. 

He was seven, very small for his age, but with 
a face almost angelic in its delicate beauty. The 
first time Sunny saw him, a It'^N months before, 
she had seemed quite fascinated by it, put her two 
hands on his shoulders, and finally held up her 
mouth to kiss him, — which she seldom does to 
any children, rather preferring " grown-ups," as 


she calls them, for playfellows. She had talked 
ever since of Maurice, Maurice's papa, Mau- 
rice's boat, and especially of Maurice's " little 
baby," the only sister of the five boys. Yet 
when he came to greet her this morning, she 
was quite shv, and would not play with him or 
Eddie, or even Frankv, who was nearer her own 
age ; and when her mamma lifted up Austin 
Thomas, vouno-er than herself but much bigger 
in every way, and petted him a little, this poor 
little woman fell into great despair. 

" Don't kiss him. I don't want you to kiss 
Austin Thomas!" she cried, and the passion 
which can rise at times in her merry blue eyes 
rose now. She clung to her mamma, almost 

Of course this was not right, and, as I said be- 
fore, the little girl is not a perfect little girl. She 
is naughtv at times, like all of us. Still, mamma 
was rather sorry for her. It was difficult for an 
only child, accustomed to have her mamma all to 
herself, to tumble suddenlv into such a crowd of 
boys, and see that mamma could be kind to and 
fond of other children besides her own, as all 
mothers ought to be, without taking away one 
atom from the special mother's lo\'e, which no 
little people need be jealous over. Sunnv bore the 
trial prettv well, on the whole. She did not 


actually cry, — but she kept fast hold of her 
mamma's gown, and watched her with anxious 
eyes whenever she spoke to any other child, and 
especially to Austin Thomas. 

The boys were very kind to her. Maurice 
went and took hold of her hand, trying to talk to 
her in his gentle way ; his manners were as sweet 
as his face. Eddie, who was stronger and rougher, 
and more boyish, wanted her to go down with 
him to the pier, — a small erection of stones at 
the shallow edge of the loch, where two or three 
boats always lay moored. Consequently the boys 
kept tumbling in and out of them, — and in and 
out of the water, too^ very often, — all day long. 
But the worst they ever could get was a good 
wetting, — except Austin Thomas, vP^ho one day 
toddled in and slipped down, and, being very fat, 
could not pull himself up again ; so that, shallow 
as the water was, he was very near being drowned. 
But Maurice and Eddie were almost " water 
babies," — so thoroughly at home in the loch, — 
and Eddie, though under six years old, could 
already handle an oar. 

" I can low " ( row, — he could not speak plain 
yet). "I once lowed grandpapa all across the 
loch. Shall I low you and the little girl ? " 

But mamma rather hesitated at accepting the 
kind offer, and compromised the m.atter by going 


down to the pier with Sunny in her arms, to watch 
Eddie " low," — about three yards out and back 
again, — in a carefully moored boat. Sunny im- 
mediately wanted to go too, and mamma promised 
her she should, after breakfast, when papa was 
there to take care of her. 

So the little party went back to the raised ter- 
race in front of the house, where the sun was 
shining so bright, and where Phil, who was in 
delicate health, stood looking on with his pale, 
quiet face, — sadly quiet and grave for such a 
child, — and Franky, who was reserved and shy, 
stopped a moment in his solitary playing to notice 
the newcomer, but did not offer to go near her. 
Austin Thomas, however, kept pulling at her with 
his stout, chubby arms, but whether he meant 
caressing or punching it was difficult to say. 
Sunny opposed a dignified resistance, and would 
not look at Austin Thomas at all. 

" Mamma, I want to stop with you. May 
Sunny stop with you?" implored she. "You 
said Sunny should go in the boat with you." 

Mamma always does what she says, if she pos- 
sibly can, and, besides, she felt a sympathy for her 
lonely child, who had not been much used to play 
with other children. So she kept Sunny beside 
her till they went down together — papa too — 
for their first row on the loch. 


Such a splendid day ! Warm but fresh — how 
could it help being fresh in that pure mountain 
air, which turned Sunny's cheeks the colour of 
opening rosebuds, and made even papa and 
mamma feel almost as young as she? Big people 
like holidays as well as little people, and it was 
long since they had had a holiday. This was 
the very perfection of one, when everybody did 
exactly as they liked ; which consisted chiefly in 
doing nothing from morning till night. 

Sunny was the only person who objected to 
idleness. She must always be doing something. 

" I want to catch fishes," said she, after having 
sat quiet by mamma's side in the stern of the boat 
for about three minutes and a half: certainly not 
longer, though it was the first time she had ever 
been in a boat in all her life, and the novelty of 
her position sufficed to sober her for just that 
length of time. " I want to catch big salmon all 
by my own self." 

A fishing-rod had, just as a matter of ceremony, 
been put into the boat ; but as papa held the two 
oars, and mamma the child, it was handed over to 
Lizzie, who sat in the bow. However, not a 
single trout offering to bite, it was laid aside, and 
papa's walking-stick used instead. This was 
shorter, more convenient, and had a beautiful 
hooked handle, which could catch floating leaves. 



WtmT r -Tir- 









Leaves were much more easily caught than fishes, 
and did quite as well. 

The little girl had now^her heart's desire. She 
was in a boat fishing. 

" Sunny has caught a fish ! Such a big fish ! " 
cried she, in her shrillest treble of delight, every 
time that event happened. And it happened so 
often that the bench was soon quite " soppy " 
with wet leaves. Then she gave up the rod, and 
fished with her hands, mamma holding her as tight 
as possible, lest she should overbalance, and be 
turned into a fish herself. But water will wet; 
and mamma could not save her from getting her 
poor little hands all blue and cold, and her sleeves 
soaked through. She did not like this ; but what 
will not we endure, even at two and three-quarters 
old, in pursuit of some great ambition ? It was 
not till her hands were numbed, and her pinafore 
dripping, that Sunny desisted from her fishing, and 
then only because her attention was caught by 
something else even more attractive. 

" What's that, mamma ? What's that ? " 
" Water-lilies." 

Papa, busily engaged in watching his little girl, 
had let the boat drift upon a shoal of them, which 
covered one part of the loch like a floating island. 
They were so beautiful, with their leaves lying 
like green plates flat on the surface of the water, 


and their white flowers rising up here and there 
like ornamental cups. No wonder the child was 

" Sunny wants a water-lily," said she, catching 
the word, though she had never heard it before. 
" iMay Sunny have one, two water-lilies } Two 
water-lilies ! Please, mamma .'' " 

This was more easily promised than performed, 
for, in spite of papa's skill, the boat always man- 
aged to glide either too far off, or too close to, or 
right on the top of the prettiest flowers ; and 
when snatched at, they always would dive down 
under water, causing the boat to lurch after them 
in a way particularly unpleasant. At last, out of 
about a dozen unsuccessful attempts, papa cap- 
tured two expanded flowers, and one bud, all with 
long stalks. They were laid along the seat of 
the boat, which had not capsized, nor had anybody 
tum.bled out of it, — a thing that mamma consid- 
ered rather lucky, upon the whole, and insisted on 
rowing away out of the region of water-lilies. 

" Let us go up the canal, then," said papa, 
whom his host had already taken there, to show 
him a very curious feature of the loch. 

Leading out of one end of it, and communi- 
cating between it and a stream that fed it from 
the neighbouring glen, was a channel, called " the 
canal." Unlike most Highland streams, it was 


as still as a canal ; only it was natural, not artifi- 
cial. Its depth was so great, that a stick fifteen 
feet long failed to find the bottom, which, never- 
theless, from the exceeding clearness of the water, 
could be seen quite plain, with the fishes swim- 
ming about, and the pebbles, stones, or roots of 
trees too heavy to float, lying as they had lain, 
undisturbed, year after year. The banks, instead 
of shallowing off", went sheer down, as deep as 
in the middle, so that you could paddle close under 
the trees that fringed them, — gnarled old oaks, 
queerly twisted rowans or beeches, and nut-trees 
with trunks so thick and branches so wide-spread- 
ing, that the great-great-grandfathers of the glen 
must have gone nutting there generations back. 

Yet this year they were as full as ever of nuts, 
the gathering of which frightened mamma nearly 
as much as the water-lilies. For papa, growing 
quite excited, would stand up in the boat and 
pluck at the branches, and would not see that 
nutting on dry land, and nutting in a boat over 
fifteen or twenty feet of water, were two very 
difi^erent things. Even the little girl, imitating 
her elders, made wild snatches at the branches, 
and it was the greatest relief to mamma's mind 
when Sunny turned her attention to cracking 
her nuts, which her sharp little teeth did to 


" Shall I give you one, mamma ? Papa, too ? " 
And she administered them by turns out of her 
mouth, which, if not the politest, was the most 
convenient way. At last she began singing a 
song to herself, " Three little nuts all together ! 
three little nuts all together ! " Looking into the 
little girl's shut hands, mamma found — what 
she in all her long life had never found but once 
before, and that was many, many years ago — 
a triple nut, — a "lucky" nut; as great a rarity 
as a four-leaved shamrock. 

" Oh, what a prize ! will Sunny give it to 
mamma ? " (which she did immediately). " And 
mamma will put it carefully by, and keep it 
for Sunny till she is grown a big girl." 

" Sunny is a big girl now ; Sunny cracks nuts 
for papa and mamma." 

Nevertheless, mamma kept the triple nut, as 
she remembered her own mamma keeping the 
former one, when she herself was a little girl. 
When Sunny grows a woman, she will find 

Besides nuts, there were here and there along 
the canal-side long trailing brambles, with such 
huge blackberries on them, — blackberries that 
seem to take a malicious pleasure in growing 
where nobody can get at them. Nobody could 
gather them except out of a boat, and then with 


difficulty. The best of them had, after all, to be 
left to the birds. 

Oh, what a place this canal must have been 
for birds in spring ! What safe nests might be 
built in these overhanging trees ! what ceaseless 
songs sung there from morning till night ! Now, 
being September, there were almost none. Dead 
silence brooded over the sunshiny crags and the 
motionless loch. When, far up among the hills, 
there was heard the crack of a gun, — Maurice's 
papa's gun, for it could of course be no other, — 
the sound, echoed several times over, was quite 
startling. What had been shot, — a grouse, a 
snipe, a wild duck ? Perhaps it was a roe-deer ? 
Papa was all curiosity ; but mamma, who dislikes 
shooting altogether, either of animals or men, and 
cannot endure the sight of a gun, even unloaded, 
was satisfied with hearing it at a distance, and 
counting its harmless echoes from mountain to 

What mountains they were ! — standing in a 
circle, gray, bare, silent, with their peaks far up 
into the sky. Some had been climbed by the 
gentlemen in this shooting-lodge or by Donald, 
the keeper, but it was hard work, and some had 
never been climbed at all. The clouds and mists 
floated over them, and sometimes, perhaps, a stray 
. grouse, or capercailzie, or ptarmigan, paid them a 


visit, but that was all. They were too steep and 
bare even for the roe-deer. Yet, oh ! how grand 
they looked, grand and calm, like great giants, whom 
nothing small and earthly could affect at all. 

The mountains were too big, as yet, for Little 
Sunshine. Her baby eyes did not take them in. 
She saw them, of course, but she was evidently 
much more interested in the nuts overhead, and 
the fishes under water. And when the boat 
reached " The Bower," she thought it more 
amusing still. 

" The Bower," so called, was a curious place, 
where the canal grew so narrow, and the trees 
so big, that the overarching boughs met in the 
middle, forming a natural arbour, — only of water, 
not land, — under which the boat swept for a good 
many yards. You had to stoop your head to avoid 
being caught by the branches, and the ferns and 
moss on either bank grew so close to your hand, 
that you could snatch at them as you swept by, 
which Little Sunshine thought the greatest fun 
in the world. 

" Mamma, let me do it. Please, let Sunny 
do it her own self." 

To do a thing "all my own self" is always 
a great attraction to this independent little person, 
and her mamma allows it whenever possible. Still 
there are some things which mamma may do, 


and little people may not, and this was one of 
them. It was obliged to be forbidden as danger- 
^ ous, and Little Sunshine clouded over almost to 
tears. But she never worries her mamma for 
things, well aware that "No," means no, and 
" Yes," yes ; and that neither are subject to altera- 
tion. And the boat being speedily rowed out of 
temptation's way into the open loch again, she 
soon found another amusement. 

On the loch, besides water-fowl, such as wild 
ducks, teal, and the like, lived a colony of geese. 
They had once been tame geese belonging to the 
farm, but they had emigrated, and turned into wild 
geese, making their nests wherever they liked, 
and bringing up their families in freedom and 
seclusion. As to catching them like ordinary 
geese, it was hopeless ; whenever wanted for the 
table they had to be shot like game. This catas- 
trophe had not happened lately, and they swam 
merrily about, — a flock of nine large, white, 
lively, independent birds, which could be seen 
far ofF, sailing about like a fleet of ships on 
the quiet waters of the loch. They would allow 
you to row within a reasonable distance of them, 
just so close and no closer, then ofl^ they flew 
in a body, with a great screeching and flapping 
of wings, — geese, even wild geese, being rather 
unwieldy birds. 


Their chief haunt was a tiny island just at the 
mouth of the canal, and there papa rowed, just to 
have a look at them, for one was to be shot for 
the Michaelmas dinner. (It never was, by the 
by, and, for all I know, still sails cheerfully upon 
its native loch.) 

"Oh, the ducks — the ducks!'* (Sunny calls 
all water-birds ducks.) She clapped her hands, 
and away they flew, right over her head, at once 
frightening and delighting her; then watched them 
longingly until they dropped down again, and set- 
tled in the farthest corner of the loch. 

" Might Sunny go after them ? Might Sunny 
have a dear little duck to play with ? " 

The hopelessness of which desire might have 
made her turn melancholy again, only just then 
appeared, rowing with great energy, bristling with 
tishing-rods, and crowded with little people as 
well as " grown-ups," the big boat. It was so 
busy that it hardly condescended to notice the 
little pleasure-boat, with only idle people, sailing 
about in the sunshine, and doing nothing more 
useful than catching water-lilies and frightening 

Still the little boat greeted the large one with 
an impertinent hail of " Ship ahoy ! what ship's 
that ? " and took in a cargo of small boys, who, 
as it was past one o'clock, were wanted home to 


the nursery dinner. And papa rowed the whole 
lot of them back to the pier, where everybody 
was safely landed. Nobody tumbled in, and no- 
body was drowned, — which mamma thought, on 
the whole, was a great deal to be thankful for. 


Life at the glen went on every day alike, in 
the simplest, happiest fashion, a sort of paradise 
of children, as in truth it was. Even the elders 
lived like children ; and big people and little people 
were together, more or less, all day long. A thing 
not at all objectionable when the children are 
good children, as these were. 

The boys were noisy, of course, and, after the 
first hour of the morning, clean faces, hands, and 
clothes became a difficulty quite insurmountable, 
in which their mother had to resign herself to 
fate ; as the mamma of five boys, running about 
wild in the Highlands, necessarily must. But 
these were good, obedient, gentlemanly little fel- 
lows, and, had it been possible to keep them clean 
and whole, which it wasn't, very pretty little fel- 
lows, too. 

Of course they had a few boyish propensities, 
which increased the difficulty. Maurice, for in- 
stance, had an extraordinary love for all creeping 
things, and especially worms. On the slightest 


pretence of getting bait to fish with, he would go 
digging for them, and stufF them into his pockets, 
whence, if you met him, you were as likely as not 
to see one or two crawling out. If you remon- 
strated, he looked unhappy, for Maurice really 
loved his worms. He cherished them carefully, 
and did not in the least mind their crawling over 
his hands, his dress, or his plate. Only, unfortu- 
nately, other people did. When scolded, he put 
his pets meekly aside, but always returned to them 
with the same love as ever. Perhaps Maurice 
may turn out a great naturalist some day. 

The one idea of Eddie's life was boats. He 
was for ever at the little pier waiting a chance of 
a row, and always wanting to " low " somebody, 
especially with " two oars," which he handled 
uncommonly well for so small a child. Fortu- 
nately for him, though not for his papa and the 
salmon-fishers, the weather was dead calm, so 
that it was like paddling on a duck-pond ; and the 
loch being shallow just at the pier, except a {^vf 
good wettings, which he seemed to mind as little 
as if he were a frog, bright, brave, adventurous 
Eddie came to no harm. 

Nor Franky, who imitated him admiringly 
whenever he could. But Franky, who was rather 
a reserved little man, and given to playing alone, 
had, besides the pier, another favourite play-place, 


a. hollow cut out in the rock to receive the burn 
which leaped down from the hillside just behind 
the house. Being close to the kitchen door, it 
was put to all sorts of domestic uses, being gener- 
ally full of pots and pans, saucepans and kettles, 
— not the most advisable playthings, but Franky 
found them charming. He also unluckily found 
out something else, — that the hollow basin had 
an outlet, through which any substance, sent 
swimming down the swift stream, swam away 
beautifully for several yards, and then disappeared 
underground. And the other end of this subter- 
raneous channel being in the loch, of course it 
disappeared for ever. In this way there vanished 
mysteriously all sorts of things, — cups and saucers, 
toys, pinafores, hats ; which last Franky was dis- 
covered in the act of making away with, watching 
them floating off with extreme delight. It was 
no moral crime, and hardly punishable, but highly 
inconvenient. Sunny's beloved luggie, which had 
been carried about with her for weeks, was be- 
lieved to have disappeared in this way, and, as it 
could not sink, is probably now drifting some- 
where about on the loch, to the great perplexity 
of the fishes. 

Little Phil, alas ! was too delicate to be mis- 
chievous. He crept about in the sunshine, not 
playing with anybody, but just looking on at the 


rest, with his pale, sweet, pensive face. He was 
very patient and good, and he suffered very much. 
One day, hearing his uncle at family prayers pray 
that God would make him better, he said, sadly, 
" If He does, I wish He would make haste about 
it." Which was the only complaint gentle, pa- 
thetic little Phil was ever heard to utter. 

Sunny regarded him with some awe, as " the 
poor little boy who was so ill." For herself, she 
has never yet known what illness is ; but she is 
very sympathetic over it in others. Anybody's 
being " not well " will at once make her tender 
and gentle ; as she always was to Phil. He in 
his turn was very kind to her, lending her his 
" music," which was the greatest favour he could 
bestow or she receive. 

This " music " was a box of infantile instru- 
ments, one for each boy, — trumpet, drum, fife, 
etc., making a complete band, which a rash-minded 
but affectionate aunt had sent them, and with 
which they marched about all day long, to their 
own great delight and the corresponding despair 
of their elders. Phil, who had an ear, would go 
away quietly with his "music," — a trumpet, I 
think it was, — and play it all by himself. But 
the others simply marched about in procession, 
each making the biggest noise he could, and 
watched by Sunny with admiration and envy. 


Now and then, out of great benevolence, one of 
the boys would lend her his instrument, and no- 
body did this so often as Phil, though of them all 
he liked playing his music the best. The picture 
of him sitting on the door-step, with his pale 
fingers wandering over his instrument, and his 
sickly face looking almost contented as he listened 
to the sound, will long remain in everybody's 
mind. Sunny never objected to her mamma's 
carrying him, as he often had to be carried ; 
though he was fully six years old. He was 
scarcely heavier than the little girl herself. Aus- 
tin Thomas would have made two of him. 

Austin's chief peculiarity was this amiable fat- 
ness. He tumbled about like a roly-poly pudding, 
amusing everybody, and offending no one but 
Little Sunshine. But his persistent pursuit of her 
mamma, whom he insisted on calling " Dan- 
mamma " ( grandmamma ), and following when- 
ever he saw her, was more than the little girl 
could bear, and she used to knit her brows and 
look displeased. However, mamma never took 
any notice, knowing what a misery to itself and 
all about it is a jealous child. 

Amidst these various amusements passed the 
day. It began at 8 a.m., when Sunshine and her 
mamma usually appeared on the terrace in front 
of the house. They two were " early birds," and 


SO they got " the worm," — that is, a charming 
preliminary breakfast of milk, bread and butter, 
and an egg, which they usually ate on the door- 
step. Sometimes the rest, who had had their 
porridge, the usual breakfast of Scotch children, 
— and very nice it is, too, — gathered around 
for a share ; which it was pleasant to give them, 
for they waited so quietly, and were never rough 
or rude. 

Nevertheless, sometimes difficulties arose. The 
tray being placed on the gravel, Maurice often sat 
beside it, and his worms would crawl out of his 
pocket and on to the bread and butter. Then 
Eddie now and then spilt the milk, and Austin 
Thomas would fill the saltcellar with sand out 
of the gravel walk, and stir it all up together with 
the egg-spoon \ a piece of untidiness which Little 
Sunshine resented extremely. 

She had never grown reconciled to Austin 
Thomas. In spite of his burly good-nature, and 
his broad beaming countenance ( which earned him 
the nickname of " Cheshire," from his supposed 
likeness to the Cheshire Cat in " Alice's Adven- 
tures " ), she refused to play with him ; whenever 
he appeared, her eye followed him with distrust 
and suspicion, and when he said " Danmamma," 
she would contradict him indignantly. 

" It isn't grandmamma, it's my mamma, my own 



mamma. Go away, naughty boy ! " If he pre- 
sumed to touch the said mamma, it was always, 
" Take me up in your arms, in your own arms," — 
so as to prevent all possibility of Austin Thomas's 
getting there. 

But one unlucky day Austin tumbled down, 
and, though more frightened than hurt, cried so 

much that, his own mamma being away, Sunny's 
mamma took him and comforted him, soothing 
him on her shoulder till he ceased sobbing. This 
was more than human nature could bear. Sunny 
did nothing at the time, except pull frantically at 
her mamma's gown, but shortly afterward she 
and Austin Thomas were found by themselves, 
engaged in single combat on the gravel walk. 


She had seized him by the collar of his frock, and 
was kicking him with all her might, while he on 
his part was pommelling at her with both his little 
fat fists, like an infant prize-fighter. It was a 
pitched battle, pretty equal on both sides ; and 
conducted so silently, in such dead earnest, that it 
would have been quite funny, — if it had not been 
so very wrong. 

Of course such things could not be allowed, 
even in babies under three years old. Sunny's 
mamma ran to the spot and separated the combat- 
ants by carrying ofF her own child right away into 
the house. Sunny was so astonished that she did 
not say a word. And when she found that her 
mamma never said a word either, but bore her 
along in total silence, she was still more surprised. 
Her bewilderment was at its height, when, shutting 
the bedroom door, her mamma set her down, and 
gave her — not a whipping : she objects to whip- 
pings under any circumstances — but the severest 
scolding the child had ever had in her life. 

When I say " scolding," I mean a grave, sor- 
rowful rebuke, showing how wicked it was to 
kick anybody, and how it grieved mamma that her 
good little girl should be so exceedingly naughtv. 
Mamma grieved is a reproach under which little 
Sunny breaks down at once. Her lips began to 
quiver ; she hung her head sorrowfully. 


" Sunny had better go into the cupboard," 
suggested she. 

"Yes, indeed," mamma replied. "I think the 
cupboard is the only place for such a naughty 
little girl ; go in at once." 

So poor Sunshine crept solemnly into a large 
press with sliding doors, used for hanging up 
clothes, and there remained in silence and dark- 
ness all the while her mamma was dressing to 
go out. At last she put her head through the 

" Sunny quite good now, mamma." 

" Very well," said mamma, keeping with dif- 
ficulty a grave countenance. " But will Sunny 
promise never to kick Austin Thomas again ? " 

" Yes." 

" Then she may come out of the cupboard, and 
kiss mamma." 

Which she did, with a beaming face, as if 
nothing at all had happened. But she did not 
forget her naughtiness. Some days after, she 
came up, and confidentially informed her mamma, 
as if it were an act of great virtue, " Mamma, 
Sunny 'membered her promise. Sunny hasn't 
kicked the little bov again." 

After the eight o'clock breakfast. Sunny, her 
mamma, and the five little boys generally took 
a walk together, or sat telling stories in front 


of the house, till the ten o'clock breakfast of the 
elders. That over, the party dispersed their several 
ways, wandering about by land or water, and 
meeting occasionally, great folks and small, in 
boats, or by hillsides, or indoors at the children's 
one o'clock dinner, — almost the only time, till 
night, that anybody ever was indoors. 

Besides most beautiful walks for the elders, 
there were, close by the house, endless play- 
places for the children, each more attractive 
than the other. The pier on the loch was the 
great delight ; but there was, about a hundred yards 
from the house, a burn (in fact, burns were always 
tumbling from the hillside, wherever you went), 
with a tiny bridge across it, which was a charming 
spot for little people. There usually assembled 
a whole parliament of ducks, and hens, and 
chickens, quacking and clucking and gobbling 
together, to their own great content and that 
of the children, especially the younger ones. 
Thither came Austin Thomas with his nurse 
Grissel, a thorough Scotch lassie ; and Sunny with 
her English Lizzie ; and there the baby, the pet 
of all, tiny " Miss Mary," a soft, dainty, cuddling 
thing of six months old, used to be brought to 
lie and sleep in the sunshine, watched by Little 
Sunshine with never-ending interest. She would 
go anywhere with "the dear little baby.'* The 


very intonation of her voice, and the expression 
of her eyes, changed as she looked at it, — for 
this little girl is passionately fond of babies. 

Farther down the mountain-road was another 
attractive corner, a stone dike, covered with in- 
numerable blackberries. Though gathered daily, 
there were each morning more to gather, and they 
furnished an endless feast for both nurses and 
children. And really, in this sharp mountain 
air, the hungriness of both big and little people 
must have been alarming. How the house-mother 
ever fed her household, with the only butcher's 
shop ten miles ofF, was miraculous. For very 
often the usual resort of shooting-lodges entirely 
failed ; the game was scarce, and hardly worth 
shooting, and in this weather the salmon abso- 
lutely refused to be caught. Now and then a 
mournful-looking sheep was led up to the door, 
and offered for sale alive, to be consumed gradually 
as mutton. But when you have to eat an animal 
right through, you generally get a little tired of 
him at last. 

The food that never failed, and nobody ever 
wearied of, was the trout ; large dishes of which 
appeared, and disappeared, every morning at break- 
fast. A patient guest, who could not go shooting, 
used to sit fishing for trout, hour by hour, in the 
cheerfullest manner ; thankful for small blessings 


(of a pound or a pound and a half at most), and 
always hoping for the big salmon which he had 
travelled three hundred miles to fish for, but 
which never came. Each day, poor gentleman ! 
he watched the dazzlingly bright sky, and, catching 
the merest shadow of a cloud, would say coura- 
geously, "It looks like rain ! Perhaps the salmon 
may bite to-morrow." 

Of afternoons. Sunny and her mamma generally 
got a little walk and talk alone together along the 
hillside road, noticing everything, and especially 
the Highland cattle, who went about in family 
parties, — the big bull, a splendid animal, black 
or tawny, looking very fierce, but really offering 
no harm to anybody ; half a dozen cows, and 
about twice that number of calves. Such funny 
little things these were ! not smooth, like English 
calves, but with quantities of shaggy hair hanging 
about them, and especially over their eyes. Papa 
used to say that his little girl, with her incessant 
activity, and her yellow curls tossing wildly 
about on her forehead, was very like a Highland 

At first. Sunny was rather afraid of these 
extraordinary beasts, so different from Southern 
cattle ; but she soon got used to them, and as 
even the big bull did nothing worse than look 
at her, and pass her by, -she would stand and 


watch them feeding with great interest, and go 
as close to them as ever she was allowed. Once 
she even begged for a little calf to play with, 
but as it ran away up the mountainside as active 
as a deer, this wa^ not practicable. And on the 
whole she liked the ducks and chickens best. 

And for a change she liked to walk with 
mamma around the old-fashioned garden. What 
a beautiful garden it was ! — shut in with high 
walls, and sloping southward down to the loch. 
No doubt many a Highland dame, generations 
back, had taken great pleasure in it, for its fruit- 
trees were centuries old, and the box edging of 
its straight, smooth gravel walks was a picture 
in itself. Also a fuchsia hedge, thick with crim- 
son blossoms, which this little girl, who is pas- 
sionately fond of flowers, could never pass without 
begging for " a posie, to stick in my little bosie," 
where it was kissed and " loved " until, generally 
soon enough, it got broken and died. 

Equally diflicult was it to pass the apples 
which lay strewn about under the long lines 
of espaliers, where Maurice and Eddie were 
often seen hovering about with an apple in 
each hand, and plenty more in each pocket. 
The Highland air seemed to give them unlimited 
digestion, but Sunny's mamma had occasionally 
to say to her little gijl that quiet denial, which 

Little sunshine's holiday. 125 

caused a minute's sobbing, and then, known to 
be inevitable, was submitted to. 

The child found it hard sometimes that lit- 
tle girls might not do all that little boys may. 
For instance, between the terrace and the pier 
was a wooden staircase with a hand-rail ; both 
rather old and rickety. About this hand-rail the 
boys were for ever playing, climbing up it and 
sliding down it. Sunny wanted to do the same, 
and one day her mamma caught her perched 
astride at the top, and preparing to " slidder " 
down to the bottom, in imitation of Eddie, who 
was urging her on with all his might. This most 
dangerous proceeding for little girls with frocks 
had to be stopped at once ; mamma explaining 
the reason, and insisting that Sunny must promise 
never to do it again. Poor little woman, she was 
very sad ; but she did promise, and, moreover, she 
kept her word. Several times mamma saw her 
stand watching the boys with a mournful coun- 
tenance, but she never got astride on the hand- 
rail again. Only once, a sudden consolation 
occurred to her. 

" Mamma, 'posing Sunny were some day to 
grow into a little boy, then she might slide down 
the ladder ? " 

" Certainly, yes ! " answered mamma, with 
great gravity, and equal sincerity. In the mean- 


time she perfectly trusted her reliable child, who 
never does anything behind her back any more 
than before her face. And she let her clamber 
about as much as was practicable, up and down 
rocks, and over stone dikes, and in and out of 
burns, since, within certain limitations, little 
girls should be as active as little boys. And by 
degrees. Sunny, a strong, healthy, energetic child, 
began to follow the boys about everywhere. 

There was a byre and a hay-house, where 
the children were very fond of playing, climbing 
up a ladder and crawling along the roof to the 
ridge-tiles, along which Eddie would drag himself, 
astraddle, from end to end, throwing Sunny into 
an ecstasy of admiration. To climb up to the 
top of a short ladder and be held there, whence 
she could watch Eddie crawl like a cat from end 
to end of the byre, and wait till he slid down 
the tiles again, was a felicity for which she would 
even sacrifice the company of " the dear little 

But, after all, the pier was the great resort. 
From early morning till dark, two or three of 
the children were always to be seen there, pad- 
dling in the shallows like ducks, with or without 
shoes and stockings, assisting at every embark- 
ation or landing of the elders, and generally, by 
force of entreaties, getting — Eddie especially — 


" a low " on their own account several times a 
day. Even Sunny gradually came to find such 
fascination in the water, and in Eddie's company, 
that if her mamma had not kept a sharp lookout 
after her, and given strict orders that, without 
herself. Sunny was never under any pretext to go 
on the loch at all, the two children, both utterly 
fearless, would certainly have been discovered 
sailing away like the wise men of Gotham who 
" went to sea in a bowl." Probably with the 
same ending to their career; that 

*' If the bowl had been stronger, 
My song would have been longer ! " 

After Little Sunshine's holiday was done, mamma, 
thinking over the countless risks run, by her 
own child and these other children, felt thank- 
ful that they had all left this beautiful glen 


The days sped so fast with these happy people, 
children and " grown-ups,"' as Sunny calls them, 
that soon it was already Sunday, the first of the 
only two Sundays they had to spend at the glen. 
Shall I tell about them both ? 

These parents considered Sunday the best day 
in all the week, and tried to make it so ; especially 
to the children, whom, in order to give the ser- 
vants rest, they then took principally into their 
own hands. They wished that, when the little 
folks grew up, Sunday should always be remem- 
bered as a bright day, a cheerful dav, a dav spent 
with papa and mamma ; when nobodv had any 
work to do, and everybody was merry, and happy, 
and good. Also clean, which was a novelty here. 
Even the elders rather enjoyed putting on their 
best clothes with the certainty of not getting 
them wetted in fishing-boats, or torn with briers 
and brambles on hillsides. Church was not till 
twelve at noon, so most of the party went a leis- 
urely morning stroll, and Sunny's papa and mamma 

1 28 


decided to have a quiet row on the loch, in a clean 
boat, all by their two selves. But, as it happened, 
their little girl, taking a walk with her Lizzie,' 
espied them afar off. 

Faintly across the water came the pitiful en- 
treaty, " Papa ! mamma ! Take her. Take her 
with you." And the little figure, running as fast 
as her fat legs would carry her, was seen making 
Its way, with Lizzie running after, to the very 
edge of the loch. 

What heart would not have relented? Papa 
rowed back as fast as he could, and took her in, 
her face quivering with delight, though the big 
tears were still rolling down her cheeks. But 
April showers do not dry up faster than Sunny's 

No fishing to-day, of course. Peacefully they 
floated down the loch, which seemed to know it 
was Sunday, and to lie, with the hills standing 
around it, more restful, more sunshiny, more beau- 
tiful than ever. Not a creature was stirring; 
even the cattle, that always clustered on a little' 
knoli above the canal, made motionless pictures 
of themselves against the sky, as if they were 
sitting or standing for their portraits, and would 
not move upon any account. Now and then, as 
the boat passed, a bird in the bushes fluttered, but 
not very far ofl^, and then sat on a bough and 


looked at it, too fearless of harm to fly away. 
Everything was so intensely still, so unspeakably 
beautiful, that when mamma, sitting in the stern, 
with her arm fast around her child, began to sing 
"Jerusalem the Golden," and afterward that 
other beautiful hymn, " There is a land of pure 
delight," the scene around appeared like an earthly 
picture of that Celestial Land. 

They rowed homeward just in time to dress for 
church, and start, leaving the little girl behind. 
She was to follow, by and by, with her Lizzie, and 
be taken charge of by mamma while Lizzie went 
to the English service in the afternoon. 

This was the morning service, and in Gaelic. 
With an English prayer-book it was just possible 
to follow it and guess at it, though the words 
were unintelligible. But they sounded very sweet, 
and so did the hymns ; and the small congregation 
listened as gravely and reverently as if it had 
been the grandest church in the world, instead of 
a tiny room, no bigger than an ordinary sitting- 
room, with a communion-table of plain deal, and 
a few rows of deal benches, enough to seat about 
twenty people, there being about fifteen present 
to-day. Some of them had walked several miles, as 
they did every Sunday, and often, their good clergy- 
man said, when the glen was knee-deep in snow. 

He himself spent his quiet days among them. 


winter and summer, living at a farmhouse near, 
and scarcely ever quitting his charge. A lonelier 
life, especially in winter-time, it was hardly possible 
to imagine. Yet he looked quite contented, and 
so did the little congregation as they listened to 
the short Gaelic sermon (which, of course, was 
incomprehensible to the strangers), then slowly 
went out of church and stood hanging about on 
the dike-side in the sunshine, till the second 
service should begin. 

Very soon a few more groups were seen advanc- 
ing toward church. There was Maurice, prayer- 
book in hand, looking so good and gentle and 
sweet, almost like a cherub in a picture ; and 
Eddie, not at all cherubic, but entirely boyish, 
walking sedately beside his papa ; Eddie clean and 
tidy, as if he had never torn his clothes or dirtied 
his face in all his life. Then came the children's 
parents, papa and mamma and their guests, and 
the servants of the house following. While far 
behind, holding cautiously by her Lizzie's hand and 
rather alarmed at her new position, was a certain 
little person, who, as soon as she saw her own papa 
and mamma, rushed frantically forward to meet 
them, with a cry of irrepressible joy. 

"Sunny wants to go to church ! Sunny would 
like to go to church with the little boys, and 
Lizzie says she mustn't." 


Lizzie was quite right, mamma explained ; 
afraid that so small a child might only interrupt 
the worship, which she could not possibly under- 
stand. But she compromised the matter by prom- 
ising that Sunny should go to church as soon as 
ever she was old enough, and to-day she should 
stay with mamma out in the sunshiny road, and 
hear the singing from outside. 

Staying with mamma being always sufficient 
felicity, she consented to part with the little boys, 
and they passed on into church. 

By this time the post, which always came in 
between the services on Sundays, appeared, and 
the postmaster, who was also schoolmaster and 
beadle at the church, — as the school, the church, 
and the post-office were all one building, — began 
arranging and distributing the contents of the 

Everybody sat down by the roadside and read 
their letters. Those who had no letters opened 
the newspapers, — those cruel newspapers, full of 
the war. It was dreadful to read them, in this 
lovely spot, on this calm September Sunday, with 
the good pastor and his innocent flock preparing 
to begin the worship of Him who commanded 
" Love your enemies ; bless them that curse you, do 
good to them that hate you, and pray for them 
that despitefully use you and persecute you." 


Oh, what a mockery " church " seemed ! You 
little children can never understand the pain of 
it ; but you will when you are grown up. May 
God grant that in your time you may never suffer 
as we have done, but that His mercy may then 
have brought permanent peace ; beating " swords 
into ploughshares, and spears into pruning-hooks," 
for ever and ever throughout the world ! 

Sunny's mamma prayed so with all her heart, 
when, the newspaper laid down, she sat on a stone 
outside the church, with her child playing beside 
her; far enough not to disturb the congregation, 
but near enough to catch a good deal of the ser- 
vice, which was the English Episcopal service; 
there being few Presbyterians in this district of 
Scotland, and not a Presbyterian church within 
several miles. 

Presently a harmonium began to sound, and a 
small choir of voices, singing not badly, began the 
Magnificat. It was the first time in her life that 
the little girl had heard choral music, — several 
people singing all together. She pricked up her 
ears at once, with the expression of intense delight 
that all kinds of music bring into her little face. 

" Mamma, is that church ? Is that my papa 
singing ? '* 

Mamma did not think it was, but it mie;ht be 
Maurice's papa, and his mamma, and Lizzie, and 


several other people; Sunny must listen and be 
quite quiet, so as not to disturb them. 

So she did, good little girl ! sitting as mute as a 
mouse all the while the music lasted, and when it 
ceased, playing about, still quietly ; building pebble 
mountains, and gathering a few withered leaves to 
stick on the top of them. For she and her 
mamma were sitting on the gravel walk of the 
schoolmaster's garden, beside a row of flower- 
pots, still radiant with geraniums and fuchsias. 
They were so close to the open window under 
which stood the pulpit, that mamma was able to 
hear almost every word of the sermon, — and a 
very good sermon it was. 

When it ended, the friendly little congregation 
shook hands and talked a little ; then separated, 
half going up and the other half down the road. 
The minister came home to dinner, walking 
between Maurice and Eddie, of whom he was a 
particular friend. They alwavs looked forward to 
this weekly visit of his as one of the Sunday enjoy- 
ments, for he was an admirable hand at an oar, and 
Eddie, who tyrannised over him in the most affec- 
tionate wav, was quite sure of " a low " when the 
minister was there. 

So, after dinner, all went out together, parents 
and children, pastor and flock, in two boats, and 
rowed peacefully up and down the loch, which 


had fallen into the cool gray shadow of evening, 
with the most gorgeous sunset light, resting on 
the mountains opposite, and gradually fading away, 
higher and higher, till the topmost peaks alone 
kept the glow. But that they did to the very 
last; like a good man who, living continually 
in the smile of God, lives cheerfully on to the 

Sunny and her mamma watched the others, but 
did not go out, it being near the child's bedtime ; 
and unless it is quite unavoidable, nobody ever 
puts Sunny to bed, or hears her say her little 
prayers, except her own mamma. She went to 
sleep quite happily, having now almost forgotten 
to ask for Tommy Tinker, or any other story. 
The continual excitement of her life here left 
her so sleepy that the minute she had her little 
nightgown on, she was ready to shut her eyes, 
and go off into what mamma calls " the land 
of Nod." 

And so ended, for her, the first Sunday in the 
glen, which, in its cheerful, holy peace, was a day 
long to be remembered. But the little boys, 
Maurice and Eddie, who did not go to bed so 
early, after the loch grew dark, and the rowing 
was all done, spent a good long evening in the 
drawing-room, climbing on the minister's knees, 
and talking to him about boats and salmon, and 


all sorts of curious things : he was so very kind 
to little children. And after the boys were gone 
to bed, he and the elder folk gathered around the 
not unwelcome fire, and talked too. This good 
minister, who spent his life in the lonely glen, 
with very little money, — so little that rich South- 
ern people would hardly believe an educated 
clergyman could live upon it at all, — and almost 
no society, except that of the few cottagers and 
farmers scattered thinly up and down, yet kept 
his heart up, and was cheerful and kindly, ready 
to help old and young, rich and poor, and never 
complaining of his dull life, or anything else — 
this gentleman, I say, was a pattern to both great 
folk and small. 

The one only subject of discontent in the 
house, if anybody could feel discontent in such 
a pleasant place and amid such happy circum- 
stances, was the continued fine weather. While 
the sky remained unclouded, and the loch as 
smooth as glass, no salmon would bite. They 
kept jumping up in the liveliest and most provok- 
ing way ; sometimes you could see their heads 
and shoulders clean out of water, and of course 
they looked bigger than any salmon ever seen 
before. Vainly did the master of the house and 
his guests go after them whenever there was 
the least cloud on the sky, and coax them to 


bite with the most fascinating flies and most 
alluring hooks j they refused to take the slightest 
notice of either. Only trout, and they not big 
ones, ever allowed themselves to be caught. 

The children and mammas, delighting in the 
warm sunshiny weather, did not grieve much, 
but the gentlemen became quite low in their 
spirits, and at last, for their sakes, and especially 
for the sake of that one who only cared for fishing, 
and had come so far to fish, the whole household 
began to watch the sky, and with great self-sacri- 
fice to long for a day — a whole day — of good, 
settled, pelting rain. 

And on the Monday following this bright 
Sunday, it seemed likely. The morning was 
rather dull, the sunshiny haze which hung over 
the mountains melted away, and they stood out 
sharp and dark and clear. Toward noon, the 
sky clouded over a little, — a very little ! Hope- 
fully the elders sat down to their four o'clock 
dinner, and by the time it was over a joyful cry 
arose : 

" It's raining ! it's raining ! " 

Everybody started up in the greatest delight. 
" Now we shall have a chance of a salmon ! " 
cried the gentlemen, afraid to hope too much. 
Nevertheless, they hastily put on their great- 
coats, and rushed down to the pier, armed with a 


rod apiece, and with Donald, the keeper, to row 
them ; because, if they did hook a salmon, Eddie 
explained, they would want somebody to " low " 
the boat, and follow the fish wherever he went. 
Eddie looked very unhappy that he himself had 
not this duty, of which he evidently thought 
he was capable. But when his father told him 
he could not go, he obeyed, as he always did. 
He was very fond of his father. 

The three boys, Maurice, Eddie, and Franky, 
— Phil, alas ! was too ill to be much excited, 
even over salmon-fishing, — resigned themselves 
to fate, and made the best of things by climbing 
on the drawing-room table, which stood in front 
of the window, and thence watching the boat 
as it moved slowly up and down the gray loch, 
with the four motionless figures sitting in it, — 
sitting contentedly soaking. The little boys, 
Eddie especially, would willingly have sat and 
soaked too, if allowed. 

At length, as some slight consolation, and 
to prevent Eddie's dangling his legs out at the 
open window, letting in the wind and the rain, 
and running imminent risk of tumbling out, 
twenty feet or so, down to the terrace below, 
Sunny's mamma brought a book of German 
pictures, and proposed telling stories out of 


They were very funny pictures, and have 
been Little Sunshine's delight for many months. 
So she, as the owner, displayed them proudly 
to the rest, and it having been arranged with 
some difficulty how six pairs of eyes could look 
over the same book, the party arranged them- 
selves thus : Sunny's mamma sat on the hearth- 
rug, with her own child on her lap, Austin 
Thomas on one side, and Phil on the other \ 
while Maurice, Eddie, and Franky managed as 
well as they could to look over her shoulders. 
There was a general sense of smothering and 
huddling up, like a sparrow's nest when the 
young ones are growing a little too big, but 
everybody appeared happy. Now and then. Sun- 
shine knitted her brows fiercely, as she can knit 
them on occasion, when Austin Thomas came 
crawling too close upon her mamma's lap, with 
his intrusively affectionate " Danmamma," but 
no open quarrel broke out. The room was so 
cosy and bright with firelight, and everybody 
was so comfortable, that they had almost for- 
gotten the rain outside, also the salmon-fishing, 
when the door suddenly opened, and in burst the 

Mary was a kind, warm-hearted Highland 
woman, always ready to do anything for anybody, 
and particularly devoted to the children. Gaelic 


was easier to her than English always, but now 
she was so excited that she could hardly get out 
her words. 

" Master's hooked a salmon ! He's been cry- 
ing " (calling) " on Neil to get out another boat 
and come to him. It must be a very big salmon, 
for he is playing him up and down the loch. 
They've been at it these ten minutes and more." 

Mary's excitement affected the mistress, who 
laid down her baby. " Where are they ? Has 
anybody seen them ? " 

" Anybody, ma'am ? Why, everybody's down 
at the shore looking at them. The minister, too j 
he was passing, and stopped to see." 

As a matter of course, cook evidently thought. 
Even a minister could not pass by such an inter- 
esting sight. Nor did she seem in the least sur- 
prised when the mistress sent for her water-proof 
cloak, and, drawing the hood over her head, went 
deliberately out into the pelting rain, Maurice and 
Franky following. As for Eddie, at the first 
mention of salmon, he had been off like a shot, 
and was now seen standing on the very edge 
of the pier, gesticulating with all his might for 
somebody to take him into a boat. Alas ! in vain. 

Never was there such an all-absorbing salmon. 
As Mary had said, the whole household was out 
watching him and his proceedings. The baby. 


Austin Thomas, Sunny, and Sunny's mamma 
were left alone, to take care of one another. 

These settled down again in front of the fire, 
and Sunny, who had been a little bewildered by 
the confusion, recovered herself, and, not at all 
alive to the importance of salmon-fishing, resumed 
her entreating whisper : 

"'Bout German pictures, mamma; tell me 
'bout German pictures." 

And she seemed quite glad to go back to her 
old ways ; for this little girl likes nothing better 
than snuggling into her mamma's lap, on the 
hearth-rug, and being told about German pictures. 

They came to her all the wav from Germany 
as a present from a kind German friend, and 
some of them are very funny. They make regu- 
lar stories, a story on each page. One is about 
a little greedy boy, so like a pig, that at last, being 
caught with a sweetmeat by an old witch, she 
turns him into a pig in realitv. He is put into 
a sty, and just about to be killed, when his sister 
comes in to save him with a fairy rose in her 
hand ; the witch falls back, stuck through with 
her own carving-knife, and poor piggv-wiggy, 
touched by the magic rose, turns into a little 
boy again. Then there is another page, " 'bout 
efFelants," as Sunny calls them, — a papa elephant 
and a baby elephant taking a walk together. 


They come across the first Indian railway, and 
the papa elephant, who has never seen a tele- 
graph wire before, is very angry at it and pulls 
it down with his trunk. Then there comes 
whizzing past a railway-train, which makes him 
still more indignant, as he does not understand 
it at all. He talks very seriously on the subject 
to his little son, who listens with a respectful 
air. Then, determined to put an end to such 
nuisances, this wise papa elephant marches right 
in front of the next train that passes. He does 
not stop it, of course, but it stops him, cutting 
him up into little pieces, and throwing him on 
either side the line. At which the little elephant 
is so frightened that you see him taking to his 
heels, very solid heels too, and running right 

Sunny heard this story for the hundredth time, 
delighted as ever, and then tried to point out to 
Austin Thomas which was the papa " efFelant," 
and which the baby " efPelant." But Austin 
Thomas's more infantile capacity did not take it 
in ; he only " scrumpled " the pages with his fat 
hands, and laughed. There might soon have 
been an open war if mamma had not soothed her 
little girl's wounded feelings by the great felicity 
of taking off her shoes and stockings, and letting 
her warm her little feet by the fire, while she lay 


back on her mamma's lap, sucking her Maymie's 

The whole group were in this state of perfect 
peace, outside it had grown dark, and mamma 
had stirred the fire and promised to begin a quite 
new story, when the door again opened and Eddie 
rushed in. Maurice and Franky followed, wet, 
of course, to the skin, — for each left a little pool 
of water behind him wherever he stood, — but 
speechless with excitement. Shortly after, up 
came the three gentlemen, likewise silent, but not 
from excitement at all. 

" But where's the salmon ? " asked Sunny's 
mamma. " Pray let us see the salmon." 

iMaurice's papa looked as solemn as — what 
shall I say ? — the renowned BufF, when he 

" Strokes his face with a sorrowful grace, 
And delivers his staff to the next place." 

He delivered his — no, it was not a stick, but a 
"tommy" hat, all ornamented with fishing-flies, 
and dripping with rain, to anybody that would 
hang it up, and sank into a chair, saying, mourn- 
fully : 

" You can't see the salmon." 

" Why not ? " 

" Because he's at the bottom of the loch. He 
got away." 


" Got away ! " 

" Yes, after giving us a run of a full hour." 

" An hour and five minutes by my watch," added 
Sunny's papa, who looked as dejected as the other 
two. Though no salmon-fisher, he had been so 
excited by the sport that he had sat drenched 
through and through, in the stern of the boat, 
and afterward declared " he didn't know it had 

"Such a splendid fish he was, — twenty-five 
pounds at least." 

" Twenty," suggested some one, who was put 
down at once with scorn. 

" Twenty-five, I am certain, for he rose several 
times, and I saw him plain. So did Donald. Oh, 
what a fish he was ! And he bit upon a trout- 
line ! To think that we should have had that 
one trout-line with us, and he chose it. It could 
hardly hold him, of course. He required the 
tenderest management. We gave him every 
chance." (Of being killed, poor fish !) " The 
minute he was hooked, I threw the oars to Don- 
ald, who pulled beautifully, humouring him up and 
down, and you should have seen the dashes he 
made ! He was so strong, — such a big fish ! " 

" Such a big fish ! " echoed Eddie, who stood 
listening with open mouth and eyes that gradually 
became as melancholy as his father's. 


" And, as I said, we played him for an hour 
and five minutes. He was getting quite ex- 
hausted, and I had just called to Neil to row 
close and put the gaff under him, when he came 
up to the surface, — I declare, just as if he 
wanted to have a stare at me, — then made a 
sudden dart, right under the boat. No line could 
stand that, a trout-line especially." 

" So he got away ? " 

" Of course he did, with my hook in his mouth, 
the villain ! I dare say he has it there still." 

It did occur to Sunny's mamma that the fish 
was fully as uncomfortable as the fisherman, but 
she durst not suggest this for the world. Evi- 
dently, the salmon had conducted himself in a 
most unwarrantable manner, and was worthy of 
universal condemnation. 

Even after the confusion had a little abated, 
and the younger children were safely in bed, 
twenty times during tea he was referred to in the 
most dejected manner, and his present position 
angrily speculated upon, — whether he would keep 
the hook in his mouth for the remainder of his 
natural life, or succeed in rubbing it off among 
the weeds at the bottom of the loch. 

" To be sure he will, and be just as cheerful as 
ever, the wretch! Oh, that I had him, — hook 
and all ! For it was one of my very best flies." 


" Papa, if you would let me ' low ' you in the 
boat, while you fished, perhaps he might come 
and bite again to-morrow ? " 

This deep diplomatic suggestion of Eddie's did 
not meet with half the success it deserved. No- 
body noticed it except his mother, and she only 

" Well ! " she said, trying to cheer up the 
mournful company, "• misfortunes can't be helped 
sometimes. It is sad. 7Venty-five pounds of fish ; 
boiled, fried into steaks, kippered. Oh, dear ! what 
a help in the feeding of the household ! " 

" Yes," said the patient gentleman, who, being 
unable to walk, could only sit and fish, and, hav- 
ing come all the way from London to catch a 
salmon, had never yet had a bite except this one. 
" Yes, twenty-five pounds at two shillings the 
pound, — Billingsgate price now. That makes 
two-pound-ten of good English money gone to 
the bottom of the loch ! " 

Everybody laughed at this practical way of 
putting the matter, and the laugh a little raised 
the spirits of the gentlemen. Though still they 
mourned, and mourned, looking as wretched as if 
they had lost their whole families in the loch, in- 
stead of that unfortunate — or fortunate — salmon. 

" It isn't myself I care for," lamented Maurice's 
papa. " It's you others. For I know you will 


have no other chance. The rain will clear off — 
it's clearing off now, into a beautiful starlight 
night. To-morrow will be another of those 
dreadfully sunshiny days. Not a fish will bite, 
and vou will have to go home at the wreck's end, 
— and there's that salmon King snuglv in his 
hole, with my hook in his mouth ! " 

" Never mind," said the patient gentleman, 
who, though really the most to be pitied, bore 
his disappointment better than anybody. ". There's 
plenty of fish in the loch, for I've seen them 
every day jumping up ; and somebody will catch 
them, if I don't. After all, we had an hour's 
good sport with that fellow to-day, — and it was 
all the better for him that he got away." 

With which noble sentiment the good man 
took one of the boys on his knee, — his godson, 
for whom he was planning an alliance with his 
daughter, a young lady of four and a half, — and 
began discussing the settlements he expected ; 
namely, a large cake on her side, and on the 
young gentleman's, at least ten salmon out of the 
loch, to be sent in a basket to London. With 
this he entertained both children and parents, so 
that everybody grew merry as usual, and the lost 
salmon fell into the category of misfortunes over 
which the best dirge is the shrewd Scotch proverb, 
" It's nae use greeting ower spilt milk." 


The forebodings of the disappointed salmon- 
fishers turned out true. That wet Monday was 
the first and last day of rain, for weeks. Scarcely 
ever had such a dry season been known in the 
glen. Morning after morning the gentlemen 
rowed out in a hopeless manner, taking their rods 
with them, under a sky cloudless and hot as June ; 
evening after evening, if the slightest ripple arose, 
they went out again, and floated about lazily in 
the gorgeous sunset, but not a salmon would bite. 
Fish after fish, each apparently bigger than the 
other, kept jumping up, sometimes quite close to 
the boat. Some must have swum under the line 
and looked at it, made an examination of the fly 
and laughed at it, but as for swallowing it, oh, 
dear, no ! Not upon any account. 

What was most tantalising, the gardener, going 
out one day, without orders, and with one of his 
master's best lines, declared he had hooked a 
splendid salmon ! As it got away, and also car- 
ried off the fly, a valuable one, perhaps it was 



advisable to call it a salmon, but nobody quite 
believed this. It might have been only a large 

By degrees, as salmon-fishing, never plentiful, 
became hopeless, and game scarcer than ever, the 
gentlemen waxed dull, and began to catch at the 
smallest amusements. They grew as excited as 
the little boys over nutting-parties, going in whole 
boat-loads to the other side of the loch, and prom- 
ising to bring home large bags of nuts for winter 
consumption, but somehow the nuts all got eaten 
before the boats reached land. 

The clergyman was often one of the nutting- 
party. He knew every nook and corner of the 
country around, was equally good at an oar or a 
fishing-rod, could walk miles upon miles across 
the mountains, and scramble over rocks as light 
as a deer. Besides, he was so kind to children, 
and took such pleasure in pleasing them, that he 
earned their deepest gratitude, as young things 
understand gratitude. But they are loving, any- 
how, to those that love them, and to have those 
little boys climbing over him, and hanging about 
him, and teasing him on all occasions to give 
them " a low," was, I dare say, sufficient reward 
for the good minister. 

Sunny liked him, too, very much, and was 
delighted to go out with him. But there was such 


dangerous emulation between her and the boys in 
the matter of " fishing " for dead leaves with a 
stick, which involved leaning over the boat's side 
and snatching at them when caught, and mamma 
got so many frights, that she was not sorry when 
the minister announced that every nut-tree down 
the canal had been " harried " of its fruit, and 
henceforward people must content themselves with 
dry land and blackberries. 

This was not an exciting sport, and one day 
the gentlemen got so hard up for amusement that 
they spent half the morning in watching some 
gymnastics of Maurice and Eddie, which consisted 
in climbing up to their papa's shoulder and sit- 
ting on his head. (A proceeding which Sunny 
admired so, that she never rested till she partly 
imitated it by " walking up mamma as if she 
was a tree," which she did at last like a little 

Children and parents became quite interested in 
their mutual performances ; everybody laughed a 
good deal, and forgot to grumble at the weather, 
when news arrived that a photographer, coming 
through the glen, had stopped at the house, wish- 
ing to know if the family would like their portraits 

Now, anybody, not an inhabitant, coming 
through the glen, was an object of interest in this 


lonely place. But a photographer ! Maurice's 
papa caught at the idea enthusiastically. 

" Have him in, by all means. Let us see his 
pictures. Let us have ourselves done in a general 

" And the children," begged their mamma. 
"Austin Thomas has never been properly taken, 
and baby not at all. I must have a portrait of 

" Also," suggested somebody, " we might as 
well take a portrait of the mountains. They'll sit 
for it quiet enough ; which is more than can be 
said for the children, probably." 

It certainly was. Never had a photographer a 
more hard-working morning. No blame to the 
weather, which (alas, for the salmon-fishers !) was 
perfect as ever; but the difficulty of catching the 
sitters and arranging them, and keeping them 
steady, was enormous. 

First the servants all wished to be taken ; some 
separately, and then in a general group, which was 
arranged beside the kitchen door, the scullery 
being converted into a "dark room" for the 
occasion. One after the other, the maids disap- 
peared, and re-appeared full-dressed, in the most 
wonderful crinolines and chignons, but looking not 
half so picturesque as a Highland farm-girl, who, 
in her woollen striped petticoat and short gown. 


with her dark red hair knotted up behind, sat 
on the wall of the yard contemplating the pro- 

The children ran hither and thither, highly 
delighted, except Franky and Austin Thomas, who 
were made to suffer a good deal, the latter being 
put into a stiff white pique frock, braided with 
black braid, which looked exactly as if some one 
had mistaken him for a sheet of letter-paper and 
begun to write upon him ; while Franky, dressed 
in his Sunday's best, with his hair combed and 
face clean, was in an aggravating position for his 
ordinary week-day amusements. He consoled 
himself by running in and out among the servants, 
finally sticking himself in the centre of the group, 
and being depicted there, as natural as life. 

A very grand picture it was, the men-servants 
being in front, — Highland men always seem to 
consider themselves superior beings, and are seen 
lounging about and talking, while the women are 
shearing, or digging, or hoeing potatoes. The 
maids stood in a row behind, bolt upright, smiling 
as hard as they could, and little Franky occupied 
the foreground, placed between the gardener's 
knees. A very successful photograph, and worthy 
of going down to posterity, as doubtless it will. 

Now for the children. The baby, passive in 
an embroidered muslin frock, came out, of course. 


as a white mass with something resembling a face 
at the top i but Austin Thomas was a difficult 
subject. He wouldn't sit still, no, not for a min- 
ute, but kept wriggling about on the kitchen chair 
that was brought for him, and looked so miserable 
in his stiff frock, that his expression was just as if 
he were going to be whipped, and didn't like 
it at all. 

In vain Franky, who always patronised and 
protected his next youngest brother in the tender- 
est way, began consoling him : " Never mind, 
sonnie," — that was Franky's pet name for Aus- 
tin, — "they sha'n't hurt you. I'll take care they 
don't hurt you." 

Still the great black thing, with the round glass 
eye fixed upon him, was too much for Austin's 
feelings. He wriggled, and wriggled, and never 
would this likeness have been taken at all, — 
at least that morning, — if somebody had not 
suggested " a piece." Off flew Alary, the cook, 
and brought back the largest "piece" — bread 
with lots of jam upon it — that ever little Scotch- 
man revelled in. Austin took it, and being 
with great difficulty made to understand that he 
must pause in eating now and then, the pho- 
tographer seized the happy moment, and took him 
between his mouthfuls, with Franky keeping guard 
over him the while, lest anybody did him any 


harm. And a very good picture it is, though 
neither boy is quite handsome enough, of course. 
No photographs e\er arc. 

Little Sunshine, meanwhile, had been deeply 
interested in the whole matter. She was quite an 
old hand at it, having herself sat for her photograph 
several times. 

" Would vou like to see my likenesses ? " she 
kept asking anybody or everybody ; and brought 
down the whole string of them, describing them 
one by one : " Sunny in her mamma's arms, when 
she was a little baby, very cross ;" " Sunny just going 
to cry ;" " Sunny in a boat ;" " Sunny sitting on a 
chair ;" " Sunny with her shoes and stockings off, 
kicking over a basket ;" and lastly (the little show- 
woman always came to this with a scream of 
delight), "That's my papa and mamma, Sunny's 
own papa and mamma, both together ! " 

Though then she had not been in the least 
afraid of the camera, but, when the great glass eye 
looked at her, looked steadily at it back, still she 
did not seem to like it now. She crept beside her 
mamma and her Lizzie, looking on with curiosity, 
but keeping a long way ofF, till the groups were 

There were a few more taken, in one of which 
Sunny stood in the doorway in her Lizzie's arms. 

And her papa and mamma, who meanwhile had 


taken a good long walk up the hill-road, came 
back in time to figure in two rows of black dots 
on either side of a shady road, which were supposed 
to be portraits of the whole party. The mountains 
opposite also sat for their likenesses, — which must 
have been a comfort to the photographer, as they 
at least could not " move." But, on the whole, 
the honest man made a good morning's work, and 
benefited considerably thereby. 

Which was more than the household did. For, 
as was natural, the cook being dressed so beauti- 
fully, the dinner was left pretty much to dress 
itself. Franky and Austin Thomas suffered so 
much from having on their best clothes that they 
did not get over it for ever so long. And Sunny, 
too, upset by these irregular proceedings, when 
taking a long-promised afternoon walk with her 
papa, was as cross as such a generally good little 
girl could be, insisting on being carried the whole 
way, and carried only by her mamma. And though, 
as mamma often says, *' she wouldn't sell her for 
her weight in gold," she is a pretty considerable 
weight to carry on a warm afternoon. 

Still the day had passed pleasantly away, the 
photographs were all done, to remain as memorials 
of the holiday, long after it was ended. In years 
to come, when the children are all men and 
women, they may discover them in some nook or 


other, and try to summon up faint recollections 
of the time. Oh, if Little Sunshine might never 
cry except to be carried in mamma's arms ! and 
Austin Thomas find no sorer affliction in life than 
sitting to be photographed in stiff white clothes ! 

But that cannot be. They must all bear their 
burdens, as their parents did. May God take care 
of them when we can do it no more ! 

The week had rolled by, — weeks roll by so 
fast ! — and it was again Sunday, the last Sunday 
at the glen, and just such another as before : calm, 
still, sunshiny ; nothing but peace on earth and 
sky. Peace ! when far away beyond the circle of 
mountains within which parents and children were 
enjoying such innocent pleasures, such deep repose, 
there was going on, for other parents and children, 
the terrible siege of Paris. Week by week, and 
day by day, the Germans were closing in round 
the doomed city, making ready to destroy by fire, 
or sword, or famine, — all sent by man's hand, 
not God's, — hundreds, thousands of innocent en- 
emies. Truly, heayen will haye been well filled, 
and earth well emptied during the year 1870. 

What a glorious summer it was, as to weather, 
will long be remembered in Scotland. Even up 
to this Sunday, the 2d of October, the air was 
balmy and warm as June. Everybody gathered 
outside on the terrace, including the forlorn 


salmon-fishers, whose last hope was now extin- 
guished ; for the patient gentleman, and Sunny's 
papa, too, were to leave next morning. And the 
fish jumped up in the glassy loch, livelier than 
ever, as if they were having a special jubilee in 
honour of their foe's departure. 

He sat resigned and cheerful, smoking his cigar, 
and protesting that, with all his piscatory disap- 
pointments, this was the loveliest place he had 
ever been in, and that he had spent the pleasantest 
of holidays ! There he was left to enjoy his last 
bit of the mountains and loch in quiet content, 
while everybody else went to church. 

Even Little Sunshine. For her mamma and 
papa had taken counsel together whether it was 
not possible for her to be good there, so as at 
least to be no hindrance to other people's going, 
which was as much as could be expected for so 
small a child. Papa doubted this, but mamma 
pleaded for her little girl, and promised to keep 
her good if possible. She herself had a great 
desire that the first time ever Sunny went to 
church should be in this place. 

So they had a talk together, mamma and Sunny, 
in which mamma explained that Sunny might go 
to church, as Maurice and Eddie did, if she would 
sit quite quiet, as she did at prayers, and promise 
not to speak one word, as nobody ever spoke in 


church excepting the minister. She promised, 
this little girl who has such a curious feeling about 
keeping a promise, and allowed herself to be 
dressed without murmuring — nay, with a sort of 
dignified pride — to " go to church." She even 
condescended to have her gloves put on, always a 
severe trial \ and never was there a neater little 
figure, all in white from top to toe, with a white 
straw hat, as simple as possible, and the yellow 
curls tumbling down from under it. As she put 
her little hand in her mamma's and they two 
started together, somewhat in advance of the rest, 
for it was a long half-mile for such baby feet, her 
mamma involuntarily thought of a verse in a 
poem she learnt when she herself was a little 

girl : 

" Thy dress was like the lilies, 

And thy heart was pure as they ; 
One of God's holy angels 
Did walk with me that day." 

Only Sunny was not an angel, but an ordinary 
little girl. A good little girl generally, but capa- 
ble of being naughty sometimes. She will have 
to try hard to be good every day of her life, as 
we all have. Still, with her sweet, grave face, 
and her soft, pretty ways, there was something of 
the angel about her this day. 

Her mamma tried to make her understand, in a 


dim way, what " church " meant, — that it was 
saying " thank you " to God, as mamma did con- 
tinually ; especially for His giving her her little 
daughter. How He lived up in the sky, and no- 
body saw Him, but He saw everybody ; how He 
loved Little Sunshine, just as her papa and mamma 
loved her, and was glad when she was good, and 
grieved when she was naughty. This was all the 
child could possibly take in, and even thus much 
was doubtful ; but she listened, seeming as if she 
comprehended a small fragment of the great mys- 
tery which even we parents understand so little. 
Except that when we look at our children, and 
feel how dearly we love them, how much we 
would both do and sacrifice for them, how if we 
have to punish them it is never in anger but in 
anguish and pain, suffering twice as much our- 
selves the while, — then we can faintly understand 
how He who put such love into us, must Himself 
love infinitely more, and meant us to believe this, 
when He called Himself our Father. Therefore 
it was that through her papa's and mamma's love 
Sunny could best be taught her first dim idea of 

She walked along very sedately, conversing by 
the way, and not attempting to dart from side to 
side, after one object or another, as this butterfly 
child always does on a week-day. But Sunday, 


and Sunday clothes, conduced exceedingly to 
proper behaviour. Besides, she felt that she was 
her mamma's companion, and was proud accord- 
ingly. Until, just before reaching the church, 
came a catastrophe which certainly could not 
have happened in any other church-going walk 
than this. 

A huge, tawny-coloured bull stood in the centre 
of the road, with half a dozen cows and calves 
behind him. They moved awav, feeding leisurely 
on either side the road, but the bull held his 
ground, looking at mamma and Sunny from under 
his shaggy brows, as if he would like to eat them 

" Mamma, take her ! " whispered the poor little 
girl, rather frightened, but neither crying nor 

iVIamma popped her prayer-book in her pocket, 
dropped her parasol on the ground, and took up 
her child on her left arm, leaving the right arm 
free. A fortnight ago she would have been 
alarmed, but now she understood the ways of 
these Highland cattle, and that they were not half 
so dangerous as they looked. Besides, the fiercest 
animal will often turn before a steady, fearless 
human eye. So they stood still, and faced the 
bull, even Sunny meeting the creature with a gaze 
as firm and courageous as her mamma's. He 


Stood It for a minute or so, then he deliberately 
turned tail, and walked up the hillside. 

" The big bull didn't hurt Sunny ! He wouldn't 
hurt little Sunny, would he, mamma ? " said she, 
as they walked on together. She has the happiest 
conviction that no creature in the world would 
ever be so unkind as to hurt Sunny. How should 
it, when she is never unkind to any living thing ? 
When the only living thing that ever she saw 
hurt — a wasp that crept into the carriage, and 
stung Sunny on her poor little leg, and her nurse 
was so angry that she killed it on the spot — 
caused the child a troubled remembrance. She 
talked, months afterward, with a grave counte- 
nance, of " the wasp that was obliged to be killed, 
because it stung Sunny." 

She soon looked benignly at the big bull, now 
standing watching her from the hillside, and 
wanted to play with the little calves, who still 
stayed feeding near. She was also very anxious 
to know if they were going to church too ? But 
before the question — a rather puzzling one — 
could be answered, she was overtaken by the 
rest of the congregation, including Maurice and 
Eddie with their parents. The two boys only 
smiled at her, and walked into church, so good 
and grave that Sunny was Impressed Into pre- 
ternatural gravity too. When the rest were 


seated, she, holding her mamma's hand, walked 
quietly in as if accustomed to it all and joined the 

The seat they chose was, for precaution, the 
one nearest the door, and next to " the pauper," an 
old man who alone of all the inhabitants of the 
glen did not work, but received parish relief. He 
was just able to come to church, but looked as if 
he had " one foot in the grave," as people say 
(whither, indeed, the other foot soon followed, for 
the poor old man died not many weeks after this 
Sunday). He had a wan, weary, but uncom- 
plaining face ; and as the rosy child, with her 
bright curls, her fair, fresh cheeks, and plump, 
round limbs, sat down upon the bench beside him, 
the two were a strange and touching contrast. 

Never did any child behave better than Little 
Sunshine, on this her first going to church. Yes, 
even though she soon caught sight of her own 
papa, sitting a few benches off, but afraid to look 
at her lest she should misbehave. Also of Mau- 
rice's papa and mamma, and of Maurice and Eddie 
themselves, not noticing her at all, and behaving 
beautifully. She saw them, but, faithful to her 
promise, she did not speak one word, not even in 
a whisper to mamma. She allowed herself to be 
lifted up and down, to sit or stand as the rest did, 
and when the music began she listened with an 



^ 1^ 

S^Vk xx 


ecstasy of pleasure on her little face ; but other- 
wise she conducted herself as well as if she had 
been thirteen instead of not quite three years old. 
Once only, when the prayers were half through, 
and the church was getting warm, she gravely 
took ofF her hat and laid it on the bench before 
her, — sitting the rest of the service with her 
pretty curls bare, — but that was all. 

During the sermon she was severely tried. 
Not by its length, for it was fortunately short, and 
she sat on her mamma's lap, looking fixedly into 
the face of the minister, as pleased with him in 
his new position as when he was rowing her in 
the boat, or gathering nuts for her along the canal 
bank. All were listening, as attentive as possible, 
for everybody loved him, Sundays and week-days ; 
and even Sunny herself gazed as earnestly as if 
she were taking in every word he said, — when 
her quick little eyes were caught by a new interest, 
— a small, shaggy Scotch terrier, who put his 
wise-looking head inquiringly in at the open door. 

Oh, why was the church door left open ? No 
doubt, so thought the luckless master of that 
doggie ! He turned his face away ; he kept as 
quiet as possible, hoping not to be discovered ; 
but the faithful animal was too much for him. 
In an ecstasy of joy, the creature rushed in and 
out and under several people's legs, till he got to 


the young man who owned him, and then jumped 
upon him in unmistakable recognition. Happily, 
he did not bark ; indeed, his master, turning red as 
a peonv, held his hand over the creature's mouth. 

What was to be done ? If he scolded the dog, 
or beat him, there would be a disturbance imme- 
diately ; if he encouraged or caressed him, the 
lo\ ing beast would have begun — in fact, he did 
slightly begin — a delighted whine. All the per- 
plexed master could do was to keep him as quiet 
as circumstances allowed, which he managed 
somehow by setting his foot on the wildly wag- 
ging tail, and twisting his lingers in one of the 
long ears, the dog resisting not at all. Quite 
content, if close to his master, the faithful beast 
snuggled down, amusing himself from time to 
time by gnawing first a hat and then an umbrella, 
and giving one small growl as an accidental foot- 
step passed down the road \ but otherwise behav- 
ing as well as anybody in church. The master, 
too, tried to face out his difficulty, and listen as if 
nothing was the matter; but I doubt he rather 
lost the thread of the sermon. 

So did Sunny's mamma for a few minutes. 
Sunny is so fond of little doggies, that she fully 
expected the child to jump from her lap, and run 
after this one ; or, at least, to make a loud remark 
concerning it, for the benefit of the congregation 


generally. But Sunny evidently remembered that 
" nobody spoke in church j " and possibly she 
regarded the dog's entrance as a portion of the 
service, for she maintained the most decorous 
gravity. She watched him, of course, with all her 
eyjes ; and once she turned with a silent appeal to 
her mamma to look too, but said not a word. 
The little terrier himself did not behave better 
than she, to the very end of the service. 

It ended with a beautiful hymn, — "O Thou 
from whom all goodness flows." Everybody 
knows it, and the tune too \ which I think was 
originally one of those sweet litanies to the Vir- 
gin which one hears in French churches, espe- 
cially during the month of May. The little 
congregation knew it well, and sang it well, too. 
When Sunny saw them all stand up, she of her 
own accord stood up likewise, mounting the bench 
beside the old pauper, who turned half round, and 
looked on the pleasant child with a faint, pathetic 
sort of smile. 

Strange it was to stand and watch the different 
people who stood singing, or listening to, that 
hymn ; Maurice and Eddie, with their papa and 
mamma ; other papas and mammas with their lit- 
tle ones ; farmers and farm-servants who lived 
in the glen, with a chance tourist or two who 
happened to be passing through ; several old High- 


land women, grim and gaunt with long, hard- 
working lives ; the poor old pauper, who did not 
know that his life was so nearly over ; and lastly, 
the little three-year-old child, with her blue eyes 
wide open and her rosy lips parted, not stirring a 
foot or a finger, perfectly motionless with delight. 
Verse after verse rose the beautiful hymn, not the 
less beautiful because so familiar : 

" O Thou from whom all goodness flows, 
I lift my soul to Thee ; 
In all my sorrows, conflicts, woes, 

Lord, remember me ! 

" When on my aching, burdened heart, 
My sins lie heavily. 
Thy pardon grant. Thy peace impart. 
In love, remember me ! 

" When trials sore obstruct my way. 
And ills I cannot flee, 
Oh ! let my strength be as my day, 
For good, remember me ! 

" When worn with pain, disease, and grief. 
This feeble body see, 
Give patience, rest, and kind relief. 
Hear, and remember me ! 

" When in the solemn hour of death 

1 wait Thy just decree, 

Be this the prayer of my last breath, 
' O Lord, remember me ! ' " 


As Little Sunshine stood there, unconsciously 
moving her baby lips to the pretty tune, — igno- 
rant of all the words and their meaning, — her 
mother, not ignorant, took the tiny soft hand in 
hers and said for her in her heart, " Amen." 

When the hymn was done, the congregation 
passed slowly out of church, most of them stop- 
ping to speak or shake hands, for of course all 
knew one another, and several were neighbours 
and friends. Then at last Sunny's papa ventured 
to take up his little girl, and kiss her, telling her 
what a very good little girl she had been, and how 
pleased he was to see it. The minister, walking 
home between Maurice and Eddie, who seized 
upon him at once, turned round to say that he 
had never known a little girl, taken to church for 
the first time, behave so remarkably well. And 
though she was too young to understand anything 
except that she had been a good girl, and every- 
body loved her and was pleased with her, still 
Sunny also looked pleased, as if satisfied that 
church-going was a sweet and pleasant thing. 


Little Sunshine's delicious holiday — equally 
delicious to her papa and mamma, too — was now 
fast drawing to a close. This Sunday sunset, 
more gorgeous perhaps than ever, was the last 
that the assembled party of big and little people 
watched together from the terrace. By the next 
Sunday, they knew, all of them would be scat- 
tered far and wide, in all human probability never 
again to meet, as a collective party, in this world. 
For some of them had come from the " under 
world," the Antipodes, and were going back 
thither in a hw months, and all had their homes 
and fortunes widely dispersed, so as to make their 
chances of future reunion small. 

They were sorry to part, I think, — even those 
who were nearly strangers to one another, — and 
those who were friends were very sorry indeed. 
The children, of course, were not sorry at all, 
for they understood nothing about the matter. 
For instance, it did not occur in the least to Sunny 
or to Austin Thomas (still viewing one another 



with suspicious eyes, and always on the brink of 
war, though Sunny kept her promise, and did not 
attack again), that the next time they met might 
be as big boy and girl, learning lessons, and not 
at all disposed to fight ; or else as grown young 
man and woman, obliged to be polite to one an- 
other whether they liked it or not. 

But the elders were rather grave, and watched 
the sun set, or rather not the sun, — for he was 
always invisible early in the afternoon, the house 
being placed on the eastern slope of the hill, — 
but the sunset glow on the range of mountains 
opposite. Which, as the light gradually receded 
upward, the shadow pursuing, had been, evening 
after evening, the loveliest sight imaginable. This 
night especially, the hills seemed to turn all col- 
ours, fading at last into a soft gray, but keeping 
their outlines distinct long after the loch and val- 
ley were left dark. 

So, good-bye, sun ! When he rose again, two 
of the party would be on board a steamboat, — 
the steamboat, for there was but one, — sailing 
away southward, where there were no hills, no 
lochs, no salmon-fishing, no idle, sunshiny days, 
— nothing but work, work, work. For " grown- 
ups," as Sunny calls them, do really work ; though, 
as a little girl once observed pathetically to Sun- 
ny's mamma, " Oh, 1 wish I was grown up, and 


then I might be idle ! We children have to work 
so hard ! while you and my mamma do nothing 
all day long." (Oh, dear !) 

Well, work is good, and pleasant too ; though 
perhaps Sunny's papa did not exactly think so, 
when he gave her her good-night kiss, which was 
also good-bye. For he was to start so earlv in 
the morning that it was almost the middle of the 
night, in order to catch the steamer which should 
touch at the pier ten miles off, between six and 
seven a. m. Consequently, there was breakfast 
by candle-light, and hasty adieux, and a dreary 
departure of the carriage under the misty morning 
starlight \ everybody making an effort to be jolly, 
and not quite accomplishing it. Then evervbodv, 
or as many as had had courage to rise, went to 
bed again, and tried to sleep, with varied success, 
Sunny's mamma with none at all. 

It recurred to her, as a curious coincidence, 
that this very day, twenty-five years before, after 
sitting up all night, she had watched, solemnly as 
one never does it twice in a lifetime, a glorious 
sunrise. She thought she would go out and watch 
another, from the hillside, over the mountains. 

My children, did you ever watch a sunrise ? 
No ? Then go and do it as soon as ever you 
can. Not lazily from your bedroom window, 
but out in the open air, where you seem to hear 


and see the earth gradually waking up, as she 
does morning after morning, each waking as won- 
derful and beautiful as if she had not done the 
same for thousands of years, and may do it for 
thousands more. 

When the carriage drove off, it was still star- 
light, — morning starlight, pale, dreary, and ex- 
cessively cold ; but now a faint coloured streak of 
dawn began to put the stars out, and creep up and 
up behind the curves of the eastern hills. Grad- 
ually the daylight increased, — it was clear enough 
to see things, though everything looked cheerless 
and gray. The grass and heather were not merely 
damp, but soaking wet, and over the loch and its 
low-lying shores was spread a shroud of white 
mist. There was something almost painful in 
the intense stillness ; it felt as if all the world 
were dead and buried, and when suddenly a cock 
crew from the farm, he startled one as if he had 
been a ghost. 

But the mountains, — the mountains! Turn- 
ing eastward, to look at them, all the dullness, 
solitude, and dreariness of the lower world van- 
ished. They stood literally bathed in light, as 
the sun rose up behind them, higher and higher, 
brighter and brighter, every minute. Suddenly 
an arrow of light shot across the valley, and 
touched the flat granite boulder on which, after a 


rather heavy climb, Sunny's mamma had succeeded 
in perching herself like a large bird, tucking her 
feet under her, and wrapping herself up as tightly 
as possible in her plaid, as some slight protection 
against the damp cold. But when the sunshine 
came, chilliness and cheerlessness vanished. And 
as the beam broadened, it seemed to light up the 
whole world. 

How she longed for her child, not merely for 
company, though that would have been welcome 
in the extreme solitude, but that she might show 
her, what even such baby eyes could not but have 
seen, — the exceeding beauty of God's earth, and 
told her how it came out of the love of God, 
who loved the world and all that was in it. How 
He loved Sunny, and would take care of her all 
her life, as He had taken care of her, and of her 
mamma, too. How, if she were good and loved 
Him back again. He would be sure to make for 
her, through all afflictions, a happy life ; since, 
like the sunrise, " His mercies are new every 
morning, and His compassions fail not.'* 

Warmer and warmer the cold rock grew ; a 
few birds began to twitter, the cocks crowed from 
the farmyard, and from one of the cottages a 
slender line of blue peat smoke crept up, showing 
that somebody else was awake besides Sunny's 
mamma i which was rather a comfort, — she was 


getting tired of having the world all to her- 

Presently an old woman came out of a cottage- 
door, and went to the burn for water, probably to 
make her morning porridge. A tame sheep fol- 
lowed her, walking leisurely to the burn and back 
again, perhaps with an eye to the porridge-pot 
afterward. And a lazy pussy-cat also crept out, 
and climbed on the roof of the cottage, for a little 
bit of sunshine before breakfast. Sunny's mamma 
also began to feel that it was time to see about 
breakfast, for sunrise on the mountains makes one 
very hungry. 

Descending the hill was worse than ascending, 

there being no regular track, only some marks of 

where the sheep were in the habit of climbing. 

And the granite rocks presented a flat, sloping 

surface, sometimes bare, sometimes covered with 

slippery moss, which was not too agreeable. 

Elsewhere, the ground was generally boggy with 

tufts of heather between, which one might step or 

jump. But as soon as one came to a level bit it 

was sure to be bog, with little streams running 

through it, which had to be crossed somehow, even 

without the small convenience of stepping-stones. 

Once, when her stout stick alone saved her 

from a sprained ankle, she amused herself with 

thinking how in such a case she might have 


shouted vainly for help, and how bewildered the 
old woman at the cottage would have been on find- 
ing out that the large creature, a sheep as she had 
probably supposed, sitting on the boulder over- 
head, which she had looked up at once or twice, 
was actually a wandering lady ! 

It was now half-past seven, and the usual 
breakfast party on the door-step was due at eight. 
Welcome was the sound of little voices, and the 
patter of small eager feet along the gravel walk. 
Sunny's mamma had soon her own child in her 
arms and the other children around her, all eating 
bread and butter and drinking milk with the great- 
est enjoyment. The sun was now quite warm, 
and the mist had furled off the loch, leaving it 
clear and smooth as ever. 

Suddenly Eddie's sharp eyes caught something 
there which quite interrupted his meal. It was a 
water-fowl, swimming in and out among the Island 
of water-lilies, and even coming as close inshore 
as the pier. Not one of the nine geese, certainly ; 
this bird was dark coloured, and small, yet seemed 
larger than the water-hens, which also were 
familiar to the children. Some one suggested it 
might possibly be a wild duck. 

Eddie's eyes brightened. " Then might I ' low * 
In a boat, with papa's gun, and go and shoot It? " 

This being a too irregular proceeding, Sunny's 


mamma proposed a medium course, namely, that 
Eddie should inform his papa that there was a 
bird supposed to be a wild duck, and then he 
might do as he thought best about shooting it. 

Maurice and Eddie were accordingly off like 
lightning ; three of Maurice's worms which had 
taken the opportunity of crawling out of his 
pocket and on to the tray, being soon afterward 
found leisurely walking over the bread and butter 
plate. Franky and Austin Thomas took the 
excitement calmly, the one thinking it a good 
chance of eating up his brothers' rejected shares, 
and the other proceeding unnoticed to his favour- 
ite occupation of filling the salt-cellar with sand 
from the walk. 

Soon Donald, who had also seen the bird, 
appeared, with his master's gun all ready, and the 
master, having got into his clothes in preternatu- 
rally quick time, hurried down to the loch, his 
boys accompanying him. Four persons, two 
big and two little, after one unfortunate bird ! 
which still kept swimming about, a tiny black dot 
on the clear water, as happy and unconscious as 

The ladles, too, soon came out and watched 
the sport from the terrace ; wondering whether 
the duck was within range of the gun, and 
whether it really was a wild duck, or not. A 


shot, heard from behind the trees, deepened the 
interest ; and when, a minute after, a boat con- 
taining Maurice, Eddie, their papa, and Donald, 
was seen to pull off from the pier, the excitement 
was so great that nobody thought about breakfast. 

" It must be a wild duck ; they have shot it \ 
it will be floating on the water, and they are going 
after it in the boat." 

" I hope Eddie will not tumble into the water, 
in his eagerness to pull the bird out." 

"There, — the gun is in the boat with them! 
Suppose Maurice stumbles over it, and it goes ofF 
and shoots somebody ! " 

Such were the maternal forebodings, but nothing 
of the sort happened, and by and by, when break- 
fast was getting exceedingly cold, a little procession, 
all unharmed, was seen to wind up from the loch, 
Eddie and Maurice on either side of their papa. 

He walked between them, shouldering his gun, 
so that, loaded or not, it could not possibly hurt 
his little boys. But he looked extremely dejected, 
and so did Donald, who followed, bearing " the 
body " — of a poor little dripping, forlorn-looking 

" Is that the wild duck ? " asked everybody at 

" Pooh ! It wasn't a wild duck at all. It was 
only a large water-hen. Not worth the trouble of 


shooting, certainly not of cooking. And then we 
had all the bother of getting out the gun, and 
tramping over the wet grass to get a fair shot, and, 
after we shot it, of rowing after it, to fish it up 
out of the loch. Wretched bird ! " 

Donald, imitating his master, regarded the booty 
with the utmost contempt, even kicking it with 
his foot as it lay, poor little thing ! But no kicks 
could harm it now. Sunny only went up and 
touched it timidly, stroking its pretty, wet feathers 
with her soft little hand. 

"Mamma, can't it fly? why doesn't it get up 
and fly away ? And it is so cold. Might Sunny 
warm it ? " as she had once tried to warm the only 
dead thing she ever saw, — a little field mouse 
lying on the garden walk at home, which she put 
in her pinafore and cuddled up to her little " bosie," 
and carried about with her for half an hour or more. 

Quite puzzled, she watched Donald carrying off 
the bird, and only half accepted mamma's explana- 
tion that " there was no need to warm it, — it 
was gone to its bye-bye, and would not wake up 
any more." 

Though she was living at a shooting-lodge, this 
was the only dead thing Sunny had yet chanced 
tc see, for there was so little game about that the 
gentlemen rarely shot any. But this morning one 
of them declared that if he walked his legs off over 


the mountains, he must go and have a try at 
something. So off he set, guided . by Donald, 
while the rest of the party fished meekly for trout, 
or went along the hill-road on a still more humble 
hunt after blackberries. Sometimes they wondered 
about the stray sportsman, and listened for gun- 
shots from the hills, — the sound of a gun could 
be heard for so very far in this still, bright weather. 

And when, at the usual dinner-hour, he did not 
appear, they waited a little while for him. They 
were going at length to begin the meal, when he 
was seen coming leisurely along the garden walk. 

Eager were the inquiries of the master. 

" Well, — any grouse ? " 

" No." 

" Partridges ? " 

" No." 

" I knew it. There has not been a partridge 
seen here for years. Snipes, perhaps ? " 

" Never saw one." 

" Then what have you been about ? Have 
you shot nothing at all ? " 

" Not quite nothing. A roe-deer. The first 
I ever killed in my life. Here, Donald." 

With all his brevity, the sportsman could not 
hide the sparkle of his eye. Donald, looking 
equally delighted, unloosed the creature, which he 
had been carrying around his neck in the most 


affectionate manner, its fore legs clasped over one 
shoulder, and its hind legs over the other, and 
laid it down on the gravel walk. 

What a pretty creature it was, with its round, 
slender, shapely limbs, its smooth satin skin, and its 
large eyes, that in life would have been so soft and 
bright ! They were dim and glazed now, though 
it was scarcely cold yet. 

Everybody gathered around to look at it, and 
the sportsman told the whole story of his shot. 

" She is a hind, you see ; most likely has a fawn 
somewhere not far off. For I shot her close by 
the farm here. I was coming home, not over- 
pleased at coming so empty-handed, when I saw 
her standing on the hill top, just over that rock 
there : a splendid shot she was, but so far off that 
I never thought I should touch her. However, I 
took aim, and down she dropped. Just feel her. 
She is an admirable creature, so fat! Quite a 
picture ! " 

So it was, but a rather sad one. The deer lay, 
her graceful head hopelessly dangling, and bloody 
drops beginning to ooze from her open mouth. 

Otherwise she might have been asleep, — as 
innocent. Sunnv, who had run with the boys to 
see the sight, evidently thought she was. 

" Mamma, look at the little baa-lamb, the dear 
little baa-lamb. Won't it wake up ? " 


Mamma explained that it was not a baa-lamb, 
but a deer, and there stopped, considering how to 
make her child understand that solemn thing, death ; 
which no child can be long kept in ignorance of, 
and yet which is so difficult to explain. Mean- 
time, Sunny stood looking at the deer, but did not 
attempt to touch it as she had touched the water- 
hen. It was so large a creature to lie there so 
helpless and motionless. At last she looked up, 
with trouble in her eyes. 

" Mamma, it won't wake up. Make it wake 
up, please ! " 

" I can't, my darling ! " And there came a 
choke in mamma's throat, — this foolish mamma, 
who dislikes "sport," — who looks upon soldiers 
as man-slayers, " glory " as a great delusion, and 
war a heinous crime. " My little one, the pretty 
deer has gone to sleep, and nobody can wake it 
up again. But it does not suffer. Nothing hurts 
it now. Come away, and mamma will tell you 
more about this another day." 

The little fingers contentedly twined themselves 
in her mamma's, and Sunshine came away, turn- 
ing back now and then a slightly regretful look on 
the poor hind that lay there, the admiration of 
everybody, and especially of the gentleman who 
had shot it. 

" The first I ever shot," he repeated, with 


great pride. " I only wish I could stay and eat 
her. But the rest of you will." (Except Sunny's 
mamma, who was rather glad to be spared that 

A single day was now all that remained of the 
visit, — a day which dawned finer than ever, mak- 
ing it so hard to quit the hills, and the loch, and 
all the charms of this beautiful place. Not a 
cloud on the sky, not a ripple on the waters, 
blackberries saying " come gather me," by hun- 
dreds from every bramble, ferns of rare sort 
growing on dikes, and banks, and roots of trees. 
This whole morning must be spent on the hill- 
side by Sunny and her mamma, combining busi- 
ness with pleasure, if possible. 

So they took a kitchen knife as an extempore 
spade ; a basket, filled with provisions, but meant 
afterwards to carry roots, and the well-known 
horn cup, which was familiar with so many burns. 
Sunny used it for all sorts of purposes besides 
drinking ; filled it with pebbles, blackberries, and 
lastly with some doubtful vegetables, which she 
called " ferns," and dug up, and brought to her 
mamma to take home " very carefully." 

Ere long she was left to mamma's charge en- 
tirely, for this was the last day, and Lizzie had 
never climbed a mountain, which she was most 
anxious to do, having the common delusion that 


to climb a mountain is the easiest thing in the 
world, — as it looks, from the bottom. 

Off she started, saying she should be back 
again directly, leaving mamma and the child to 
watch her from the latest point where there was 
a direct path, — the cottage where the old woman 
had come out and gone to the burn at sunrise. 
Behind it was a large boulder, sunshiny and warm 
to sit on, sheltered by a hayrick, on the top of 
which was gambolling a pussy-cat. Sunny, with 
her usual love for animals, pursued it with relent- 
less affection, and at last caught it in her lap, 
where it remained about one minute, and then 
darted away. Sunny wept bitterly, but was con- 
soled by a glass of milk kindly brought by the old 
woman ; with which she tried to allure pussy 
back again, but in vain. 

So there was nothing for it but to sit on her 
mamma's lap and watch her Lizzie climbing up 
the mountain, in sight all the way, but gradually 
diminishing to the size of a calf, a sheep, a rab- 
bit ; finally of a black speck, which a sharp eye 
could distinguish moving about on the green hill- 
side, creeping from bush to bush, and from boul- 
der to boulder, till at last it came to the foot of a 
perpendicular rock. 

" She'll no climb that," observed the old woman, 
who had watched the proceeding with much inter- 


est. " Naebody ever does it : she'd better come 
down. Cry on her to come down." 

" Will she hear .? " 

" Oh, yes." 

And in the intense stillness, also from the law 
of sound ascending, it was curious how far one 
could hear. To mamma's great relief, the black 
dot stopped in its progress. 

" Lizzie, come down," she called again, slowly 
and distinctly, and in a higher key, aware that 
musical notes will reach far beyond the speaking- 
voice. " You've lost the path. Come down ! " 

" I'm coming," was the faint answer, and in 
course of time Lizzie came, very tired, and just 
a little frightened. She had begun to climb 
cheerfully and rapidly at first, for the hillside 
looked in the distance nearly as smooth as an 
English field. When she got there, she found it 
was rather different, — that heather bushes, boul- 
ders, mosses, and bogs were not the pleasantest 
walking. Then she had to scramble on all-fours, 
afraid to look downward, lest her head should 
turn dizzy, and she might lose her hold, begin 
rolling and rolling, and never stop till she came to 
the bottom. Still, she went on resolutely, her 
stout English heart not liking to be beaten even 
by a Scotch mountain ; clinging from bush to 
bush, — at this point a small wood had grown up, 


— until she reached a spot where the rock was 
perpendicular, nay, overhanging, as it formed the 
shoulder of the hill. 

" I might as well have climbed up the side of 
a house," said poor Lizzie, forlornly ; and looked 
up at it, vexed at being conquered but evidently 
thankful that she had got down alive. " Another 
time, — or if I have somebody with me, — I do 
believe I could do it." 

Bravo, Lizzie ! Half the doings in the world 
are done in this spirit. Never say die ! Try 
again. Better luck next time. 

Meanwhile she drank the glass of milk offered 
by the sympathising old Highland woman, who 
evidently approved of the adventurous English 
girl, then sat down to rest beside Little Sunny. 

But Sunny had no idea of resting. She never 
has, unless in bed and asleep. Now she was 
bent upon also climbing a mountain, — a granite 
boulder about three feet high. 

" Look, mamma, look at Sunny ! Sunny's 
going to climb a mountain, like Lizzie." 

Up she scrambled, with both arms and legs, — 
catching at the edges of the boulder, but tumbling 
back again and again. Still she was not daunted. 

" Don't help me ! — don't help me ! " she kept 
saying. Sunny wants to climb a mountain all by 
her own self." 



Which feat she accomplished at last, and suc- 
ceeded in standing upright on the top of the 
boulder, very hot, very tired, but triumphant. 

" Look, mamma ! Look at Sunny ! Here she 
is ! " 

Mamma looked \ in fact had been looking out 

of the corner of her eye the whole time, though 
not assisting at all in the courageous effort. 

" Yes, I see. Sunny has climbed a mountain. 
Clever little girl ! Mamma is so pleased ! " 

How many "mountains" will she climb in her 
life, that brave little soul ! Mamma wonders 
often, but knows not. Nobody knows. 


In the meantime, success was won. She, her 
mamma, and her Lizzie, had each " climbed a 
mountain." But they all agreed that, though 
pleasant enough in its way, such a performance 
was a thing not to be attempted every day. 


The last day came, — the last hour. Sunny, 
her mamma, and her Lizzie, had to turn their 
ways homeward, — a long, long journey of several 
hundred miles. To begin it at four in the morn- 
ing, with a child, too, was decided as imprac- 
ticable ; so it was arranged that they should leave 
overnight, and sleep at the only available place, 
an inn which English superiority scornfully termed 
a " public-house," but which here in the High- 
lands was called the " hotel," where " gentlemen 
could be accommodated with excellent shooting 
quarters." Therefore, it was supposed to be able 
to accommodate a lady and a child, — for one 
night, at least. 

Fortunately, the shooting gentlemen did not 
avail themselves of it ; for the hotel contained 
only two guest-rooms. These being engaged, and 
the exact time of the boat next morning learned, — 
which was not so easy, as everybody in the neigh- 
bourhood gave different advice and a different 
opinion, — the departure was settled. 



Lovelier than ever looked the hills and the loch 
when the carriage came around to the door. All 
the little boys crowded around it, with vociferous 
farewell, — which they evidently thought great 
fun, — Sunny likewise. 

" Good-bye ! good-bye ! " cried she, as cheer- 
fully as if it had been " how d'ye do," and obsti- 
nately refused to be kissed by anybody. Indeed, 
this little girl does not like kisses, unless she offers 
them of her own accord. 

One only grief she had, but that was a sharp 
one. Maurice's papa, who had her in his arms, 
suddenly proposed that they should " send mamma 
away and keep Sunny ; " and the scream of agony 
she gave, and the frantic way she clung to her 
mamma, and would not look at anybody for fear 
of being kept prisoner, was quite pathetic. 

At last the good-byes were over. For Little 
Sunshine these are as yet meaningless ; life to her 
is a series of delights, — the new ones coming as 
the old ones go. The felicity of kissing her hand 
and driving away was soon followed by the 
amusement of standing on her mamma's lap, 
where she could see everything along the road, 
which she had passed a fortnight before in dark 

Now it was golden twilight, — such a twilight ! 
A year or two hence Sunny would have been in 


ecstasy at the mountains, standing range behind 
range, literally transfigured in light, with the young 
moon floating like a " silver boat " (only turned 
the wrong way uppermost) over their tops. As it 
was, the large, distant world interested her less than 
the small, near one, — the trees that swept her 
face as she drove along the narrow road, and the 
numerous cows and calves that fed on either side 
of it. 

There was also a salt-water loch, with fishing- 
boats drawn up on the beach, and long fishing- 
nets hanging on poles; but not a living creature 
in sight, except a heron or two. These stood on 
one leg, solemnly, as herons do, and then flew off, 
flapping their large wings with a noise that made 
Little Sunshine, as she expressed it, " nearly 
jump." Several times, indeed, she " nearly 
jumped " out of the carriage at the curious things 
she saw : such funny houses, such little windows, 
— "only one pane, mamma," — and, above all, 
the girls and boys barefooted, shock-headed, that 
hung about staring at the carriage as it passed. 

" Have those little children got no Lizzie to 
comb their hair ? " she anxiously inquired ; and 
mamma was obliged to confess that probably they 
had not, at which Sunny looked much surprised. 

It was a long, long drive, even with all these 
entertainments ; and before it ended, the twilight 


had faded, the moon crept higher over the hill, 
and Sunshine asked in a whisper for " Maymie's 
apron." The little " Maymie's apron," which 
had long lain in abeyance, was produced, and she 
soon snuggled down in her mamma's arms and 
fell fast asleep. 

When she woke up the " hotel " was reached. 
Such a queer hotel ! You entered by a low door- 
way, which opened into the kitchen below, and a 
narrow staircase leading to the guest-rooms above. 
From the kitchen Sunny heard a baby cry. She 
suddenly stopped, and would not go a step till 
mamma had promised she should see the baby, — 
a very little baby, only a week old. Then she 
mounted with dignity up the rickety stairs, and 
began to examine her new apartments. 

They were only two, and as homely as they 
well could be. Beside the sitting-room was a 
tiny bedroom, with a " hole in the wall," where 
Lizzie was to sleep. This " hole in the wall" 
immediately attracted Sunny ; she jumped in it, 
and began crawling about it, and tried to stand 
upright under it, which, being such a very little 
person, she was just able to do. Finally, she 
wanted to go to sleep in it, till, hearing she was 
to sleep with mamma, a much grander thing, she 
went up to the bed, and investigated it with great 
interest likewise. Also the preparations for her 


bath, which was to be in a washing-tub in front 
of the parlour fire, — a peat fire. It had a deli- 
cious, aromatic smell, and it brightened up the 
whole room, which was very clean and tidy, after 

So was the baby, which shortly appeared in its 
mother's arms. She was a pale, delicate woman, 
speaking English with the slow precision of a 
Highlander, and having the self-composed, cour- 
teous manner that all Highlanders have. She 
looked much pleased when her baby was admired, 
— though not by Sunny, who, never having seen 
so young a baby before, did not much approve of 
it, and especially disapproved of seeing it taken 
into her own mamma's arms. So presently it and 
its mother disappeared, and Sunny and her mamma 
were left to eat their supper of milk, bread and 
butter, and eggs \ which they did with great con- 
tent. Sunny was not quite so content to go to 
bed, but cried a little, till her mamma set the par- 
lour door half open, that the firelight might shine 
in. Very soon she also crept in beside her little 
girl ; who was then not afraid of anvthing. 

But when they woke, in the dim dawn, it was 
under rather " frightening " circumstances. There 
was a noise below, of a most extraordinary kind, 
shouting, singing, dancing, — yes, evidently danc- 
ing, though at that early hour of the morning. 


It could not have been continued from overnight, 
mamma having distinctly heard all the family go 
to bed, the children tramping loudly up the stairs 
at nine o'clock, after which the inn was quite 
quiet. No, these must be new guests, and very 
noisy guests, too. They stamped, they beat with 
their feet, they cried " whoop ! '' or " hech ! " or 
some other perfectly unspellable word, at regular 
intervals. Going to sleep again was impossible ; 
especially as Sunny, unaccustomed to such a racket, 
began to cry, and would have fallen into a down- 
right sobbing fit, but for the amusement of going 
to the " hole in the wall," to wake her Lizzie. 
Upon which everybody rose, the peat fire was 
rekindled, and the new day began. 

The good folk below stairs must have begun it 
rather early. They were a marriage party, who 
had walked over the hills several miles, to see the 
bride and bridegroom off by the boat. 

" Sunny wants to look at them," said the 
child, who listens to everything, and wants to have 
a finger in every pie. 

So, as soon as dressed, she was taken down, and 
stood at the door in her mamma's arms to see the 

Very curious " fun " it was. About a dozen 
young men and women, very respectable-looking, 
and wonderfully dressed, though the women had 


their muslin skirts pretty well draggled, — not 
surprising, considering the miles they had trudged 
over mountain and bog, in the damp dawn of the 
morning, — were dancing with all their might and 
main, the lassies with their feet, the lads with feet, 
heads, hands, tongues, snapping their fingers and 
crying " hech ! " or whatever it was, in the most 
exciting manner. It was only excitement of danc- 
ing, however ; none of them seemed the least 
drunk. They stopped a minute, at sight of the 
lady and child, and then went on again, dancing 
most determinedly, and as solemnly as if it were to 
save their lives, for the next quarter of an hour. 

English Lizzie, who had never seen a Highland 
reel before, looked on with as much astonishment 
as Sunny herself. That small person, elevated in 
her mamma's arms, gazed on the scene without a 
single smile ; there being no music, the dance was 
to her merely a noise and a scuffle. Presently 
she said, gravely, "Now Sunny will go away." 

They went away, and after drinking a glass of 
milk, — oh, what delicious milk those Highland 
cows give ! — they soon heard the distant paddles 
of the boat, as she steamed in between the many 
islands of which this sea is full. 

Then mounting an extraordinary vehicle, which 
in the bill was called a " carridge," they headed a 
procession, consisting of the wedding party walk- 


ing sedately two and two, a young man and young 
woman arm in arm, down to the pier. 

The married couple were put on board the boat 
(together with Sunny, her mamma, and her Lizzie, 
who all felt very small, and of no consequence 
whatever), then there was a great shouting and 
waving of handkerchiefs, and a spluttering and 
splattering of Gaelic good wishes, and the vessel 
sailed away. 

By this time it was broad daylight, though no 
sun was visible. Indeed, the glorious sunrises 
seemed ended now ; it was a gray, cheerless morn- 
ing, and so misty that no mountains could be seen 
to take farewell of. The delicious Highland life 
was all gone by like a dream. 

This homeward journey was over the same route 
that Sunny had travelled a fortnight before, and 
she went through it in much the same fashion. 

She ran about the boat, and made friends with 
half a dozen people, for no kindly face is long a 
strange face to Little Sunshine. She was noticed 
even by the grim, weather-beaten captain (he had a 
lot of little people of his own, he said), only when 
he told her she was "a bonnie wee lassie," she 
once more indignantly repelled the accusation. 

" I'm not a bonnie wee lassie. I'm Sunny, 
mamma's little Sunny," repeated she, and would 
not look at him for at least two minutes. 


She bore the various changes from sea-boat to 
canal-boat, etc., with her usual equanimity. At 
one place there was a great crush, and they got so 
squeezed up in a crowd that her mamma did not 
like it at all, but Sunny was perfectly composed, 
mamma's arms being considered protection against 
anything. And when the nine locks came, she 
cheerfully disembarked, and walked along the tow- 
ing-path for half a mile in the bravest manner. 
Gradually, as amusement began to fail her, she 
found several playfellows on board, a little dog 
tied by a string, and a pussy-cat shut up in a 
hamper, which formed part of the luggage of an 
unfortunate gentleman travelling to London with 
five daughters, six servants, and about fifty boxes, — 
for he was overheard counting them. In the lono-, 
weary transit between the canal-boat and the sea, 
Sunny followed this imprisoned cat, which mewed 
piteously ; and in its sorrows she forgot her own. 

But she was growing very tired, poor child ! 
and the sunshine, which always has a curious 
effect upon her temper and spirits, had now 
altogether disappeared. A white, dull, chill mist 
hung over the water, fortunately not thick enough 
to stop traffic, as had happened two days before, 
but still enough to make the river verv drearv. 

Little Sunshine, too, went under a cloud ; she 
turned naughty, and insisted on doing whatever 


she was bid not to do \ climbing in the most 
dangerous phices, leaning over the boat's side to 
look at the waves : misbehaviour which required a 
strong hand and watchful eyes to prevent serious 
consequences. But mamma was more sorry than 
angry, for it was hard for the little woman ; and 
she was especially touched when, being obliged to 
forbid some stale, unwholesome fruit and doubtful 
" sweeties," over which Sunny lingered and longed, 
bv saying " they belonged to the captain," the 
child answered, sweetly : 

" But if the kind captain were to give Sunny 
some, then she might have them ? " 

The kind captain not appearing, alas ! she 
passed the basket with a sigh, and went down 
to the engines. To see the gigantic machinery 
turning and turning, never frightened, but only 
delio-hted her. And mamma was so thankful to 
find anything to break the tedium of the fourteen 
hours' journey, that though her little girl went 
down to the engine-room neat and clean in a 
white pelisse, and came up again looking just like 
a little sweep, she did not mind it at all ! 

Daylight faded ; the boat emptied gradually of 
its passengers, including the gentleman with the 
large family and the fiftv boxes ; and on deck it 
began to grow very cold. Sunny had made ex- 
cursions down below for breakfast, dinner, and 


tea, at all of which meals she conducted herself 
with the utmost propriety, but now she took up 
her quarters permanently in the comfortable sa- 

Not to sleep, alack ! though her mamma settled 
down in a corner, and would have given anything 
for "just one little minute," as Sunny says, of 
quiet slumber, but the child was now preternatu- 
rally wide-awake, and as lively as a cricket. So 
was a little boy, named Willie, with whom she 
had made friends, and was on such terms of inti- 
macy that they sat on the floor and shared their 
food together, and then jumped about, playing at 
all sorts of games, and screaming with laughter, 
so that even the few tired passengers who re- 
mained in the boat, as she steamed up the narrow, 
foggy river, could not help laughing too. 

This went on for the space of two hours more, 
and even then Sunny, who was quite good now, 
was with difficulty caught and dressed, in prepa- 
ration for the stopping of the boat, when she 
was promised she should see papa. But she will 
endure any martyrdom of bonnet-tying or boot- 
buttoning if only she thinks she is going to meet 
her papa. 

Unluckily there had been some mistake as to 
hours, and when she was carried on deck, in rhe 
sudden darkness, broken only by the glimmer of 


the line of lights along the wharf, and plunged 
into the midst of a dreadful confusion, — porters 
leaping on board and screaming to passengers, 
and passengers searching wildly for their luggage, 

— no papa was there. To double her grief, she 
also lost her mamma, who of course had to see 
to things at once herself. Through the noise and 
whirl she heard the voice of the child, " Mamma ! 
mamma ! " It was a cry not merely of distress, 

— but agony, with a '' grown-up " tone in it of 
actual despair. No doubt the careless jest of 
Maurice's papa had rankled in her little mind, and 
she thought mamma was torn from her in real 
truth, and for ever. 

When at last mamma came back, the grasp 
with which the poor little girl clung to her neck 
was absolutely frantic. 

" Mamma went away and left Sunny, — Sunny 
lost mamma," and mamma could feel the little 
frame shaking with terror and anguish. Poor 
lamb ! there was nothing to be done but to take 
her and hold her tight, and stagger with her some- 
how across the gangway to the cab. But even 
there she never loosened her clasp for a minute 
till she got safe Into a bright, warm house, where 
she found her own papa. Then the little woman 
was content. 

She had still another journey before her, and 


without her papa too. A night journey, which 
promised to be easy and comfortable, but turned 
out quite the contrary. A journey in which 
Sunny's powers of endurance were taxed to the 
utmost, so that it will be years before she forgets 
the wind-up of her holiday. 

Her papa put his family safe in a carriage all to 
themselves, and under special charge of the guard. 
Then he left them, just settling down to sleep ; 
Sunny being disposed of in a snug corner, with 
an air-cushion for a pillow, and furry shawls 
wrapped about her, almost as cosy as in her own 
little crib, in which, after her various changes and 
vicissitudes, she was soon to repose once more. 

She fell asleep in five minutes, and her mamma, 
who was very tired, soon dozed also, until roused 
by a sharp cry of fright. There was the poor 
little girl, lying at the bottom of the carriage, 
having been thrown there by its violent rocking. 
It rocked still, and rocked for many, many miles, 
in the most dreadful manner. When it stopped 
the guard was appealed to, who said it was " the 
coupling-chains too slack," and promised to put 
all right. So the travellers went to sleep again, 
this time Sunny in her mamma's arms, which she 
refused to quit. 

Again more jolting, and another catastrophe; 
mamma and the child finding themselves lying 


both together on the floor. This time Sunny 
was much frightened, and screamed violently, re- 
pulsing even her mamma. 

"I thought you»vv^ere not my ou^n mamma; I 
thought you were somebody else," said she, after- 
ward, and it was a long time before she came to 
her right self and cuddled down ; the oscillation 
of the carriage continuing so bad that it was as 
much as her mamma could do, by wrapping her 
own arms around her, to protect the poor child 
from being hurt and bruised. 

The guard, again appealed to, declared there 
was no danger, and that he would find a more 
comfortable carriage at the next stopping-place : 
but in vain. It was a full train, and the only two 
seats vacant were in a carriage full of gentlemen, 
who might object to a poor, sleepy, crying child. 
The little party went hopelessly back. 

" Perhaps those gentlemen might talk so loud 
they might waken Sunny," said the child, sagely, 
evidently remembering her experiences of five 
weeks ago. At any rate, nobody wished to try 
the experiment. 

Since there was no actual danger, the only 
remedy was endurance. Mamma settled herself 
as firmly as she could, making a cradle of her 
arms. There, at length, the poor child, who had 
long ceased crying, and only gave an occasional 


weary moan, fell into a doze, which ended in quiet 
sleep. She was very heavy, and the hours seemed 
very long, but still they slipped away somehow. 
Nothing is absolutely unbearable when one feels 
that, being inevitable, -it must be borne. 

Of course nobody slept, except the child, until 
near daybreak, when a new and more benevolent 
guard came to the rescue, had the coupling-chams 
fastened (which, they found, had never been done 
at all till now), and lessened the shaking of the car- 
riage. Then tired Lizzie dropped asleep too, and 
the'' gray morning dawned upon a silent carriage, 
sweeping rapidly across the level English country, 
so different from that left behind. No more 
lochs, no more mountains. No more sunshine 
either, as it appeared ; for there was no sign of 
sunrise, and the day broke amidst pelting rain, 
which kept drip, drip, upon the top of the carriage, 
till it seemed as if a deluge would soon be added 
to the troubles of the journey. 

But these were not so bad now. Very soon 
the little girl woke up, neither frightened nor 
cross, but the same sunshiny child as ever. 

"Mamma!" she said, and smiled her own 
beaming smile, and sat up and looked about her. 
" It's daylight. Sunny wants to get up." 

That getting up was a most amusing affair. It 
lasted as long as mamma's ingenuity could possi- 


bly make it last, without any assistance from poor, 
worn-out Lizzie, who was left to sleep her fill. 
First, Sunny's face and hands had to be washed 
with a damp sponge, and wiped with mamma's 
pocket-handkerchief. Then her hair was combed 
and brushed, with a brush that had a looking-glass 
on the back of it ^ in which she contemplated her- 
self from time to time, laughing with exceeding 
merriment. Lastly, there was breakfast to be got 
ready and eaten. 

A most original breakfast ! Beginning with a 
large pear, out of a basketful which a kind old 
gentleman had made up as a special present to 
Sunny \ then some ham sandwiches, — from which 
the ham was carefully extracted ; then a good 
drink of milk. To uncork the bottle in which 
this milk had been carried, and pour it into the 
horn cup without spilling, required an amount of 
skill and care which occupied both mamma and 
Sunny for ever so long. In fact, they spent over 
their dressing and breakfasting nearly an hour; 
and by this time they were both in the best of 
spirits, and benignly compassionate to Lizzie, who 
slept on, and wanted no breakfast. 

And when the sun at last came out, a watery 
and rather melancholy orb, not at all like the sun 
of the Highlands, the child was as bright and 
merry as if she had not travelled at all, and 


played about in the railway-carriage just as if it 
were her own nursery. 

This was well, for several weary hours had still 
to be passed ; the train was far behind its time ; 
and what poor mamma would have done without 
the unfailing good temper of her " sunshiny child," 
she could not tell. When London was reached, 
and the benevolent guard once more put his head 
into the carriage, with " Here we are at last. I 
should think you'd had enough of it, ma'am," 
even he could not help giving a smile to the " little 
Missy " who was so merry and so good. 

In London was an hour or two more of weary 
delay ; but it was under a kindly roof, and Sunny 
had a second beautiful breakfast, all proper, with 
tea-cups and a table-cloth ; which she did not 
seem to find half so amusing as the irregular one 
in the railway-carriage. But she was very happy, 
and continued happy, telling all her adventures in 
Scotland to a dear old Scotchwoman whom she 
loves exceedingly, and who loves her back again. 
And being happy, she remained perfectly good, 
until once more put into a " pufF-puff," to be 
landed at her own safe home. 

Home. Even the child understood the joy of 
going home. She began talking of " Sunny's 
nursery;" "Sunny's white pussy;" "Sunny's 
little dog Rose ; " and recalling all the servants by 


name, showing she forgot nothing and nobody, 
though she had been absent so long. She chat- 
tered all the way down, till some ladies who were 
in the carriage could hardly believe she had been 
tra^celling all night. And when the train stopped, 
she was the first to look out of the window and 
call out, " There's godmamma ! " 

So it was ! Sunny's own, kind godmamma, 
come unexpectedly to meet her and her tired 
mamma at the station ; and oh, they were both 
so glad ! 

" Glad " was a small word to express the per- 
fect and entire felicity of getting home, — of find- 
ing the house looked just as usual; that the ser- 
vants' cheerful faces beamed welcome ; that even 
the doggie Rose barked, and white pussy purred, 
as if both were glad Little Sunshine was back 
again. She marched up-stairs, lifting her short 
legs deliberately one after the other, and refusing 
to be carried ; then ran into her nursery just as 
if she had left it only yesterday. And she " al- 
lowed " her mamma to have dinner with her there, 
sitting at table, as grand as if she were giving a 
dinner-party; and chattering like a little magpie 
to the very end of the meal. But after that she 
collapsed. So did her mamma. So did her Lizzie. 
They were all so dreadfully tired that human na- 
ture could endure no more. Though it was still 



broad daylight, and with all the delights of home 
around them, they went to bed, and slept straight 
on, — mamma "all around the clock," and the 
child and her Lizzie for fourteen hours ! 

Thus ended Little Sunshine's Holiday. It is 
told just as it happened, to amuse other little peo- 
ple, who no doubt are as fond as she is of hearing 
" stories." Only this is not a story, but the real 
truth. Not the whole truth, of course, for that 
would be breaking in upon what grown-up people 
term " the sanctities of private life." But there 
is no single word in it which is not true. I hope 
you will like it, little people, simple as it is. And 
so, good-bye ! 


It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall 
contain only the very highest and pwrest literature, — 
stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- 
selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with 
them in their joys and sorrows, — stories that shall be 
most particularly adapted for reading aloud in the 
family circle. 

The numerous illustrations in each book are by well- 
known artists, and each volume has a separate attract- 
ive cover design. 

Each, I vol., i6mo, cloth . . , . , ^0.50 


The Little Colonel. 

The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its 
heroine is a small girl, who is known as the Little 
Colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an 
old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and 
old family are famous in the region. This old Colonel 
proves to be the grandfather of the child. 

The Qiant Scissors. 

This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in 
France, — the wonderful house with the gate of The 
Giant Scissors, Jules, her little playmate, Sister Denisa, 
the cruel Brossard, and her dear Aunt Kate. Joyce is 
a great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes 
shares with her the delightful experiences of the " House 
Party " and the " Holidays." 



Two Little Knights of Kentucky, 

Who Were the Little Colonel's Neighbors. 
In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an 
old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is 
not, however, the central figure of the story, that place 
being taken by the " two little knights." 

Cicely and Other Stories for Girls. 

The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles 
will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for 
young people, written in the author's sympathetic and 
entertaining manner. 

Aunt 'Liza's Hero and Other Stories. 

A collection of six bright little stories, which will 
appeal to all boys and most girls. 

Big Brother. 

A story of two boys. The devotion and care of 
Steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the 
theme of the simple tale, the pathos and beauty of which 
has appealed to so many thousands. 

Ole riammy's Torment. 

" Ole Mammy's Torment" has been fitly callea "a 
classic of Southern life." It relates the haps and mis- 
haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by 
love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. 

The Story of Dago. 

In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, 
a pet monkey, owmed jointly by two brothers. Dago 
tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis- 
haps is both interesting and amusing. 



A Little Puritan's First Christmas. 

A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how 
Christmas was invented by Betty Sewall, a typical child 
of the Puritans, aided by her brother Sam. 

A Little Daughter of Liberty. 

The author's motive for this story is well indicated by 
a quotation from her introduction, as follows : 

" One ride is memorable in the early history of the 
American Revolution, the well-known ride of Paul 
Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is another 
ride, — untold in verse or story, its records preserved 
only in family papers or shadowy legend, the ride of 
Anthony Severn was no less historic in its action or 
memorable in its consequences." 

A Loyal Little Haid. 

A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary 
days, in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, 
renders important services to George Washington. 

A Little Puritan Rebel. 

Like Miss Robinson's successful story of " A Loyal 
Little Maid," this is another historical tale of a real girl, 
during the time when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was 
governor of Massachusetts. 

A Little Puritan Pioneer. 

The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settle 

ment at Charlestown. The little girl heroine adds 

another to the list of favorites so well known to the 
young people. 

A Little Puritan Bound Girl. 

A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great 
interest to youthful readers. 


By OUIDA (Louise de la Ram^e) 

A Dog of Flanders : a Christmas Story. 
Too well and favorably known to require description. 

The Niirnberg Stove. 

This beautiful story has never before been published 
at a popular price. 

A Provence Rose. 

A story perfect in sweetness and in grace. 


A charming story about a little Swiss herdsman. 

The Little Lame Prince. 

A delightful story of a little boy who has many adven- 
tures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. 

Adventures of a Brownie. 

The stor\^ of a household elf who torments the cook 
and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the 
children who love and trust him. 

His Little Mother. 

Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant 
source of delight to them, and " His Little Mother," in 
this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts 
of youthful readers. 

Little Sunshine's Holiday. 

An attractive story of a summer outing. *' Little Sun- 
shine " is another of those beautiful child-characters for 
which Miss Mulock is so justly famous. 




A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite 
and touching story, dear alike to young and old. 

Story of a Short Life. 

This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. 
It is a part of tlie world's literature, and will never die. 

A Great Emergency. 

How a family of children prepared for a great emer- 
gency, and how they acted when the emergency came. 

The Trinity Flower. 

In this little volume are collected three of Mrs. 
Ewing's best short stories for the young people. 

Madam Liberality. 

From her cradle up Madam Liberality found her 
chief delight in giving. 


The Little Giant's Neighbours. 

A charming nature story of a "little giant" whose 
neighbours were the creatures of the field and garden. 

Farmer Brown and the Birds. 

A little story v/hich teaches children that the birds 
are man's best friends. 

Betty of Old Mackinaw. 

A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to 
the little readers who like stories of " real people." 

riother Nature's Little Ones, 

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or 
"childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors. 



The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow. 

This story, written by the gifted young Southern 
woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of 
ihe many admirers of her graceful and piquant style. 

The Fortunes of the Fellow. 

Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm 
of " The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow " will welcome 
the further account of the " Adventures of Baydaw and 
the Fellow " at the home of the kindly smith among th-^ 
Green Hills of Tennessee. 


Helena's Wonderworld. 

A delightful tale of the adventures ^ a littie g^.rl in 
the mysterious regions beneath the sea. 

Aunt Nabby's Children. 

This pretty little story, touched with the simple humo 
of country life, tells of two children, who, adopted by 
Aunt Xabby, have also won their way into the affections 
of the village squire 


The Prince of the Pin Elves. 

A fascinating story of the underground adventures of 
a sturdy, reliant American boy among the elves and 

The Water People. 

A companion volum.e and in a way a sequel to " The 
Prince of the Pin Elves," relating the adventures of 
" Harry" among the "water people." While it has the 
same characters as the previous book, the story is com- 
plete in itself. 



The Flight of Rosy Dawn. By Pau- 
line Bradford Mackie. 
The Christmas of little Wong Jan, or » Rosy Dawn," 

a young Celestial of San Francisco, is the theme of this 

pleasant little story. 

Susanne. By Frances J. Delano. 

This little story will recall in sweetness and appealing 
charm the work of Kate Douglas Wiggin and Laura E. 

nillicent in Dreamland. By edna s. 


The quaintness and fantastic character of Millicent's 
adventures in Dreamland have much of the fascmation 
of "Alice in Wonderland," and all small readers ot 
"Alice" will enjoy making Millicent's acquaintance. 

Jerry's Reward. By evelyn snead 


This is an interesting and wholesome little story of 
the change that came over the thoughtless imps on Jef- 
ferson Square when they learned to know the stout- 
hearted Jerry and his faithful Peggy. 

A Bad Penny. By John T. wheelwright. 

No boy should omit reading this vivid story of the 
New England of 1812. 

Qatty and I. By Frances E. Crompton. 

The small hero and heroine of this little story are 
twins, "stricUy brought up." It is a sweet and whole- 
some little story. 


Prince Yellowtop. By kate whiting patch. 

A pretty little fairy tale. 

The Little Christmas Shoe. By jane p. 


A touching story of Yule-tide. 

The Little Professor. By ida horton 


A quaint tale of a quaint little girl. 

The Seventh Daughter, By grace wick 


One of the best stories for little girls that has been 
published for a long time. 

The Making of Zimri Bunker : a tale 

OF Nantucket. By W. J. Long, Ph. D. 

This is a charming story of Nantucket folk by a 
young clergyman who is already well known through 
his contributions to the Yoiitli's Companion, St. Nicho- 
las, and other well-known magazines. The story deals 
with a sturdy American fisher lad, during the war of 

The King of the Golden River: a 

Legend of Stiria. By John Ruskin. 

Written- fifty years or more ago, and not originally 
intended for publication, this little fairy tale soon 
became known and made a place for itself. 

Little Peterkin Vandike. By Charles 

Stuart Pratt. 

The author's dedication furnishes a key to this charm- 
ing story : 

" I dedicate this book, made for the amusement (and 
perchance instruction) of the boys who may read it, to 
the memory of one boy, who would have enjoyed as 
much as Peterkin the plays of the Poetry Party, but 
who has now marched out of the ranks of boyhood." 


Rab and His Friends. By Dr John 

Brown. . . ,. , 

Doctor Brown's little masterpiece is too well known 
to need description. The dog Rab is loved by all. 

The Adventures of Beatrice and 

Jessie, ^y Richard Mansfield. 

The story of two little girls who were suddenly trans- 
planted into the " realms of unreality," where they met 
with many curious and amusing adventures. 

A Child's Garden of Verses. By r. 

L. Stevenson. 

Mr Stevenson's little volume is too weU known to 
need description. It will be heartily welcomed in this 
new and attractive edition. 

Little King Davie. By Nellie Hellis. 

The story of a little crossing-sweeper, that will make 
many bovs 'thankful thev are not in the same position 
Davie's accident, hospital experiences, conversion, and 
subsequent life, are of thrilling interest. 

The Sleeping Beauty, a modern ver 

sioN. Bv Martha B. Dunn. ^ >f • ' 

This charming story of a litde fishermaid of Maine, 
intellectuallv "asleep" until she meets the "Fairy 
Prince,'' reminds us of " Ouida" at her best. 

The Young Archer. By Charles E. Brim- 


A strong and wholesome story of a boy who accom- 
panied Columbus on his voyage to the New World. 
His loyalty and services through vicissitudes and dan- 
gers endeared him to the great discoverer, and the 
account of his exploits will be interesting to all boys. 


The Fairy of the Rhone. By a. comyns 


Here is a fairy story indeed, one of old-fashioned pure 
delight. It is most gracefully told, and accompanied by 
charming illustrations. 

A Small Small Child. By E. Livingston 


"A Small Small Child" is a moving littie tale of 
sweet influence, more powerful than threats or punish- 
ments, upon a rowdy of the barracks. 

Peggy's Trial. By Mary Knight Potter. 

Peggy is an impulsive little woman of ten, whose 
rebellion from a mistaken notion of loyalty, and her sub- 
sequent reconciliation to the dreaded " new mother," are 
most interestingly told. 

For His Country. By Marshall Saunders, 

author of " Beautiful Joe," etc. 

A sweet and graceful stor}- of a little boy who loved 
his country; written with that charm which has endeared 
Miss Saunders to hosts of readers. 

La Belle Nivernaise. the story of an 

'Old Boat and Her Crew. By Alphonse 

All who have read it will be glad to welcome an old 
favorite, and new readers will be happy to have it 
brought to their friendly attention. 

Wee Dorothy. By laura updegraff. 

A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion 
of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and 
setting. With a bit of sadness at the beginning,' the 
story is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether 
wholesome in every way. 

The Little Colonel StorieSo By annie 

Fellows Johnston. 

Being three " Little Colonel" stories in the Cosy 
Corner Series, " The Little Colonel," " Two Little 
Knights of Kentucky," and " The Giant Scissors," put 
into a single volume, owing to the popular demand for a 
uniform series of the stories dealing with one of the 
most popular of juvenile heroines. 

I vol., large i2mo, cloth decorative, fully illus- 
trated $1.50 

The Little Colonel's House Party. 

By Annie Fellows Johnston. Illustrated by 

Louis Meynell. 

One vol., library i2mo, cloth, decorative "over $1.50 

The Little Colonel's Holidays. % 

Annie Fellows Johnston. Illustrated by L. J, 


One vol., large i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . $1.50 

The Little ColoneFs Hero. By annie 

Fellows Johnston Illustrated by E. B. Barry, 

One vol., large i2mo, cloth decorative, 

$1.20 ;^^/ (postage extra) 

The Little Colonel at Boarding 

School. By Annie Fellows Johnston. Illus- 
trated by E. B. Barry. 

I vol., large i2mo, cloth . $1.20 ;/^/ (postage extra) 
Since the time of " Little Women," no juvenile heroine 
has been better beloved of her child readers than Mrs. 
Johnston's " Little Colonel." Each succeeding book has 
been more popular than its predece.ssor, and now thou- 
sands of little readers wait patiently each year for the 
appearance of " the new Little Colonel Book," 


Beautiful Joe's Paradise ; or, the island 

OF Brotherly Love. A sequel to " Beautiful Joe." 
By Marshall Saunders, author of " Beautiful Joe," 
•' For His Country," etc. With fifteen full-page plates 
and many decorations from drawings by Charles Liv- 
ingston Bull. 
One vol., library i2mo, cloth decorative, 

$1,20 net^ postpaid, ^1.32 

" Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who 
read it." — Pittsburg Gazette. 

" Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness 
into her story. The book deserves to be a favorite." — 
Chicago Record-Herald. 

" This book revives the spirit of ' Beautiful Joe' capitally. 
It is fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as un- 
usual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the 
light. It is a book for juveniles — old and young." — Phila- 
delphia Item. 

'Tilda Jane. By Marshall Saunders, author 
of " Beautiful Joe," etc. 

One vol, i2mo, fully illustrated, cloth, 
cover . . . . . . . . $ 50 

" No more amusing and attractive child's story has ap- 
peared for a long time than this quaint and curious recital of 
the adventures of that pitiful and charming httle runaway. 

" It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books 
that ^^•in and charm the reader, and I did not put it down 
until I had finished it — honest I And I am sure that every 
one, young or old, who reads will be proud and happy to 
make the acquaintance of the delicious waif. 

" I cannot think of any better book for children than this. 
I commend it unreservedly." — Cyrtis Toumsend Brady. 

The Story of the Graveleys. By mar- 
shall SAUxn^^F^s, author of " Bea\itiful Joe's Para- 
dise," " 'Tilda J-ime," etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B. 
Barry . . , . $1 20 net (postage extra) 

Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and 
triumphs, of a delightful New England family, of whose 
devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to 
hear. From the kindly, serene-souled grandmother to 
the buoyant madcap, Berty, these Graveleys are folk of 
fibre and blood — genuine human beings. 


Little Lady Marjorie. By Frances Mar- 
garet Fox, author of " Farmer Brown and the 
Birds," etc. 
i2mo, cloth, illustrated . ^1.20 //^/(postage extra) 

A charming story for children between the ages of 
ten and fifteen years^ with both heart and nature interest. 

The Sandman : his farm stories. By 

William J. Hopkins. With fifty illustrations by 

Ada Clendenin Williamson. 

One vol., large i2mo, decorative cover, 

;^i.2o net^ postpaid, $1.38 

"An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of 
children not more than six years old, is ' The Sandman : His 
Farm Stories.' It should be one of the most popular of the 
year's books for reading to small children." — Buffalo Express. 

" Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the 
little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this 
book a treasure." — Cleveland Leader. 

The Sandman : more farm stories. By 

William J. Hopkins, author of "The Sandman: 

His Farm Stories." 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated, 

^i 20 net (postage extra) 

Mr. Hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories has met 
with such approval that this second book of " Sandman" 
tales has been issued for scores of eager children. Life 
on the farm, and out-of-doors, will be portrayed in his 
inimitable manner, and many a little one will hail the 
bedtime season as one of delight. 

A Puritan Knight Errant. By edith 

Robinson, author of " A Litde Puritan Pioneer," '« A 

Little Puritan's First Christmas," " A Litde Puritan 

Rebel," etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 

$1.20 net (postage extra) 

The charm of style and historical value of Miss 
Robinson's previous stories of child life in Puritan days 
have brought them wide popularity. Her latest and 
most important book appeals to a large juvenile public. 
The " knight errant " of this story is a litde Don Quixote, 
whose trials and their ultimate outcome will prove 
deeply interesting to their reader. 


The Great Scoop. By molly elliot sea- 

WELL, author of '• Little Jarvis," " Laurie Vane," etc. 
i2mo, cloth, with illustrations . . . $i.oo 

A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of 
a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed therein. 
Every boy with an ounce of true boyish blood in him 
will have the time of his life in reading how Dick Hen- 
shaw entered the newspaper business, and how he 
secured " the great scoop." 

Flip's '- Islands of Providence." By 

AxNiE Fellows Johnston, author of " Asa 

Holmes," '< The Little Colonel," etc. 

i2mo, cloth, with illustrations . . * . $r.oo 

In this book the author of " The Little Colonel" and 
her girl friends and companions shows that she is 
equally at home in telling a tale in which the leading 
character is a boy, and in describing his troubles and 
triumphs in a way that will enhance her reputation as a 
skilled and sympathetic writer of stories for children. 

Songs and Rhymes for the Little 

Ones. Compiled by Mary Whitney Morri- 
son (Jenny Wallis). 

New edition, with an introduction by Mrs. A. D. T. 
Whitney and eight illustrations. 

One vol., large i2mo, cloth decorative . . $i.oo 
No better description of this admirable book can be 
given than Mrs Whitney's happy introduction : 

'* One might almost as well offer June roses with the 
assurance of their sweetness, as to present this lovely 
little gathering of verse, which announces itself, like 
them, by its deliciousness. Yet, as Mrs. Morrison's 
charming volume has long been a delight to me, I am 
only too happy to link my name with its new and en- 
riched form in this slight way, and simply declare that it 
is to me the most bewitching book of songs for little 
people that I have ever known." 




Four vols., cloth decorative, illustrated. Sold sepa- 
rately, or as a set. 

Per volume ...... $0.80 net 

Per set $3-2o net 

1. Insect Stories. 

2. Stories of Little Animals. 

3. Flower Stories. 

4. Bird Stories. 

In this series of four little Nature books, it is the 
author's intention so to present to the child reader the 
facts about each particular flower, insect, bird, or 
animal, in story form, as to make delightful reading of 
the facts of science, which the child is to verify through 
his field lessons and experiences. Classical legends, 
myths, poems and songs are so presented as to correlate 
fully with these lessons, to which the excellent illustra- 
tions are no little help. 



The Wood ranger. 
The Young Qunbearer. 
The Hero of the Hills. 

Each I vol., large i2mo, cloth, decorative 
cover, illustrated, per volume . . . . ^i.oo 
Three vols., boxed, per set . . . . $3.00 
''The Woodranger Tales," like the "Pathfinder 
Tales" of J. Fenimore Cooper, combine historical in- 
formation relating to early pioneer days in America witl 
interesting adventures in the backwoods. Although the 
same characters are continued throughout the series, 
each book is complete in itself, and while based strictly 
on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting tale of 
adventure which will delight all boys and be by no means 
unwelcome to their elders. 


The most delightful and interesting accounts possible 
of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings 
doings, and adventures. 

Each I vol., i2mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six 
full-page illustrations in color by L. J. Bridgman. 

Price per volume . . $0.50 net, postpaid ^0.56 

" Juveniles will get a whole world of pleasure and instruc- 
tion out of Mary Hazelton Wade's Little Cousin Series. . . . 
Pleasing narratives give pictures of the little folk in the far- 
away lands in their duties and pleasures, showing their odd 
ways of playing, studying, their queer homes, clothes, and 
playthings. . , . The style of the stories is all that can be 
desired for entertainment, the author describing things in 2 
very real and delightful fashion." — Detroit News-Tribune, 


Our Little Swiss Cousin. 
Our Little Norwegian Cousin. 
Our Little Italian Cousin. 
Our Little Siamese Cousin. 
Our Little Cuban Cousin. 
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin. 
Our Little Eskimo Cousin. 
Our Little Philippine Cousin. 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin, 
Ou- Little African Cousin. 
Our Little Japanese Cousin. 
Our Little Brown Cousin. 
Our Little Indian Cousin. 
Our Little Russian Cousin. 


0**» Little Chinese Cousin.