Jack And Jill

By

Louisa May Alcott

www.freeclassicebooks.com

To the schoolmates of ELLSWORTH DEVENS,  Whose lovely character will not soon be forgotten,   This Village Story is affectionately inscribed by their friend,

L.M.A.  1880

Contents

Chapter 1 The Catastrophe. 5

Chapter 2 Two Penitents. 14

Chapter 3 Ward No. I 19

Chapter 4 WARD NO. 2. 30

Chapter 5  Secrets. 37

Chapter 6  Surprises. 41

Chapter 7  Jill's Mission. 55

Chapter 8        Merry and Molly Now let us see how the other missionaries got on with their tasks. 66

Chapter 9  The Debating Club. 77

Chapter 10  The Dramatic Club. 88

Chapter 11  "Down Brakes" 97

Chapter 12  The Twenty-Second of February. 105

Chapter 13 Jack Has a Mystery. 116

Chapter 14 And Jill Finds It Out 128

Chapter 15  Saint Lucy. 137

Chapter 16  Up at Merry's. 147

Chapter 17  Down at Molly's. 157

Chapter 18 May Baskets. 167

Chapter 19  Good Templars. 177

Chapter 20  A Sweet Memory. 187

Chapter 21 Pebbly Beach. 196

Chapter 22 A Happy Day. 209

Chapter 23  Cattle Show. 216

Chapter 24 Down the River 227

Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill went up the hill  To coast with fun and laughter;   Jack fell down and broke his crown,  And Jill came tumbling after.

Chapter 1 The Catastrophe

"Clear the lulla!" was the general cry on a bright December  afternoon, when all the boys and girls of Harmony Village were  out enjoying the first good snow of the season. Up and down three  long coasts they went as fast as legs and sleds could carry them.  One smooth path led into the meadow, and here the little folk  congregated; one swept across the pond, where skaters were  darting about like water-bugs; and the third, from the very top of  the steep hill, ended abruptly at a rail fence on the high bank above  the road. There was a group of lads and lasses sitting or leaning on  this fence to rest after an exciting race, and, as they reposed, they  amused themselves with criticising their mates, still absorbed in  this most delightful of out-door sports.

"Here comes Frank Minot, looking as solemn as a judge," cried  one, as a tall fellow of sixteen spun by, with a set look about the  mouth and a keen sparkle of the eyes, fixed on the distant goal  with a do-or-die expression.

"Here's Molly Loo   And little Boo?

sang out another; and down came a girl with flying hair, carrying a  small boy behind her, so fat that his short legs stuck out from the  sides, and his round face looked over her shoulder like a full  moon.

"There's Gus Burton; doesn't he go it?" and such a very long boy  whizzed by, that it looked almost as if his heels were at the top of  the hill when his head was at the bottom!

"Hurrah for Ed Devlin!" and a general shout greeted a sweet-faced  lad, with a laugh on his lips, a fine color on his brown cheek, and a  gay word for every girl he passed.

"Laura and Lotty keep to the safe coast into the meadow, and  Molly Loo is the only girl that dares to try this long one to the  pond. I wouldn't for the world; the ice can't be strong yet, though it  is cold enough to freeze one's nose off," said a timid damsel, who  sat hugging a post and screaming whenever a mischievous lad  shook the fence.

"No, she isn't here's Jack and Jill going like fury."

"Clear the track   For jolly Jack!"

sang the boys, who had rhymes and nicknames for nearly  everyone.

Down came a gay red sled, bearing a boy who seemed all smile  and sunshine, so white were his teeth, so golden was his hair, so  bright and happy his whole air. Behind him clung a little gypsy of  a girl, with black eyes and hair, cheeks as red as her hood, and a  face full of fun and sparkle, as she waved Jack's blue tippet like a  banner with one hand, and held on with the other.

"Jill goes wherever Jack does, and he lets her. He's such a  good-natured chap, he can't say No."

"To a girl," slyly added one of the boys, who had wished to borrow  the red sled, and had been politely refused because Jill wanted it.

"He's the nicest boy in the world, for he never gets mad," said the  timid young lady, recalling the many times Jack had shielded her  from the terrors which beset her path to school, in the shape of  cows, dogs, and boys who made faces and called her "Fraidcat."

"He doesn't dare to get mad with Jill, for she'd take his head off in  two minutes if he did," growled Joe Flint, still smarting from the  rebuke Jill had given him for robbing the little ones of their safe  coast because he fancied it.

"She wouldn't! she's a dear! You needn't sniff at her because she is  poor. She's ever so much brighter than you are, or she wouldn't  always be at the head of your class, old Joe," cried the girls,  standing by their friend with a unanimity which proved what a  favorite she was.

Joe subsided with as scornful a curl to his nose as its chilly state  permitted, and Merry Grant introduced a subject of general interest  by asking abruptly,

"Who is going to the candy-scrape to-night?"

"All of us. Frank invited the whole set, and we shall have a tiptop  time. We always do at the Minots'," cried Sue, the timid trembler.

"Jack said there was a barrel of molasses in the house, so there  would be enough for all to eat and some to carry away. They know  how to do things handsomely"; and the speaker licked his lips, as if  already tasting the feast in store for him.

"Mrs. Minot is a mother worth having," said Molly Loo, coming up  with Boo on the sled; and she knew what it was to need a mother,  for she had none, and tried to care for the little brother with  maternal love and patience.

"She is just as sweet as she can be!" declared Merry,  enthusiastically.

"Especially when she has a candy-scrape," said Joe, trying to be  amiable, lest he should be left out of the party.

Whereat they all laughed, and went gayly away for a farewell  frolic, as the sun was setting and the keen wind nipped fingers and  toes as well as noses.

Down they went, one after another, on the various coasts  solemn  Frank, long Gus, gallant Ed, fly-away Molly Loo, pretty Laura and  Lotty, grumpy Joe, sweet-faced Merry with Sue shrieking wildly  behind her, gay Jack and gypsy Jill, always together  one and all  bubbling over with the innocent jollity born of healthful exercise.  People passing in the road below looked up and smiled  involuntarily at the red-cheeked lads and lasses, filling the frosty  air with peals of laughter and cries of triumph as they flew by in  every conceivable attitude; for the fun was at its height now, and  the oldest and gravest observers felt a glow of pleasure as they  looked, remembering their own young days.

"Jack, take me down that coast. Joe said I wouldn't dare to do it, so  I must," commanded Jill, as they paused for breath after the long  trudge up hill. Jill, of course, was not her real name, but had been  given because of her friendship with Jack, who so admired Janey  Pecq's spirit and fun.

"I guess I wouldn't, It is very bumpy and ends in a big drift; not  half so nice as this one. Hop on and we'll have a good spin across  the pond"; and Jack brought "Thunderbolt" round with a skilful  swing and an engaging air that would have won obedience from  anybody but wilful Jill.

"It is very nice, but I won't be told I don't 'dare  by any boy in the  world. If you are afraid, I'll go alone." And, before he could speak,  she had snatched the rope from his hand, thrown herself upon the  sled, and was off, helter-skelter, down the most dangerous coast on  the hill-side.

She did not get far, however; for, starting in a hurry, she did not  guide her steed with care, and the red charger landed her in the  snow half-way down, where she lay laughing till Jack came to pick  her up.

"If you will go, I'll take you down all right. I m not afraid, for I ve  done it a dozen times with the other fellows; but we gave it up  because it is short and bad," he said, still good-natured, though of  cows, dogs, and boys who made faces and called her "Fraidcat.

"He doesn't dare to get mad with Jill, for she'd take his head off in  two minutes if he did," growled Joe Flint, still smarting horn the  rebuke Jill had given him for robbing the little ones of their safe  coast because he fancied it.

"She wouldn't! she's a dear! You needn't sniff at her because she is  poor. She's ever so much brighter than you are, or she wouldn't  always be at the head of your class, old Joe," cried the girls,  standing by their friend with a unanimity which proved what a  favorite she was.

Joe subsided with as scornful a curl to his nose as its chilly state  permitted, and Merry Grant introduced a subject of general interest  by asking abruptly,

"Who is going to the candy-scrape to-night?"

"All of us. Frank invited the whole set, and we shall have a tiptop  time. We always do at the Minors'," cried Sue, the timid trembler.

"Jack said there was a barrel of molasses in the house, so there  would be enough for all to eat and some to carry away. They know  how to do things handsomely"; and the speaker licked his lips, as if  already tasting the feast in store for him.

"Mrs. Minot is a mother worth having," said Molly Loo, coming up  with Boo on the sled; and she knew what it was to need a mother,  for she had none, and tried to care for the little brother with  maternal love and patience.

"She is just as sweet as she can be!" declared Merry,  enthusiastically.

"Especially when she has a candy-scrape," said Joe, trying to be  amiable, lest he should be left out of the party.

Whereat they all laughed, and went gayly away for a farewell  frolic, as the sun was setting and the keen wind nipped fingers and  toes as well as noses.

A little hurt at the charge of cowardice; for Jack was as brave as a  little lion, and with the best sort of bravery the courage to do right.

"So it is; but I must do it a few times, or Joe will plague me and  spoil my fun to-night," answered Jill, shaking her skirts and  rubbing her blue hands, wet and cold with the snow.

"Here, put these on; I never use them. Keep them if they fit; I only  carry them to please mother." And Jack pulled out a pair of red  mittens with the air of a boy used to giving away.

"They are lovely warm, and they do fit. Must be too small for your  paws, so I'll knit you a new pair for Christmas, and make you wear  them, too," said Jill, putting on the mittens with a nod of thanks,  and ending her speech with a stamp of her rubber boots to enforce  her threat.

Jack laughed, and up they trudged to the spot whence the three  coasts diverged.

"Now, which will you have?" he asked, with a warning look in the  honest blue eyes which often unconsciously controlled naughty Jill  against her will.

"That one!" and the red mitten pointed firmly to the perilous path  just tried.

"You will do it?"

"Come on, then, and hold tight."

Jack's smile was gone now, and he waited without a word while  Jill tucked herself up, then took his place in front, and off they  went on the brief, breathless trip straight into the drift by the fence  below.

"I don't see anything very awful in that. Come up and have another.  Joe is watching us, and I d like to show him that we aren't afraid of  anything," said Jill, with a defiant glance at a distant boy, who had  paused to watch the descent.

"It is a regular 'go-bang,  if that is what you like," answered Jack,  as they plowed their way up again.

"It is. You boys think girls like little mean coasts without any fun  or danger in them, as if we couldn't be brave and strong as well as  you. Give me three go-bangs and then we'll stop. My tumble  doesn't count, so give me two more and then I'll be good."

Jill took her seat as she spoke, and looked up with such a rosy,  pleading face that Jack gave in at once, and down they went again,  raising a cloud of glittering snow-dust as they reined up in fine  style with their feet on the fence.

"It's just splendid! Now, one more!" cried Jill, excited by the  cheers of a sleighing party passing below.

Proud of his skill, Jack marched back, resolved to make the third  "go" the crowning achievement of the afternoon, while Jill pranced  after him as lightly as if the big boots were the famous  seven-leagued ones, and chattering about the candy-scrape and  whether there would be nuts or not.

So full were they of this important question, that they piled on  hap-hazard, and started off still talking so busily that Jill forgot to  hold tight and Jack to steer carefully. Alas, for the candy-scrape  that never was to be! Alas, for poor "Thunderbolt" blindly setting  forth on the last trip he ever made! And oh, alas, for Jack and Jill,  who wilfully chose the wrong road and ended their fun for the  winter! No one knew how it happened, but instead of landing in  the drift, or at the fence, there was a great crash against the bars, a  dreadful plunge off the steep bank, a sudden scattering of girl, boy,  sled, fence, earth, and snow, all about the road, two cries, and then  silence.

"I knew they'd  do it!" and, standing on the post where he had  perched, Joe waved his arms and shouted: "Smash-up! Smash-up!  Run! Run!" like a raven croaking over a battlefield when the fight  was done.

Down rushed boys and girls ready to laugh or cry, as the case  might be, for accidents will happen on the best-regulated  coasting-grounds. They found Jack sitting up looking about him  with a queer, dazed expression, while an ugly cut on the forehead  was bleeding in a way which sobered the boys and frightened the  girls half out of their wits.

"He's killed! He's killed!" wailed Sue, hiding her face and  beginning to cry.

"No, I m not. I'll be all right when I get my breath. Where's Jill?"  asked Jack, stoutly, though still too giddy to see straight.

The group about him opened, and his comrade in misfortune was  discovered lying quietly in the snow with all the pretty color  shocked out of her face by the fall, and winking rapidly, as if half  stunned. But no wounds appeared, and when asked if she was  dead, she answered in a vague sort of way,

"I guess not. is Jack hurt?"

"Broken his head," croaked Joe, stepping aside, that she might  behold the fallen hero vainly trying to look calm and cheerful with  red drops running down his cheek and a lump on his forehead.

Jill shut her eyes and waved the girls away, saying, faintly, "Never  mind me. Go and see to him."

"Don't! I m all right," and Jack tried to get up in order to prove that  headers off a bank were mere trifles to him; but at the first  movement of the left leg he uttered a sharp cry of pain, and would  have fallen if Gus had not caught and gently laid him down.

"What is it, old chap?" asked Frank, kneeling beside him, really  alarmed now, the hurts seeming worse than mere bumps, which  were common affairs among baseball players, and not worth much  notice.

"I lit on my head, but I guess I've broken my leg. Don't frighten  mother," and Jack held fast to Frank's arm as he looked into the  anxious face bent over him; for, though the elder tyrannized over  the younger, the brothers loved one another dearly.

"Lift his head, Frank, while I tie my handkerchief round to stop the  bleeding," said a quiet voice, as Ed Devlin laid a handful of soft  snow on the wound; and Jack's face brightened as he turned to  thank the one big boy who never was rough with the small ones.

"Better get him right home," advised Gus, who stood by looking  on, with his little sisters Laura and Lotty clinging to him.

"Take Jill, too, for it's my opinion she has broken her back. She  can't stir one bit," announced Molly Loo, with a droll air of  triumph, as if rather pleased than otherwise to have her patient hurt  the worse; for Jack's wound was very effective, and Molly had a  taste for the tragic.

This cheerful statement was greeted with a wail from Susan and  howls from Boo, who had earned that name from the ease with  which, on all occasions, he could burst into a dismal roar without  shedding a tear, and stop as suddenly as he began.

"Oh, I am so sorry! It was my fault; I shouldn't have let her do it,"  said Jack, distressfully.

"It was all my fault; I made him. If I d broken every bone I've got,  it would serve me right. Don't help me, anybody; I m a wicked  thing, and I deserve to lie here and freeze and starve and die!"  cried Jill, piling up punishments in her remorseful anguish of mind  and body.

"But we want to help you, and we can settle about blame by and  by," whispered Merry with a kiss; for she adored dashing Jill, and  never would own that she did wrong.

"Here come the wood-sleds just in time. I'll cut away and tell one  of them to hurry up." And, freeing himself from his sisters, Gus  went off at a great pace, proving that the long legs carried a  sensible head as well as a kind heart.

As the first sled approached, an air of relief pervaded the agitated  party, for it was driven by Mr. Grant, a big, benevolent-looking  farmer, who surveyed the scene with the sympathetic interest of a  man and a father.

"Had a little accident, have you? Well, that's a pretty likely place  for a spill. Tried it once myself and broke the bridge of my nose,"  he said, tapping that massive feature with a laugh which showed  that fifty years of farming had not taken all the boy out of him.  "Now then, let's see about this little chore, and lively, too, for it's  late, and these parties ought to be housed," he added, throwing  down his whip, pushing back his cap, and nodding at the wounded  with a reassuring smile.

"Jill first, please, sir," said Ed, the gentle squire of dames,  spreading his overcoat on the sled as eagerly as ever Raleigh laid  down his velvet cloak for a queen to walk upon.

"All right. Just lay easy, my dear, and I won't hurt you a mite if I  can help it."

Careful as Mr. Grant was, Jill could have screamed with pain as he  lifted her; but she set her lips and bore it with the courage of a  little Indian; for all the lads were looking on, and Jill was proud to  show that a girl could bear as much as a boy. She hid her face in  the coat as soon as she was settled, to hide the tears that would  come, and by the time Jack was placed beside her, she had quite a  little cistern of salt water stored up in Ed's coat-pocket.

Then the mournful procession set forth, Mr. Grant driving the  oxen, the girls clustering about the interesting invalids on the sled,  while the boys came behind like a guard of honor, leaving the hill  deserted by all but Joe, who had returned to hover about the fatal  fence, and poor "Thunderbolt," split asunder, lying on the bank to  mark the spot where the great catastrophe occurred.

Chapter 2 Two Penitents

Jack and Jill never cared to say much about the night which  followed the first coasting party of the season, for it was the  saddest and the hardest their short lives had ever known. Jack  suffered most in body; for the setting of the broken leg was such a  painful job, that it wrung several sharp cries from him, and made  Frank, who helped, quite weak and white with sympathy, when it  was over. The wounded head ached dreadfully, and the poor boy  felt as if bruised all over, for he had the worst of the fall. Dr.  Whiting spoke cheerfully of the case, and made so light of broken  legs, that Jack innocently asked if he should not be up in a week or  so.

"Well, no; it usually takes twenty-one days for bones to knit, and  young ones make quick work of it," answered the doctor, with a  last scientific tuck to the various bandages, which made Jack feel  like a hapless chicken trussed for the spit.

"Twenty-one days! Three whole weeks in bed! I shouldn't call that  quick work," groaned the dismayed patient, whose experience of  illness had been limited.

"It is a forty days  job, young man, and you must make up your  mind to bear it like a hero. We will do our best; but next time, look  before you leap, and save your bones. Good-night; you'll feel  better in the morning. No jigs, remember"; and off went the busy  doctor for another look at Jill, who had been ordered to bed and  left to rest till the other case was attended to.

Anyone would have thought Jack's plight much the worse, but the  doctor looked more sober over Jill's hurt back than the boy's  compound fractures; and the poor little girl had a very bad quarter  of an hour while he was trying to discover the extent 0f the injury,

"Keep her quiet, and time will show how much damage is done,"  was all he said in her hearing; but if she had known that he told  Mrs. Pecq he feared serious consequences, she would not have  wondered why her mother cried as she rubbed the numb limbs and  paced the pillows so tenderly.

Jill suffered most in her mind; for only a sharp stab of pain now  and then reminded her of her body; but her remorseful little soul  gave her no peace for thinking of Jack, whose bruises and  breakages her lively fancy painted in the darkest colors.

"Oh, don't be good to me, Mammy; I made him go, and now he's  hurt dreadfully, and may die; and it is all my fault, and everybody  ought to hate me," sobbed poor Jill, as a neighbor left the room  after reporting in a minute manner how Jack screamed when his  leg was set, and how Frank was found white as a sheet, with his  head under the pump, while Gus restored the tone of his friend's  nerves, by pumping as if the house was on fire.

"Whist, my lass, and go to sleep. Take a sup of the good wine Mrs.  Minot sent, for you are as cold as a clod, and it breaks my heart to  see my Janey so."

"I can't go to sleep; I don't see how Jack's mother could send my  anything when I've half killed him. I want to be cold and ache and  have horrid things done to me. Oh, if I ever get out of this bed I'll  be the best girl in the world, to pay for this. See if I ain t!" and Jill  gave such a decided nod that her tears flew all about the pillow  like a shower.

"You d better begin at once, for you won't get out of that bed for a  long while, I m afraid, my lamb," sighed her mother, unable to  conceal the anxiety that lay so heavy on her heart.

"Am I hurt badly, Mammy?"

"I fear it, lass."

"I'm glad of it; I ought to be worse than Jack, and I hope I am. I'll  bear it well, and be good right away. Sing, Mammy, and I'll try to  go to sleep to please you."

Jill shut her eyes with sudden and unusual meekness, and before  her mother had crooned half a dozen verses of an old ballad, the  little black head lay still upon the pillow, and repentant Jill was  fast asleep with a red mitten in her hand.

Mrs. Pecq was an Englishwoman who had left Montreal at the  death of her husband, a French Canadian, and had come to live in  the tiny cottage which stood near Mrs. Minot's big house,  separated only by an arbor-vitae hedge. A sad, silent person, who  had seen better days, but said nothing about them, and earned her  bread by sewing, nursing, work in the factory, or anything that  came in her way, being anxious to educate her little girl. Now, as  she sat beside the bed in the small, poor room, that hope almost  died within her, for here was the child laid up for months,  probably, and the one ambition and pleasure of the solitary  woman's life was to see Janey Pecq's name over all the high marks  in the school-reports she proudly brought home.

"She'll win through, please Heaven, and I'll see my lass a  gentlewoman yet, thanks to the good friend in yonder, who will  never let her want for care," thought the poor soul, looking out into  the gloom where a long ray of light streamed from the great house  warm and comfortable upon the cottage, like the spirit of kindness  which made the inmates friends and neighbors.

Meantime, that other mother sat by her boy's bed as anxious but  with better hope, for Mrs. Minot made trouble sweet and helpful  by the way in which she bore it; and her boys were learning of her  how to find silver linings to the clouds that must come into the  bluest skies.

Jack lay wide awake, with hot cheeks, and throbbing head, and all  sorts of queer sensations in the broken leg. The soothing potion he  had taken did not affect him yet, and he tried to beguile the weary  time by wondering who came and went below. Gentle rings at the  front door, and mysterious tappings at the back, had been going on  all the evening; for the report of the accident had grown  astonishingly in its travels, and at eight o clock the general belief  was that Jack had broken both legs, fractured his skull, and lay at  the point of death, while Jill had dislocated one shoulder, and was  bruised black and blue from top to toe. Such being the case, it is  no wonder that anxious playmates and neighbors haunted the  doorsteps of the two houses, and that offers of help poured in.

Frank, having tied up the bell and put a notice in the lighted  side-window, saying, "Go to the back door," sat in the parlor,  supported by his chum, Gus, while Ed played softly on the piano,  hoping to lull Jack to sleep. It did soothe him, for a very sweet  friendship existed between the tall youth and the lad of thirteen.  Ed went with the big fellows, but always had a kind word for the  smaller boys; and affectionate Jack, never ashamed to show his  love, was often seen with his arm round Ed's shoulder, as they sat  together in the pleasant red parlors, where all the young people  were welcome and Frank was king.

"Is the pain any easier, my darling?" asked Mrs. Minot, leaning  over the pillow, where the golden head lay quiet for a moment.

"Not much. I forget it listening to the music. Dear old Ed is  playing all my favorite tunes, and it is very nice. I guess he feels  pretty sorry about me."

"They all do. Frank could not talk of it. Gus wouldn't go home to  tea, he was so anxious to do something for us. Joe brought back  the bits of your poor sled, because he didn't like to leave them  lying round for anyone to carry off, he said, and you might like  them to remember your fall by."

Jack tried to laugh, but it was rather a failure, though be managed  to say, cheerfully,

"That was good of old Joe. I wouldn't lend him 'Thunderbolt  for  fear he d hurt it. Couldn't have smashed it up better than I did,  could he? Don't think I want any pieces to remind me of that fall. I  just wish you d seen us, mother! It must have been a splendid spill  to look at, anyway."

"No, thank you; I d rather not even try to imagine my precious boy  going heels over head down that dreadful hill. No more pranks of  that sort for some time, Jacky"; and Mrs. Minot looked rather  pleased on the whole to have her venturesome bird safe under her  maternal wing.

"No coasting till some time in January. What a fool I was to do it!  Go-bangs always are dangerous, and that's the fun of the thing. Oh  dear!"

Jack threw his arms about and frowned darkly, but never said a  word of the wilful little baggage who had led him into mischief; he  was too much of a gentleman to tell on a girl, though it cost him an  effort to hold his tongue, because Mamma's good opinion was very  precious to him, and he longed to explain. She knew all about it,  however, for Jill had been carried into the house reviling herself  for the mishap, and even in the midst of her own anxiety for her  boy, Mrs. Minot understood the state of the case without more  words. So she now set his mind at rest by saying, quietly.

"Foolish fun, as you see, dear. Another time, stand firm and help  Jill to control her headstrong will. When you learn to yield less and  she more, there will be no scrapes like this to try us all."

"I'll remember, mother. I hate not to be obliging, but I guess it  would have saved us lots of trouble if  I'd  said No in the  beginning. I tried to, but she would go. Poor Jill! I'll take better  care of her next time. Is she very ill, Mamma?"

"I can tell you better to-morrow. She does not suffer much, and we  hope there is no great harm done."

"I wish she had a nice place like this to be sick in. It must be very  poky in those little rooms," said Jack, as his eye roved round the  large chamber where he lay so cosey, warm, and pleasant, with the  gay chintz curtains draping doors and windows, the rosy carpet,  comfortable chairs, and a fire glowing in the grate.

"I shall see that she suffers for nothing, so don't trouble your kind  heart about her to-night, but try to sleep; that's what you need,"  answered his mother, wetting the bandage on his forehead, and  putting a cool hand on the flushed cheeks.

Jack obediently closed his eyes and listened while the boys sang  "The Sweet By and By," softening their rough young voices for his  sake till the music was as soft as a lullaby. He lay so still his  mother thought he was off, but presently a tear slipped out and  rolled down the red cheek, wetting her hand as it passed.

"My blessed boy, what is it?" she whispered, with a touch and a  tone that only mothers have.

The blue eyes opened wide, and Jack's own sunshiny smile broke  through the tears that filled them as he said with a sniff,

"Everybody is so good to me I can't help making a noodle of  myself.

"You are not a noodle!" cried Mamma, resenting the epithet. "One  of the sweet things about pain and sorrow is that they show us how  well we are loved, how much kindness there is in the world, and  how easily we can make others happy in the same way when they  need help and sympathy. Don't forget that, little son,"

"Don't see how I can, with you to show me how nice it is. Kiss me  good-night, and then 'I'll be good,  as Jill says."

Nestling his head upon his mother's arm, Jack lay quiet till, lulled  by the music of his mates, he drowsed away into the dreamless  sleep which is Nurse Nature's healthiest soothing sirup for weary  souls and bodies.

Chapter 3 Ward No. I

For some days, nothing was seen and little was heard of the "dear  sufferers," as the old ladies called them. But they were not  forgotten; the first words uttered when any of the young people  met were: "How is Jack?" "Seen Jill yet?" and all waited with  impatience for the moment when they could be admitted to their  favorite mates, more than ever objects of interest now.

Meantime, the captives spent the first few days in sleep, pain, and  trying to accept the hard fact that school and play were done with  for months perhaps. But young spirits are wonderfully elastic and  soon cheer up, and healthy young bodies heal fast, or easily adapt  themselves to new conditions. So our invalids began to mend on  the fourth day, and to drive their nurses distracted with efforts to  amuse them, before the first week was over.

The most successful attempt originated in Ward No. I, as Mrs.  Minot called Jack's apartment, and we will give our sympathizing  readers some idea of this place, which became the stage whereon  were enacted many varied and remarkable scenes.

Each of the Minot boys had his own room, and there collected his  own treasures and trophies, arranged to suit his convenience and  taste. Frank's was full of books, maps, machinery, chemical  messes, and geometrical drawings, which adorned the walls like  intricate cobwebs. A big chair, where he read and studied with his  heels higher than his head, a basket of apples for refreshment at all  hours of the day or night, and an immense inkstand, in which  several pens were always apparently bathing their feet, were the  principal ornaments of his scholastic retreat.

Jack's hobby was athletic sports, for he was bent on having a  strong and active body for his happy little soul to live and enjoy  itself  in. So a severe simplicity reigned in his apartment; in  summer, especially, for then his floor was bare, his windows were  uncurtained, and the chairs uncushioned, the bed being as narrow  and hard as Napoleon's. The only ornaments were dumbbells,  whips, bats, rods, skates, boxing-gloves, a big bath-pan and a small  library, consisting chiefly of books on games, horses, health,  hunting, and travels. In winter his mother made things more  comfortable by introducing rugs, curtains, and a fire. Jack, also,  relented slightly in the severity of his training, occasionally  indulging in the national buckwheat cake, instead of the prescribed  oatmeal porridge, for breakfast, omitting his cold bath when the  thermometer was below zero, and dancing at night, instead of  running a given distance by day.

Now, however, he was a helpless captive, given over to all sorts of  coddling, laziness, and luxury, and there was a droll mixture of  mirth and melancholy in his face, as he lay trussed up in bed,  watching the comforts which had suddenly robbed his room of its  Spartan simplicity. A delicious couch was there, with Frank  reposing in its depths, half hidden under several folios which he  was consulting for a history of the steam-engine, the subject of his  next composition.

A white-covered table stood near, with all manner of dainties set  forth in a way to tempt the sternest principles. Vases of flowers  bloomed on the chimney-piece gifts from anxious young ladies,  left with their love. Frivolous story-books and picture-papers  strewed the bed, now shrouded in effeminate chintz curtains,  beneath which Jack lay like a wounded warrior in his tent. But the  saddest sight for our crippled athlete was a glimpse, through a  half-opened door, at the beloved dumb-bells, bats, balls,  boxing-gloves, and snow-shoes, all piled ignominiously away in  the bath-pan, mournfully recalling the fact that their day was over,  now, at least for some time.

He was about to groan dismally, when his eye fell on a sight which  made him swallow the groan, and cough instead, as if it choked  him a little. The sight was his mother's face, as she sat in a low  chair rolling bandages, with a basket beside her in which were  piles of old linen, lint, plaster, and other matters, needed for the  dressing of wounds. As he looked, Jack remembered how steadily  and tenderly she had stood by him all through the har4 times just  past, and how carefully she had bathed and dressed his wound each  day in spite of the effort it cost her to give him pain or even see  him suffer.

"That's a better sort of strength than swinging twenty-pound  dumb-bells or running races; I guess I'll try for that kind, too, and  not howl or let her see me squirm when the doctor hurts," thought  the boy, as he saw that gentle face so pale and tired with much  watching and anxiety, yet so patient, serene, and cheerful, that it  was like sunshine.

"Lie down and take a good nap, mother dear, I feel first-rate, and  Frank can see to me if I want anything. Do, now," he added, with a  persuasive nod toward the couch, and a boyish relish in stirring up  his lazy brother.

After some urging, Mamma consented to go to her room for forty  winks, leaving Jack in the care of Frank, begging him to be as  quiet as possible if the dear boy wished to sleep, and to amuse him  if he did not.

Being worn out, Mrs. Minot lengthened her forty winks into a  three hours  nap, and as the "dear boy" scorned repose, Mr. Frank  had his hands full while on guard.

"I'll read to you. Here's Watt, Arkwright, Fulton, and a lot of  capital fellows, with pictures that will do your heart good. Have a  bit, will you?" asked the new nurse, flapping the leaves invitingly  for Frank bad a passion for such things, and drew steam-engines  all over his slate, as Tommy Traddles drew hosts of skeletons  when low in his spirits.

"I don't want any of your old boilers and stokers and whirligigs. I  m tired of reading, and want something regularly jolly," answered  Jack, who had been chasing white buffaloes with "The Hunters of  the West," till he was a trifle tired and fractious.

"Play cribbage, euchre, anything you like"; and Frank obligingly  disinterred himself from under the folios, feeling that it was hard  for a fellow to lie flat a whole week.

"No fun; just two of us. Wish school was over, so the boys would  come in; doctor said I might see them now."

"They'll be along by and by, and I'll hail them. Till then, what  shall we do? I'm your man for anything, only put a name to it.

"Just wish I had a telegraph or a telephone, so I could talk to Jill.  Wouldn't it be fun to pipe across and get an answer!"

"I'll make either you say"; and Frank looked as if trifles of that sort  were to be had for the asking.

"Could you, really?"

"We'll start the telegraph first, then you can send things over if you  like," said Frank, prudently proposing the surest experiment.

"Go ahead, then. I'd  like that, and so would Jill, for I know she  wants to hear from me."

"There's one trouble, though; I shall have to leave you alone for a  few minutes while I rig up the ropes"; and Frank looked sober, for  he was a faithful boy, and did not want to desert his post.

"Oh, never mind; I won't want anything. If I'd o, I can pound for  Ann."

"And wake mother. I'll fix you a better way than that"; and, full of  inventive genius, our young Edison spliced the poker to part of a  fishing-rod in a jiffy, making a long-handled hook which reached  across the room.

"There's an arm for you; now hook away, and let's see how it  works," he said, handing over the instrument to Jack, who  proceeded to show its unexpected capabilities by hooking the cloth  off the table in attempting to get his handkerchief, catching Frank  by the hair when fishing for a book, and breaking a pane of glass in  trying to draw down the curtain. -

"It's so everlasting long, I can't manage it," laughed Jack, as it  finally caught in his bed-hangings, and nearly pulled them, ring  and all, down upon his head.

"Let it alone, unless you need something very much, and don't  bother about the glass. It's just what we want for the telegraph wire  or rope to go through. Keep still, and I'll have the thing running in  ten minutes"; and, delighted with the job, Frank hurried away,  leaving Jack to compose a message to send as soon as it was  possible.

"What in the world is that flying across the Minots' yard a brown  hen or a boy's kite?" exclaimed old Miss Hopkins, peering out of  her window at the singular performances going on in her opposite  neighbor's garden.

First, Frank appeared with a hatchet and chopped a clear space in  the hedge between his own house and the cottage; next, a clothes  line was passed through this aperture and fastened somewhere on  the other side; lastly, a small covered basket, slung on this rope,  was seen hitching along, drawn either way by a set of strings; then,  as if satisfied with his job, Frank retired, whistling "Hail  Columbia."

"It's those children at their pranks again. I thought broken bones  wouldn't keep them out of mischief long," said the old lady,  watching with great interest the mysterious basket travelling up  and down the rope from the big house to the cottage.

If she had seen what came and went over the wires of the "Great  International Telegraph," she would have laughed till her  spectacles flew off her Roman nose. A letter from Jack, with a  large orange, went first, explaining the new enterprise:

"Dear Jill-It's too bad you can't come over to see me. I am pretty  well, but awful tired of keeping still. I want to see you ever so  much. Frank has fixed us a telegraph, so we can write and send  things. Won't it be jolly! I can't look out to see him do it; but, when  you pull your string, my little bell rings, and I know a message is  coming. I send you an orange. Do you like gorver  jelly? People  send in lots of goodies, and we will go halves. Good-by.

Jack"

Away went the basket, and in fifteen minutes it came back from  the cottage with nothing in it but the orange.

"Hullo! Is she mad?" asked Jack, as Frank brought the despatch for  him to examine.                                  But, at the first touch, the hollow peel opened, and out fell a letter,  two gum-drops, and an owl made of a peanut, with round eyes  drawn at the end where the stem formed a funny beak. Two bits of  straw were the legs, and the face looked so like Dr. Whiting that  both boys laughed at the sight.

"That's so like Jill; she'd make fun if she was half dead. Let's see  what she says"; and Jack read the little note, which showed a sad  neglect of the spelling-book:

"Dear Jacky-I can't stir and it's horrid. The telly graf is very nice  and we will have fun with it. I never ate any gorver  jelly. The  orange was first rate. Send me a book to read. All about bears and  ships and crockydiles. The doctor was coming to see you, so I sent  him the quickest way. Molly Loo says it is dreadful lonesome at  school without us. Yours truly,

Jill"

Jack immediately despatched the book and a sample of guava  jelly, which unfortunately upset on the way, to the great detriment  of "The Wild Beasts of Asia and Africa." Jill promptly responded  with the loan of a tiny black kitten, who emerged spitting and  scratching, to Jack's great delight; and he was cudgelling his brains  as to how a fat white rabbit could be transported, when a shrill  whistle from without saved Jill from that inconvenient offering.

"It's the fellows; do you want to see them?" asked Frank, gazing  down with calm superiority upon the three eager faces which  looked up at him.

"Guess I'd o!" and Jack promptly threw the kitten overboard,  scorning to be seen by any manly eye amusing himself with such  girlish toys.

Bang! went the front door; tramp, tramp, tramp, came six booted  feet up the stairs; and, as Frank threw wide the door, three large  beings paused on the threshold to deliver the courteous "Hullo!"  which is the established greeting among boys on all social  occasions.

"Come along, old fellows; I'm ever so glad to see you!" cried the  invalid, with such energetic demonstrations of the arms that he  looked as if about to fly or crow, like an excited young cockerel.

"How are you, Major?"

"Does the leg ache much, Jack?"

"Mr. Phipps says you'll have to pay for the new rails."

With these characteristic greetings, the gentlemen cast away their  hats and sat down, all grinning cheerfully, and all with eyes  irresistibly fixed upon the dainties, which proved too much for the  politeness of ever-hungry boys.

"Help yourselves," said Jack, with a hospitable wave. "All the dear  old ladies in town have been sending in nice things, and I can't  begin to eat them up. Lend a hand and clear away this

lot, or we shall have to throw them out of the window. Bring on  the doughnuts and the tarts and the shaky stuff in the entry closet,  Frank, and let's have a lark."

No sooner said than done. Gus took the tarts, Joe the doughnuts,  Ed the jelly, and Frank suggested "spoons all round" for the Italian  cream. A few trifles in the way of custard, fruit, and wafer biscuits  were not worth mentioning; but every dish was soon emptied, and  Jack said, as he surveyed the scene of devastation with great  satisfaction,

"Call again to-morrow, gentlemen, and we will have another bout.  Free lunches at ~ P.M. till further notice. Now tell me all the  news."

For half an hour, five tongues went like mill clappers, and there is  no knowing when they would have stopped if the little bell had not  suddenly rung with a violence that made them jump.

"That's Jill; see what she wants, Frank"; and while his brother sent  off the basket, Jack told about the new invention, and invited his  mates to examine and admire.

They did so, and shouted with merriment when the next despatch  from Jill arrived. A pasteboard jumping-jack, with one leg done up  in cotton-wool to preserve the likeness, and a great lump of  molasses candy in a brown paper, with accompanying note:

"Dear Sir-I saw the boys go in, and know you are having a nice  time, so I send over the candy Molly Loo and Merry brought me.  Mammy says I can't eat it, and it will all melt away if I keep it.  Also a picture of Jack Minot, who will dance on one leg and  waggle the other, and make you laugh. I wish I could come, too.  Don't you hate grewel? I'do. In haste,

J.P. "

"Let's all send her a letter," proposed Jack, and out came pens, ink,  paper, and the lamp, and everyone fell to scribbling. A droll  collection was the result, for Frank drew a picture of the fatal fall  with broken rails flying in every direction, Jack with his head  swollen to the size of a balloon, and Jill in two pieces, while the  various boys and girls were hit off with a sly skill that gave Gus  legs like a stork, Molly Loo hair several yards long, and Boo a  series of visible howls coming out of an immense mouth in the  shape of o s. The oxen were particularly good, for their horns  branched like those of the moose, and Mr. Grant had a patriarchal  beard which waved in the breeze as he bore the wounded girl to a  sled very like a funeral pyre, the stakes being crowned with big  mittens like torches.

"You ought to be an artist. I never saw such a dabster as you are.  That's the very moral of Joe, all in a bunch on the fence, with a  blot to show how purple his nose was," said Gus, holding up the  sketch for general criticism and admiration.

"I'd  rather have a red nose than legs like a grasshopper; so you  needn't twit, Daddy," growled Joe, quite unconscious that a blot  actually did adorn his nose, as he labored over a brief despatch.

The boys enjoyed the joke, and one after the other read out his  message to the captive lady:

"Dear Jill-Sorry you ain't here. Great fun. Jack pretty lively. Laura  and Lot would send love if they knew of the chance. Fly round and  get well.

Gus"

"Dear Gilliflower-Hope you are pretty comfortable in your  'dungeon cell.  Would you like a serenade when the moon comes?  Hope you will soon be up again, for we miss you very much. Shall  be very happy to help in anyway I can. Love to your mother. Your  true friend,

E.D."

"Miss Pecq.

"Dear Madam-I am happy to tell you that we are all well, and hope  you are the same. I gave Jem Cox a licking because he went to  your desk. You had better send for your books. You won't have to  pay for the sled or the fence. Jack says he will see to it. We have  been having a spread over here. First-rate things. I wouldn't mind  breaking a leg, if I had such good grub and no chores to do. No  more now, from yours, with esteem,

Joseph P. Flint"

Joe thought that an elegant epistle, having copied portions of it  from the "Letter Writer," and proudly read it off to the boys, who  assured him that Jill would be much impressed.

"Now, Jack, hurry up and let us send the lot off, for we must go,"  said Gus, as Frank put the letters in the basket, and the clatter of  tea-things was heard below.

"I'm not going to show mine. It's private and you mustn't look,"  answered Jack, patting down an envelope with such care that no  one had a chance to peep.

But Joe had seen the little note copied, and while the others were  at the window working the telegraph he caught up the original,  carelessly thrust by Jack under the pillow, and read it aloud before  anyone knew what he was about.

"My Dear-I wish I could send you some of my good times. As I  can't,  I send you much love, and I hope you will try and be patient  as I am going to, for it was our fault, and we must not make a fuss  now. Ain't mothers sweet? Mine is coming over to-morrow to see  you and tell me how you are. This round thing is a kiss for  good-night.

Your Jack"

"Isn't that spoony? You d better hide your face, I think. He's getting  to be a regular mollycoddle, isn't he?" jeered Joe, as the boys  laughed, and then grew sober, seeing Jack's head buried in the  bedclothes, after sending a pillow at his tormentor.

It nearly hit Mrs. Minot, coming in with her patient's tea on a tray,  and at sight of her the guests hurriedly took leave, Joe nearly  tumbling downstairs to escape from Frank, who would have  followed, if his mother had not said quickly, "Stay, and tell me  what is the matter."

"Only teasing Jack a bit. Don't be mad, old boy, Joe didn't mean  any harm, and it was rather soft, now wasn't it?" asked Frank,  trying to appease the wounded feelings of his brother.

"I charged you not to worry him. Those boys were too much for the  poor dear, and I ought not to have left him," said Mamma, as she  vainly endeavored to find and caress the yellow head burrowed so  far out of sight that nothing but one red ear was visible.

"He liked it, and we got on capitally till Joe roughed him about  Jill. Ah, Joe's getting it now! I thought Gus and Ed would do that  little job for me," added Frank, running to the window as the sound  of stifled cries and laughter reached him.

The red ear heard also, and Jack popped up his head to ask, with  interest,

'What are they doing to him?"

"Rolling him in the snow, and he's howling like fun."

"Serves him right," muttered Jack, with a frown. Then, as a wail  arose suggestive of an unpleasant mixture of snow in the mouth  and thumps on the back, he burst out laughing, and said,  good-naturedly, "Go and stop them, Frank; I won't mind, only tell  him it was a mean trick. Hurry! Gus is so strong he doesn't know  how his pounding hurts."

Off ran Frank, and Jack told his wrongs to his mother. She  sympathized heartily, and saw no harm in the affectionate little  note, which would please Jill, and help her to bear her trials  patiently.

"It isn't silly to be fond of her, is it? She is so nice and funny, and  tries to be good, and likes me, and I won't be ashamed of my  friends, if folks do laugh," protested Jack, with a rap of his  teaspoon.

"No, dear, it is quite kind and proper, and I'd  rather have you play  with a merry little girl than with rough boys till you are big enough  to hold your own," answered Mamma, putting the cup to his lips  that the reclining lad might take his broma without spilling.

"Pooh! I don't mean that; I'm strong enough now to take care of  myself," cried Jack, stoutly. "I can thrash Joe any day, if I like. Just  look at my arm; there's muscle for you!" and up went a sleeve, to  the great danger of overturning the tray, as the boy proudly  displayed his biceps and expanded his chest, both of which were  very fine for a lad of his years. "If I'd  been on my legs, he  wouldn't have dared to insult me, and it was cowardly to hit a  fellow when he was down.

Mrs. Minot wanted to laugh at Jack's indignation, but the bell rang,  and she had to go and pull in the basket, much amused at the new  game.

Burning to distinguish herself in the eyes of the big boys, Jill had  sent over a tall, red flannel night-cap, which she had been making  for some proposed Christmas plays, and added the following verse,  for she was considered a gifted rhymester at the game parties:

"When it comes night,  We put out the light.  Some blow with a puff,  Some turn down and snuff;  But neat folks prefer  A nice extinguisher.  So here I send you back  One to put on Mr. Jack."

"Now, I call that regularly smart; not one of us could do it, and I  just wish Joe was here to see it. I want to send once more,  something good for tea; she hates gruel so"; and the last despatch  which the Great International Telegraph carried that day was a  baked apple and a warm muffin, with "J. M.'s best regards."

Chapter 4 WARD NO. 2.

"I do believe the child will fret herself into a fever, mem, and I m  clean distraught to know what to do for her. She never used to  mind trifles, but now she frets about the oddest things, and I can't  change them. This wall-paper is well enough, but she has taken a  fancy that the spots on it look like spiders, and it makes her  nervous. I've no other warm place to put her, and no money for a  new paper. Poor lass! There are hard times before her, I'm fearing.

Mrs. Pecq said this in a low voice to Mrs. Minot, who came in as  often as she could, to see what her neighbor needed; for both  mothers were anxious, and sympathy drew them to one another.  While one woman talked, the other looked about the little room,  not wondering in the least that Jill found it hard to be contented  there. It was very neat, but so plain that there was not even a  picture on the walls, nor an ornament upon the mantel, except the  necessary clock, lamp, and match-box. The paper was ugly, being  a deep buff with a brown figure that did look very like spiders  sprawling over it, and might well make one nervous to look at day  after day.

Jill was asleep in the folding chair Dr. Whiting had sent, with a  mattress to make it soft. The back could be raised or lowered at  will; but only a few inches had been gained as yet, and the thin  hair pillow was all she could bear. She looked very pretty as she  lay, with dark lashes against the feverish cheeks, lips apart, and a  cloud of curly black locks all about the face pillowed on one arm.  She seemed like a brilliant little flower in that dull place  for the  French blood in her veins gave her a color, warmth, and grace  which were very charming. Her natural love of beauty showed  itself in many ways: a red ribbon had tied up her hair, a gay but  faded shawl was thrown over the bed, and the gifts sent her were  arranged with care upon the table by her side among her own few  toys and treasures. There was something pathetic in this childish  attempt to beautify the poor place, and Mrs. Minot's eyes were full  as she looked at the tired woman, whose one joy and comfort lay  there in such sad plight.

"My dear soul, cheer up, and we will help one another through the  hard times," she said, with a soft hand on the rough one, and a look  that promised much.

"Please God, we will, mem! With such good friends, I never  should complain. I try not to do it, but it breaks my heart to see my  little lass spoiled for life, most like"; and Mrs. Pecq pressed the  kind hand with a despondent sigh.

"We won't say, or even think, that, yet. Everything is possible to  youth and health like Janey s. We must keep her happy, and time  will do the rest, I'm sure. Let us begin at once, and have a surprise  for her when she wakes."

As she spoke, Mrs. Minot moved quietly about the room, pinning  the pages of several illustrated papers against the wall at the foot  of the bed, and placing to the best advantage the other comforts  she had brought.

"Keep up your heart, neighbor. I have an idea in my head which I  think will help us all, if I can carry it out," she said, cheerily, as she  went, leaving Mrs. Pecq to sew on Jack's new night-gowns, with  swift fingers, and the grateful wish that she might work for these  good friends forever.

As if the whispering and rustling had disturbed her, Jill soon began  to stir, and slowly opened the eyes which had closed so wearily on  the dull December afternoon. The bare wall with its brown spiders  no longer confronted her, but the colored print of a little girl  dancing to the tune her father was playing on a guitar, while a  stately lady, with satin dress, ruff, and powder, stood looking on,  well pleased. The quaint figure, in its belaced frock, quilted  petticoat, and red-heeled shoes, seemed to come tripping toward  her in such a life-like way, that she almost saw the curls blow  back, heard the rustle of the rich brocade, and caught the sparkle  of the little maid's bright eyes.

"Oh, how pretty! Who sent them?" asked Jill, eagerly, as her eye  glanced along the wall, seeing other new and interesting things  beyond: an elephant-hunt, a ship in full sail, a horse-race, and a  ball-room.

"The good fairy who never comes empty-handed. Look round a bit  and you will see more pretties all for you, my dearie"; and her  mother pointed to a bunch of purple grapes in a green leaf plate, a  knot of bright flowers pinned on the white curtain, and a gay little  double gown across the foot of the bed.

Jill clapped her hands, and was enjoying her new pleasures, when  in came Merry and Molly Loo, with Boo, of course, trotting after  her like a fat and amiable puppy. Then the good times began; the  gown was put on, the fruit tasted, and the pictures were studied  like famous works of art.

"It's a splendid plan to cover up that hateful wall. I'd  stick pictures  all round and have a gallery. That reminds me! Up in the garret at  our house is a box full of old fashion-books my aunt left. I often  look at them on rainy days, and they are very funny. I'll go this  minute and get everyone. We can pin them up, or make paper  dolls"; and away rushed Molly Loo, with the small brother  waddling behind, for, when he lost sight of her, he was desolate  indeed.

The girls had fits of laughter over the queer costumes of years  gone by, and put up a splendid procession of ladies in full skirts,  towering hats, pointed slippers, powdered hair, simpering faces,  and impossible waists.

"I do think this bride is perfectly splendid, the long train and vail  are so sweet," said Jill, revelling in fine clothes as she turned from  one plate to another.

"I like the elephants best, and I'd  give anything to go on a hunt  like that!" cried Molly Loo, who rode cows, drove any horse she  could get, had nine cats, and was not afraid of the biggest dog that  ever barked.

"I fancy 'The Dancing Lesson ; it is so sort of splendid, with the  great windows, gold chairs, and fine folks. Oh, I would like to live  in a castle with a father and mother like that," said Merry, who was  romantic, and found the old farmhouse on the bill a sad trial to her  high-flown ideas of elegance.

"Now, that ship, setting out for some far-away place, is more to my  mind. I weary for home now and then, and mean to see it again  some day"; and Mrs. Pecq looked longingly at the English ship,  though it was evidently outward bound. Then, as if reproaching  herself for discontent, she added: "It looks like those I used to see  going off to India with a load of missionaries. I came near going  myself once, with a lady bound for Siam; but I went to Canada  with her sister, and here I am."

"I'd  like to be a missionary and go where folks throw their babies  to the crocodiles. I'd  watch and fish them out, and have a school,  and bring them up, and convert all the people till they knew  better," said warm-hearted Molly Loo, who befriended every  abused animal and forlorn child she met.

"We needn't go to Africa to be missionaries; they have 'em nearer  home and need 'em, too. In all the big cities there are a many, and  they have their hands full with the poor, the wicked, and the  helpless. One can find that sort of work anywhere, if one has a  mind," said Mrs. Pecq.

"I wish we had some to do here. I'd  so like to go round with  baskets of tea and rice, and give out tracts and talk to people.  Wouldn't you, girls?" asked Molly, much taken with the new idea.

"It would be rather nice to have a society all to ourselves, and have  meetings and resolutions and things," answered Merry, who was  fond of little ceremonies, and always went to the sewing circle  with her mother.

"We wouldn't let the boys come in. We d have it a secret society,  as they'd o their temperance lodge, and we d have badges and  pass-words and grips. It would be fun if we can only get some  heathen to work at!" cried Jill, ready for fresh enterprises of every  sort.

"I can tell you someone to begin on right away," said her mother,  nodding at her. "As wild a little savage as I'd  wish to see. Take  her in hand, and make a pretty-mannered lady of her. Begin at  home, my lass, and you'll find missionary work enough for a  while."

"Now, Mammy, you mean me! Well, I will begin; and I'll be so  good, folks won't know me. Being sick makes naughty children  behave in story-books, I'll see if live ones can t"; and Jill put on  such a sanctified face that the girls laughed and asked for their  missions also, thinking they would be the same.

"You, Merry, might do a deal at home helping mother, and setting  the big brothers a good example. One little girl in a house can do  pretty much as she will, especially if she has a mind to make plain  things nice and comfortable, and not long for castles before she  knows how to do her own tasks well," was the first unexpected  reply.

Merry colored, but took the reproof sweetly, resolving to do what  she could, and surprised to find how many ways seemed open to  her after a few minutes  thought.

"Where shall I begin? I'm not afraid of a dozen crocodiles after  Miss Bat"; and Molly Loo looked about her with a fierce air,  having had practice in battles with the old lady who kept her  father's house.

"Well, dear, you haven't far to look for as nice a little heathen as  you d wish"; and Mrs. Pecq glanced at Boo, who sat on the floor  staring hard at them, attracted by the dread word "crocodile." He  had a cold and no handkerchief, his little hands were red with  chilblains, his clothes shabby, he had untidy darns in the knees of  his stockings, and a head of tight curls that evidently had not been  combed for some time.

"Yes, I know he is, and I try to keep him decent, but I forget, and  he hates to be fixed, and Miss Bat doesn't care, and father laughs  when I talk about it."

Poor Molly Loo looked much ashamed as she made excuses, trying  at the same time to mend matters by seizing Boo and dusting him  all over with her handkerchief, giving a pull at his hair as if ringing  bells, and then dumping him down again with the despairing  exclamation: "Yes, we re a pair of heathens, and there's no one to  save us if I don't."

That was true enough; for Molly's father was a busy man, careless  of everything but his mills, Miss Bat was old and lazy, and felt as  if she might take life easy after serving the motherless children for  many years as well as she knew how. Molly was beginning to see  how much amiss things were at home, and old enough to feel  mortified, though, as yet, she had done nothing to mend the matter  except be kind to the little boy.

"You will, my dear," answered Mrs. Pecq, encouragingly, for she  knew all about it. "Now you ve each got a mission, let us see how  well you will get on. Keep it secret, if you like, and report once a  week. I'll be a member, and we'll do great things yet."

"We won't begin till after Christmas; there is so much to do, we  never shall have time for any more. Don't tell, and we'll start fair  at New Year s, if not before," said Jill, taking the lead as usual.  Then they went on with the gay ladies, who certainly were heathen  enough in dress to be in sad need of conversion to common-sense  at least.

"I feel as if I was at a party," said Jill, after a pause occupied in  surveying her gallery with great satisfaction, for dress was her  delight, and here she had every conceivable style and color.

"Talking of parties, isn't it too bad that we must give up our  Christmas fun? Can't get on without you and Jack, so we are not  going to do a thing, but just have our presents," said Merry, sadly,

as they began to fit different heads and bodies together, to try droll  effects.

"I shall be all well in a fortnight, I know; but Jack won t, for it will  take more than a month to mend his poor leg. Maybe, they will  have a dance in the boys  big room, and he can look on," suggested  Jill, with a glance at the dancing damsel on the wall, for she dearly  loved it, and never guessed how long it would be before her light  feet would keep time to music again.

"You d better give Jack a hint about the party. Send over some  smart ladies, and say they have come to his Christmas ball,"  proposed audacious Molly Loo, always ready for fun.

So they put a preposterous green bonnet, top-heavy with plumes,  on a little lady in yellow, who sat in a carriage; the lady beside her,  in winter costume of velvet pelisse and ermine boa, was fitted to a  bride's head with its orange flowers and veil, and these works of  art were sent over to Jack, labelled "Miss Laura and Lotty Burton  going to the Minots' Christmas balI" a piece of naughtiness on  Jill's part, for she knew Jack liked the pretty sisters, whose gentle  manners made her own wild ways seem all the more blamable.

No answer came for a long time, and the girls had almost forgotten  their joke in a game of Letters, when "Tingle, tangle!" went the  bell, and the basket came in heavily laden. A roll of colored papers  was tied outside, and within was a box that rattled, a green and  silver horn, a roll of narrow ribbons, a spool of strong thread, some  large needles, and a note from Mrs. Minot:

"Dear Jill-I think of having a Christmas tree so that our invalids  can enjoy it, and all your elegant friends are cordially invited.  Knowing that you would like to help, I send some paper for  sugar-plum horns and some beads for necklaces. They will  brighten the tree and please the girls for themselves or their dolls.  Jack sends you a horn for a pattern, and will you make a  ladder-necklace to show him how? Let me know if you need  anything.

Yours in haste,

Anna Minot"

"She knew what the child would like, bless her kind heart," said  Mrs. Pecq to herself, and something brighter than the most silvery  bead shone on Jack's shirt-sleeve, as she saw the rapture of Jill  over the new work and the promised pleasure.

Joyful cries greeted the opening of the box, for bunches of  splendid large bugles appeared in all colors, and a lively discussion  went on as to the best contrasts. Jill could not refuse to let her  friends share the pretty work, and soon three necklaces glittered on  three necks, as each admired her own choice.

"I'd  be willing to hurt my back dreadfully, if I could lie and do  such lovely things all day," said Merry, as she reluctantly put down  her needle at last, for home duties waited to be done, and looked  more than ever distasteful after this new pleasure.

"So would I! Oh, do you think Mrs. Minot will let you fill the  horns when they are done? I'd  love to help you then. Be sure you  send for me!" cried Molly Loo, arching her neck like a proud  pigeon to watch the glitter of her purple and gold necklace on her  brown gown.

"I'm afraid you couldn't be trusted, you love sweeties so, and I m  sure Boo couldn't. But I'll see about it," replied Jill, with a  responsible air.

The mention of the boy recalled him to their minds, and looking  round they found him peacefully absorbed in polishing up the floor  with Molly's pocket-handkerchief and oil from the little  machine-can. Being torn from this congenial labor, he was carried  off shining with grease and roaring lustily.

But Jill did not mind her loneliness now, and sang like a happy  canary while she threaded her sparkling beads, or hung the gay  horns to dry, ready f or their cargoes of sweets. So Mrs. Minot's  recipe for sunshine proved successful, and mother-wit made the  wintry day a bright and happy one for both the little prisoners.

Chapter 5  Secrets

There were a great many clubs in Harmony Village, but as we  intend to interest ourselves with the affairs of the young folks only,  we need not dwell upon the intellectual amusements of the elders.  In summer, the boys devoted themselves to baseball, the girls to  boating, and all got rosy, stout, and strong, in these healthful  exercises. In winter, the lads had their debating club, the lasses a  dramatic ditto. At the former, astonishing bursts of oratory were  heard; at the latter, everything was boldly attempted, from Romeo  and Juliet to Mother Goose's immortal melodies. The two clubs  frequently met and mingled their attractions in a really entertaining  manner, for the speakers made good actors, and the young  actresses were most appreciative listeners to the eloquence of each  budding Demosthenes.

Great plans had been afoot for Christmas or New Year, but when  the grand catastrophe put an end to the career of one of the best  "spouters," and caused the retirement of the favorite "singing  chambermaid," the affair was postponed till February, when  Washington's birthday was always celebrated by the patriotic town,  where the father of his country once put on his nightcap, or took  off his boots, as that ubiquitous hero appears to have done in every  part of the United States.

Meantime the boys were studying Revolutionary characters, and  the girls rehearsing such dramatic scenes as they thought most  appropriate and effective for the 22d. In both of these attempts  they were much helped by the sense and spirit of Ralph Evans, a  youth of nineteen, who was a great favorite with the young folks,  not only because he was a good, industrious fellow, who supported  his grandmother, but also full of talent, fun, and ingenuity. It was  no wonder everyone who really knew him liked him, for he could  turn his hand to anything, and loved to do it. If the girls were in  despair about a fire-place when acting "The Cricket on the  Hearth," he painted one, and put a gas-log in it that made the kettle  really boil, to their great delight. If the boys found the interest of  their club flagging, Ralph would convulse them by imitations of  the "Member from Cranberry Centre," or fire them with speeches  of famous statesmen. Charity fairs could not get on without him,  and in the store where he worked he did many an ingenious job,  which made him valued for his mechanical skill, as well as for his  energy and integrity.

Mrs. Minot liked to have him with her sons, because they also  were to paddle their own canoes by and by, and she believed that,  rich or poor, boys make better men for learning to use the talents  they possess, not merely as ornaments, but tools with which to  carve their own fortunes; and the best help toward this end is an  example of faithful work, high aims, and honest living. So Ralph  came often, and in times of trouble was a real rainy-day friend.  Jack grew very fond of him during his imprisonment, for the good  youth ran in every evening to get commissions, amuse the boy with  droll accounts of the day's adventures, or invent lifts, bed-tables,  and foot-rests for the impatient invalid. Frank found him a sure  guide through the mechanical mysteries which he loved, and spent  many a useful half-hour discussing cylinders, pistons, valves, and  balance-wheels. Jill also came in for her share of care and comfort;  the poor little back lay all the easier for the air-cushion Ralph got  her, and the weary headaches found relief from the spray atomizer,  which softly distilled its scented dew on the hot forehead till she  fell asleep.

Round the beds of Jack and Jill met and mingled the schoolmates  of whom our story treats. Never, probably, did invalids have gayer  times than our two, after a week of solitary confinement; for  school gossip crept in, games could not be prevented, and  Christmas secrets were concocted in those rooms till they were  regular conspirators  dens, when they were not little Bedlams.

After the horn and bead labors were over, the stringing of pop-corn  on red, and cranberries on white, threads, came next, and Jack and  Jill often looked like a new kind of spider in the pretty webs hung  about them, till reeled off to bide their time in the Christmas  closet. Paper flowers followed, and gay garlands and bouquets  blossomed, regardless of the snow and frost without. Then there  was a great scribbling of names, verses, and notes to accompany  the steadily increasing store of odd parcels which were collected at  the Minots', for gifts from everyone were to ornament the tree, and  contributions poured in as the day drew near.

But the secret which most excited the young people was the deep  mystery of certain proceedings at the Minot house. No one but  Frank, Ralph, and Mamma knew what it was, and the two boys  nearly drove the others distracted by the tantalizing way in which  they hinted at joys to come, talked strangely about birds, went  measuring round with foot-rules, and shut themselves up in the  Boys  Den, as a certain large room was called. This seemed to be  the centre of operations, but beyond the fact of the promised tree  no ray of light was permitted to pass the jealously guarded doors,  Strange men with paste-pots and ladders went in, furniture was  dragged about, and all sorts of boyish lumber was sent up garret  and down cellar. Mrs. Minot was seen pondering over heaps of  green stuff, hammering was heard, singular bundles were  smuggled upstairs, flowering plants betrayed their presence by   whiffs of fragrance when the door was opened, and Mrs. Pecq was  caught smiling all by herself in a back bedroom, which usually was  shut up in winter.

"They are going to have a play, after all, and that green stuff was  the curtain," said Molly Loo, as the girls talked it over one day,  when they sat with their backs turned to one another, putting last  stitches in certain bits of work which had to be concealed from all  eyes, though it was found convenient to ask one another's taste as  to the color, materials, and sizes of these mysterious articles.

"I think it is going to be a dance. I heard the boys doing their steps  when I went in last evening to find out whether Jack liked blue or  yellow best, so I could put the bow on his pen-wiper," declared  Merry, knitting briskly away at the last of the pair of pretty white  bed-socks she was making for Jill right under her inquisitive little  nose.

"They wouldn't have a party of that kind without Jack and me. It is  only an extra nice tree, you see if it isn't," answered Jill from  behind the pillows which made a temporary screen to hide the  toilet mats she was preparing for all her friends.

"Everyone of you is wrong, and you d better rest easy, for you  won't find out the best part of it, try as you may." And Mrs. Pecq  actually chuckled as she, too, worked away at some bits of muslin,  with her back turned to the very unsocial-looking group.

"Well, I don't care, we ve got a secret all our own, and won't ever  tell, will we?" cried Jill, falling back on the Home Missionary  Society, though it was not yet begun.

"Never!" answered the girls, and all took great comfort in the idea  that one mystery would not be cleared up, even at Christmas.

Jack gave up guessing, in despair, after he had suggested a new  dining-room where he could eat with the family, a private school  in which his lessons might go on with a tutor, or a theatre for the  production of the farces in which he delighted.

"It is going to be used to keep something in that you are very fond  of," said Mamma, taking pity on him at last.

"Ducks?" asked Jack, with a half pleased, half puzzled air, not  quite seeing where the water was to come from.

Frank exploded at the idea, and added to the mystification by  saying,

"There will be one little duck and one great donkey in it." Then,  fearing he had told the secret, he ran off, quacking and braying  derisively.

"It is to be used for creatures that I, too, am fond of, and you know  neither donkeys nor ducks are favorities of mine," said Mamma,  with a demure expression, as she sat turning over old clothes for  the bundles that always went to poor neighbors, with a little store  of goodies, at this time of the year.

"I know! I know! It is to be a new ward for more sick folks, isn't it,  now?" cried Jack, with what he thought a great proof of  shrewdness.

"I don't see how I could attend to many more patients till this one  is off my hands," answered Mamma, with a queer smile, adding  quickly, as if she too was afraid of letting the cat out of the bag:  "That reminds me of a Christmas I once spent among the hospitals  and poor-houses of a great city with a good lady who, for thirty  years, had made it her mission to see that these poor little souls  had one merry day. We gave away two hundred dolls, several great  boxes of candy and toys, besides gay pictures, and new clothes to  orphan children, sick babies, and half-grown innocents. Ah, my  boy, that was a day to remember all my life, to make me doubly  grateful for my blessings, and very glad to serve the helpless and  afflicted, as that dear woman did."

The look and tone with which the last words were uttered  effectually turned Jack's thoughts from the great secret, and started  another small one, for he fell to planning what he would buy with  his pocket-money to surprise the little Pats and Biddies who were  to have no Christmas tree.

Chapter 6  Surprises

"Is it pleasant?" was the question Jill asked before she was fairly  awake on Christmas morning.

"Yes, dear; as bright as heart could wish. Now eat a bit, and then  I'll make you nice for the day's pleasure. I only hope it won't be too  much for you," answered Mrs. Pecq, bustling about, happy, yet  anxious, for Jill was to be carried over to Mrs. Minot s, and it was  her first attempt at going out since the accident.

It seemed as if nine o clock would never come, and Jill, with  wraps all ready, lay waiting in a fever of impatience for the  doctor's visit, as he wished to superintend the moving. At last he  came, found all promising, and having bundled up his small  patient, carried her, with Frank's help, in her chair-bed to the  ox-sled, which was drawn to the next door, and Miss Jill landed in  the Boys  Den before she had time to get either cold or tired. Mrs.  Minot took her things off with a cordial welcome, but Jill never  said a word, for, after one exclamation, she lay staring about her,  dumb with surprise and delight at what she saw.

The great room was entirely changed; for now it looked like a  garden, or one of the fairy scenes children love, where in-doors  and out-of-doors are pleasantly combined. The ceiling was pale  blue, like the sky; the walls were covered with a paper like a rustic  trellis, up which climbed morning-glories so naturally that the  many-colored bells seemed dancing in the wind. Birds and  butterflies flew among them, and here and there, through arches in  the trellis, one seemed to look into a sunny summer world,  contrasting curiously with the wintry landscape lying beyond the  real windows, festooned with evergreen garlands, and curtained  only by stands of living flowers. A green drugget covered the floor  like grass, rustic chairs from the garden stood about, and in the  middle of the room a handsome hemlock waited for its pretty  burden. A Yule-log blazed on the wide hearth, and over the  chimney-piece, framed in holly, shone the words that set all hearts  to dancing, "Merry Christmas!"

"Do you like it, dear? This is our surprise for you and Jack, and  here we mean to have good times together," said Mrs. Minot, who  had stood quietly enjoying the effect of her work.

"Oh, it is so lovely I don't know what to say!" and Jill put up both  arms, as words failed her, and grateful kisses were all she had to  offer.

"Can you suggest anything more to add to the pleasantness?" asked  the gentle lady, holding the small hands in her own, and feeling  well repaid by the child's delight.

"Only Jack"; and Jill's laugh was good to hear, as she glanced up  with merry, yet wistful eyes.

"You are right. We'll have him in at once, or he will come hopping  on one leg"; and away hurried his mother, laughing, too, for  whistles, shouts, thumps, and violent demonstrations of all kinds  had been heard from the room where Jack was raging with  impatience, while he waited for his share of the surprise.

Jill could hardly lie still when she heard the roll of another  chair-bed coming down the hail, its passage enlivened with cries of  "Starboard! Port! Easy now! Pull away!" from Ralph and Frank, as  they steered the recumbent Columbus on his first voyage of  discovery.

"Well, I call that handsome!" was Jack's exclamation, when the  full beauty of the scene burst upon his view. Then he forgot all  about it and gave a whoop of pleasure, for there beside the fire was  an eager face, two hands beckoning, and Jill's voice crying,  joyfully.

"I'm here! I'm here! Oh, do come, quick!" Down the long room  rattled the chair, Jack cheering all the way, and brought up beside  the other one, as the long-parted friends exclaimed, with one  accord,

"Isn't this jolly!"

It certainly did look so, for Ralph and Frank danced a wild sort of  fandango round the tree, Dr. Whiting stood and laughed, while the  two mothers beamed from the door-way, and the children, not  knowing whether to laugh or to cry, compromised the matter by  clapping their hands and shouting, "Merry Christmas to  everybody!" like a pair of little maniacs.

Then they all sobered down, and the busy ones went off to the  various duties of the day, leaving the young invalids to repose and  enjoy themselves together.

"How nice you look," said Jill, when they had duly admired the  pretty room.

"So do you," gallantly returned Jack, as he surveyed her with  unusual interest.

They did look very nice, though happiness was the principal  beautifier. Jill wore a red wrapper, with the most brilliant of all the  necklaces sparkling at her throat, over a nicely crimped frill her  mother had made in honor of the day. All the curly black hair was  gathered into a red net, and a pair of smart little moccasins  covered the feet that had not stepped for many a weary day. Jack  was not so gay, but had made himself as fine as circumstances  would permit. A gray dressing-gown, with blue cuffs and collar,  was very becoming to the blonde youth; an immaculate shirt, best  studs, sleeve-buttons, blue tie, and handkerchief wet with cologne  sticking out of the breast-pocket, gave an air of elegance in spite of  the afghan spread over the lower portions of his manly form. The  yellow hair was brushed till it shone, and being parted in the  middle, to hide the black patch, made two engaging little "quiris"  on his forehead. The summer tan had faded from his cheeks, but  his eyes were as blue as the wintry sky, and nearly every white  tooth was visible as he smiled on his partner in misfortune, saying  cheerily.

"I'm ever so glad to see you again; guess we are over the worst of  it now, and can have good times. Won't it be fun to stay here all  the while, and amuse one another?"

"Yes, indeed; but one day is so short! It will be stupider than ever  when I go home to-night," answered Jill, looking about her with  longing eyes.

"But you are not going home to-night; you are to stay ever so long.  Didn't Mamma tell you?"

"No. Oh, how splendid! Am I really? Where will I sleep? What  will Mammy do without me?" and Jill almost sat up, she was so  delighted with the new surprise.

"That room in there is all fixed for you. I made Frank tell me so  much. Mamma said I might tell you, but I'd idn't think she would  be able to hold in if she saw you first. Your mother is coming, too,  and we are all going to have larks together till we are

The splendor of this arrangement took Jill's breath away, and  before she got it again, in came Frank and Ralph with two  clothes-baskets of treasures to be hung upon the tree. While they  wired on the candles the children asked questions, and found out  all they wanted to know about the new plans and pleasures.

'Who fixed all this?"

"Mamma thought of it, and Ralph and I'd id it. He's the man for  this  sort of thing, you know. He proposed cutting out the arches and  sticking on birds and butterflies just where they looked best. I put  those canaries over there, they looked so well against the blue";  and Frank proudly pointed out some queer orange-colored fowls,  looking as if they were having fits in the air, but very effective,  nevertheless.

"Your mother said you might call this the Bird Room. We caught a  scarlet-tanager for you to begin with, didn't we, Jack?" and Ralph  threw a hon-hon at Jill, who looked very like a bright little bird in  a warm nest.

"Good for you! Yes, and we are going to keep her in this pretty  cage till we can both fly off together. I say, Jill, where shall we be  in our classes when we do get back?" and Jack's merry face fell at  the thought.

"At the foot, if we don't study and keep up. Doctor said I might  study sometimes, if I'd  lie still as long as he thought best, and  Molly brought home my books, and Merry says she will come in  every day and tell me where the lessons are. I don't mean to fall  behind, if my backbone is cracked," said Jill, with a decided nod  that made several black rings fly out of the net to dance on her  forehead.

"Frank said he d pull me along in my Latin, but I've been lazy and  haven't done a thing. Let's go at it and start fair for New Year,"  proposed Jack, who did not love study as the bright girl did, but  was ashamed to fall behind her in anything.

"All right. They ve been reviewing, so we can keep up when they  begin, if we work next week, while the rest have a holiday. Oh,  dear, I do miss school dreadfully"; and Jill sighed for the old desk,  every blot and notch of which was dear to her.

"There come our things, and pretty nice they look, too," said Jack;  and his mother began to dress the tree, hanging up the gay horns,  the gilded nuts, red and yellow apples and oranges, and festooning  long strings of pop-corn and scarlet cranberries from bough to  bough, with the glittering necklaces hung where the light would  show their colors best.

"I never saw such a splendid tree before. I'm glad we could help,  though we were ill. Is it all done now?" asked Jill, when the last  parcel was tied on and everybody stood back to admire the pretty  sight.

"One thing more. Hand me that box, Frank, and be very careful  that you fasten this up firmly, Ralph," answered Mrs. Minot, as she  took from its wrappings the waxen figure of a little child. The rosy  limbs were very life-like, so was the smiling face under the locks  of shining hair. Both plump arms were outspread as if to scatter  blessings over all, and downy wings seemed to flutter from the  dimpled shoulders, making an angel of the baby.

"Is it St. Nicholas?" asked Jill, who had never seen that famous  personage, and knew but little of Christmas festivities.

"It is the Christ-child, whose birthday we are celebrating. I got the  best I could find, for I like the idea better than old Santa Claus;  though we may have him, too," said Mamma, holding the little  image so that both could see it well.

"It looks like a real baby"; and Jack touched the rosy foot with the  tip of his finger, as if expecting a crow from the half-open lips.

"It reminds me of the saints in the chapel of the Sacred Heart in  Montreal. One little St. John looked like this, only he had a lamb  instead of wings," said Jill, stroking the flaxen hair, and wishing  she dared ask for it to play with.

"He is the children's saint to pray to, love, and imitate, for he never  forgot them, but blessed and healed and taught them all his life.  This is only a poor image of the holiest baby ever born, but I hope  it will keep his memory in your minds all day, because this is the  day for good resolutions, happy thoughts, and humble prayers, as  well as play and gifts and feasting."

While she spoke, Mrs. Minot, touching the little figure as tenderly  as if it were alive, had tied a broad white ribbon round it, and,  handing it to Ralph, bade him fasten it to the hook above the  tree-top, where it seemed to float as if the downy wings supported  it.

Jack and Jill lay silently watching, with a sweet sort of soberness  in their young faces, and for a moment the room was very still as  all eyes looked up at the Blessed Child. The sunshine seemed to  grow more golden as it flickered on the little head, the flames  glanced about the glittering tree as if trying to climb and kiss the  baby feet, and, without, a chime of bells rang sweetly, calling  people to hear again the lovely story of the life begun on  Christinus Day.

Only a minute, but it did them good, and presently, when the  pleasant work was over, and the workers gone, the boys to church,  and Mamma to see about lunch for the invalids, Jack said, gravcly,  to Jill,

"I think we ought to be extra good, everyone is so kind to us, and  we are getting well, and going to have such capital times. Don't see  how we can do anything else to show we are grateful."

"It isn't easy to be good when one is sick," said Jill, thoughtfully. "I  fret dreadfully, I get so tired of being still. I want to scream  sometimes, but I don't, because it would scare Mammy, so I cry.  Do you cry, Jack?"

"Men never do. I want to tramp round when things bother me; but I  can t, so I kick and say, 'Hang it!  and when I get very bad I pitch  into Frank, arid he lets me. I tell you, Jill, he's a good brother!" and  Jack privately resolved then and there to invite Frank to take it out  of him in any form he pleased as soon as health would permit.

"I rather think we shall grow good in this pretty place, for I don't  see how we can be bad if we want to, it is all so nice and sort of  pious here," said Jill, with her eyes on the angel over the tree.

"A fellow can be awfully hungry, I know that. I didn't half eat  breakfast, I was in such a hurry to see you, and know all about the  secrets. Frank kept saying I couldn't guess, that you had come,

Jack and Jill lay silently watching, with a sweet sort of soberness  in their young faces, and for a moment the room was very still as  all eyes looked up at the Blessed Child. The sunshine seemed to  grow more golden as it flickered on the little head, the flames  glanced about the glittering tree as if trying to climb and kiss the  baby feet, and, without, a chime of bells rang sweetly, calling  people to hear again the lovely story of the life begun on Christmas  Day.

Only a minute, but it did them good, and presently, when the  pleasant work was over, and the workers gone, the boys to church,  and Mamma to see about lunch for the invalids, Jack said, gravely,  to Jill.

"I think we ought to be extra good, everyone is so kind to us, and  we are getting well, and going to have such capital times. Don't see  how we can do anything else to show we are grateful."

"It isn't easy to be good when one is sick," said Jill, thoughtfully. "I  fret dreadfully, I get so tired of being still. I want to scream  sometimes, but I don't, because it would scare Mammy, so I cry.  Do you cry, Jack?"

"Men never do. I want to tramp round when things bother me; but I  can t, so I kick and say, 'Hang it!  and when I get very bad I pitch  into Frank, and he lets me. I tell you, Jill, he's a good brother!" and  Jack privately resolved then and there to invite Frank to take it out  of him in any form he pleased as soon as health would permit.

"I rather think we shall grow good in this pretty place, for I don't  see how we can be bad if we want to, it is all so nice and sort of  pious here," said Jill, with her eyes on the angel over the tree.

"A fellow can be awfully hungry, I know that. I'd idn't half eat  breakfast, I was in such a hurry to see you, and know all about the  secrets. Frank kept saying I couldn't guess, that you had come,

and I never would be ready, till finally I got mad and fired an egg  at him, and made no end of a mess."

Jack and Jill went off into a gale of laughter at the idea of  dignified Frank dodging the egg that smashed on the wall, leaving  an indelible mark of Jack's besetting sin, impatience.

Just then Mrs. Minot came in, well pleased to hear such pleasant  sounds, and to see two merry faces, where usually one listless one  met her anxious eyes.

"The new medicine works well, neighbor," she said to Mrs. Pecq,  who followed with the lunch tray.

"Indeed it does, mem. I feel as if I'd  taken a sup myself, I'm that  easy in my mind."

And she looked so, too, for she seemed to have left all her cares in  the little house when she locked the door behind her, and now  stood smiling with a clean apron on, so fresh and cheerful, that Jill  hardly knew her own mother.

"Things taste better when you have someone to eat with you,"  observed Jack, as they'd evoured sandwiches, and drank milk out  of little mugs with rosebuds on them.

"Don't eat too much, or you won't be ready for the next surprise,"  said his mother, when the plates were empty, and the last drop  gone down throats dry with much chatter.

"More surprises! Oh, what fun!" cried Jill. And all the rest of the  morning, in the intervals of talk and play, they tried to guess what  it could be.

At two o clock they found out, for dinner was served in the Bird  Room, and the children revelled in the simple feast prepared for  them. The two mothers kept the little bed-tables well supplied, and  fed their nurslings like maternal birds, while Frank presided over  the feast with great dignity, and ate a dinner which would have  astonished Mamma, if she had not been too busy to observe how  fast the mince pie vanished.

"The girls said Christmas was spoiled because of us; but I don't  think so, and they won't either, when they see this splendid place  and know all about our nice plans," said Jill, luxuriously eating the  nut-meats Jack picked out f or her, as they lay in Eastern style at  the festive board.

"I call this broken bones made easy. I never had a better Christmas.  Have a raisin? Here's a good fat one." And Jack made a long arm  to Jill's mouth, which began to sing "Little Jack Homer" as an  appropriate return.

"It would have been a lonesome one to all of us, I'm thinking, but  for your mother, boys. My duty and hearty thanks to you, mem,"  put in grateful Mrs. Pecq, bowing over her coffee-cup as she had  seen ladies bow over their wine-glasses at dinner parties in Old  England.

"I rise to propose a health, Our Mothers." And Frank stood up with  a goblet of water, for not even at Christmas time was wine seen on  that table.

"Hip, hip, hurrah!" called Jack, baptizing himself with a good  sprinkle, as he waved his glass and drank the toast with a look that  made his mother's eyes fill with happy tears.

Jill threw her mother a kiss, feeling very grown up and elegant to  be dining out in such style. Then they'd rank everyone's health  with much merriment, till Frank declared that Jack would float off  on the deluge of water he splashed about in his enthusiasm, and  Mamma proposed a rest after the merry-making.

"Now the best fun is coming, and we have not long to wait," said  the boy, when naps and rides about the room had whiled away the  brief interval between dinner and dusk, for the evening  entertainment was to be an early one, to suit the invalids  bedtime.

"I hope the girls will like their things. I helped to choose them, and  each has a nice present. I don't know mine, though, and I'm in a  twitter to see it," said Jill, as they lay waiting for the fun to begin.

"I do;  I chose it, so I know you will like one of them, anyway."

"Have I got more than one?"

"I guess you'll think so when they are handed down. The bell was  going all day yesterday, and the girls kept bringing in bundles for  you; I see seven now," and Jack rolled his eyes from one  mysterious parcel to another hanging on the laden boughs.

"I know something, too. That square bundle is what you want ever  so much. I told Frank, and he got it for his present. It is all red and  gold outside, and every sort of color inside; you'll hurrah when  you see it. That roundish one is yours too; I made them," cried Jill,  pointing to a flat package tied to the stem of the tree, and a neat  little roll in which were the blue mittens that she had knit for him.

"I can wait"; but the boy's eyes shone with eagerness, and he could  not resist firing two or three pop-corns at it to see whether it was  hard or soft.

"That barking dog is for Boo, and the little yellow sled, so Molly  can drag him to school, he always tumbles down so when it is  slippery," continued Jill, proud of her superior knowledge, as she  showed a small spotted animal hanging by its tail, with a red  tongue displayed as if about to taste the sweeties in the horn  below.

"Don't talk about sleds, for mercy's sake! I never want to see  another, and you wouldn't, either, if you had to lie with a flat-iron  tied to your ankle, as I do," said Jack, with a kick of the well leg  and an ireful glance at the weight attached to the other that it  might not contract while healing.

"Well, I think plasters, and liniment, and rubbing, as bad as  flat-irons any day. I don't believe you have ached half so much as I  have, though it sounds worse to break legs than to sprain your  back," protested Jill, eager to prove herself the greater sufferer, as  invalids are apt to be.

"I guess you wouldn't think so if you d been pulled round as I  was when they set my leg. Caesar, how it did hurt!" and Jack  squirmed at the recollection of it.

"You didn't faint away as I'd id when the doctor was finding out if  my vertebrums were hurt, so now!" cried Jill, bound to carry her  point, though not at all clear what vertebrae were.

"Pooh! Girls always faint. Men are braver, and I didn't faint a bit  in spite of all that horrid agony."

"You howled; Frank told me so. Doctor said I was a brave girl, so  you needn't brag, for you'll have to go on a crutch for a while. I  know that."

"You may have to use two of them for years, maybe. I heard the  doctor tell my mother so. I shall be up and about long before you  will. Now then!"

Both children were getting excited, for the various pleasures of the  day had been rather too much for them, and there is no knowing  but they would have added the sad surprise of a quarrel to the  pleasant ones of the day, if a cheerful whistle had not been heard,  as Ralph came in to light the candles and give the last artistic  touches to the room.

"Well, young folks, how goes it? Had a merry time so far?" he  asked, as he fixed the steps and ran up with a lighted match in his  hand.

"Very nice, thank you," answered a prim little voice from the dusk  below, for only the glow of the fire filled the room just then.

Jack said nothing, and two red sulky faces were hidden in the dark,  watching candle after candle sputter, brighten, and twinkle, till the  trembling shadows began to flit away like imps afraid of the light.

"Now he will see my face, and I know it is cross," thought Jill, as  Ralph went round the last circle, leaving another line of sparks  among the hemlock boughs.

Jack thought the same, and had just got the frown smoothed out of  his forehead, when Frank brought a fresh log, and a glorious blaze  sprung up, filling every corner of the room, and dancing over the  figures in the long chairs till they had to brighten whether they  liked it or not. Presently the bell began to ring and gay voices to  sound below: then Jill smiled in spite of herself as Molly Loo's  usual cry of "Oh, dear, where is that child?" reached her, and Jack  could not help keeping time to the march Ed played, while Frank  and Gus marshalled the procession.

"Ready!" cried Mrs. Minot, at last, and up came the troop of eager  lads and lasses, brave in holiday suits, with faces to match. A  unanimous "0, o, o!" burst from twenty tongues, as the full  splendor of the tree, the room, and its inmates, dawned upon them;  for not only did the pretty Christ-child hover above, but Santa  Claus himself stood below, fur-clad, white-bearded, and powdered  with snow from the dredging-box.

Ralph was a good actor, and, when the first raptures were over he  distributed the presents with such droll speeches, jokes, and  gambols, that the room rang with merriment, and passers-by  paused to listen, sure that here, at least, Christmas was merry. It  would be impossible to tell about all the gifts or the joy of the  receivers, but everyone was satisfied, and the king and queen of  the revels so overwhelmed with little tokens of good-will, that  their beds looked like booths at a fair. Jack beamed over the  handsome postage-stamp book which had long been the desire of  his heart, and Jill felt like a millionaire, with a silver fruit-knife, a  pretty work-basket, and oh! coals of fire on her head a ring from  Jack.

A simple little thing enough, with one tiny turquoise forget-me-  not, but something like a dew-drop fell on it when no one was  looking, and she longed to say, "I'm sorry I was cross; forgive me,  Jack." But it could not be done then, so she turned to admire  Merry's bed-shoes, the pots of pansies, hyacinths, and geranium  which Gus and his sisters sent for her window garden, Molly's  queer Christmas pie, and the zither Ed promised to teach her how  to play upon.

The tree was soon stripped, and pop-corns strewed the floor as the  children stood about picking them off the red threads when candy  gave out, with an occasional cranberry by way of relish. Boo  insisted on trying the new sled at once, and enlivened the trip by  the squeaking of the spotted dog, the toot of a tin trumpet, and  shouts of joy at the splendor of the turn-out.

The girls all put on their necklaces, and danced about like fine  ladies at a ball. The boys fell to comparing skates, balls, and  cuff-buttons on the spot, while the little ones devoted all their  energies to eating everything eatable they could lay their hands on.

Games were played till nine o clock, and then the party broke up,  after they had taken hands round the tree and sung a song written  by one whom you all know so faithfully and beautifully does she  love and labor for children the world over.

THE BLESSED DAY

"What shall little children bring   On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?   What shall little children bring   On Christmas Day in the morning?   This shall little children bring   On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;   Love and joy to Christ their king,   On Christmas Day in the morning!

"What shall little children sing   On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?   What shall little children sing   On Christmas Day in the morning?   The grand old carols shall they sing   On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;   With all their hearts, their offerings bring   On Christmas Day in the morning."

Jack was carried off to bed in such haste that he had only time to  call out, "Good-night!" before he was rolled away, gaping as he  went. Jill soon found herself tucked up in the great white bed she  was to share with her mother, and lay looking about the pleasant  chamber, while Mrs. Pecq ran home for a minute to see that all  was safe there for the night.

After the merry din the house seemed very still, with only a light  step now and then, the murmur of voices not far away, or the jingle  of sleigh-bells from without, and the little girl rested easily among  the pillows, thinking over the pleasures of the day, too wide-awake  for sleep. There was no lamp in the chamber, but she could look  into the pretty Bird Room, where the fire-light still shone on  flowery walls, deserted tree, and Christ-child floating above the  green. Jill's eyes wandered there and lingered till they were full of  regretful tears, because the sight of the little angel recalled the  words spoken when it was hung up, the good resolution she had  taken then, and how soon it was broken.

"I said I couldn't be bad in that lovely place, and I was a cross,  ungrateful girl after all they ve done for Mammy and me. Poor  Jack was hurt the worst, and he was brave, though he did scream.  I wish I could go and tell him so, and hear him say, 'All right. Oh,  me, I've spoiled the day!"

A great sob choked more words, and Jill was about to have a  comfortable cry, when someone entered the other room, and she  saw Frank doing something with a long cord and a thing that  looked like a tiny drum. Quiet as a bright-eyed mouse, Jill peeped  out wondering what it was, and suspecting mischief, for the boy  was laughing to himself as he stretched the cord, and now and then  bent over the little object in his hand, touching it with great care.

"Maybe it's a torpedo to blow up and scare me; Jack likes to play  tricks. Well, I'll scream loud when it goes off, so he will be  satisfied that I'm dreadfully frightened," thought Jill, little  dreaming what the last surprise of the day was to be.

Presently a voice whispered,

Are you awake?"

"Yes."

"Anyone there but you?"

"Catch this, then. Hold it to your ear and see what you'll get."

The little drum came flying in, and, catching it, Jill, with some  hesitation, obeyed Frank's order. Judge of her amazement when  she caught in broken whispers these touching words:

"Sorry I was cross. Forgive and forget. Start fair to-morrow. All  right. Jack."

Jill was so delighted with this handsome apology, that she could  not reply for a moment, then steadied her voice, and answered  back in her sweetest tone,

"I'm sorry, too. Never, never, will again. Feel much better now.  Good-night, you dear old thing."

Satisfied with the success of his telephone, Frank twitched back  the drum and vanished, leaving Jill to lay her cheek upon the hand  that wore the little ring and fall asleep, saying to herself, with a  farewell glance at the children's saint, dimly seen in the soft  gloom, "I will not forget. I will be good!"

Chapter 7  Jill's Mission

The good times began immediately, and very little studying was  done that week in spite of the virtuous resolutions made by certain  young persons on Christmas Day. But, dear me, how was it  possible to settle down to lessons in the delightful Bird Room,  with not only its own charms to distract one, but all the new gifts  to enjoy, and a dozen calls a day to occupy one's time?

"I guess we'd better wait till the others are at school, and just go in  for fun this week," said Jack, who was in great spirits at the  prospect of getting up, for the splints were off, and he hoped to be  promoted to crutches very soon.

"I shall keep my Speller by me and take a look at it every day, for  that is what I'm most backward in. But I intend to devote myself to  you, Jack, and be real kind and useful. I've made a plan to do it,  and I mean to carry it out, anyway," answered Jill, who had begun  to be a missionary, and felt that this was a field of labor where she  could distinguish herself.

"Here's a home mission all ready for you, and you can be paying  your debts beside doing yourself good," Mrs. Pecq said to her in  private, having found plenty to do herself.

Now Jill made one great mistake at the outset--she forgot that she  was the one to be converted to good manners and gentleness, and  devoted her efforts to looking after Jack, finding it much easier to  cure other people's faults than her own. Jack was a most engaging  heathen, and needed very little instruction; therefore Jill thought  her task would be an easy one. But three or four weeks of petting  and play had rather demoralized both children, so Jill's  Speller,  though tucked under the sofa pillow every day, was seldom looked  at, and Jack shirked his Latin shamefully. Both read all the  story-books they could get, held daily levees in the Bird Room, and  all their spare minutes were spent in teaching Snowdrop, the great  Angora cat, to bring the ball when they dropped it in their game.  So Saturday came, and both were rather the worse for so much  idleness, since daily duties and studies are the wholesome bread  which feeds the mind better than the dyspeptic plum-cake of  sensational reading, or the unsubstantial bon-bons of frivolous  amusement.

It was a stormy day, so they had few callers, and devoted  themselves to arranging the album; for these books were all the  rage just then, and boys met to compare, discuss, buy, sell, and  "swap" stamps with as much interest as men on 'Change gamble in  stocks. Jack had a nice little collection, and had been saving up  pocket-money to buy a book in which to preserve his treasures.  Now, thanks to Jill's timely suggestion, Frank had given him a fine  one, and several friends had contributed a number of rare stamps  to grace the large, inviting pages. Jill wielded the gum-brush and  fitted on the little flaps, as her fingers were skilful at this nice  work, and Jack put each stamp in its proper place with great  rustling of leaves and comparing of marks. Returning, after a brief  absence, Mrs. Minot beheld the countenances of the workers  adorned with gay stamps, giving them a very curious appearance.

"My dears! what new play have you got now? Are you wild  Indians? or letters that have gone round the world before finding  the right address?" she asked, laughing at the ridiculous sight, for  both were as sober as judges and deeply absorbed in some doubtful  specimen.

"Oh, we just stuck them there to keep them safe; they get lost if we  leave them lying round. It's very handy, for I can see in a minute  what I want on Jill's face and she on mine, and put our fingers on  the right chap at once," answered Jack, adding, with an anxious  gaze at his friend's variegated countenance, "Where the dickens is  my New Granada? It's rare, and I wouldn't lose it for a dollar."

'Why, there it is on your own nose. Don't you remember you put it  there because you said mine was not big enough to hold it?"  laughed Jill, tweaking a large orange square off the round nose of  her neighbor, causing it to wrinkle up in a droll way, as the gum  made the operation slightly painful.

"So I'd id, and gave you Little Bolivar on yours. Now I'll have  Alsace and Lorraine, 1870. There are seven of them, so hold still  and see how you like it," returned Jack, picking the large, pale  stamps one by one from Jill's forehead, which they crossed like a  band.

She bore it without flinching, saying to herself with a secret smile,  as she glanced at the hot fire, which scorched her if she kept near  enough to Jack to help him, "This really is being like a missionary,  with a tattooed savage to look after. I have to suffer a little, as the  good folks did who got speared and roasted sometimes; but I won't  complain a bit, though my forehead smarts, my arms are tired, and  one cheek is as red as fire."

"The Roman States make a handsome page, don't they?" asked  Jack, little dreaming of the part he was playing in Jill's mind. "Oh,  I say, isn't Corea a beauty? I'm ever so proud of that"; and he gazed  fondly on a big blue stamp, the sole ornament of one page.

"I don't see why the Cape of Good Hope has pyramids. They ought  to go in Egypt. The Sandwich Islands are all right, with  heads of the black kings and queens on them," said Jill, feeling  that they were very appropriate to her private play.

"Turkey has crescents, Australia swans, and Spain women's heads,  with black bars across them. Frank says it is because they keep  women shut up so; but that was only his fun. I'd rather have a  good, honest green United States, with Washington on it, or a blue  one-center with old Franklin, than all their eagles and lions and  kings and queens put together," added the democratic boy, with a  disrespectful slap on a crowned head as he settled Heligoland in its  place.

"Why does Austria have Mercury on the stamp, I wonder? Do they  wear helmets like that?" asked Jill, with the brush-handle in her  mouth as she cut a fresh batch of flaps.

"Maybe he was postman to the gods, so he is put on stamps now.  The Prussians wear helmets, but they have spikes like the old  Roman fellows. I like Prussians ever so much; they fight  splendidly, and always beat. Austrians have a handsome uniform,  though."

"Talking of Romans reminds me that I have not heard your Latin  for two days. Come, lazybones, brace up, and let us have it now.  I've done my compo, and shall have just time before I go out for a  tramp with Gus," said Frank, putting by a neat page to dry, for he  studied every day like a conscientious lad as he was.

"Don't know it. Not going to try till next week. Grind away over  your old Greek as much as you like, but don't bother me,"  answered Jack, frowning at the mere thought of the detested  lesson.

But Frank adored his Xenophon, and would not see his old friend,  Caesar, neglected without an effort to defend him; so he  confiscated the gum-pot, and effectually stopped the stamp  business by whisking away at one fell swoop all that lay on Jill's  table.

"Now then, young man, you will quit this sort of nonsense and do  your lesson, or you won't see these fellows again in a hurry. You  asked me to hear you, and I'm going to do it; here's the book."

Frank's tone was the dictatorial one, which Jack hated and always  found hard to obey, especially when he knew he ought to do it.  Usually, when his patience was tried, he strode about the room, or  ran off for a race round the garden, coming back breathless, but  good-tempered. Now both these vents for irritation were denied  him, and he had fallen into the way of throwing things about in a  pet. He longed to send Caesar to perpetual banishment in the fire  blazing close by, but resisted the temptation, and answered  honestly, though gruffly: "I know I'd id, but I don't see any use in  pouncing on a fellow when he isn't ready. I haven't got my lesson,  and don't mean to worry about it; so you may just give me back my  things and go about your business."

"I'll give you back a stamp for every perfect lesson you get, and  you won't see them on any other terms"; and, thrusting the  treasures into his pocket, Frank caught up his rubber boots, and  went off swinging them like a pair of clubs, feeling that he would  give a trifle to be able to use them on his lazy brother.

At this high-handed proceeding, and the threat which accompanied  it, Jack's patience gave out, and catching up Caesar, as he thought,  sent him flying after the retreating tyrant with the defiant  declaration,

"Keep them, then, and your old book, too! I won't look at it till you  give all my stamps back and say you are sorry. So now!"

It was all over before Mamma could interfere, or Jill do more than  clutch and cling to the gum-brush. Frank vanished unharmed, but  the poor book dashed against the wall to fall half open on the  floor, its gay cover loosened, and its smooth leaves crushed by the  blow.

"It's the album! O Jack, how could you?" cried Jill, dismayed at  sight of the precious book so maltreated by the owner.

"Thought it was the other. Guess it isn't hurt much. Didn't mean to  hit him, anyway. He does provoke me so," muttered Jack, very red  and shamefaced as his mother picked up the book and laid it  silently on the table before him. He did not know what to do with  himself, and was thankful for the stamps still left him, finding  great relief in making faces as he plucked them one by one from  his mortified countenance. Jill looked on, half glad, half sorry that  her savage showed such signs of unconverted ferocity, and Mrs.  Minot went on writing letters, wearing the grave look her sons  found harder to bear than another person's scolding. No one spoke  for a moment, and the silence was becoming awkward when Gus  appeared in a rubber suit, bringing a book to Jack from Laura and  a note to Jill from Lotty.

"Look here, you just trundle me into my den, please, I'm going to  have a nap, it's so dull to-day I don't feel like doing much," said  Jack, when Gus had done his errands, trying to look as if he knew  nothing about the fracas.

Jack folded his arms and departed like a warrior borne from the  battle-field, to be chaffed unmercifully for a "pepper-pot," while  Gus made him comfortable in his own room.

"I heard once of a boy who threw a fork at his brother and put his  eye out. But he didn't mean to, and the brother forgave him, and he  never did so any more," observed Jill, in a pensive tone, wishing to  show that she felt all the dangers of impatience, but was sorry for  the culprit.

"Did the boy ever forgive himself?" asked Mrs. Minot.

"No, 'm; I suppose not. But Jack didn't hit Frank, and feels real  sorry, I know."

"He might have, and hurt him very much. Our actions are in our  own hands, but the consequences of them are not. Remember that,  my dear, and think twice before you do anything."

"Yes, 'm, I will"; and Jill composed herself to consider what  missionaries usually did when the natives hurled tomahawks and  boomerangs at one another, and defied the rulers of the land.

Mrs. Minot wrote one page of a new letter, then stopped, pushed  her papers about, thought a little, and finally got up, saying, as if  she found it impossible to resist the yearning of her heart for the  naughty boy,

"I am going to see if Jack is covered up, he is so helpless, and  liable to take cold. Don't stir till I come back."

"No, 'm, I won't."

Away went the tender parent to find her son studying Caesar for  dear life, and all the more amiable for the little gust which had  blown away the temporary irritability. The brothers were often  called "Thunder and Lightning," because Frank lowered and  growled and was a good while clearing up, while Jack's temper  came and went like a flash, and the air was all the clearer for the  escape of dangerous electricity. Of course Mamma had to stop and  deliver a little lecture, illustrated by sad tales of petulant boys, and  punctuated with kisses which took off the edge of these afflicting  narratives.

Jill meantime meditated morally on the superiority of her own  good temper over the hasty one of her dear playmate, and just  when she was feeling unusually uplifted and secure, alas! like so  many of us, she fell, in the most deplorable manner.

Glancing about the room for something to do, she saw a sheet of  paper lying exactly out of reach, where it had fluttered from the  table unperceived. At first her eye rested on it as carelessly as it  did on the stray stamp Frank had dropped; then, as if one thing  suggested the other, she took it into her head that the paper was  Frank's composition, or, better still, a note to Annette, for the two  corresponded when absence or weather prevented the daily  meeting at school.

"Wouldn't it be fun to keep it till he gives back Jack's stamps? It  would plague him so if it was a note, and I do believe it is, for  compo's don't begin with two words on one side. I'll get it, and  Jack and I will plan some way to pay him off, cross thing!"

Forgetting her promise not to stir, also how dishonorable it was to  read other people's letters, Jill caught up the long-handled hook,  often in use now, and tried to pull the paper nearer. It would not  come at once, for a seam in the carpet held it, and Jill feared to  tear or crumple it if she was not very careful. The hook was rather  heavy and long for her to manage, and Jack usually did the fishing,  so she was not very skilful; and just as she was giving a  particularly quick jerk, she lost her balance, fell off the sofa, and  dropped the pole with a bang.

"Oh, my back!" was all she could think or say as she felt the jar all  through her little body, and a corresponding fear in her guilty little  mind that someone would come and find out the double mischief  she had been at. For a moment she lay quite still to recover from  the shock, then as the pain passed she began to wonder how she  should get back, and looked about her to see if she could do it  alone. She thought she could, as the sofa was near and she had  improved so much that she could sit up a little if the doctor would  have let her. She was gathering herself together for the effort,  when, within arm's reach now, she saw the tempting paper, and  seized it with glee, for in spite of her predicament she did want to  tease Frank. A glance showed that it was not the composition nor a  note, but the beginning of a letter from Mrs. Minot to her sister,  and Jill was about to lay it down when her own name caught her  eye, and she could not resist reading it. Hard words to write of one  so young, doubly hard to read, and impossible to forget.

"Dear Lizzie, Jack continues to do very well, and will soon be up  again. But we begin to fear that the little girl is permanently  injured in the back. She is here, and we do our best for her; but I  never look at her without thinking of Lucinda Snow, who, you  remember, was bedridden for twenty years, owing to a fall at  fifteen. Poor little Janey does not know yet, and I hope"-- There it  ended, and "poor little Janey's" punishment for disobedience began  that instant. She thought she was getting well because she did not  suffer all the time, and everyone spoke cheerfully about "by and  by." Now she knew the truth, and shut her eyes with a shiver as she  said, low, to herself,

"Twenty years! I couldn't bear it; oh, I couldn't bear it!"

A very miserable Jill lay on the floor, and for a while did not care  who came and found her; then the last words of the letter-- "I  hope"--seemed to shine across the blackness of the dreadful  "twenty years" and cheer her up a bit, for despair never lives long  in young hearts, and Jill was a brave child.

"That is why Mammy sighs so when she dresses me, and everyone  is so good to me. Perhaps Mrs. Minot doesn't really know, after all.  She was dreadfully scared about Jack, and he is getting well. I'd  like to ask Doctor, but he might find Out about the letter. Oh, dear,  why didn't I keep still and let the horrid thing alone!"

As she thought that, Jill pushed the paper away, pulled herself up,  and with much painful effort managed to get back to her sofa,  where she laid herself down with a groan, feeling as if the twenty  years had already passed over her since she tumbled off.

"I've told a lie, for I said I wouldn't stir. I've hurt my back, I've done  a mean thing, and I've got paid for it. A nice missionary I am; I'd  better begin at home, as Mammy told me to"; and Jill groaned  again, remembering her mother's words. "Now I've got another  secret to keep all alone, for I'd be ashamed to tell the girls. I guess  I'll turn round and study my spelling; then no one will see my  face."

Jill looked the picture of a good, industrious child as she lay with  her back to the large table, her book held so that nothing was to be  seen but one cheek and a pair of lips moving busily. Fortunately, it  is difficult for little sinners to act a part, and, even if the face is  hidden, something in the body seems to betray the internal remorse  and shame. Usually, Jill lay flat and still; now her back was bent in  a peculiar way as she leaned over her book, and one foot wagged  nervously, while on the visible cheek was a Spanish stamp with a  woman's face looking through the black bars, very suggestively, if  she had known it. How long the minutes seemed till someone  came, and what a queer little jump her heart gave when Mrs.  Minot's voice said, cheerfully, "Jack is all right, and, I declare, so  is Jill. I really believe there is a telegraph still working somewhere  between you two, and each knows what the other is about without  words."

"I didn't have any other book handy, so I thought I'd study awhile,"  answered  Jill, feeling that she deserved no praise for her seeming  industry.

She cast a sidelong glance as she spoke, and seeing that Mrs.  Minot was looking for the letter, hid her face and lay so still she  could hear the rustle of the paper as it was taken from the floor. It  was well she did not also see the quick look the lady gave her as  she turned the letter and found a red stamp sticking to the under  side, for this unlucky little witness told the story.

Mrs. Minot remembered having seen the stamp lying close to the  sofa when she left the room, for she had had half a mind to take  it to Jack, but did not, thinking Frank's plan had some advantages.  She also recollected that a paper flew off the table, but being in  haste she had not stopped to see what it was. Now, the stamp and  the letter could hardly have come together without hands, for they  lay a yard apart, and here, also, on the unwritten portion of the  page, was the mark of a small green thumb. Jill had been winding  wool for a stripe in her new afghan, and the green ball lay on her  sofa. These signs suggested and confirmed what Mrs. Minot did  not want to believe; so did the voice, attitude, and air of Jill, all  very unlike her usual open, alert ways.

The kind lady could easily forgive the reading of her letter since  the girl had found such sad news there, but the dangers of  disobedience were serious in her case, and a glance showed that  she was suffering either in mind or body--perhaps both.

"I will wait for her to tell me. She is an honest child, and the truth  will soon come out," thought Mrs. Minot, as she took a clean  sheet, and Jill tried to study.

"Shall I hear your lesson, dear? Jack means to recite his like a  good boy, so suppose you follow his example," she said, presently.

"I don't know as I can say it, but I'll try."

Jill did try, and got on bravely till she came to the word  "permanent"; there she hesitated, remembering where she saw it  last.

"Do you know what that means?" asked her teacher, thinking to  help her on by defining the word.

"Always--for a great while--or something like that; doesn't it?"  faltered Jill, with a tight feeling in her throat, and the color coming  up, as she tried to speak easily, yet felt so shame-stricken she could  not.

"Are you in pain, my child? Never mind the lesson; tell me, and I'll  do something for you."

The kind words, the soft hand on her hot cheek, and the pity in the  eyes that looked at her, were too much for Jill. A sob came first,  and then the truth, told with hidden face and tears that washed the  blush away, and set free the honest little soul that could not hide  its fault from such a friend.

"I knew it all before, and was sure you would tell me, else you  would not be the child I love and like to help so well."

Then, while she soothed Jill's trouble, Mrs. Minot told her story  and showed the letter, wishing to lessen, if possible, some part of  the pain it had given.

"Sly old stamp! To go and tell on me when I meant to own up, anti  get some credit if I could, after being so mean and bad," said Jill,  smiling through her tears when she saw the tell-tale witnesses  against her.

"You had better stick it in your book to remind you of the bad  consequences of disobedience, then perhaps this lesson will leave  a permanent impression on your mind and memory, answered Mrs.  Minot, glad to see her natural gayety coming back, and hoping that  she had forgotten the contents of the unfortunate letter. But she  had not; and presently, when the sad affair had been talked over  and forgiven, Jill asked, slowly, as she tried to put on a brave look,

"Please tell me about Lucinda Snow. If I am to be like her, I might  as well know how she managed to bear it so long."

"I'm sorry you ever heard of her, and yet perhaps it may help you to  bear your trial, dear, which I hope will never be as heavy a one as  hers, This Lucinda I knew for years, and though at first I thought  her fate the saddest that could be, I came at last to see how happy  she was in spite of her affliction, how good and useful and  beloved."

"Why, how could she be? What did she do?" cried Jill, forgetting  her own troubles to look up with an open, eager face again.

"She was so patient, other people were ashamed to complain of  their small worries; so cheerful, that her own great one grew  lighter; so industrious, that she made both money and friends by  pretty things she worked and sold to her many visitors. And, best  of all, so wise and sweet that she seemed to get good out of  everything, and make her poor room a sort of chapel where people  went for comfort, counsel, and an example of a pious life. So, you  see, Lucinda was not so very miserable after all."

"Well, if I could not be as I was, I'd like to be a woman like that.  Only, I hope I shall not!" answered Jill, thoughtfully at first, then  coming out so decidedly with the last words that it was evident the  life of a bedridden saint was not at all to her mind.

"So do I; and I mean to believe that you will not. Meantime, we  can try to make the waiting as useful and pleasant as possible. This  painful little back will be a sort of conscience to remind you of  what you ought to do and leave undone, and so you can be learning  obedience. Then, when the body is strong, it will have formed a  good habit to make duty easier; and my Lucinda can be a sweet  example, even while lying here, if she chooses."

"Can I?" and Jill's eyes were full of softer tears as the comfortable,  cheering words sank into her heart, to blossom slowly by and by  into her life, for this was to be a long lesson, hard to learn, but very  useful in the years to come.

When the boys returned, after the Latin was recited and peace  restored, Jack showed her a recovered stamp promptly paid by  Frank, who was as just as he was severe, and Jill asked for the old  red one, though she did not tell why she wanted it, nor show it put  away in the spelling-book, a little seal upon a promise made to be  kept.

Chapter 8   Merry and Molly Now let us see how the other missionaries got on with their tasks.

Farmer Grant was a thrifty, well-to-do man, anxious to give his  children greater advantages than he had enjoyed, and to improve  the fine place of which he was justly proud. Mrs. Grant was a  notable housewife, as ambitious and industrious as her husband,  but too busy to spend any time on the elegancics of life, though  always ready to help the poor and sick like a good neighbor and  Christian woman. The three sons--Tom, Dick, and Harry--were big  fellows of seventeen, nineteen, and twenty-one; the first two on the  farm, and the elder in a store just setting up for himself.  Kind-hearted but rough-mannered youths, who loved Merry very  much, but teased her sadly about her "fine lady airs," as they called  her dainty ways and love of beauty.

Merry was a thoughtful girl, full of innocent fancies, refined tastes,  and romantic dreams, in which no one sympathized at home,  though she was the pet of the family. It did seem, to an outsider, as  if the delicate little creature had got there by mistake, for she  looked very like a tea-rose in a field of clover and dandelions,  whose highest aim in life was to feed cows and help make root  beer.

When the girls talked over the new society, it pleased Merry very  much, and she decided not only to try and love work better, but to  convert her family to a liking for pretty things, as she called her  own more cultivated tastes.

"I will begin at once, and show them that I don't mean to shirk my  duty, though I do want to be nice," thought she, as she sat at supper  one night and looked about her, planning her first move.

Not a very cheering prospect for a lover of the beautiful, certainly,  for the big kitchen, though as neat as wax, had nothing lovely in it,  except a red geranium blooming at the window. Nor were the  people all that could be desired, in some respects, as they sat about  the table shovelling in pork and beans with their knives, drinking  tea from their saucers, and laughing out with a hearty "Haw, haw,"  when anything amused them. Yet the boys were handsome, strong  specimens, the farmer a hale, benevolent-looking man, the  housewife a pleasant, sharp-eyed matron, who seemed to find  comfort in looking often at the bright face at her elbow, with the  broad forehead, clear eyes, sweet mouth, and quiet voice that came  like music in among the loud masculine ones, or the quick,  nervous tones of a woman always in a hurry.

Merry's face was so thoughtful that evening that her father  observed it, for, when at home, he watched her as one watches a  kitten, glad to see anything so pretty, young, and happy, at its play.

"Little daughter has got something on her mind, I mistrust. Come  and tell father all about it," he said, with a sounding slap on his  broad knee as he turned his chair from the table to the ugly stove,  where three pairs of wet boots steamed underneath, and a great  kettle of cider apple-sauce simmered above.

"When I've helped clear up, I'll come and talk. Now, mother, you  sit down and rest; Roxy and I can do everything," answered Merry,  patting the old rocking-chair so invitingly that the tired woman  could not resist, especially as watching the kettle gave her an  excuse for obeying.

"Well, I don't care if I'd o, for I've been on my feet since five  o'clock. Be sure you cover things up, and shut the buttery door, and  put the cat down cellar, and sift your meal. I'll see to the  buckwheats last thing before I go to bed."

Mrs. Grant subsided with her knitting, for her hands were never  idle; Tom tilted his chair back against the wall and picked his teeth  with his pen-knife; Dick got out a little pot of grease, to make the  boots water-tight; and Harry sat down at the small table to look  over his accounts, with an important air--for everyone occupied  this room, and the work was done in the out-kitchen behind.

Merry hated clearing up, but dutifully did every distasteful task,  and kept her eye on careless Roxy till all was in order; then she  gladly went to perch on her father's knee, seeing in all the faces  about her the silent welcome they always wore for the "little one.

"Yes, I do want something, but I know you will say it is silly," she  began, as her father pinched her blooming cheek, with the wish  that his peaches would ever look half as well.

"Shouldn't wonder if it was a doll now"; and Mr. Grant stroked her  head with an indulgent smile, as if she was about six instead of  fifteen.

"Why, father, you know I don't! I haven't played with dollies for  years and years. No; I want to fix up my room pretty, like Jill's. I'll  do it all myself, and only want a few things, for I don't expect it to  look as nice as hers."

Indignation gave Merry courage to state her wishes boldly, though  she knew the boys would laugh. They did, and her mother said in a  tone of surprise,

"Why, child, what more can you want? I'm sure your room is  always as neat as a new pin, thanks to your bringing up, and I told  you to have a fire there whenever you wanted to."

"Let me have some old things out of the garret, and I'll show you  what I want. It is neat, but so bare and ugly I hate to be there. I do  so love something pretty to look at!" and Merry gave a little shiver  of disgust as she turned her eyes away from the large greasy boot  Dick was holding up to be sure it was well lubricated all round.

"So do I, and that's a fact. I couldn't get on without my pretty girl  here, anyway. Why, she touches up the old place better than a  dozen flower-pots in full blow," said the farmer, as his eye went  from the scarlet geranium to the bright young face so near his own.

"I wish I had a dozen in the sitting-room window. Mother says they  are not tidy, but I'd keep them neat, and I know you'd like it,"  broke in Merrry, glad of the chance to get one of the long-desired  wishes of her heart fulfilled.

"I'll fetch you some next time I go over to Ballad's. Tell me what  you want, and we'll have a posy bed somewhere round, see if we  don't," said her father, dimly understanding what she wanted.

"Now, if mother says I may fix my room, I shall be satisfied, and  I'll do my chores without a bit of fuss, to show how grateful I am,"  said the girl, thanking her father with a kiss, and smiling at her  mother so wistfully that the good woman could not refuse.

"You may have anything you like out of the blue chest. There's a  lot of things there that the moths got at after Grandma died, and I  couldn't bear to throw or give 'em away. Trim up your room as you  like, and mind you don't forget your part of the bargain," answered  Mrs. Grant, seeing profit in the plan.

"I won't; I'll work all the morning to-morrow, and in the afternoon  I'll get ready to show you what I call a nice, pretty room,"  answered Merry, looking so pleased it seemed as if another flower  had blossomed in the large bare kitchen.

She kept her word, and the very stormy afternoon when Jill got  into trouble, Merry was working busily at her little bower. In the  blue chest she found a variety of treasures, and ignoring the moth  holes, used them to the best advantage, trying to imitate the simple  comfort with a touch of elegance which prevailed in Mrs. Minot's  back bedroom.

Three faded red-moreen curtains went up at the windows over the  chilly paper shades, giving a pleasant glow to the bare walls. A red  quilt with white stars, rather the worse for many washings, covered  the bed, and a gay cloth the table, where a judicious arrangement  of books and baskets concealed the spots. The little air-tight stove  was banished, and a pair of ancient andirons shone in the fire-light.  Grandma's last and largest braided rug lay on the hearth, and her  brass candlesticks adorned the bureau, over the mirror of which  was festooned a white muslin skirt, tied up with Merry's red sash.  This piece of elegance gave the last touch to her room, she  thought, and she was very proud of it, setting forth all her small  store of trinkets in a large shell, with an empty scent bottle, and a  clean tidy over the pincushion. On the walls she hung three  old-fashioned pictures, which she ventured to borrow from the  garret till better could be found. One a mourning piece, with a  very tall lady weeping on an urn in a grove of willows, and two  small boys in knee breeches and funny little square tails to their  coats, looking like cherubs in large frills. The other was as good as  a bonfire, being an eruption of Vesuvius, and very lurid indeed, for  the Bay of Naples was boiling like a pot, the red sky raining rocks,  and a few distracted people lying flat upon the shore. The third  was a really pretty scene of children dancing round a May-pole, for  though nearly a hundred years old, the little maids smiled and the  boys pranced as gayly as if the flowers they carried were still alive  and sweet.

"Now I'll call them all to see, and say that it is pretty. Then I'll  enjoy it, and come here when things look dismal and bare  everywhere else," said Merry, when at last it was done. She had  worked all the afternoon, and only finished at supper time, so the  candles had to be lighted that the toilette might look its best, and  impress the beholders with an idea of true elegance. Unfortunately,  the fire smoked a little, and a window was set ajar to clear the  room; an evil disposed gust blew in, wafting the thin drapery  within reach of the light, and when Merry threw open the door  proudly thinking to display her success, she was horrified to find  the room in a blaze, and half her labor all in vain.

The conflagration was over in a minute, however, for the boys tore  down the muslin and stamped out the fire with much laughter,  while Mrs. Grant bewailed the damage to her carpet, and poor  Merry took refuge in her father's arms, refusing to be comforted in  spite of his kind commendation of "Grandma's fixins."

The third little missionary had the hardest time of all, and her first  efforts were not much more satisfactory nor successful than the  others. Her father was away from morning till night, and then had  his paper to read, books to keep, or "a man to see down town," so  that, after a hasty word at tea, he saw no more of the children till  another evening, as they were seldom up at his early breakfast. He  thought they were well taken care of, for Miss Bathsheba Dawes  was an energetic, middle-aged spinster when she came into the  family, and had been there fifteen years, so he did not observe,  what a woman would have seen at once, that Miss Bat was getting  old and careless, and everything about the house was at sixes and  sevens. She took good care of him, and thought she had done her  duty if she got three comfortable meals, nursed the children when  they were ill, and saw that the house did not burn up. So Maria  Louisa and Napoleon Bonaparte got on as they could, without the  tender cares of a mother. Molly had been a happy-go-lucky child,  contented with her pets, her freedom, and little Boo to love; but  now she was just beginning to see that they were not like other  children, and to feel ashamed of it.

"Papa is busy, but Miss Bat ought to see to us; she is paid for it,  and goodness knows she has an easy time now, for if I ask her to  do anything, she groans over her bones, and tells me young folks  should wait on themselves. I take all the care of Boo off her hands,  but I can't wash my own things, and he hasn't a decent trouser to  his blessed little legs. I'd tell papa, but it wouldn't do any good;  he'd only say, 'Yes, child, yes, I'll attend to it,' and never do a  thing."

This used to be Molly's lament, when some especially trying event  occurred, and if the girls were not there to condole with her, she  would retire to the shed-chamber, call her nine cats about her, and,  sitting in the old bushel basket, pull her hair about her ears, and  scold all alone. The cats learned to understand this habit, and  nobly did their best to dispel the gloom which now and then  obscured the sunshine of their little mistress. Some of them would  creep into her lap and purr till the comfortable sound soothed her  irritation; the sedate elders sat at her feet blinking with such wise  and sympathetic faces, that she felt as if half a dozen Solomons  were giving her the sagest advice; while the kittens frisked about,  cutting up their drollest capers till she laughed in spite of herself.  When the laugh came, the worst of the fit was over, and she soon  cheered up, dismissing the consolers with a pat all round, a feast of  good things from Miss Bat's larder, and the usual speech:

"Well, dears, it's of no use to worry. I guess we shall get along  somehow, if we don't fret."

With which wise resolution, Molly would leave her retreat and  freshen up her spirits by a row on the river or a romp with Boo,  which always finished the case. Now, however, she was bound to  try the new plan and do something toward reforming not only the  boy's condition, but the disorder and discomfort of home.

"I'll play it is Siam, and this the house of a native, and I'm come to  show the folks how to live nicely. Miss Bat won't know what to  make of it, and I can't tell her, so I shall get some fun out of it,  anyway," thought Molly, as she surveyed the dining-room the day  her mission began.

The prospect was not cheering; and, if the natives of Siam live in  such confusion, it is high time they were attended to. The  breakfast-table still stood as it was left, with slops of coffee on the  cloth; bits of bread, egg-shells, and potato-skins lay about, and one  lonely sausage was cast away in the middle of a large platter. The  furniture was dusty, stove untidy, and the carpet looked as if  crumbs had been scattered to chickens who declined their  breakfast. Boo was sitting on the sofa, with his arm through a hole  in the cover, hunting for some lost treasure put away there for safe  keeping, like a little magpie as he was. Molly fancied she washed  and dressed him well enough; but to-day she seemed to see more  dearly, and sighed as she thought of the hard job in store for her if  she gave him the thorough washing he needed, and combed out  that curly mop of hair.

"I'll clear up first and do that by and by. I ought to have a nice little  tub and good towels, like Mrs. Minot, and I will, too, if I buy them  myself," she said, piling up cups with an energy that threatened  destruction to handles.

Miss Bat, who was trailing about the kitchen, with her head pinned  up in a little plaid shawl, was so surprised by the demand for a pan  of hot water and four clean towels, that she nearly dropped her  snuff-box, chief comfort of her lazy soul.

"What new whimsey now? Generally, the dishes stand round till I  have time to pick 'em up, and you are off coasting or careering  somewhere. Well, this tidy fit won't last long, so I may as well  make the most of it," said Miss Bat, as she handed out the required  articles, and then pushed her spectacles from the tip of her sharp  nose to her sharper black eyes for a good look at the girl who stood  primly before her, with a clean apron on and her hair braided up  instead of flying wildly about her shoulders.

"Umph!" was all the comment that Miss Bat made on this unusual  neatness, and she went on scraping her saucepans, while Molly  returned to her work, very well pleased with the effect of her first  step, for she felt that the bewilderment of Miss Bat would be a  constant inspiration to fresh efforts.

An hour of hard work produced an agreeable change in the abode  of the native, for the table was cleared, room swept and dusted,  fire brightened, and the holes in the sofa-covering were pinned up  till time could be found to mend them. To be sure, rolls of lint lay  in corners, smears of ashes were on the stove hearth, and dust still  lurked on chair rounds and table legs. But too much must not be  expected of a new convert, so the young missionary sat down to  rest, well pleased and ready for another attempt as soon as she  could decide in what direction it should be made. She quailed  before Boo as she looked at the unconscious innocent peacefully  playing with the spotted dog, now bereft of his tail, and the lone  sausage with which he was attempting to feed the hungry animal,  whose red mouth always gaped for more.

"It will be an awful job, and he is so happy I won't plague him yet.  Guess I'll go and put my room to rights first, and pick up some  clean clothes to put on him, if he is alive after I get through with  him," thought Molly, foreseeing a stormy passage for the boy, who  hated a bath as much as some people hate a trip across the  Atlantic.

Up she went, and finding the fire out felt discouraged, thought she  would rest a little more, so retired under the blankets to read one  of the Christmas books. The dinner-bell rang while she was still  wandering happily in "Nelly's Silver Mine," and she ran down to  find that Boo had laid out a railroad all across her neat room, using  bits of coal for sleepers and books for rails, over which he was  dragging the yellow sled laden with a dismayed kitten, the tailless  dog, and the remains of the sausage, evidently on its way to the  tomb, for Boo took bites at it now and then, no other lunch being  offered him.

"Oh dear! why can't boys play without making such a mess,"  sighed Molly, picking up the feathers from the duster with which  Boo had been trying to make a "cocky-doo" of the hapless dog. "I'll  wash him right after dinner, and that will keep him out of mischief  for a while," she thought, as the young engineer unsuspiciously  proceeded to ornament his already crocky countenance with  squash, cranberry sauce, and gravy, till he looked more like a Fiji  chief in full war-paint than a Christian boy.

"I want two pails of hot water, please, Miss Bat, and the big tub,"  said Molly, as the ancient handmaid emptied her fourth cup of tea,  for she dined with the family, and enjoyed her own good cooking  in its prime.

"What are you going to wash now?"

"Boo--I'm sure he needs it enough"; and Molly could not help  laughing as the victim added to his brilliant appearance by  smearing the colors all together with a rub of two grimy hands,  making a fine Turner, of himself.

"Now, Maria Louisa Bemis, you ain't going to cut up no capers  with that child! The idea of a hot bath in the middle of the day, and  him full of dinner, and croupy into the bargain~ Wet a corner of a  towel at the kettle-spout and polish him off if you like, but you  won't risk his life in no bath-tubs this cold day."

Miss Bat's word was law in some things, so Molly had to submit,  and took Boo away, saying, loftily, as she left the room,

"I shall ask father, and do it to-night, for I will not have my brother  look like a pig."

"My patience! how the Siamese do leave their things round," she  exclaimed, as she surveyed her room after making up the fire and  polishing off Boo. "I'll put things in order, and then mend up my  rags, if I can find my thimble. Now, let me see"; and she went to  exploring her closet, bureau, and table, finding such disorder  everywhere that her courage nearly gave out.

She had clothes enough, but all needed care; even her best dress  had two buttons off, and her Sunday hat but one string. Shoes,  skirts, books, and toys lay about, and her drawers were a perfect  chaos of soiled ruffles, odd gloves, old ribbons, boot lacings, and  bits of paper.

"Oh, my heart, what a muddle! Mrs. Minot wouldn't think much of  me if she could see that," said Molly, recalling how that lady once  said she could judge a good deal of a little girl's character and  habits by a peep at her top drawer, and went on, with great  success, to guess how each of the school-mates kept her drawer.

"Come, missionary, clear up, and don't let me find such a gloryhole  again, or I'll report you to the society," said Molly, tipping

the whole drawer-full out upon the bed, and beguiling the tiresome  job by keeping up the new play.

Twilight came before it was done, and a great pile of things  loomed up on her table, with no visible means of repair--for  Molly's work-basket was full of nuts, and her thimble down a hole  in the shed-floor, where the cats had dropped it in their play.

"I'll ask Bat for hooks and tape, and papa for some money to buy  scissors and things, for I don't know where mine are. Glad I can't  do any more now! Being neat is such hard work!" and Molly threw  herself down on the rug beside the old wooden cradle in which  Boo was blissfully rocking, with a cargo of toys aboard.

She watched her time, and as soon as her father had done supper,  she hastened to say, before he got to his desk,

"Please, papa, I want a dollar to get some brass buttons and things  to fix Boo's clothes with. He wore a hole in his new trousers  coasting down the Kembles' steps. And can't I wash him? He needs  it, and Miss Bat won't let me have a tub."

"Certainly, child, certainly; do what you like, only don't keep me. I  must be off, or I shall miss Jackson, and he's the man I want"; and,  throwing down two dollars instead of one, Mr. Bemis hurried  away, with a vague impression that Boo had swallowed a dozen  brass buttons, and Miss Bat had been coasting somewhere in a  bath-pan; but catching Jackson was important, so he did not stop to  investigate.

Armed with the paternal permission, Molly carried her point, and  oh, what a dreadful evening poor Boo spent! First, he was decoyed  upstairs an hour too soon, then put in a tub by main force and  sternly scrubbed, in spite of shrieks that brought Miss Bat to the  locked door to condole with the sufferer, scold the scrubber, and  depart, darkly prophesying croup before morning.

"He always howls when he is washed; but I shall do it, since you  won't, and he must get used to it. I will not have people tell me he's  neglected, if I can help it," cried Molly, working away with tears in  her eyes--for it was as hard for her as for Boo; but she meant to be  thorough for once in her life, no matter what happened.

When the worst was over, she coaxed him with candy and stories  till the long task of combing out the curls was safely done; then, in  the clean night-gown with a blue button newly sewed on, she laid  him in bed, worn out, but sweet as a rose.

"Now, say your prayers, darling, and go to sleep with the nice red  blanket all tucked round so you won't get cold," said Molly, rather  doubtful of the effect of the wet head.

"No, I won't! Going to sleep now!" and Boo shut his eyes wearily,  feeling that his late trials had not left him in a prayerful mood.

"Then you'll be a real little heathen, as Mrs. Pecq called you, and I  don't know what I shall do with you," said Molly, longing to  cuddle rather than scold the little fellow, whose soul needed  looking after as well as his body.

"No, no; I won't be a heevin! I don't want to be frowed to the  trockindiles. I will say my prayers! oh, I will!" and, rising in his  bed, Boo did so, with the devotion of an infant Samuel, for he  remembered the talk when the society was formed.

Molly thought her labors were over for that night, and soon went to  bed, tired with her first attempts. But toward morning she was  wakened by the hoarse breathing of the boy, and was forced to  patter away to Miss Bat's room, humbly asking for the squills, and  confessing that the prophecy had come to pass.

"I knew it! Bring the child to me, and don't fret. I'll see to him, and  next time you do as I say," was the consoling welcome she  received as the old lady popped up a sleepy but anxious face in a  large flannel cap, and shook the bottle with the air of a general  who had routed the foe before and meant to do it again.

Leaving her little responsibility in Miss Bat's arms, Molly tired to  wet her pillow with a few remorseful tears, and to fall asleep,  wondering if real missionaries ever killed their pupils in the  process of conversion.

So the girls all failed in the beginning; but they did not give up,  and succeeded better next time, as we shall see.

Chapter 9  The Debating Club

"Look here, old man, we ought to have a meeting. Holidays are  over, and we must brace up and attend to business," said Frank to  Gus, as they strolled out of the schoolyard one afternoon in  January, apparently absorbed in conversation, but in reality waiting  for a blue cloud and a scarlet feather to appear on the steps.

"All right. When, where, and what?" asked Gus, who was a man of  few words.

"To-night, our house, subject, 'Shall girls go to college with us?'  Mother said we had better be making up our minds, because  everyone is talking about it, and we shall have to be on one side or  the other, so we may as well settle it now," answered Frank, for  there was an impression among the members that all vexed  questions would be much helped by the united eloquence and  wisdom of the club.

"Very good; I'll pass the word and be there. Hullo, Neddy! The D.  C. meets to-night, at Minot's, seven sharp. Co-ed, &c.," added Gus,  losing no time, as a third boy came briskly round the corner, with a  little bag in his hand.

"I'll come. Got home an hour earlier to-night, and thought I'd look  you up as I went by," responded Ed Devlin, as he took possession  of the third post, with a glance toward the schoolhouse to see if a  seal-skin cap, with a long, yellow braid depending therefrom, was  anywhere in sight.

"Very good of you, I'm sure," said Gus, ironically, not a bit  deceived by this polite attention.

"The longest way round is sometimes the shortest way home, hey,  Ed?" and Frank gave him a playful poke that nearly sent him off  his perch.

Then they all laughed at some joke of their own, and Gus added,  "No girls coming to hear us to-night. Don't think it, my son.

"More's the pity," and Ed shook his head regretfully over the  downfall of his hopes.

"Can't help it; the other fellows say they spoil the fun, so we have  to give in, sometimes, for the sake of peace and quietness. Don't  mind having them a bit myself," said Frank, in such a tone of  cheerful resignation that they laughed again, for the "Triangle," as  the three chums were called, always made merry music.

"We must have a game party next week. The girls like that, and so  do I," candidly observed Gus, whose pleasant parlors were the  scene of many such frolics.

"And so do your sisters and your cousins and your aunts," hummed  Ed, for Gus was often called Admiral because he really did possess  three sisters, two cousins, and four aunts, besides mother and  grandmother, all living in the big house together.

The boys promptly joined in the popular chorus, and other voices  all about the yard took it up, for the "Pinafore" epidemic raged  fearfully in Harmony Village that winter.

"How's business?" asked Gus, when the song ended, for Ed had not  returned to school in the autumn, but had gone into a store in the  city.

"Dull; things will look up toward spring, they say. I get on well  enough, but I miss you fellows dreadfully"; and Ed put a hand on  the broad shoulder of each friend, as if he longed to be a  school-boy again.

"Better give it up and go to college with me next year," said Frank,  who was preparing for Boston University, while Gus fitted for  Harvard.

"No; I've chosen business, and I mean to stick to it, so don't you  unsettle my mind. Have you practised that March?" asked Ed,  turning to a gayer subject, for he had his little troubles, but always  looked on the bright side of things.

"Skating is so good, I don't get much time. Come early, and we'll  have a turn at it."

"I will. Must run home now."

"Pretty cold loafing here."

"Mail is in by this time."

And with these artless excuses the three boys leaped off the posts,  as if one spring moved them, as a group of girls came chattering  down the path. The blue cloud floated away beside Frank, the  scarlet feather marched off with the Admiral, while the fur cap  nodded to the gray hat as two happy faces smiled at each other.

The same thing often happened, for twice a-day the streets were  full of young couples walking to and from school together, smiled  at by the elders, and laughed at by the less susceptible boys and  girls, who went alone or trooped along in noisy groups. The  prudent mothers had tried to stop this guileless custom, but found  it very difficult, as the fathers usually sympathized with their sons,  and dismissed the matter with the comfortable phrase, "Never  mind; boys will be boys." "Not forever," returned the anxious  mammas, seeing the tall lads daily grow more manly, and the  pretty daughters fast learning to look demure when certain names  were mentioned.

It could not be stopped without great parental sternness and the  danger of deceit, for co-education will go on outside of school  if not inside, and the safest way is to let sentiment and study go  hand in hand, with teachers and parents to direct and explain the  great lesson all are the better for learning soon or late. So the  elders had to give in, acknowledging that this sudden readiness to  go to school was a comfort, that the new sort of gentle emulation  worked wonders in lazy girls and boys, and that watching these  "primrose friendships" bud, blossom, and die painless deaths, gave  a little touch of romance to their own work-a-day lives.

"On the whole I'd rather have my sons walking, playing, and  studying with bright, well-mannered girls, than always knocking  about with rough boys," said Mrs. Minot at one of the Mothers'  Meetings, where the good ladies met to talk over their children,  and help one another to do their duty by them.

"I find that Gus is more gentle with his sisters since Juliet took him  in hand, for he wants to stand well with her, and they report him if  he troubles them. I really see no harm in the little friendship,  though I never had any such when I was a girl," said Mrs. Burton,  who adored her one boy and was his confidante.

"My Merry seems to be contented with her brothers so far, but I  shouldn't wonder if I had my hands full by and by," added Mrs.  Grant, who already foresaw that her sweet little daughter would be  sought after as soon as she should lengthen her skirts and turn up  her bonny brown hair.

Molly Loo had no mother to say a word for her, but she settled  matters for herself by holding fast to Merry, and declaring that she  would have no escort but faithful Boo.

It is necessary to dwell a moment upon this new amusement,  because it was not peculiar to Harmony Village, but appears  everywhere as naturally as the game parties and croquet which  have taken the place of the husking frolics and apple-bees of olden  times, and it is impossible to dodge the subject if one attempts to  write of boys and girls as they really are nowadays.

"Here, my hero, see how you like this. If it suits, you will be ready  to march as soon as the doctor gives the word," said Ralph, coming  into the Bird Room that evening with a neat little crutch under his  arm.

"Ha, ha, that looks fine! I'd like to try it right off, but I won't till I  get leave. Did you make it yourself, Ral?" asked Jack, handling it  with delight, as he sat bolt upright, with his leg on a rest, for he  was getting on capitally now.

"Mostly. Rather a neat job, I flatter myself."

"I should say so. What a clever fellow you are! Any new inventions   lately?" asked Frank, coming up to examine and admire.

Only an anti-snoring machine and an elbow-pad, answered Ralph,  with a twinkle in his eye, as if reminded of something funny.

"Go on, and tell about them. I never heard of an anti-snorer. Jack  better have one," said Frank, interested at once.

"Well, a rich old lady kept her family awake with that lively music,  so she sent to Shirtman and Codleff for something to stop it. They  thought it was a good joke, and told me to see what I could do. I  thought it over, and got up the nicest little affair you ever saw. It  went over the mouth, and had a tube to fit the ear, so when the  lady snored she woke herself up and stopped it. It suited exactly. I  think of taking out a patent," concluded Ralph, joining in the boys'  laugh at the droll idea.

"What was the pad?" asked Frank, returning to the small model of  an engine he was making.

"Oh, that was a mere trifle for a man who had a tender elbow-joint  and wanted something to protect it. I made a little pad to fit on,  and his crazy-bone was safe."

"I planned to have you make me a new leg if this one was spoilt,"  said Jack, sure that his friend could invent anything under the sun.

"I'd do my best for you. I made a hand for a fellow once, and that  got me my place, you know," answered Ralph, who thought little  of such mechanical trifles, and longed to be painting portraits or  modelling busts, being an artist as well as an inventor.

Here Gus, Ed, and several other boys came in, and the  conversation became general. Grif, Chick, and Brickbat were three  young gentlemen whose own respectable names were usually  ignored, and they cheerfully answered to these nicknames.

As the clock struck seven, Frank, who ruled the club with a rod of  iron when Chairman, took his place behind the study table. Seats  stood about it, and a large, shabby book lay before Gus, who was  Secretary, and kept the records with a lavish expenditure of ink, to  judge by the blots. The members took their seats, and nearly all  tilted back their chairs and put their hands in their pockets, to keep  them out of mischief; for, as everyone knows, it is impossible for  two lads to be near each other and refrain from tickling or  pinching. Frank gave three raps with an old croquet-mallet set on a  short handle, and with much dignity opened the meeting.

"Gentlemen, the business of the club will be attended to, and then  we will discuss the question, 'Shall girls go to our colleges?' The  Secretary will now read the report of the last meeting."

Clearing his throat, Gus read the following brief and elegant  report:

"Club met, December I 8th, at the house of G. Burton, Esq.  Subject:

'Is summer or winter best fun?' A lively pow-wow. About evenly  divided. J. Flint fined five cents for disrespect to the Chair. A  collection of forty cents taken up to pay for breaking a pane of  glass during a free fight of the members on the door-step. E.  Devlin was chosen Secretary for the coming year, and a new book  contributed by the Chairman."

"That's all."

"Is there any other business before the meeting?" asked Frank, as  the reader closed the old book with a slam and shoved the new  one across the table.

Ed rose, and glancing about him with an appealing look, said, as if  sure his proposition would not be well received, "I wish to propose  the name of a new member. Bob Walker wants to join, and 1 think  we ought to let him. He is trying to behave well, and I am sure we  could help him. Can't we?"

All the boys looked sober, and Joe, otherwise Brickbat, said,  bluntly, "I won't. He's a bad lot, and we don't want any such here.  Let him go with chaps of his own sort."

"That is just what I want to keep him from! He's a good-hearted  boy enough, oniy no one looks after him; so he gets into scrapes,  as we should, if we were in his place, I'd are say. He wants to  come here, and would be so proud if he was let in, I know he'd  behave. Come now, let's give him a chance," and Ed looked at Gus  and Frank, sure that if they stood by him he should carry his point.

But Gus shook his head, as if doubtful of the wisdom of the plan,  and Frank said gravely: "You know we made the rule that the  number should never be over eight, and we cannot break it."

"You needn't. I can't he here half the time, so I will resign and let  Bob have my place," began Ed, but he was silenced by shouts of  "No, no, you shan't!" "We won't let you off!" "Club would go to  smash, if you back out!"

"Let him have my place; I'm the youngest, and you won't miss me,"  cried Jack, bound to stand by Ed at all costs.

"We might do that," said Frank, who did object to small boys,  though willing to admit this particular one.

"Better make a new rule to have ten members, and admit both Bob  and Tom Grant," said Ralph, whereat Grif grinned and Joe  scowled, for one lad liked Merry's big brother and the other did  not.

"That's a good idea! Put it to vote," said Gus, too kind-hearted to  shut the door on anyone.

"First I want to ask if all you fellows are ready to stand by Bob, out  of the club as well as in, for it won't do much good to be kind to  him here and cut him at school and in the street," said Ed, heartily  in earnest about the matter.

"I will!" cried Jack, ready to follow where his beloved friend led,  and the others nodded, unwilling to be outdone by the youngest  member.

"Good! With all of us to lend a hand, we can do a great deal; and I  tell you, boys, it is time, if we want to keep poor Bob straight. We  all turn our backs on him, so he loafs round the tavern, and goes  with fellows we don't care to know. But he isn't bad yet, and we  can keep him up, I'm sure, if we just try. I hope to get him into the  Lodge, and that will be half the battle, won't it, Frank?" added Ed,  sure that this suggestion would have weight with the honorable  Chairman.

"Bring him along; I'm with you!" answered Frank, making up his  mind at once, for he had joined the Temperance Lodge four years  ago, and already six boys had followed his example.

"He is learning to smoke, but we'll make him drop it before it leads  to worse. You can help him there, Admiral, if you only will,"  added Ed, giving a grateful look at one friend, and turning to the  other.

"I'm your man"; and Gus looked as if he knew what he promised,  for he had given up smoking to oblige his father, and kept his word  like a hero.

"You other fellows can do a good deal by just being kind and not  twitting him with old scrapes, and I'll do anything I can for you all  to pay for this"; and Ed sat down with a beaming smile, feeling  that his cause was won.

The vote was taken, and all hands went up, for even surly Joe gave  in; so Bob and Tom were duly elected, and proved their gratitude  for the honor done them by becoming worthy members of the club.  It was only boys' play now, but the kind heart and pure instincts of  one lad showed the others how to lend a helping hand to a  comrade in danger, and win him away from temptation to the  safer pastimes of their more guarded lives.

Well pleased with themselves--for every genuine act or word, no  matter how trifling it seems, leaves a sweet and strengthening  influence behind--the members settled down to the debate, which  was never very long, and often only an excuse for fun of all sorts.

"Ralph, Gus, and Ed are for, and Brickbat, Grif, and Chick against,  I suppose?" said Frank, surveying his company like a general  preparing for battle.

"No, sir! I believe in co-everything!" cried Chick, a mild youth,  who loyally escorted a chosen damsel home from school every  day.

A laugh greeted this bold declaration, and Chick sat down, red but  firm.

"I'll speak for two since the Chairman can't, and Jack won't go  against those who pet him most to death," said Joe, who, not being  a favorite with the girls, considered them a nuisance and lost no  opportunity of telling them so.

Fire away, then, since you are up; commanded Frank.

"Well," began Joe, feeling too late how much he had undertaken,  "I don't know a great deal about it, and I don't care, but I do not  believe in having girls at college. They'd on't belong there, nobody  wants 'em, and they'd better be at home darning their stockings."

"Yours, too," put in Ralph, who had heard that argument so often  he was tired of it.

"Of course; that's what girls are for. I don't mind 'em at school, but  I'd just as soon they had a room to themselves. We should get on  better."

"You would if Mabel wasn't in your class and always ahead of  you," observed Ed, whose friend was a fine scholar, and he very  proud of the fact.

"Look here, if you fellows keep interrupting, I won't sit down for  half an hour," said Joe, well knowing that eloquence was not his  gift, but bound to have his say out.

Deep silence reigned, for that threat quelled the most impatient  member, and Joe prosed on, using all the arguments he had ever  heard, and paying off several old scores by siy hits of a personal  nature, as older orators often do.

"It is clear to my mind that boys would get on better without any  girls fooling round. As for their being as smart as we are, it is all  nonsense, for some of 'em cry over their lessons every day, or go  home with headaches, or get mad and scold all recess, because  something 'isn't fair.' No, sir; girls ain't meant to know much, and  they can't. Wise folks say so and I believe 'em. Haven't got any  sisters myself, and I don't want any, for they'd on't seem to amount  to much, according to those who do have 'em."

Groans from Gus and Ed greeted the closing remarks of the  ungallant Joe, who sat down, feeling that he had made somebody  squirm. Up jumped Grif, the delight of whose life was practical  jokes, which amiable weakness made him the terror of the girls,  though they had no other fault to find with the merry lad.

"Mr. Chairman, the ground I take is this: girls have not the strength  to go to college with us. They couldn't row a race, go on a lark, or  take care of themselves, as we do. They are all well enough at  home, and I like them at parties, but for real fun and go I wouldn't  give a cent for them," began Grif, whose views of a collegiate life  were confined to the enjoyments rather than the studies of that  festive period. "I have tried them, and they can't stand anything.  They scream if you tell them there is a mouse in the room, and run  if they see a big dog. I just put a cockroach in Molly's desk one  day, and when she opened it she jumped as if she was shot."

So did the gentlemen of the club, for at that moment half-a-dozen  fire-crackers exploded under the chair Grif had left, and flew  wildly about the room. Order was with difficulty restored, the  mischievous party summarily chastised and commanded to hold  his tongue, under penalty of ejectment from the room if he spoke  again. Firmly grasping that red and unruly member, Grif composed  himself to listen, with his nose in the air and his eyes shining like  black beads.

Ed was always the peace-maker, and now, when he rose with his  engaging smile, his voice fell like oil upon the troubled waters,  and his bright face was full of the becoming bashfulness which  afflicts youths of seventeen when touching upon such subjects of  newly acquired interest as girls and their pleasant but perplexing  ways.

"It seems to me we have hardly considered the matter enough to be  able to say much. But I think that school would be awfully dry and  dismal without--ahem!--any young ladies to make it nice. I  wouldn't give a pin to go if there was only a crowd of fellows,  though I like a good game as well as any man. I pity any boy who  has no sisters," continued Ed, warming up as he thought of his  own, who loved him dearly, as well they might, for a better brother  never lived. "Home wouldn't be worth having without them to look  after a fellow, to keep him out of scrapes, help him with his  lessons, and make things jolly for his friends. I tell you we can't do  without girls, and I'm not ashamed to say that I think the more we  see of them, and try to be like them in many ways, the better men  we shall be by and by."

"Hear! hear!" cried Frank, in his deepest tone, for he heartily  agreed to that, having talked the matter over with his mother, and  received much light upon things which should always be set right  in young heads and hearts. And who can do this so wisely and well  as mothers, if they only will?

Feeling that his sentiments had been approved, and he need not be  ashamed of the honest color in his cheeks, Ed sat down amid the  applause of his side, especially of Jack, who pounded so  vigorously with his crutch that Mrs. Pecq popped in her head to  see if anything was wanted.

"No, thank you, ma'am, we were only cheering Ed," said Gus, now  upon his legs, and rather at a loss what to say till Mrs. Pecq's  appearance suggested an idea, and he seized upon it.

"My honored friend has spoken so well that I have little to add. I  agree with him, and if you want an example of what girls can do,  why, look at Jill. She's young, I know, but a first-rate scholar for  her age. As for pluck, she is as brave as a boy, and almost as smart  at running, rowing, and so on. Of course, she can't play ball--no  girl can; their arms are not made right to throw--but she can catch  remarkably well. I'll say that for her. Now, if she and Mabel--and--  and--some others I could name, are so clever and strong at the  beginning, I don't see why they shouldn't keep up and go along  with us all through. I'm willing, and will do what I can to help  other fellows' sisters as I'd like to have them help mine. And I'll  punch their heads if they'd on't"; and Gus subsided, assured, by a  burst of applause, that his manly way of stating the case met with  general approval.

"We shall be happy to hear from our senior member if he will  honor us with a few remarks," said Frank, with a bow to Ralph.

No one ever knew whom he would choose to personate, for he  never spoke in his own character. Now he rose slowly, put one  hand in his bosom, and fixing his eye sternly on Crif, who was  doing something suspicious with a pin, gave them a touch of  Sergeant Buzfuz, from the Pickwick trial, thinking that the debate  was not likely to throw much light on the subject under discussion.  In the midst of this appeal to "Me lud and gentlemen of the jury,"  he suddenly paused, smoothed his hair down upon his forehead,  rolled up his eyes, and folding his hands, droned out Mr.  Chadband's sermon on Peace, delivered over poor Jo, and ending  with the famous lines:

"Oh, running stream of sparkling joy,  To be a glorious human boy!"

Then, setting his hair erect with one comprehensive sweep, he  caught up his coat-skirts over his arm, and, assuming a  parliamentary attitude, burst into a comical medley, composed of  extracts from Jefferson Brick's and Lafayette Kettle's speeches, and  Elijah Pogram's Defiance, from "Martin Chuzzlewit." Gazing at  Gus, who was convulsed with suppressed merriment, he thundered  forth:

"In the name of our common country, sir, in the name of that  righteous cause in which we are jined, and in the name of the  star-spangled banner, I thank you for your eloquent and categorical  remarks. You, sir, are a model of a man fresh from Natur's mould.  A true-born child of this free hemisphere; verdant as the mountains  of our land; bright and flowin' as our mineral Licks; unspiled by  fashion as air our boundless perearers. Rough you may be; so air  our Barrs. Wild you may be; so air our Buff alers. But, sir, you air  a Child of Freedom, and your proud answer to the Tyrant is, that  your bright home is in the Settin' Sun. And, sir, if any man denies  this fact, though it be the British Lion himself, I defy him. Let me  have him here!"--smiting the table, and causing the inkstand to  skip--"here, upon this sacred altar! Here, upon the ancestral ashes  cemented with the glorious blood poured out like water on the  plains of Chickabiddy Lick. Alone I'd are that Lion, and tell him  that Freedom's hand once twisted in his mane, he rolls a corse  before me, and the Eagles of the Great Republic scream, Ha, ha!"

By this time the boys were rolling about in fits of laughter; even  sober Frank was red and breathless, and Jack lay back, feebly  squealing, as he could laugh no more. In a moment Ralph was as  meek as a Quaker, and sat looking about him with a mildly  astonished air, as if inquiring the cause of such unseemly mirth. A  knock at the door produced a lull, and in came a maid with apples.

"Time's up; fall to and make yourselves comfortable," was the  summary way in which the club was released from its sterner  duties and permitted to unbend its mighty mind for a social  halfhour, chiefly devoted to whist, with an Indian war-dance as a  closing ceremony.

Chapter 10  The Dramatic Club

While Jack was hopping gayly about on his crutches, poor Jill was  feeling the effects of her second fall, and instead of sitting up, as  she hoped to do after six weeks of rest, she was ordered to lie on a  board for two hours each day. Not an easy penance, by any means,  for the board was very hard, and she could do nothing while she  lay there, as it did not slope enough to permit her to read without  great fatigue of both eyes and hands. So the little martyr spent her  first hour of trial in sobbing, the second in singing, for just as her  mother and Mrs. Minot were deciding in despair that neither she  nor they could bear it, Jill suddenly broke out into a merry chorus  she used to hear her father sing:

"Faut jouer le mirliton,  Faut jouer le mirlitir,   Faut jouer le mirliter,  Mir--li--ton."

The sound of the brave little voice was very comforting to the two  mothers hovering about her, and Jack said, with a look of mingled  pity and admiration, as he brandished his crutch over the  imaginary foes,

"That's right! Sing away, and we'll play you are an Indian captive  being tormented by your enemies, and too proud to complain. I'll  watch the clock, and the minute time is up I'll rush in and rescue  you."

Jill laughed, but the fancy pleased her, and she straightened herself  out under the gay afghan, while she sang, in a plaintive voice,  another little French song her father taught her:

"J'avais une colombe blanche,  J'avais un blanc petit pigeon,  Tous deu~ volaient, do branche en branche,  Jusqu'au falte de mon don geon:  Mais comme un coup do vent d'automne,  S'est abattu Za, I'‚per-vier,  Ft ma colombe si mignonne  Ne revient plus au colombier."

"My poor Jean had a fine voice, and always hoped the child would  take after him. It would break his heart to see her lying there trying  to cheer her pain with the songs he used to sing her to sleep with,"  said Mrs. Pecq, sadly.

"She really has a great deal of talent, and when she is able she  shall have some lessons, for music is a comfort and a pleasure,  sick or well," answered Mrs. Minot, who had often admired the  fresh voice, with its pretty accent.

Here Jill began the Canadian boat-song, with great vigor, as if  bound to play her part of Indian victim with spirit, and not disgrace  herself by any more crying. All knew the air, and joined in,  especially Jack, who came out strong on the "Row, brothers, row,"  but ended in a squeak on a high note, so drolly, that the rest broke  down. So the hour that began with tears ended with music and  laughter, and a new pleasure to think of for the future.

After that day Jill exerted all her fortitude, for she liked to have the  boys call her brave and admire the cheerful way in which she  endured two hours of discomfort. She found she could use her  zither as it lay upon her breast, and every day the pretty music  began at a certain hour, and all in the house soon learned to love  and listen for it. Even the old cook set open her kitchen door,  saying pitifully, "Poor darlint, hear how purty she's singin', wid the  pain, on that crewel boord. It's a little saint, she is. May her bed  above be aisy!"

Frank would lift her gently on and off, with a kind word that  comforted her immensely, and gentle Ed would come and teach  her new bits of music, while the other fellows were frolicking  below. Ralph added his share to her amusement, for he asked leave  to model her head in clay, and set up his work in a corner, Corning  to pat, scrape, and mould whenever he had a spare minute,  amusing her by his lively chat, and showing her how to shape  birds, rabbits, and queer faces in the soft clay, when the songs  were all sung and her fingers tired of the zither.

The girls sympathized very heartily with her new trial, and brought  all manner of gifts to cheer her captivity. Merry and Molly made a  gay screen by pasting pictures on the black cambric which covered  the folding frame that stood before her to keep the draughts from  her as she lay on her board. Bright birds and flowers, figures and  animals, covered one side, and on the other they put mottoes, bits  of poetry, anecdotes, and short stories, so that Jill could lie and  look or read without the trouble of holding a book. It was not all  done at once, but grew slowly, and was a source of instruction as  well as amusement to them all, as they read carefully, that they  might make good Selections.

But the thing that pleased Jill most was something Jack did, for he  gave up going to school, and stayed at home nearly a fortnight  after he might have gone, all for her sake. The day the doctor said  he might try it if he would be very careful, he was in great spirits,  and limped about, looking up his books, and planning how he  would astonish his mates by the rapidity of his recovery. When he  sat down to rest he remembered Jill, who had been lying quietly  behind the screen, while he talked with his mother, busy putting  fresh covers on the books.

"She is so still, I guess she is asleep," thought Jack, peeping round  the corner.

No, not asleep, but lying with her eyes fixed on the sunny window,  beyond which the bright winter world sparkled after a fresh  snow-fall. The jingle of sleigh-bells could be heard, the laughter of  boys and girls on their way to school, all the pleasant stir of a new  day of happy work and play for the rest of the world, more lonely,  quiet, and wearisome than ever to her since her friend and  fellow-prisoner was set free and going to leave her.

Jack understood that patient, wistful look, and, without a word,  went back to his seat, staring at the fire so soberly, that his mother  presently asked: "What are you thinking of so busily, with that  pucker in your forehead?"

"I've about made up my mind that I won't go to school just yet,"  answered Jack, slowly lifting his head, for it cost him something to  give up the long-expected pleasure.

"Why not?" and Mrs. Minot looked much surprised, till Jack  pointed to the screen, and, making a sad face to express Jill's  anguish, answered in a cheerful tone, 'Well, I'm not sure that it is  best. Doctor did not want me to go, but said I might because I  teased. I shall be sure to come to grief, and then everyone will say,  'I told you so,' and that is so provoking. I'd rather keep still a week  longer. Hadn't I better?"

His mother smiled and nodded as she said, sewing away at  much-abused old Caesar, as if she loved him, "Do as you think  best, dear. I always want you at home, but I don't wonder you are  rather tired of it after this long confinement."

"I say, Jill, should I be in your way if I didn't go to school till the  first of February?" called Jack, laughing to himself at the absurdity  of the question.

"Not much!" answered a glad voice from behind the screen, and he  knew the sorrowful eyes were shining with delight, though he  could not see them.

"Well, I guess I may as well, and get quite firm on my legs before I  start. Another week or so will bring me up if I study hard, so I shall  not lose my time. I'll tackle my Latin as soon as it's ready, mother."

Jack got a hearty kiss with the neatly covered book, and Mamma  loved him for the little sacrifice more than if he had won a prize at  school. He did get a reward, for, in five minutes from the time he  decided, Jill was singing like a bobolink, and such a medley of  merry music came from behind the screen, that it was a regular  morning concert. She did not know then that he stayed for her  sake, but she found it out soon after, and when the time came did  as much for him, as we shall see.

It proved a wise decision, for the last part of January was so  stormy Jack could not have gone half the time. So, while the snow  drifted, and bitter winds raged, he sat snugly at home amusing Jill,  and getting on bravely with his lessons, for Frank took great pains  with him to show his approbation of the little kindness, and,  somehow, the memory of it seemed to make even the detested  Latin easier.

With February fair weather set in, and Jack marched happily away  to school, with Jill's new mittens on his hands, Mamma nodding  from the door-step, and Frank ready to give him a lift on the new  sled, if the way proved too long or too rough.

"I shall not have time to miss him now, for we are to be very busy  getting ready for the Twenty-second. The Dramatic Club meets  to-night, and would like to come here, if they may, so 1 can help?"  said Jill, as Mrs. Minot came up, expecting to find her rather low  in her mind.

"Certainly; and I have a basket of old finery I looked up for the  club when I was rummaging out bits of silk for your blue quilt,"  answered the good lady, who had set up a new employment to  beguile the hours of Jack's absence.

When the girls arrived, that evening, they found Mrs. Chairwoman  surrounded by a strew of theatrical properties, enjoying herself  very much. All brought such contributions as they could muster,  and all were eager about a certain tableau which was to be the gem  of the whole, they thought. Jill, of course, was not expected to take  any part, but her taste was good, so all consulted her as they  showed their old silks, laces, and flowers, asking who should be  this, and who that. All wanted to be the "Sleeping Beauty," for that  was the chosen scene, with the slumbering court about the  princess, and the prince in the act of awakening her. Jack was to be  the hero, brave in his mother's velvet cape, red boots, and a real  sword, while the other boys were to have parts of more or less  splendor.

"Mabel should be the Beauty, because her hair is so lovely," said  Juliet, who was quite satisfied with her own part of the Queen.

"No, Merry ought to have it, as she is the prettiest, and has that  splendid veil to wear," answered Molly, who was to be the maid of  honor, cuffing the little page, Boo.

"I don't care a bit, but my feather would be fine for the Princess,  and I don't know as Emma would like to have me lend it to anyone  else," said Annette, waving a long white plume over her head, with  girlish delight in its grace.

"I should think the white silk dress, the veil, and the feather ought  to go together, with the scarlet crape shawl and these pearls. That  would be sweet, and just what princesses really wear," advised Jill,  who was stringing a quantity of old Roman pearls.

"We all want to wear the nice things, so let us draw lots. Wouldn't  that be the fairest way?" asked Merry, looking like a rosy little  bride, under a great piece of illusion, which had done duty in many  plays.

"The Prince is light, so the Princess must be darkish. We ought to  choose the girl who will look best, as it is a picture. I heard Miss  Delano say so, when the ladies got up the tableaux, last winter, and  everyone wanted to be Cleopatra," said Jill decidedly.

"You choose, and then if we can't agree we will draw lots,"  proposed Susy, who, being plain, knew there was little hope of her  getting a chance in any other way.

So all stood in a row, and Jill, from her sofa, surveyed them  critically, feeling that the one Jack would really prefer was not  among the number.

"I choose that one, for Juliet wants to be Queen, Molly would  make faces, and the others are too big or too light," pronounced  Jill, pointing to Merry, who looked pleased, while Mabel's face  darkened, and Susy gave a disdainful sniff.

"You'd better draw lots, and then there will be no fuss. Ju and I are  out of the fight, but you three can try, and let this settle the  matter," said Molly, handing Jill a long strip of paper.

All agreed to let it be so, and when the bits were ready drew in  turn. This time fate was evidently on Merry's side, and no one  grumbled when she showed the longest paper.

"Go and dress, then come back, and we'll plan how we are to be  placed before we call up the boys," commanded Jill, who was  manager, since she could be nothing else.

The girls retired to the bedroom and began to "rig up," as they  called it; but discontent still lurked among them, and showed itself  in sharp words, envious looks, and disobliging acts.

"Am I to have the white silk and the feather?" asked Merry,  delighted with the silvery shimmer of the one and the graceful  droop of the other, though both were rather shabby.

"You can use your own dress. I don't see why you should have  everything," answered Susy, who was at the mirror, putting a  wreath of scarlet flowers on her red head, bound to be gay since  she could not be pretty.

"I think I'd better keep the plume, as I haven't anything else that is  nice, and I'm afraid Emma wouldn't like me to lend it," added  Annette, who was disappointed that Mabel was not to be the  Beauty.

"1 don't intend to act at all!" declared Mabel, beginning to braid up  her hair with a jerk, out of humor with the whole affair.

"1 think you are a set of cross, selfish girls to back out and keep  your nice things just because you can't all have the best part. I'm  ashamed of you!" scolded Molly, standing by Merry, who was  sadly surveying her mother's old purple silk, which looked like  brown in the evening.

"I'm going to have Miss Delano's red brocade for the Queen, and I  shall ask her for the yellow-satin dress for Merry when I go to get  mine, and tell her how mean you are," said Juliet, frowning under  her gilt-paper crown as she swept about in a red table-S cloth for  train till the brocade arrived.

"Perhaps you'd like to have Mabel cut her hair off, so Merry can  have that, too?" cried Susy, with whom hair was a tender point.

"Light hair isn't wanted, so Ju will have to give hers, or you'd better  borrow Miss Bat's frisette," added Mabel, with a scornful laugh.

"I just wish Miss Bat was here to give you girls a good shaking. Do  let someone else have a chance at the glass, you peacock!"  exclaimed Molly Loo, pushing Susy aside to arrange her own blue  turban, out of which she plucked the pink pompon to give Merry.

"Don't quarrel about me. I shall do well enough, and the scarlet  shawl will hide my ugly dress," said Merry, from the corner, where  she sat waiting for her turn at the mirror.

As she spoke of the shawl her eye went in search of it, and  something that she saw in the other room put her own  disappointment out of her head. Jill lay there all alone, rather tired  with the lively chatter, and the effort it cost her not to repine at  being shut out from the great delight of dressing up and acting.

Her eyes were closed, her net was off, and all the pretty black curls  lay about her shoulders as one hand idly pulled them out, while the  other rested on the red shawl, as if she loved its glowing color and  soft texture. She was humming to herself the little song of the dove  and the donjon, and something in the plaintive voice, the solitary  figure, went straight to Merry's gentle heart.

"Poor Jilly can't have any of the fun," was the first thought; then  came a second, that made Merry start and smile, and in a minute  whisper so that all but Jill could hear her, "Girls, I'm not going to  be the Princess. But I've thought of a splendid one!"

'Who?" asked the rest, staring at one another, much surprised by  this sudden announcement.

"Hush! Speak low, or you will spoil it all. Look in the Bird Room,  and tell me if that isn't a prettier Princess than I could make?"

They all looked, but no one spoke, and Merry added, with sweet  eagerness, "It is the only thing poor Jill can be, and it would make  her so happy; Jack would like it, and it would please everyone, I  know. Perhaps she will never walk again, so we ought to be very  good to her, poor dear."

The last words, whispered with a little quiver in the voice, settled  the matter better than hours of talking, for girls are tenderhearted  creatures, and not one of these but would have gladly given all the  pretty things she owned to see Jill dancing about well and strong  again. Like a ray of sunshine the kind thought touched and  brightened every face; envy, impatience, vanity, and discontent  flew away like imps at the coming of the good fairy, and with one  accord they all cried,

"It will be lovely; let us go and tell her!"

Forgetting their own adornment, out they trooped after Merry, who  ran to the sofa, saying, with a smile which was reflected in all the  other faces, "Jill, dear, we have chosen another Princess, and I  know you'll like her."

"Who is it?" asked Jill, languidly, opening her eyes without the  least suspicion of the truth.

"I'll show you"; and taking the cherished veil from her own head,  Merry dropped it like a soft cloud over Jill; Annette added the long  plume, Susy laid the white silk dress about her, while Juliet and  Mabel lifted the scarlet shawl to spread it over the foot of the sofa,  and Molly tore the last ornament from her turban, a silver star, to  shine on Jill's breast. Then they all took hands and danced round  the couch, singing, as they laughed at her astonishment, "There she  is! There she is! Princess Jill as fine as you please!

"Do you really mean it? But can I? Is it fair? How sweet of you!  Come here and let me hug you all!" cried Jill, in a rapture at the  surprise, and the pretty way in which it was done.

The grand scene on the Twenty-second was very fine, indeed; but  the little tableau of that minute was infinitely better, though no one  saw it, as Jill tried to gather them all in her arms, for that nosegay  of girlish faces was the sweeter, because each one bad sacrificed  her own little vanity to please a friend, and her joy was reflected in  the eyes that sparkled round the happy Princess.

"Oh, you dear, kind things, to think of me and give me all your  best clothes! I never shall forget it, and I'll do anything for you.  Yes! I'll write and ask Mrs. Piper to lend us her ermine cloak for  the king. See if I don't!"

Shrieks of delight hailed this noble offer, for no one had dared to  borrow the much-coveted mantle, but all agreed that the old lady  would not refuse Jill. It was astonishing how smoothly everything  went after this, for each was eager to help, admire, and suggest, in  the friendliest way; and when all were dressed, the boys found a  party of very gay ladies waiting for them round the couch, where  lay the brightest little Princess ever seen.

"Oh, Jack, I'm to act! Wasn't it dear of the girls to choose me?  Don't they look lovely? Aren't you glad?" cried Jill, as the lads

stared and the lasses blushed and smiled, well pleased at the frank  admiration the boyish faces showed.

"I guess I am! You are a set of trumps, and we'll give you a  first-class spread after the play to pay for it. Won't we, fellows?"  answered Jack, much gratified, and feeling that now he could act  his own part capitally.

"We will. It was a handsome thing to do, and we think well of you  for it. Hey, Gus?" and Frank nodded approvingly at all, though he  looked only at Annette.

"As king of this crowd, I call it to order," said Gus, retiring to the  throne, where Juliet sat laughing in her red table-cloth.

"We'll have 'The Fair One with Golden Locks' next time; I promise  you that," whispered Ed to Mabel, whose shining hair streamed  over her blue dress like a mantle of gold-colored silk.

"Girls are pretty nice things, aren't they? Kind of 'em to take Jill in.  Don't Molly look fine, though?" and Grif's black eyes twinkled as  he planned to pin her skirts to Merry's at the first opportunity.

"Susy looks as gay as a feather-duster. I like her. She never snubs a  fellow," said Joe, much impressed with the splendor of the court  ladies.

The boys' costumes were not yet ready, but they posed well, and all  had a merry time, ending with a game of blind-man's-buff, in  which everyone caught the right person in the most singular way,  and all agreed as they went home in the moonlight that it had been  an ususually jolly meeting.

So the fairy play woke the sleeping beauty that lies in all of us, and  makes us lovely when we rouse it with a kiss of unselfish  good-will, for, though the girls did not know it then, they had  adorned themselves with pearls more precious than the waxen  ones they'd ecked their Princess in.

Chapter 11  "Down Brakes"

The greatest people have their weak points, and the best-behaved  boys now and then yield to temptation and get into trouble, as  everybody knows. Frank was considered a remarkably well-bred  and proper lad, and rather prided himself on his good reputation,  for he never got into scrapes like the other fellows. Well, hardly  ever, for we must confess that at rare intervals his besetting sin  overcame his prudence, and he proved himself an erring, human  boy. Steam-engines had been his idols for years, and they alone  could lure him from the path of virtue. Once, in trying to  investigate the mechanism of a toy specimen, which had its little  boiler and ran about whistling and puffing in the most delightful  way, he nearly set the house afire by the sparks that dropped on the  straw carpet. Another time, in trying experiments with the kitchen  tea-kettle, he blew himself up, and the scars of that explosion he  still carried on his hands.

He was long past such childish amusements now, but his favorite  haunt was the engine-house of the new railroad, where he observed  the habits of his pets with never-failing interest, and cultivated the  good-will of stokers and brakemen till they allowed him many  liberties, and were rather flattered by the admiration expressed for  their iron horses by a young gentleman who liked them better even  than his Greek and Latin.

There was not much business doing on this road as yet, and the  two cars of the passenger-trains were often nearly empty, though  full freight-trains rolled from the factory to the main road, of  which this was only a branch. So things went on in a leisurely  manner, which gave Frank many opportunities of pursuing his  favorite pastime. He soon knew all about No. ii, his pet engine,  and had several rides on it with Bill, the engineer, so that he felt at  home there, and privately resolved that when he was a rich man he  would have a road of his own, and run trains as often as he liked.

Gus took less interest than his friend in the study of steam, but  usually accompanied him when he went over after school to  disport himself in the engine-house, interview the stoker, or see if  there was anything new in the way of brakes.

One afternoon they found No. 11 on the side-track, puffing away  as if enjoying a quiet smoke before starting. No cars were attached,  and no driver was to be seen, for Bill was off with the other men  behind the station-house, helping the expressman, whose horse had  backed down a bank and upset the wagon.

"Good chance for a look at the old lady," said Frank, speaking of  the engine as Bill did, and jumping aboard with great satisfaction,  followed by Gus.

"I'd give ten dollars if I could run her up to the bend and back," he  added, fondly touching the bright brass knobs and glancing at the  fire with a critical eye.

"You couldn't do it alone," answered Gus, sitting down on the  grimy little perch, willing to indulge his mate's amiable weakness.

"Give me leave to try? Steam is up, and I could do it as easy as  not"; and Frank put his hand on the throttle-valve, as if daring Gus  to give the word.

"Fire up and make her hum!" laughed Gus, quoting Bill's frequent  order to his mate, but with no idea of being obeyed.

"All right; I'll just roll her up to the switch and back again. I've  often done it with Bill"; and Frank cautiously opened the  throttle-valve, threw back the lever, and the great thing moved  with a throb and a puff.

"Steady, old fellow, or you'll come to grief. Here, don't open that!"  shouted Gus, for just at that moment Joe appeared at the switch,  looking ready for mischief.

"Wish he would; no train for twenty minutes, and we could run up  to the bend as well as not," said Frank, getting excited with the  sense of power, as the monster obeyed his hand so entirely that it  was impossible to resist prolonging the delight.

"By George, he has! Stop her! Back her! Hold on, Frank!" cried  Gus, as Joe, only catching the words "Open that!" obeyed, without  the least idea that they would dare to leave the siding.

But they did, for Frank rather lost his head for a minute, and out  upon the main track rolled No. 11 as quietly as a well-trained  horse taking a familiar road.

"Now you've done it! I'll give you a good thrashing when I get  back!" roared Gus, shaking his fist at Joe, who stood staring,  half-pleased, half-scared, at what he had done.

"Are you really going to try it?" asked Gus, as they glided on with  increasing speed, and he, too, felt the charm of such a novel  adventure, though the consequences bid fair to be serious.

"Yes, I am," answered Frank, with the grim look he always wore  when his strong will got the upper hand. "Bill will give it to us,  anyway, so we may as well have our fun out. If you are afraid, I'll  slow down and you can jump off," and his brown eyes sparkled  with the double delight of getting his heart's desire and astonishing  his friend at the same time by his skill and coolness.

"Go ahead. I'll jump when you do"; and Gus calmly sat down  again, bound in honor to stand by his mate till the smash came,  though rather dismayed at the audacity of the prank.

"Don't you call this just splendid?" exclaimed Frank, as they rolled  along over the crossing, past the bridge, toward the curve, a mile  from the station.

"Not bad. They are yelling like mad after us. Better go back, if you  can," said Gus, who was anxiously peering out, and, in spite of his  efforts to seem at ease, not enjoying the trip a particle.

"Let them yell. I started to go to the curve, and I'll do it if it costs  me a hundred dollars. No danger; there's no train under twenty  minutes, I tell you," and Frank pulled out his watch. But the sun  was in his eyes, and he did not see clearly, or he would have  discovered that it was later than he thought.

On they went, and were just rounding the bend when a shrill  whistle in front startled both boys, and drove the color out of their  cheeks.

"It's the factory train!" cried Gus, in a husky tone, as he sprang to  his feet.

"No; it's the five-forty on the other road," answered Frank, with a  queer thrill all through him at the thought of what might happen if  it was not. Both looked straight ahead as the last tree glided by,  and the long track lay before them, with the freight train slowly  coming down. For an instant, the boys stood as if paralyzed.

"Jump!" said Gus, looking at the steep bank on one side and the  river on the other, undecided which to try.

"Sit still!" commanded Frank, collecting his wits, as he gave a  warning whistle to retard the on-coming train, while he reversed  the engine and went back faster than he came.

A crowd of angry men was waiting for them, and Bill stood at the  open switch in a towering passion as No. 11 returned to her place  unharmed, but bearing two pale and frightened boys, who stepped  slowly and silently down, without a word to say for themselves,  while the freight train rumbled by on the main track.

Frank and Gus never had a very clear idea as to what occurred  during the next few minutes, but vaguely remembered being well  shaken, sworn at, questioned, threatened with direful penalties,  and finally ordered off the premises forever by the wrathful  depot-master. Joe was nowhere to be seen, and as the two culprits  walked away, trying to go steadily, while their heads spun round,  and all the strength seemed to have departed from their legs, Frank  said, in an exhausted tone,

"Come down to the boat-house and rest a minute."

Both were glad to get out of sight, and dropped upon the steps red,  rumpled, and breathless, after the late exciting scene. Gus  generously forebore to speak, though he felt that he was the least  to blame; and Frank, after eating a bit of snow to moisten his dry  lips, said, handsomely,

"Now, don't you worry, old man. I'll pay the damages, for it was  my fault. Joe will dodge, but I won't, so make your mind easy.

"We sha'n't hear the last of this in a hurry," responded Gus,  relieved, yet anxious, as he thought of the reprimand his father  would give him.

"I hope mother won't hear of it till I tell her quietly myself. She  will be so frightened, and think I'm surely smashed up, if she is  told in a hurry"; and Frank gave a shiver, as all the danger he had  run came over him suddenly.

"I thought we were done for when we saw that train. Guess we  should have been if you had not had your wits about you. I always  said you were a cool one"; and Gus patted Frank's back with a look  of great admiration, for, now that it was all over, he considered it a  very remarkable performance.

"Which do you suppose it will be, fine or imprisonment?" asked  Frank, after sitting in a despondent attitude for a moment.

"Shouldn't wonder if it was both. Running off with an engine is no  joke, you know."

'What did possess me to be such a fool?" groaned Frank, repenting,  all too late, of yielding to the temptation which assailed him.

"Bear up, old fellow, I'll stand by you; and if the worst comes, I'll  call as often as the rules of the prison allow," said Gus,  consolingly, as he gave his afflicted friend an arm, and they  walked away, both feeling that they were marked men from that  day forth.

Meantime, Joe, as soon as he recovered from the shock of seeing  the boys actually go off, ran away, as fast as his legs could carry  him, to prepare Mrs. Minot for the ioss of her son; for the idea of  their coming safely back never occurred to him, his knowledge of  engines being limited. A loud ring at the bell brought Mrs. Pecq,  who was guarding the house, while Mrs. Minot entertained a  parlor full of company.

"Frank's run off with No. 11, and he'll be killed sure. Thought I'd  come up and tell you," stammered Joe, all out of breath and  looking wild.

He got no further, for Mrs. Pecq clapped one hand over his mouth,  caught him by the collar with the other, and hustled him into the  ante-room before anyone else could hear the bad news.

"Tell me all about it, and don't shout. What's come to the boy?" she  demanded, in a tone that reduced Joe to a whisper at once.

"Go right back and see what has happened to him, then come and  tell me quietly. I'll wait for you here. I wouldn't have his mother  startled for the world," said the good soul, when she knew all.

"Oh, I dar'sn't! I opened the switch as they told me to, and Bill will  half kill me when he knows it!" cried Joe, in a panic, as the awful  consequences of his deed rose before him, showing both boys  mortally injured and several trains wrecked.

"Then take yourself off home and hold your tongue. I'll watch the  door, for I won't have any more ridiculous boys tearing in to  disturb my lady."

Mrs. Pecq often called this good neighbor "my lady" when  speaking of her, for Mrs. Minot was a true gentlewoman, and  much pleasanter to live with than the titled mistress had been.

Joe scudded away as if the constable was after him, and presently  Frank was seen slowly approaching with an unusually sober face  and a pair of very dirty hands.

"Thank heaven, he's safe!" and, softly opening the door, Mrs. Pecq  actually hustled the young master into the ante-room as  unceremoniously as she had hustled Joe.

"I beg pardon, but the parlor is full of company, and that fool of a  Joe came roaring in with a cock-and-bull story that gave me quite  a turn. What is it, Mr. Frank?" she asked eagerly, seeing that  something was amiss.

He told her in a few words, and she was much relieved to find that  no harm had been done.

"Ah, the danger is to come," said Frank, darkly, as be went away to  wash his hands and prepare to relate his misdeeds.

It was a very bad quarter of an hour for the poor fellow, who so  seldom had any grave faults to confess; but he did it manfully, and  his mother was so grateful for the safety of her boy that she found  it difficult to be severe enough, and contented herself with  forbidding any more visits to the too charming No. 11.

"What do you suppose will be done to me?" asked Frank, on whom  the idea of imprisonment had made a deep impression.

"I don't know, dear, but I shall go over to see Mr. Burton right  after tea. He will tell us what to do and what to expect. Gus must  not suffer for your fault."

"He'll come off clear enough, but Joe must take his share, for if he  hadn't opened that confounded switch, no harm would have been  done. But when I saw the way clear, I actually couldn't resist going  ahead," said Frank, getting excited again at the memory of that  blissful moment when he started the engine.

Here Jack came hurrying in, having heard the news, and refused to  believe it from any lips but Frank's. When he could no longer  doubt, he was so much impressed with the daring of the deed that  he had nothing but admiration for his brother, till a sudden thought  made him clap his hands and exclaim exultingly,

"His runaway beats mine all hollow, and now he can't crow over  me! Won't that be a comfort? The good boy has got into a scrape.  Hooray!"

This was such a droll way of taking it, that they had to laugh; and  Frank took his humiliation so meekly that Jack soon fell to  comforting him, instead of crowing over him.

Jill thought it a most interesting event; and, when Frank and his  mother went over to consult Mr. Burton, she and Jack planned out  for the dear culprit a dramatic trial which would have convulsed  the soberest of judges. His sentence was ten years' imprisonment,  and such heavy fines that the family would have been reduced to  beggary but for the sums made by Jill's fancy work and Jack's  success as a champion pedestrian.

They found such comfort and amusement in this sensational  programme that they were rather disappointed when Frank  returned, reporting that a fine would probably be all the penalty  exacted, as no harm had been done, and he and Gus were such  respectable boys. What would happen to Joe, he could not tell, but  he thought a good whipping ought to be added to his share.

Of course, the affair made a stir in the little world of children; and  when Frank went to school, feeling that his character for good  behavior was forever damaged, he found himself a lion, and was in  danger of being spoiled by the admiration of his comrades, who  pointed him out with pride as "the fellow who ran off with a  steam-engine."

But an interview with Judge Kemble, a fine of twenty-five dollars,  and lectures from all the grown people of his acquaintance,  prevented him from regarding his escapade as a feat to boast of.  He discovered, also, how fickle a thing is public favor, for very  soon those who had praised began to tease, and it took all his  courage, patience, and pride to carry him through the next week or  two. The lads were never tired of alluding to No. 11, giving shrill  whistles in his ear, asking if his watch was right, and drawing  locomotives on the blackboard whenever they got a chance.

The girls, too, had sly nods and smiles, hints and jokes of a milder  sort, which made him color and fume, and once lose his dignity  entirely. Molly Loo, who dearly loved to torment the big boys, and  dared attack even solemn Frank, left one of Boo's old tin trains on  the door-step, directed to "Conductor Minot," who, I regret to say,  could not refrain from kicking it into the Street, and slamming the  door with a bang that shook the house. Shrieks of laughter from  wicked Molly and her coadjutor, Grif, greeted this explosion of  wrath, which did no good, however, for half an hour later the same  cars, all in a heap, were on the steps again, with two headless dolls  tumbling out of the cab, and the dilapidated engine labelled, "No.  11 after the collision."

No one ever saw that ruin again, and for days Frank was utterly  unconscious of Molly's existence, as propriety forbade his having  it out with her as he had with Grif. Then Annette made peace  between them, and the approach of the Twenty-second gave the  wags something else to think of.

But it was long before Frank forgot that costly prank; for he was a  thoughtful boy, who honestly wanted to be good; so he  remembered this episode humbly, and whenever he felt the  approach of temptation he made the strong will master it, saying to  himself "Down brakes!" thus saving the precious freight he carried  from many of the accidents which befall us when we try to run our  trains without orders, and so often wreck ourselves as well as  others.

Chapter 12  The Twenty-Second of February

Of course, the young ladies and gentlemen had a ball on the  evening of that day, but the boys and girls were full of excitement  about their "Scenes from the Life of Washington and other brilliant  tableaux," as the programme announced. The Bird Room was the  theatre, being very large, with four doors conveniently placed.  Ralph was in his element, putting up a little stage, drilling boys,  arranging groups, and uniting in himself carpenter, scene-painter,  manager, and gas man. Mrs. Minot permitted the house to be  turned topsy-turvy, and Mrs. Pecq flew about, lending a hand  everywhere. Jill was costumer, with help from Miss Delano, who  did not care for balls, and kindly took charge of the girls. Jack  printed tickets, programmes, and placards of the most imposing  sort, and the work went gayly on till all was ready.

When the evening came, the Bird Room presented a fine  appearance. One end was curtained off with red drapery; and real  footlights, with tin shades, gave a truly theatrical air to the little  stage. Rows of chairs, filled with mammas and little people,  occupied the rest of the space. The hall and Frank's room were full  of amused papas, uncles, and old gentlemen whose patriotism  brought them out in spite of rheumatism. There was a great  rustling of skirts, fluttering of fans, and much lively chat, till a bell  rang and the orchestra struck up.

Yes, there really was an orchestra, for Ed declared that the national  airs must be played, or the whole thing would be a failure. So he  had exerted himself to collect all the musical talent he could find,  a horn, a fiddle, and a flute, with drum and fife for the martial  scenes. Ed looked more beaming than ever, as he waved his baton  and led off with Yankee Doodle as a safe beginning, for everyone  knew that. It was fun to see little Johnny Cooper bang away on a  big drum, and old Mr. Munson, who had been a flEer all his days,  blow till he was as red as a lobster, while everyone kept time to the  music which put them all in good spirits for the opening scene.

Up went the curtain and several trees in tubs appeared, then a  stately gentleman in small clothes, cocked hat, gray wig, and an  imposing cane, came slowly walking in. It was Gus, who had been  unanimously chosen not only for Washington but for the f ather of  the hero also, that the family traits of long legs and a somewhat  massive nose might be preserved.

"Ahem! My trees are doing finely," observed Mr. W., senior,  strolling along with his hands behind him, casting satisfied glances  at the dwarf orange, oleander, abutilon, and little pine that  represented his orchard.

Suddenly he starts, pauses, frowns, and, after examining the latter  shrub, which displayed several hacks in its stem and a broken limb  with six red-velvet cherries hanging on it, he gave a thump with  his cane that made the little ones jump, and cried out,

"Can it have been my son?"

He evidently thought it was, for he called, in tones of thunder,  "George! George Washington, come hither this moment!"

Great suspense on the part of the audience, then a general burst of  laughter as Boo trotted in, a perfect miniature of his honored  parent, knee breeches, cocked hat, shoe buckles and all. He was so  fat that the little tails of his coat stuck out in the drollest way, his  chubby legs could hardly carry the big buckles, and the rosy face  displayed, when he took his hat off with a dutiful bow, was so  solemn, the real George could not have looked more anxious when  he gave the immortal answer.

"Sirrah, did you cut that tree?" demanded the papa, with another  rap of the cane, and such a frown that poor Boo looked dismayed,  till Molly wispered, "Put your hand up, dear." Then he  remembered his part, and, putting one finger in his mouth, looked  down at his square-toed shoes, the image of a shame-stricken boy.

"My son, do not deceive me. If you have done this deed I shall  chastise you, for it is my duty not to spare the rod, lest I spoil the  child. But if you lie about it you disgrace the name of Washington  forever."

This appeal seemed to convulse George with inward agony, for he  squirmed most effectively as he drew from his pocket a toy  hatchet, which would not have cut a straw, then looking straight up  into the awe-inspiring countenance of his parent, he bravely lisped,

"Papa, I tannot tell a lie. I'd id tut it with my little hanchet."

"Noble boy--come to my arms! I had rather you spoilt all my  cherry trees than tell one lie!" cried the delighted gentleman,  catching his son in an embrace so close that the fat legs kicked  convulsively, and the little coat-tails waved in the breeze, while  cane and hatchet fell with a dramatic bang.

The curtain descended on this affccting tableau; but the audience  called out both Washingtons, and they came, hand in hand, bowing  with the cocked hats pressed to their breasts, the elder smiling  blandly, while the younger, still flushed by his exertions, nodded to  his friends, asking, with engaging frankness, "Wasn't it nice?"

The next was a marine piece, for a boat was seen, surrounded by  tumultuous waves of blue cambric, and rowed by a party of  stalwart men in regimentals, who with difficulty kept their seats,  for the boat was only a painted board, and they sat on boxes or  stools behind it. But few marked the rowers, for in their midst, tall,  straight, and steadfast as a mast, stood one figure in a cloak, with  folded arms, high boots, and, under the turned-up hat, a noble  countenance, stern with indomitable courage. A sword glittered at  his side, and a banner waved over him, but his eye was fixed on  the distant shore, and he was evidently unconscious of the roaring  billows, the blocks of ice, the discouragement of his men, or the  danger and death that might await him. Napoleon crossing the  Alps was not half so sublime, and with one voice the audiencc  cried, 'Washington crossing the Delaware!" while the band burst  forth with, "See, the conquering hero comes!" all out of tune, but  bound to play it or die in the attempt.

It would have been very successful if, all of a sudden, one of the  rowers had not "caught a crab" with disastrous consequences. The  oars were not moving, but a veteran, who looked very much like  Joe, dropped the one he held, and in trying to turn and pummel the  black-eyed warrior behind him, he tumbled off his seat, upsetting  two other men, and pulling the painted boat upon them as they lay  kicking in the cambric deep. Shouts of laughter greeted this  mishap, but George Washington never stirred. Grasping the  banner, he stood firm when all else went down in the general  wreck, and the icy waves engulfed his gallant crew, leaving him  erect amid a chaos of wildly tossing boots, entangled oars, and  red-faced victims. Such god-like dignity could not fail to impress  the frivolous crowd of laughers, and the curtain fell amid a round  of applause for him alone.

"Quite exciting, wasn't it? Didn't know Gus had so much presence  of mind," said Mr. Burton, well pleased with his boy.

"If we did not know that Washington died in his bed, December  14, 1799, I should fear that we'd seen the last of him in that  shipwreck," laughed an old gentleman, proud of his memory for  dates.

Much confusion reigned behind the scenes; Ralph was heard  scolding, and Joe set everyone off again by explaining, audibly,  that Grif tickled him, and he couldn't stand it. A pretty,  old-fashioned picture of the "Daughters of Liberty" followed, for  the

girls were determined to do honor to the brave and patient women  who so nobly bore their part in the struggle, yet are usually  forgotten when those days are celebrated. The damsels were  charming in the big caps, flowered gowns, and high-heeled shoes  of their great-grandmothers, as they sat about a spider-legged table  talking over the tax, and pledging themselves to drink no more tea  till it was taken off. Molly was on her feet proposing, "Liberty  forever, and down with all tyrants," to judge from her flashing eyes  as she held her egg-shell cup aloft, while the others lifted theirs to  drink the toast, and Merry, as hostess, sat with her hand on an  antique teapot, labelled "Sage," ready to fill again when the  patriotic ladies were ready for a second "dish."

This was much applauded, and the curtain went up again, for the  proud parents enjoyed seeing their pretty girls in the faded finery  of a hundred years ago. The band played "Auld Lang Syne," as a  gentle hint that our fore-mothers should be remembered as well as  the fore-fathers.

It was evident that something very martial was to follow, for a  great tramping, clashing, and flying about took place behind the  scenes while the tea-party was going on. After some delay, "The  Surrender of Cornwallis" was presented in the most superb  manner, as you can believe when I tell you that the stage was  actually lined with a glittering array of Washington and his  generals, Lafayette, Kosciusko, Rochambeau and the rest, all in  astonishing uniforms, with swords which were evidently the pride  of their lives. Fife and drum struck up a march, and in came  Cornwallis, much cast down but full of manly resignation, as he  surrendered his sword, and stood aside with averted eyes while his  army marched past, piling their arms at the hero's feet.

This scene was the delight of the boys, for the rifles of Company F  had been secured, and at least a dozen soldiers kept filing in and  out in British uniform till Washington's august legs were hidden by  the heaps of arms rattled down before him. The martial music, the  steady tramp, and the patriotic memories awakened, caused this  scene to be enthusiastically encored, and the boys would have  gone on marching till midnight if Ralph had not peremptorily  ordered down the curtain and cleared the stage for the next  tableau.

This had been artfully slipped in between two brilliant ones, to  show that the Father of his Country had to pay a high price for his  glory. The darkened stage represented what seemed to be a camp  in a snow-storm, and a very forlorn camp, too; for on "the cold,  cold ground" (a reckless display of cotton batting) lay ragged  soldiers, sleeping without blankets, their worn-out boots turned up  pathetically, and no sign of food or fire to be seen. A very shabby  sentinel, with feet bound in bloody cloths, and his face as pale as  chalk could make it, gnawed a dry crust as he kept his watch in the  wintry night.

A tent at the back of the stage showed a solitary figure sitting on a  log of wood, poring over the map spread upon his knee, by the  light of one candle stuck in a bottle. There could be no doubt who  this was, for the buff-and-blue coat, the legs, the nose, the attitude,  all betrayed the great George laboring to save his country, in spite  of privations, discouragements, and dangers which would have  daunted any other man.

"Valley Forge," said someone, and the room was very still as old  and young looked silently at this little picture of a great and noble  struggle in one of its dark hours. The crust, the wounded feet, the  rags, the snow, the loneliness, the indomitable courage and  endurance of these men touched the hearts of all, for the mimic  scene grew real for a moment; and, when a child's voice broke the  silence, asking pitifully, "Oh, mamma, was it truly as dreadful as  that?" a general outburst answered, as if everyone wanted to cheer  up the brave fellows and bid them fight on, for victory was surely  coming.

In the next scene it did come, and "Washington at Trenton" was  prettily done. An arch of flowers crossed the stage, with the motto,  "The Defender of the Mothers will be the Preserver of the  Daughters"; and, as the hero with his generals advanced on one  side, a troop of girls, in old-fashioned muslin frocks, came to  scatter flowers before him, singing the song of long ago:

"Welcome, mighty chief, once more   Welcome to this grateful shore;  Now no mercenary foe

eyes as she held her egg-shell cup aloft, while the others lifted  theirs to drink the toast, and Merry, as hostess, sat with her hand  on an antique teapot, labelled "Sage," ready to fill again when the  patriotic ladies were ready for a second "dish."

This was much applauded, and the curtain went up again, for the  proud parents enjoyed seeing their pretty girls in the faded finery  of a hundred years ago. The band played "Auld Lang Syne," as a  gentle hint that our fore-mothers should be remembered as well as  the fore-fathers.

It was evident that something very martial was to follow, for a  great tramping, clashing, and flying about took place behind the  scenes while the tea-party was going on. After some delay, "The  Surrender of Cornwallis" was presented in the most superb  manner, as you can believe when I tell you that the stage was  actually lined with a glittering array of Washington and his  generals, Lafayette, Kosciusko, Rochambeau and the rest, all in  astonishing uniforms, with swords which were evidently the pride  of their lives. Fife and drum struck up a march, and in came  Cornwallis, much cast down but full of manly resignation, as he  surrendered his sword, and stood aside with averted eyes while his  army marched past, piling their arms at the hero's feet.

This scene was the delight of the boys, for the rifles of Company F  had been secured, and at least a dozen soldiers kept filing in and  out in British uniform till Washington's august legs were hidden by  the heaps of arms rattled down before him. The martial music, the  steady tramp, and the patriotic memories awakened, caused this  scene to be enthusiastically encored, and the boys would have  gone on marching till midnight if Ralph had not peremptorily  ordered down the curtain and cleared the stage for the next  tableau.

This had been artfully slipped in between two brilliant ones, to  show that the Father of his Country had to pay a high price for his  glory. The darkened stage represented what seemed to be

Aims again the fatal blow,   Aims at thee the fatal blow.

"Virgins fair and matrons grave,  Those thy conquering arm did save,  Build for thee triumphal bowers;  Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers,  Strew your hero's -way with flowers."

And they did, singing with all their hearts as they flung artificial  roses and lilies at the feet of the great men, who bowed with  benign grace. Jack, who did Lafayette with a limp, covered himself  with glory by picking up one of the bouquets and pressing it to his  heart with all the gallantry of a Frenchman; and when Washington  lifted the smallest of the maids and kissed her, the audience  cheered. Couldn't help it, you know, it was so pretty and inspiring.

The Washington Family, after the famous picture, came next, with  Annette as the serene and sensible Martha, in a very becoming cap.  The General was in uniform, there being no time to change, but his  attitude was quite correct, and the Custis boy and girl displayed the  wide sash and ruffled collar with historic fidelity. The band played  "Home," and everyone agreed that it was "Sweet!"

"Now I don't see what more they can have except the deathbed,  and that would be rather out of place in this gay company," said  the old gentleman to Mr. Burton, as he mopped his heated face  after pounding so heartily he nearly knocked the ferule off his  cane.

"No; they gave that up, for my boy wouldn't wear a night-gown in  public. I can't tell secrets, but I think they have got a very clever  little finale for the first part--a pretty compliment to one person  and a pleasant surprise to all," answered Mr. Burton, who was in  great spirits, being fond of theatricals and very justly proud of his  children, for the little girls had been among the Trenton maids, and  the mimic General had kissed his own small sister, Nelly, very  tenderly.

A great deal of interest was felt as to what this surprise was to be,  and a general "Oh!" greeted the "Minute Man," standing  motionless upon his pedestal. It was Frank, and Ralph had done his  best to have the figure as perfect as possible, for the maker of the  original had been a good friend to him; and, while the young  sculptor was dancing gayly at the ball, this copy of his work was  doing him honor among the children. Frank looked it very well, for  his firm-set mouth was full of resolution, his eyes shone keen and  courageous under the three-cornered hat, and the muscles stood  out upon the bare arm that clutched the old gun. Even the buttons  on the gaiters seemed to flash defiance, as the sturdy legs took the  first step from the furrow toward the bridge where the young  farmer became a hero when he "fired the shot heard 'round the  world."

"That is splendid!" "As like to the original as flesh can be to  bronze." "How still he stands!" "He'll fight when the time comes,  and die hard, won't he?" "Hush! You make the statue blush!" These  very audible remarks certainly did, for the color rose visibly as the  modest lad heard himself praised, though he saw but one face in  all the crowd, his mother's, far back, but full of love and pride, as  she looked up at her young minute man waiting for the battle  which often calls us when we least expect it, and for which she  had done her best to make him ready.

If there had been any danger of Frank being puffed up by the  success of his statue, it was counteracted by irrepressible Grif,  who, just at the most interesting moment, when all were gazing  silently, gave a whistle, followed by a "Choo, choo, choo!" and  "All aboard!" so naturally that no one could mistake the joke,  especially as another laughing voice added, "Now, then, No. 11!"  which brought down the house and the curtain too.

Frank was so angry, it was very difficult to keep him on his perch  for the last scene of all. He submitted, however, rather than spoil  the grand finale, hoping that its beauty would efface that ill-timed  pleasantry from the public mind. So, when the agreeable clamor of  hands and voices called for a repetition, the Minute Man  reappeared, grimmer than before. But not alone, for grouped all  about his pedestal were Washington and his generals, the matrons  and maids, with a background of troops shouldering arms, Grif and  Joe doing such rash things with their muskets, that more than one  hero received a poke in his august back. Before the full richness of  this picture had been taken in, Ed gave a rap, and all burst out with  "Hail Columbia," in such an inspiring style that it was impossible  for the audience to refrain from joining, which they did, all  standing and all singing with a heartiness that made the walls ring.  The fife shrilled, the horn blew sweet and clear, the fiddle was  nearly drowned by the energetic boom of the drum, and out into  the starry night, through open windows, rolled the song that stirs  the coldest heart with patriotic warmth and tunes every voice to  music.

"'America!' We must have 'America!' Pipe up, Ed, this is too good  to end without one song more," cried Mr. Burton, who had been  singing like a trumpet; and, hardly waiting to get their breath, off  they all went again with the national hymn, singing as they never  had sung it before, for somehow the little scenes they had just  acted or beheld seemed to show how much this dear America of  ours had cost in more than one revolution, how full of courage,  energy, and virtue it was in spite of all its faults, and what a  privilege, as well as duty, it was for each to do his part toward its  safety and its honor in the present, as did those brave men and  women in the past.

So the "Scenes from the Life of Washington" were a great success,  and, when the songs were over, people were glad of a brief recess  while they had raptures, and refreshed themselves with lemonade.

The girls had kept the secret of who the "Princess" was to be, and,  when the curtain rose, a hum of surprise and pleasure greeted the  pretty group. Jill lay asleep in all her splendor, the bonny "Prince"  just lifting the veil to wake her with a kiss, and all about them the  court in its nap of a hundred years. The "King" and "Queen"  dozing comfortably on the throne; the maids of honor, like a  garland of nodding flowers, about the couch; the little page,  unconscious of the blow about to fall, and the fool dreaming, with  his mouth wide open.

It was so pretty, people did not tire of looking, till Jack's lame leg  began to tremble, and he whispered: "Drop her or I shall pitch."  Down went the curtain; but it rose in a moment, and there was the  court after the awakening: the "King" and "Queen" looking about  them with sleepy dignity, the maids in various attitudes of surprise,  the fool grinning from ear to ear, and the "Princess" holding out  her hand to the "Prince," as if glad to welcome the right lover  when he came at last.

Molly got the laugh this time, for she could not resist giving poor  Boo the cuff which had been hanging over him so long. She gave it  with unconscious energy, and Boo cried "Ow!" so naturally that all  the children were delighted and wanted it repeated. But Boo  declined, and the scenes which followed were found quite as much  to their taste, having been expressly prepared for the little people.

Mother Goose's Reception was really very funny, for Ralph was  the old lady, and had hired a representation of the immortal bird  from a real theatre for this occasion. There they stood, the dame in  her pointed hat, red petticoat, cap, and cane, with the noble fowl, a  good deal larger than life, beside her, and Grif inside, enjoying  himself immensely as he flapped the wings, moved the yellow  legs, and waved the long neck about, while unearthly quacks  issued from the bill. That was a great surprise for the children, and  they got up in their seats to gaze their fill, many of them firmly  believing that they actually beheld the blessed old woman who  wrote the nursery songs they loved so well.

Then in came, one after another, the best of the characters she has  made famous, while a voice behind the scenes sang the proper  rhyme as each made their manners to the interesting pair.  "Mistress Mary," and her "pretty maids all in a row," passed by to  their places in the background; "King Cole" and his "fiddlers  three" made a goodly show; so did the royal couple, who followed  the great pie borne before them, with the "four-and-twenty  blackbirds" popping their heads out in the most delightful way.  Little "Bo-Peep" led a wooiiy lamb and wept over its lost tail, for  not a sign of one appeared on the poor thing. "Simple Simon"  followed the pie-man, gloating over his wares with the drollest  antics. The little wife came trundling by in a wheelbarrow and was  not upset; neither was the lady with "rings on her fingers and bells  on her toes," as she cantered along on a rocking-horse. "Bobby  Shafto's" yellow hair shone finely as he led in the maid whom he  came back from sea to marry. "Miss Muffet," bowl in hand, ran  away from an immense black spider, which waggled its long legs  in a way so life-like that some of the children shook in their little  shoes. The beggars who came to town were out in full force, "rags,  tags, and velvet gowns," quite true to life. "Boy Blue" rubbed his  eyes, with hay sticking in his hair, and tooted on a tin horn as if  bound to get the cows out of the corn. Molly, with a long-handled  frying-pan, made a capital "Queen," in a tucked-up gown, checked  apron, and high crown, to good "King Arthur," who, very properly,  did not appear after stealing the barley-meal, which might be seen  in the pan tied up in a pudding, like a cannon-ball, ready to fry.

But Tobias, Molly's black cat, covered himself with glory by the  spirit with which he acted his part in,

"Sing, sing, what shall I sing?  The cat's run away with the pudding-bag string."

First he was led across the stage on his hind legs, looking very  fierce and indignant, with a long tape trailing behind him; and,  being set free at the proper moment, he gave one bound over the  four-and-twenty blackbirds who happened to be in the way, and  dashed off as if an enraged cook had actually been after him,  straight downstairs to the coal-bin, where he sat glaring in the  dark, till the fun was over.

When all the characters had filed in and stood in two long rows,  music struck up and they'd anced, "All the way to Boston," a  simple but lively affair, which gave each a chance to show his or  her costume as they pranced down the middle and up outside.

Such a funny medley as it was, for there went fat "King Cole" with  the most ragged of the beggar-maids. "Mistress Mary," in her  pretty blue dress, tripped along with "Simple Simon" staring about  him like a blockhead. The fine lady left her horse to dance with  "Bobby Shafto" till every bell on her slippers tinkled its tongue  out. "Bo-Peep" and a jolly fiddler skipped gayly up and down.  "Miss Muffet" took the big spider for her partner, and made his  many legs fly about in the wildest way. The little wife got out of  the wheelbarrow to help "Boy Blue" along, and Molly, with the  frying-pan over her shoulder, led off splendidly when it was  "Grand right and left."

But the old lady and her goose were the best of all, for the dame's  shoes-buckles cut the most astonishing pigeon-wings, and to see  that mammoth bird waddle down the middle with its wings half  open, its long neck bridling, and its yellow legs in the first position  as it curtsied to its partner, was a sight to remember, it was so  intensely funny.

The merry old gentleman laughed till he cried; Mr. Burton split his  gloves, he applauded so enthusiastically; while the children beat  the dust out of the carpet hopping up and down, as they cried: "Do  it again!" "We want it all over!" when the curtain went down at last  on the flushed and panting party, Mother G----bowing, with her hat  all awry, and the goose doing a double shuffle as if it did not know  how to leave off.

But they could not "do it all over again," for it was growing late,  and the people felt that they certainly had received their money's  worth that evening.

So it all ended merrily, and when the guests departed the boys  cleared the room like magic, and the promised supper to the actors  was served in handsome style. Jack and Jill were at one end, Mrs.  Goose and her bird at the other, and all between was a comical  collection of military heroes, fairy characters, and nursery  celebrities. All felt the need of refreshment after their labors, and  swept over the table like a flight of locusts, leaving devastation  behind. But they had earned their fun: and much innocent jollity  prevailed, while a few lingering papas and mammas watched the  revel from afar, and had not the heart to order these noble beings  home till even the Father of his Country declared "that he'd had a  perfectly splendid time, but couldn't keep his eyes open another  minute," and very wisely retired to replace the immortal cocked  hat with a night-cap.

Chapter 13 Jack Has a Mystery

"What is the matter? Does your head ache?" asked Jill, one  evening in March, observing that Jack sat with his head in his  hands, an attitude which, with him, meant either pain or  perplexity.

"No; but I'm bothered. I want some money, and I don't see how I  can earn it," he answered, tumbling his hair about, and frowning  darkly at the fire.

"How much?" and Jill's ready hand went to the pocket where her  little purse lay, for she felt rich with several presents lately made  her.

"Two seventy-five. No, thank you, I won't borrow."

"What is it for?"

"Can't tell."

"Why, I thought you told me everything."

"Sorry, but I can't this time. Don't you worry; I shall think of  something."

"Couldn't your mother help?"

"Don't wish to ask her."

"Why! can't she know?"

"Nobody can."

"How queer! Is it a scrape, Jack?" asked Jill, looking as curious as  a magpie.

"It is likely to be, if I can't get out of it this week, somehow."

"Well, I don't see how I can help if I'm not to know anything"; and  Jill seemed rather hurt.

"You can just stop asking questions, and tell me how a fellow can  earn some money. That would help. I've got one dollar, but I must  have some more"; and Jack looked worried as he fingered the little  gold dollar on his watch-guard.

"Oh, do you mean to use that?"

"Yes, I do; a man must pay his debts if he sells all he has to do it,"  said Jack sternly.

"Dear me; it must be something very serious." And Jill lay quite  still for five minutes, thinking over all the ways in which Jack ever  did earn money, for Mrs. Minot liked to have her boys work, and  paid them in some way for all they did.

"Is there any wood to saw?" she asked presently, being very  anxious to help.

"All done." "Paths to shovel?"

"NO snow. "Lawn to rake, then?"

"Not time for that yet."

"Catalogue of books?"

"Frank got that job."

"Copy those letters for your mother?"

"Take me too long. Must have my money Friday, if possible."

"I don't see what we can do, then. It is too early or too late for  everything, and you won't borrow."

"Not of you. No, nor of anyone else, if I can possibly help it. I've  promised to do this myself, and I will"; and Jack wagged his head  resolutely.

"Couldn't you do something with the printing-press? Do me some  cards, and then, perhaps, the other girls will want some," said Jill,  as a forlorn hope.

"Just the thing! What a goose I was not to think of it. I'll rig the old  machine up at once." And, starting from his seat, Jack dived into  the big closet, dragged out the little press, and fell to oiling,  dusting, and putting it in order, like one relieved of a great anxiety.

"Give me the types; I'll sort them and set up my name, so you can  begin as soon as you are ready. You know what a help I was when  we did the programmes. I'm almost sure the girls will want cards,  and I know your mother would like some more tags," said Jill,  briskly rattling the letters into the different compartments, while  Jack inked the rollers and hunted up his big apron, whistling the  while with recovered spirits.

A dozen neat cards were soon printed, and Jill insisted on paying  six cents for them, as earning was not borrowing. A few odd tags  were found and done for Mamma, who immediately ordered four  dozen at six cents a dozen, though she was not told why there was  such a pressing call for money.

Jack's monthly half-dollar had been spent the first week   twenty-five cents for a concert, ten paid a fine for keeping a book  too long from the library, ten more to have his knife ground, and  five in candy, for he dearly loved sweeties, and was under bonds to  Mamma not to spend more than five cents a month on these  unwholesome temptations. She never asked the boys what they did  with their money, but expected them to keep account in the little  books she gave them; and, now and then, they showed the neat  pages with pardonable pride, though she often laughed at the queer  items.

All that evening Jack & Co. worked busily, for when Frank came  in he good-naturedly ordered some pale-pink cards for Annette,  and ran to the store to choose the right shade, and buy some  packages for the young printer also.

"What do you suppose he is in such a pucker for?" whispered Jill,  as she set up the new name, to Frank, who sat close by, with one  eye on his book and one on her.

"Oh, some notion. He's a queer chap; but I guess it isn't much of a  scrape, or I should know it. He's so good-natured he's always  promising to do things for people, and has too much pluck to give  up when he finds he can't. Let him alone, and it will all come out  soon enough," answered Frank, who laughed at his brother, but  loved him none the less for the tender heart that often got the  better of his young head.

But for once Frank was mistaken; the mystery did not come out,  and Jack worked like a beaver all that week, as orders poured in  when Jill and Annette showed their elegant cards; for, as  everybody knows, if one girl has a new thing all the rest must,  whether it is a bow on the top of her head, a peculiar sort of pencil,  or the latest kind of chewing-gum. Little play did the poor fellow  get, for every spare minute was spent at the press, and no  invitation could tempt him away, so much in earnest was our  honest little Franklin about paying his debt. Jill helped all she  could, and cheered his labors with her encouragement,  remembering how he stayed at home for her.

"It is real good of you to lend a hand, and I'm ever so much  obliged," said Jack, as the last order was struck off, and the drawer  of the type-box held a pile of shining five and ten cent pieces, with  two or three quarters.

"I love to; only it would be nicer if I knew what we were working  for," she said demurely, as she scattered type for the last time; and  seeing that Jack was both tired and grateful, hoped to get a hint of  the secret.

"I want to tell you, dreadfully; but I can't, because I've promised."

"What, never?"

"Never!" and Jack looked as firm as a rock.

"Then I shall find out, for I haven't promised."

"You can't."

"See if I don't!"

"You are sharp, but you won't guess this. It's a tremendous secret,  and nobody will tell it."

"You'll tell it yourself. You always do."

"I won't tell this. It would be mean."

"Wait and see; I can get anything out of you if I try"; and Jill  laughed, knowing her power well, for Jack found it very hard to  keep a secret from her.

"Don't try; please don't! It wouldn't be right, and you don't want to  make me do a dishonorable thing for your sake, I know."

Jack looked so distressed that Jill promised not to make him tell,  though she held herself free to find out in other ways, if she could.

Thus relieved, Jack trudged off to school on Friday with the two  dollars and seventy-five cents jingling in his pocket, though the  dear gold coin had to be sacrificed to make up the sum. He did his  lessons badly that day, was late at recess in the afternoon, and, as  soon as school was over, departed in his rubber boots "to take a  walk," he said, though the roads were in a bad state with a spring  thaw. Nothing was seen of him till after tea-time, when he came  limping in, very dirty and tired, but with a reposeful expression,  which betrayed that a load was off his mind. Frank was busy about  his own affairs and paid little attention to him, but Jill was on  tenter-hooks to know where he had been, yet dared not ask the  question.

"Merry's brother wants some cards. He liked hers so much he  wishes to make his lady-love a present. Here's the name"; and Jill  held up the order from Harry Grant, who was to be married in the  autumn.

"Must wait till next week. I'm too tired to do a thing to-night, and I  hate the sight of that old press," answered Jack, laying himself  down upon the rug as if every joint ached.

"What made you take such a long walk? You look as tired as if  you'd been ten miles," said Jill, hoping to discover the length of the  trip.

"Had to. Four or five miles isn't much, only my leg bothered me";  and Jack gave the ailing member a slap, as if he had found it much  in his way that day; for, though he had given up the crutches long  ago, he rather missed their support sometimes. Then, with a great  yawn, he stretched himself out to bask in the blaze, pillowing his  head on his arms.

"Dear old thing, he looks all used up; I won't plague him with  talking"; and Jill began to sing, as she often did in the twilight.

By the time the first song ended a gentle snore was heard, and Jack  lay fast asleep, worn out with the busy week and the walk, which  had been longer and harder than anyone guessed. Jill took up her  knitting and worked quietly by firelight, still wondering and  guessing what the secret could be; for she had not much to amuse  her, and little things were very interesting if connected with her  friends. Presently Jack rolled over and began to mutter in his sleep,  as he often did when too weary for sound slumber. Jill paid no  attention till he uttered a name which made her prick up her ears  and listen to the hroken sentences which followed. Only a few  words, but she dropped her work, saying to herself,

"I do believe he is talking about the secret. Now I shall find out,  and he will tell me himself, as I said he would."

Much pleased, she leaned and listened, but could make no sense of  the confused babble about "heavy boots"; "All right, old fellow";  "Jerry's off"; and "The ink is too thick."

The slam of the front door woke Jack, and he pulled himself up,  declaring that he believed he had been having a nap.

"I wish you'd have another," said Jill, greatly disappointed at the  loss of the intelligence she seemed to be so near getting.

"Floor is too hard for tired bones. Guess I'll go to bed and get  rested up for Monday. I've worked like fury this week, so next

I'm going in for fun"; and, little dreaming what hard times were in  store for him, Jack went off to enjoy his warm bath and welcome  bed, where he was soon sleeping with the serene look of one  whose dreams were happy, whose conscience was at rest.

"I have a few words to say to you before you go," said Mr. Acton,  pausing with his hand on the bell, Monday afternoon, when the  hour came for dismissing school.

The bustle of putting away books and preparing for as rapid a  departure as propriety allowed, subsided suddenly, and the boys  and girls sat as still as mice, while the hearts of such as had been  guilty of any small sins began to beat fast.

"You remember that we had some trouble last winter about  keeping the boys away from the saloon, and that a rule was made  forbidding any pupil to go to town during recess?" began Mr.  Acton, who, being a conscientious man as well as an excellent  teacher, felt that he was responsible for the children in school  hours, and did his best to aid parents in guarding them from the  few temptations which beset them in a country town. A certain  attractive little shop, where confectionery, baseballs, stationery,  and picture papers were sold, was a favorite loafing place for some  of the boys till the rule forbidding it was made, because in the rear  of the shop was a beer and billiard saloon. A wise rule, for the  picture papers were not always of the best sort; cigars were to be  had; idle fellows hung about there, and some of the lads, who  wanted to be thought manly, ventured to pass the green baize door  "just to look on."

A murmur answered the teacher's question, and he continued,  "You all know that the rule was broken several times, and I told  you the next offender would be publicly reprimanded, as private  punishments had no effect. I am sorry to say that the time has  come, and the offender is a boy whom I trusted entirely. It grieves  me to do this, but I must keep my promise, and hope the example  will have a good effect."

Mr. Acton paused, as if he found it hard to go on, and the boys  looked at one another with inquiring eyes, for their teacher seldom  punished, and when he did, it was a very solemn thing. Several of  these anxious glances fell upon Joe, who was very red and sat  whittling a pencil as if he dared not lift his eyes.

"He's the chap. Won't he catch it?" whispered Gus to Frank, for  both owed him a grudge.

"The boy who broke the rule last Friday, at afternoon recess, will  come to the desk," said Mr. Acton in his most impressive manner.

If a thunderbolt had fallen through the roof it would hardly have  caused a greater surprise than the sight of Jack Minot walking  slowly down the aisle, with a wrathful flash in the eyes he turned  on Joe as he passed him.

"Now, Minot, let us have this over as soon as possible, for I do not  like it any better than you do, and I am sure there is some mistake.  I'm told you went to the shop on Friday. Is it true?" asked Mr.  Acton very gently, for he liked Jack and seldom had to correct him  in any way.

"Yes, sir"; and Jack looked up as if proud to show that he was not  afraid to tell the truth as far as he could.

"To buy somethin?"

"No, sir."

"To meet someone?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was it Jerry Shannon?"

No answer, but Jack's fists doubled up of themselves as he shot  another fiery glance at Joe, whose face burned as if it scorched  him.

"I am told it was; also that you were seen to go into the saloon  with him. Did you?" and Mr. Acton looked so sure that it was a  mistake that it cost Jack a great effort to say, slowly,

"Yes, sir."

Quite a thrill pervaded the school at this confession, for Jerry was  one of the wild fellows the boys all shunned, and to have any  dealings with him was considered a very disgraceful thing.

"Did you play?"

"No, sir. I can't."

"Drink beer?"

"I belong to the Lodge"; and Jack stood as erect as any little soldier  who ever marched under a temperance banner, and fought for the  cause none are too young nor too old to help along.

"I was sure of that. Then what took you there, my boy?"

The question was so kindly put that Jack forgot himself an instant,  and blurted out,

"I only went to pay him some money, sir."

"Ah, how much?"

"Two seventy-five," muttered Jack, as red as a cherry at not being  able to keep a secret better.

"Too much for a lad like you to owe such a fellow as Jerry. How  came it?" And Mr. Acton looked disturbed.

Jack opened his lips to speak, but shut them again, and stood  looking down with a little quiver about the mouth that showed  how much it cost him to be silent.

"Does anyone beside Jerry know of this?"

"One other fellow," after a pause.

"Yes, I understand"; and Mr. Acton's eye glanced at Joe with a  look that seemed to say, "I wish he'd held his tongue."

A queer smile flitted over Jack's face, for Joe was not the "other  fellow," and knew very little about it, excepting what he had seen  when he was sent on an errand by Mr. Acton on Friday.

"I wish you would explain the matter, John, for I am sure it is  better than it seems, and it would be very hard to punish you when  you don't deserve it."

"But I do deserve it; I've broken the rule, and I ought to be  punished," said Jack, as if a good whipping would be easier to bear  than this public cross-examination.

"And you can't explain, or even say you are sorry or ashamed?"  asked Mr. Acton, hoping to surprise another fact out of the boy.

"No, sir; I can't; I'm not ashamed; I'm not sorry, and I'd do it again  to-morrow if I had to," cried Jack, losing patience, and looking as  if he would not bear much more.

A groan from the boys greeted this bare-faced declaration, and  Susy quite shivered at the idea of having taken two bites out of the  apple of such a hardened desperado.

"Think it over till to-morrow, and perhaps you will change your  mind. Remember that this is the last week of the month, and  reports are given out next Friday," said Mr. Acton, knowing how  much the boy prided himself on always having good ones to show  his mother.

Poor Jack turned scarlet and bit his lips to keep them still, for he  had forgotten this when he plunged into the affair which was likely  to cost him dear. Then the color faded away, the boyish face grew  steady, and the honest eyes looked up at his teacher as he said very  iow, but all heard him, the room was so still,

"It isn't as bad as it looks, sir, but I can't say any more. No one is to  blame but me; and I couldn't help breaking the rule, for Jerry was  going away, I had only that time, and I'd promised to pay up, so I  did."

Mr. Acton believed every word he said, and regretted that they had  not been able to have it out privately, but he, too, must keep his  promise and punish the offender, whoever he was.

"Very well, you will lose your recess for a week, and this month's  report will be the first one in which behavior does not get the  highest mark. You may go; and I wish it understood that Master  Minot is not to be troubled with questions till he chooses to set this  matter right."

Then the bell rang, the children trooped out, Mr. Acton went off  without another word, and Jack was left alone to put up his books  and hide a few tears that would come because Frank turned his  eyes away from the imploring look cast upon him as the culprit  came down from the platform, a disgraced boy.

Elder brothers are apt to be a little hard on younger ones, so it is  not surprising that Frank, who was an eminently proper boy, was  much cut up when Jack publicly confessed to dealings with Jerry,  leaving it to be supposed that the worst half of the story remained  untold. He felt it his duty, therefore, to collar poor Jack when he  came out, and talk to him all the way home, like a judge bent on  getting at the truth by main force. A kind word would have been  very comforting, but the scolding was too much for Jack's temper,  so he turned dogged and would not say a word, though Frank  threatened not to speak to him for a week.

At tea-time both boys were very silent, one looking grim, the other  excited. Frank stared sternly at his brother across the table, and no  amount of marmalade sweetened or softened that reproachful look.  Jack defiantly crunched his toast, with occasional slashes at the  butter, as if he must vent the pent-up emotions which half  distracted him. Of course, their mother saw that something was  amiss, but did not allude to it, hoping that the cloud would blow  over as so many did if left alone. But this one did not, and when  both refused cake, this sure sign of unusual perturbation made her  anxious to know the cause. As soon as tea was over, Jack retired  with gloomy dignity to his own room, and Frank, casting away the  paper he had been pretending to read, burst out with the whole  story. Mrs. Minot was as much surprised as he, but not angry,  because, like most mothers, she was sure that her sons could not  do anything very bad.

"I will speak to him; my boy won't refuse to give me some  explanation," she said, when Frank had freed his mind with as  much warmth as if Jack had broken all the ten commandments.

"He will. You often call me obstinate, but he is as pig-headed as a  mule; Joe only knows what he saw, old tell-tale! and Jerry has left  town, or I'd have it out of him. Make Jack own up, whether he can  or not. Little donkey!" stormed Frank, who hated rowdies and  could not forgive his brother for being seen with one.

"My dear, all boys do foolish things sometimes, even the Wisest  and best behaved, so don't be hard on the poor child. He has got  into trouble, I've no doubt, but it cannot be very bad, and he earned  the money to pay for his prank, whatever it was."

Mrs. Minot left the room as she spoke, and Frank cooled down as  if her words had been a shower-bath, for he remembered his own  costly escapade, and how kindly both his mother and Jack had  stood by him on that trying occasion. So, feeling rather remorseful,  he went off to talk it over with Gus, leaving Jill in a fever of  curiosity, for Merry and Molly had dropped in on their way home  to break the blow to her, and Frank declined to discuss it with her,  after mildly stating that Jack was "a ninny," in his opinion.

"Well, I know one thing," said Jill confidentially to Snow-ball,  when they were left alone together, "if everyone else is scolding  him I won't say a word. It's so mean to crow over people when they  are down, and I'm sure he hasn't done anything to be ashamed of,  though he won't tell."

Snow-ball seemed to agree to this, for he went and sat down by  Jack's slippers waiting for him on the hearth, and Jill thought that a  very touching proof of affectionate fidelity to the little master who  ruled them both.

When he came, it was evident that he had found it harder to refuse  his mother than all the rest. But she trusted him in spite of  appearances, and that was such a comfort! For poor Jack's heart  was very full, and he longed to tell the whole story, but he would  not break his promise, and so kept silence bravely. Jill asked no  questions, affecting to be anxious for the games they always  played together in the evening, but while they played, though the  lips were sealed, the bright eyes said as plainly as words, "I trust  you," and Jack was very grateful.

It was well he had something to cheer him up at home, for he got  little peace at school. He bore the grave looks of Mr. Acton  meekly, took the boys' jokes good-naturedly, and withstood the  artful teasing of the girls with patient silence. But it was very hard  for the social, affectionate fellow to bear the general distrust, for  he had been such a favorite he felt the change keenly.

But the thing that tried him most was the knowledge that his report  would not be what it usually was. It was always a happy moment  when he showed it to his mother, and saw her eye brighten as it  fell on the 99 or moo, for she cared more for good behavior than  for perfect lessons. Mr. Acton once said that Frank Minot's moral  influence in the school was unusual, and Jack never forgot her  pride and delight as she told them what Frank himself had not  known till then. It was Jack's ambition to have the same said of  him, for he was not much of a scholar, and he had tried hard since  he went back to school to get good records in that respect at least.  Now here was a dreadful downfall, tardy marks, bad company,  broken rules, and something too wrong to tell, apparently.

'Well, I deserve a good report, and that's a comfort, though nobody  believes it," he said to himself, trying to keep up his spirits, as the  slow week went by, and no word from him had cleared up the  mystery.

Chapter 14 And Jill Finds It Out

Jill worried about it more than he did, for she was a faithful little  friend, and it was a great trial to have Jack even suspected of doing  anything wrong. School is a child's world while he is there, and its  small affairs are very important to him, so Jill felt that the one  thing to be done was to clear away the cloud about her dear boy,  and restore him to public favor.

"Ed will be here Saturday night and maybe he will find out, for  Jack tells him everything. I do hate to have him hectored so, for I  know he is, though he's too proud to complain," she said, on  Thursday evening, when Frank told her some joke played upon his  brother that day.

"I let him alone, but I see that he isn't badgered too much. That's  all I can do. If Ed had only come home last Saturday it might have  done some good, but now it will be too late; for the reports are  given out to-morrow, you know," answered Frank, feeling a little  jealous of Ed's influence over Jack, though his own would have  been as great if he had been as gentle.

"Has Jerry come back?" asked Jill, who kept all her questions for  Frank, because she seldom alluded to the tender subject when with  Jack.

"No, he's off for the summer. Got a place somewhere. Hope he'll  stay there and let Bob alone."

"Where is Bob now? I don't hear much about him lately," said Jill,  who was constantly on the lookout for "the other fellow," since it  was not Joe.

"Oh, he went to Captain Skinner's the first of March, chores round,  and goes to school up there. Captain is strict, and won't let Bob  come to town, except Sundays; but he don't mind it much, for he  likes horses, has nice grub, and the Hill fellows are good chaps for  him to be with. So he's all right, if he only behaves."

"How far is it to Captain Skinner's?" asked Jill suddenly, having  listened, with her sharp eyes on Frank, as he tinkered away at his  model, since he was forbidden all other indulgence in his beloved  pastime.

"It's four miles to Hill District, but the Captain lives this side of the  school-house. About three from here, I should say."

"How long would it take a boy to walk up there?" went on the  questioner, with a new idea in her head.

"Depends on how much of a walkist he is."

"Suppose he was lame and it was sloshy, and he made a call and  came back. How long would that take?" asked Jill impatiently.

"Well, in that case, I should say two or three hours. But it's  impossible to tell exactly, unless you know how lame the fellow  was, and how long a call he made," said Frank, who liked to be  accurate.

"Jack couldn't do it in less, could he?"

"He used to run up that hilly road for a breather, and think nothing  of it. It would be a long job for him now, poor little chap, for his  leg often troubles him, though he hates to own it."

Jill lay back and laughed, a happy little laugh, as if she was  pleased about something, and Frank looked over his shoulder to  ask questions in his turn.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Can't tell."

"Why do you want to know about Hill District? Are you going  there?"

"Wish I could! I'd soon have it out of him."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Please push up my table. I must write a letter, and I  want you to post it for me to-night, and never say a word till I give  you leave.

"Oh, now you are going to have secrets and be mysterious, and get  into a mess, are you?" and Frank looked down at her with a  suspicious air, though he was intensely curious to know what she  was about.

"Go away till I'm done. You will have to see the outside, but you  can't know the inside till the answer comes"; and propping herself  up, Jill wrote the following note, with some hesitation at the  beginning and end, for she did not know the gentleman she was  addressing, except by sight, and it was rather awkward:

"Robert Walker

"Dear Sir, I want to ask if Jack Minot came to see you last Friday  afternoon. He got into trouble being seen with Jerry Shannon. He  paid him some money. Jack won't tell, and Mr. Acton talked to  him about it before all the school. We feel bad, because we think  Jack did not do wrong. I don't know as you have anything to do  with it, but I thought I'd ask. Please answer quick. Respectfully  yours,

Jane Pecq"

To make sure that her despatch was not tampered with, Jill put a  great splash of red sealing-wax on it, which gave it a very official  look, and much impressed Bob when he received it.

"There! Go and post it, and don't let anyone see or know about it,"  she said, handing it over to Frank, who left his work with unusual  alacrity to do her errand. When his eye fell on the address, he  laughed, and said in a teasing way,

"Are you and Bob such good friends that you correspond? What  will Jack say?"

"Don't know, and don't care! Be good, now, and let's have a little  secret as well as other folks. I'll tell you all about it when he  answers," said Jill in her most coaxing tone.

"Suppose he doesn't?"

"Then I shall send you up to see him. I must know something, and  I want to do it myself, if I can."

"Look here; what are you after? I do believe you think----" Frank  got no farther, for Jill gave a little scream, and stopped him by  crying eagerly, "Don't say it out loud! I really do believe it may be,  and I'm going to find out."

"What made you think of him?" and Frank looked thoughtfully at  the letter, as if turning carefully over in his mind the idea that Jill's  quick wits had jumped at.

"Come here and I'll tell you."

Holding him by one button, she whispered something in his ear  that made him exclaim, with a look at the rug,

"No! did he? I declare I shouldn't wonder! It would be just like the  dear old blunder-head."

"I never thought of it till you told me where Bob was, and then it  all sort of burst upon me in one minute!" cried Jill, waving her  arms about to express the intellectual explosion which had thrown  light upon the mystery, like sky-rockets in a dark night.

"You are as bright as a button. No time to lose; I'm off"; and off he  was, splashing through the mud to post the letter, on the back of  which he added, to make the thing sure, "Hurry up.

F.   M."

Both felt rather guilty next day, but enjoyed themselves very much  nevertheless, and kept chuckling over the mine they were making  under Jack's unconscious feet. They hardly expected an answer at  noon, as the Hill people were not very eager for their mail, but at  night Jill was sure of a letter, and to her great delight it came. Jack  brought it himself, which added to the fun, and while she eagerly  read it he sat calmly poring over the latest number of his own  private and particular "Youth's Companion."

Bob was not a "complete letter-writer" by any means, and with  great labor and much ink had produced the following brief but  highly satisfactory epistle. Not knowing how to address his fair  correspondent he let it alone, and went at once to the point in the  frankest possible way:

"Jack did come up Friday. Sorry he got into a mess. It was real  kind of him, and I shall pay him back soon. Jack paid Jerry for me  and I made him promise not to tell. Jerry said he'd come here and  make a row if I didn't cash up. I was afraid I'd lose the place if he  did, for the Capt. is awful strict. If Jack don't tell now, I will. I ain't  mean. Glad you wrote.

R. O. W."

"Hurrah!" cried Jill, waving the letter over her head in great  triumph. "Call everybody and read it out," she added, as Frank  snatched it, and ran for his mother, seeing at a glance that the news  was good. Jill was so afraid she should tell before the others came  that she burst out singing "Pretty Bobby Shafto" at the top of her  voice, to Jack's great disgust, for he considered the song very  personal, as he wa.s rather fond of "combing down his yellow  hair," and Jill often plagued him by singing it when he came in  with the golden quiris very smooth and nice to hide the scar on his  forehead.

In about five minutes the door flew open and in came Mamma,  making straight for bewildered Jack, who thought the family had  gone crazy when his parent caught him in her arms, saying  tenderly,

"My good, generous boy! I knew he was right all the time!" while  Frank worked his hand up and down like a pump-handle,  exclaiming heartily,

"You're a trump, sir, and I'm proud of you!" Jill meantime calling  out, in wild delight,

"I told you so! I told you so! I did find out; ha, ha, I did!"

"Come, I say! What's the matter? I'm all right. Don't squeeze the  breath out of me, please," expostulated Jack, looking so startled  and innocent, as he struggled feebly, that they all laughed, and this  plaintive protest caused him to be released. But the next  proceeding did not enlighten him much, for Frank kept waving a  very inky paper before him and ordering him to read it, while  Mamma made a charge at Jill, as if it was absolutely necessary to  hug somebody.

"Hullo!" said Jack, when he got the letter into his own hand and  read it. "Now who put Bob up to this? Nobody had any business to  interfere--but it's mighty good of him, anyway," he added, as the  anxious lines in his round face smoothed themselves away, while a  smile of relief told how hard it had been for him to keep his word.

"I did!" cried Jill, clapping her hands, and looking so happy that he  could not have scolded her if he had wanted to.

"Who told you he was in the scrape?" demanded Jack, in a hurry to  know all about it now the seal was taken off his own lips.

"You did"; and Jill's face twinkled with naughty satisfaction, for  this was the best fun of all.

"I didn't! When? Where? It's a joke!"

"You did," cried Jill, pointing to the rug. "You went to sleep there  after the long walk, and talked in your sleep about 'Bob' and 'All  right, old boy,' and ever so much gibberish. I didn't think about it  then, but when I heard that Bob was up there I thought maybe he  knew something about it, and last night I wrote and asked him, and  that's the answer, and now it is all right, and you are the best boy  that ever was, and I'm so glad!"

Here Jill paused, all out of breath, and Frank said, with an  approving pat on the head,

"It won't do to have such a sharp young person round if we are  going to have secrets. You'd make a good detective, miss."

"Catch me taking naps before people again"; and Jack looked  rather crestfallen that his own words had set "Fine Ear" on the  track. "Never mind, I didn't mean to tell, though I just ached to do  it all the time, so I haven't broken my word. I'm glad you all know,  but you needn't let it get out, for Bob is a good fellow, and it might  make trouble for him," added Jack, anxious lest his gain should be  the other's loss.

"I shall tell Mr. Acton myself, and the Captain, also, for I'm not  going to have my son suspected of wrong-doing when he has only  tried to help a friend, and borne enough for his sake," said  Mamma, much excited by this discovery of generous fidelity in her  boy; though when one came to look at it calmly, one saw that it  might have been done in a wiser way.

"Now, please, don't make a fuss about it; that would be most as  bad as having everyone down on me. I can stand your praising me,  but I won't be patted on the head by anybody else"; and Jack  assumed a manly air, though his face was full of genuine boyish  pleasure at being set right in the eyes of those he loved.

"I'll be discreet, dear, but you owe it to yourself, as well as Bob, to  have the truth known. Both have behaved well, and no harm will  come to him, I am sure. I'll see to that myself," said Mrs. Minot, in  a tone that set Jack's mind at rest on that point.

"Now do tell all about it," cried Jill, who was pining to know the  whole story, and felt as if she had earned the right to hear it.

"Oh, it wasn't much. We promised Ed to stand by Bob, so I did as  well as I knew how"; and Jack seemed to think that was about all  there was to say.

"I never saw such a fellow for keeping a promise! You stick to it  through thick and thin, no matter how silly or hard it is. You  remember, mother, last summer, how you told him not to go in a  boat and he promised, the day we went on the picnic. We rode up,  but the horse ran off home, so we had to come back by way of the  river, all but Jack, and he walked every step of five miles because  he wouldn't go near a boat, though Mr. Burton was there to take  care of him. I call that rather overdoing the matter"; and Frank  looked as if he thought moderation even in virtue a good thing.

"And I call it a fine sample of entire obedience. He obeyed orders,  and that is what we all must do, without always seeing why, or  daring to use our own judgment. It is a great safeguard to Jack, and  a very great comfort to me; for I know that if he promises he will  keep his word, no matter what it costs him," said Mamma warmly,  as she tumbled up the quirls with an irrepressible caress,  remembering how the boy came wearily in after all the others,  without seeming for a moment to think that he could have done  anything else.

"Like Casabianca!" cried Jill, much impressed, for obedience was  her hardest trial.

"I think he was a fool to burn up," said Frank, bound not to give in.

"I don't. It's a splendid piece, and everyone likes to speak it, and it  was true, and it wouldn't be in all the books if he was a fool.  Grown people know what is good," declared Jill, who liked heroic  actions, and was always hoping for a chance to distinguish herself  in that way.

"You admire 'The Charge of the Light Brigade,' and glow all over  as you thunder it out. Yet they went gallantly to their death rather  than disobey orders. A mistake, perhaps, but it makes us thrill to  hear of it; and the same spirit keeps my Jack true as steel when  once his word is passed, or he thinks it is his duty. Don't be  laughed out of it, my son, for faithfulness in little things fits one  for heroism when the great trials come. One's conscience can  hardly be too tender when honor and honesty are concerned."

"You are right, mother, and I am wrong. I beg your pardon, Jack,  and you sha'n't get ahead of me next time."

Frank made his mother a little bow, gave his brother a shake of the  hand, and nodded to Jill, as if anxious to show that he was not too  proud to own up when he made a mistake.

"Please tell on, Jack. This is very nice, but I do want to know all  about the other," said Jill, after a short pause.

"Let me see. Oh, I saw Bob at church, and he looked rather blue;  so, after Sunday School, I asked what the matter was. He said Jerry  bothered him for some money he lent him at different times when  they were loafing round together, before we took him up. He  wouldn't get any wages for some time. The Captain keeps him  short on purpose, I guess, and won't let him come down town  except on Sundays. He didn't want anyone to know about it, for  fear he'd lose his place. So I promised I wouldn't tell. Then I was  afraid Jerry would go and make a fuss, and Bob would run off, or  do something desperate, being worried, and I said I'd pay it for  him, if I could. So he went home pretty jolly, and I scratched  'round for the money. Got it, too, and wasn't I glad?"

Jack paused to rub his hands, and Frank said, with more than usual  respect,

"Couldn't you get hold of Jerry in any other place, and out of  school time? That did the mischief, thanks to Joe. I thrashed him,  Jill--did I mention it?"

"I couldn't get all my money till Friday morning, and I knew Jerry  was off at night. I looked for him before school, and at noon, but  couldn't find him, so afternoon recess was my last chance. I was  bound to do it and I didn't mean to break the rule, but Jerry was  just going into the shop, so I pelted after him, and as it was private  business we went to the billiard-room. I declare I never was so  relieved as when I handed over that money, and made him say it  was all right, and he wouldn't go near Bob. He's off, so my mind is  easy, and Bob will be so grateful I can keep him steady, perhaps.  That will be worth two seventy-five, I think," said Jack heartily.

"You should have come to me," began Frank.

"And got laughed at--no, thank you," interrupted Jack, recollecting  several philanthropic little enterprises which were nipped in the  bud for want of co-operation.

"To me, then," said his mother. "It would have saved so much  trouble."

"I thought of it, but Bob didn't want the big fellows to know for  fear they'd be down on him, so I thought he might not like me to  tell grown people. I don't mind the fuss now, and Bob is as kind as  he can be. Wanted to give me his big knife, but I wouldn't take it.  I'd rather have this," and Jack put the letter in his pocket with a  slap outside, as if it warmed the cockles of his heart to have it  there.

"Well, it seems rather like a tempest in a teapot, now it is all over,  but I do admire your pluck, little boy, in holding out so well when  everyone was scolding at you, and you in the right all the time,"  said Frank, glad to praise, now that he honestly could, after his  wholesale condemnation.

"That is what pulled me through, I suppose. I used to think if I had  done anything wrong, that I couldn't stand the snubbing a day. I  should have told right off, and had it over. Now, I guess I'll have a  good report if you do tell Mr. Acton," said Jack, looking at his  mother so wistfully, that she resolved to slip away that very  evening, and make sure that the thing was done.

"That will make you happier than anything else, won't it?" asked  Jill, eager to have him rewarded after his trials.

"There's one thing I like better, though I'd be very sorry to lose my  report. It's the fun of telling Ed I tried to do as he wanted us to, and  seeing how pleased he'll be," added Jack, rather bashfully, for the  boys laughed at him sometimes for his love of this friend.

"I know he won't be any happier about it than someone else, who  stood by you all through, and set her bright wits to work till the  trouble was all cleared away," said Mrs. Minot, looking at Jill's  contented face, as she lay smiling on them all.

Jack understood, and, hopping across the room, gave both the thin  hands a hearty shake; then, not finding any words quite cordial  enough in which to thank this faithful little sister, he stooped down  and kissed her gratefully.

Chapter 15  Saint Lucy

Saturday was a busy and a happy time to Jack, for in the morning  Mr. Acton came to see him, having heard the story overnight, and  promised to keep Bob's secret while giving Jack an acquittal as  public as the reprimand had been. Then he asked for the report  which Jack had bravely received the day before and put away  without showing to anybody.

"There is one mistake here which we must rectify," said Mr.  Acton, as he crossed out the low figures under the word  "Behavior," and put the much-desired 100 there.

"But I did break the rule, sir," said Jack, though his face glowed  with pleasure, for Mamma was looking on.

"I overlook that as I should your breaking into my house if you saw  it was on fire. You ran to save a friend, and I wish I could tell  those fellows why you were there. It would do them good. I am not  going to praise you, John, but I did believe you in spite of  appearances, and I am glad to have for a pupil a boy who loves his  neighbor better than himself."

Then, having shaken hands heartily, Mr. Acton went away, and  Jack flew off to have rejoicings with Jill, who sat up on her sofa,  without knowing it, so eager was she to hear all about the call.

In the afternoon Jack drove his mother to the Captain's, confiding  to her on the way what a hard time he had when he went before,  and how nothing but the thought of cheering Bob kept him up  when he slipped and hurt his knee, and his boot sprung a leak, and  the wind came up very cold, and the hill seemed an endless  mountain of mud and snow.

Mrs. Minot had such a gentle way of putting things that she would  have won over a much harder man than the strict old Captain, who  heard the story with interest, and was much pleased with the boys'  efforts to keep Bob straight. That young person dodged away into  the barn with Jack, and only appeared at the last minute to shove a  bag of chestnuts into the chaise. But he got a few kind words that  did him good, from Mrs. Minot and the Captain, and from that day  felt himself under bonds to behave well if he would keep their  confidence.

"I shall give Jill the nuts; and I wish I had something she wanted  very, very much, for I do think she ought to be rewarded for  getting me out of the mess," said Jack, as they'd rove happily  home again.

"I hope to have something in a day or two that will delight her very  much. I will say no more now, but keep my little secret and let it  be a surprise to all by and by," answered his mother, looking as if  she had not much doubt about the matter.

"That will be jolly. You are welcome to your secret, Mamma. I've  had enough of them for one while"; and Jack shrugged his broad  shoulders as if a burden had been taken off.

In the evening Ed came, and Jack was quite satisfied when he saw  how pleased his friend was at what he had done.

"I never meant you should take so much trouble, only be kind to  Bob," said Ed, who did not know how strong his influence was,  nor what a sweet example of quiet well-doing his own life was to  all his mates.

"I wished to be really useful; not just to talk about it and do  nothing. That isn't your way, and I want to be like you," answered

Jack, with such affectionate sincerity that Ed could not help  believing him, though he modestly declined the compliment by  saying, as he began to play softly, "Better than I am, I hope. I don't  amount to much."

"Yes, you do! and if anyone says you don't I'll shake him. I can't  tell what it is, only you always look so happy and contented--sort  of sweet and shiny," said Jack, as he stroked the smooth brown  head, rather at a loss to describe the unusually fresh and sunny  expression of Ed's face, which was always cheerful, yet had a  certain thoughtfulness that made it very attractive to both young  and old.

"Soap makes him shiny; I never saw such a fellow to wash and  brush," put in Frank, as he came up with one of the pieces of music  he and Ed were fond of practising together.

"I don't mean that!" said Jack indignantly. "I wash and brush till  you call me a dandy, but I don't have the same look--it seems to  come from the inside, somehow, as if he was always jolly and  clean and good in his mind, you know."

"Born so," said Frank, rumbling away in the bass with a pair of  hands that would have been the better for some of the above-  mentioned soap, for he did not love to do much in the washing and  brushing line.

"I suppose that's it. Well, I like it, and I shall keep on trying, for  being loved by everyone is about the nicest thing in the world. Isn't  it, Ed?" asked Jack, with a gentle tweak of the ear as he put a  question which he knew would get no answer, for Ed was so  modest he could not see wherein he differed from other boys, nor  believe that the sunshine he saw in other faces was only the  reflection from his own.

Sunday evening Mrs. Minot sat by the fire, planning how she  should tell some good news she had been saving up all day. Mrs.  Pecq knew it, and seemed so delighted that she went about smiling  as if she did not know what trouble meant, and could not do  enough for the family. She was downstairs now, seeing that the  clothes were properly prepared for the wash, so there was no one  in the Bird Room but Mamma and the children. Frank was reading  up all he could find about some Biblical hero mentioned in the  day's sermon; Jill lay where she had lain for nearly four long  months, and though her face was pale and thin with the  confinement, there was an expression on it now sweeter even than  health. Jack sat on the rug beside her, looking at a white carnation  through the magnifying glass, while she was enjoying the perfume  of a red one as she talked to him.

"If you look at the white petals you'll see that they sparkle like  marble, and go winding a long way down to the middle of the  flower where it grows sort of rosy; and in among the small, curly  leaves, like fringed curtains, you can see the little green fairy  sitting all alone. Your mother showed me that, and I think it is very  pretty. I call it a 'fairy,' but it is really where the seeds are hidden  and the sweet smell comes from."

Jill spoke softly lest she should disturb the others, and, as she  turned to push up her pillow, she saw Mrs. Minot looking at her  with a smile she did not understand.

"Did you speak, 'm?" she asked, smiling back again, without in the  least knowing why.

"No, dear. I was listening and thinking what a pretty little story one  could make out of your fairy living alone down there, and only  known by her perfume."

"Tell it, Mamma. It is time for our story, and that would be a nice  one, I guess," said Jack, who was as fond of stories as when he sat  in his mother's lap and chuckled over the hero of the beanstalk.

'We don't have fairy tales on Sunday, you know," began Jill  regretfully.

"Call it a parable, and have a moral to it, then it will be all right,"  put in Frank, as he shut his big book, having found what he  wanted.

"I like stories about saints, and the good and wonderful things they  did," said Jill, who enjoyed the wise and interesting bits Mrs.  Minot often found for her in grown-up books, for Jill had  thoughtful times, and asked questions which showed that she was  growing fast in mind if not in body.

"This is a true story; but I will disguise it a little, and call it 'The  Miracle of Saint Lucy," began Mrs. Minot, seeing a way to tell her  good news and amuse the children likewise.

Frank retired to the easy-chair, that he might sleep if the tale  should prove too childish for him. Jill settled herself among her  cushions, and Jack lay flat upon the rug, with his feet up, so that he  could admire his red slippers and rest his knee, which ached.

"Once upon a time there was a queen who had two princes."

"Wasn't there a princess?" asked Jack, interested at once.

"No; and it was a great sorrow to the queen that she had no little  daughter, for the sons were growing up, and she was often very  lonely.

"Like Snowdrop's mother," whispered Jill.

"Now, don't keep interrupting, children, or we never shall get on,"  said Frank, more anxious to hear about the boys that were than the  girl that was not.

"One day, when the princes were out--ahem! we'll say  hunting--they found a little damsel lying on the snow, half dead  with cold, they thought. She was the child of a poor woman who  lived in the forest--a wild little thing, always dancing and singing  about; as hard to catch as a squirrel, and so fearless she would  climb the highest trees, leap broad brooks, or jump off the steep  rocks to show her courage. The boys carried her home to the  palace, and the queen was glad to have her. She had fallen and hurt  herself, so she lay in bed week after week, with her mother to take  care of her--"

"That's you," whispered Jack, throwing the white carnation at Jill,  and she threw back the red one, with her finger on her lips, for the  tale was very interesting now.

"She did not suffer much after a time, but she scolded and cried,  and could not be resigned, because she was a prisoner. The queen  tried to help her, but she could not do much; the princes were kind,  but they had their books and plays, and were away a good deal.  Some friends she had came often to see her, but still she beat her  wings against the bars, like a wild bird in a cage, and soon her  spirits were all gone, and it was sad to see her."

"Where was your Saint Lucy? I thought it was about her, asked  Jack, who did not like to have Jill's past troubles dwelt upon,  since his were not.

"She is coming. Saints are not born--they are made after many  trials and tribulations," answered his mother, looking at the fire as  if it helped her to spin her little story. "Well, the poor child used to  sing sometimes to while away the long hours--sad songs mostly,  and one among them which the queen taught her was 'Sweet  Patience, Come.'

"This she used to sing a great deal after a while, never dreaming  that Patience was an angel who could hear and obey. But it was so;  and one night, when the girl had lulled herself to sleep with that  song, the angel came. Nobody saw the lovely spirit with tender  eyes, and a voice that was like balm. No one heard the rustle of  wings as she hovered over the little bed and touched the lips, the  eyes, the hands of the sleeper, and then flew away, leaving three  gifts behind. The girl did not know why, but after that night the  songs grew gayer, there seemed to be more sunshine everywhere  her eyes looked, and her hands were never tired of helping others  in various pretty, useful, or pleasant ways. Slowly the wild bird  ceased to beat against the bars, but sat in its cage and made music  for all in the palace, till the queen could not do without it, the poor  mother cheered up, and the princes called the girl their  nightingale."

"Was that the miracle?" asked Jack, forgetting all about his  slippers, as he watched Jill's eyes brighten and the color come up  in her white cheeks.

"That was the miracle, and Patience can work far greater ones if  you will let her."

"And the girl's name was Lucy?"

"Yes; they did not call her a saint then, but she was trying to be as  cheerful as a certain good woman she had heard of, and so the  queen had that name for her, though she did not let her know it for  a long time."

"That's not bad for a Sunday story, but there might have been more  about the princes, seems to me," was Frank's criticism, as Jill lay  very still, trying to hide her face behind the carnation, for she had  no words to tell how touched and pleased she was to find that her  little efforts to be good had been seen, remembered, and now  rewarded in this way.

There is more.

"Then the story isn't done?" cried Jack.

"Oh dear, no; the most interesting things are to come, if you can  wait for them."

"Yes, I see, this is the moral part. Now keep still, and let us have  the rest," commanded Frank, while the others composed  themselves for the sequel, suspecting that it was rather nice,  because Mamma's sober face changed, and her eyes laughed as  they looked at the fire.

"The elder prince was very fond of driving dragons, for the people  of that country used these fiery monsters as horses."

"And got run away with, didn't he?" laughed Jack, adding, with  great interest, "What did the other fellow do?"

"He went about fighting other people's battles, helping the poor,  and trying to do good. But he lacked judgment, so he often got into  trouble, and was in such a hurry that he did not always stop to find  out the wisest way. As when he gave away his best coat to a beggar  boy, instead of the old one which he intended to give.

"I say, that isn't fair, mother! Neither of them was new, and the boy  needed the best more than I'd id, and I wore the old one all winter,  didn't I?" asked Jack, who had rather exulted over Frank, and was  now taken down himself.

"Yes, you did, my dear; and it was not an easy thing for my  dandiprat to do. Now listen, and I'll tell you how they both learned  to be wiser. The elder prince soon found that the big dragons were  too much for him, and set about training his own

little one, who now and then ran away with him. Its name was  Will, a good servant, but a bad master; so he learned to control it,  and in time this gave him great power over himself, and fitted him  to be a king over others."

"Thank you, mother; I'll remember my part of the moral. Now give  Jack his," said Frank, who liked the dragon episode, as he had been  wrestling with his own of late, and found it hard to manage.

"He had a fine example before him in a friend, and he followed it  more reasonably till he grew able to use wisely one of the best and  noblest gifts of God--benevolence."

"Now tell about the girl. Was there more to that part of the story?"  asked Jack, well pleased with his moral, as it took Ed in likewise.

"That is the best of all, but it seems as if I never should get to it.  After Patience made Lucy sweet and cheerful, she began to have a  curious power over those about her, and to work little miracles  herself, though she did not know it. The queen learned to love her  so dearly she could not let her go; she cheered up all her friends  when they came with their small troubles; the princes found bright  eyes, willing hands, and a kind heart always at their service, and  felt, without quite knowing why, that it was good for them to have  a gentle little creature to care for; so they softened their rough  manners, loud voices, and careless ways, for her sake, and when it  was proposed to take her away to her own home they could not  give her up, but said she must stay longer, didn't they?"

"I'd like to see them saying anything else," said Frank, while Jack  sat up to demand fiercely,

"Who talks about taking Jill away?"

"Lucy's mother thought she ought to go, and said so, but the queen  told her how much good it did them all to have her there, and  begged the dear woman to let her little cottage and come and be  housekeeper in the palace, for the queen was getting lazy, and  liked to sit and read, and talk and sew with Lucy, better than to  look after things."

"And she said she would?" cried Jill, clasping her hands in her  anxiety, for she had learned to love her cage now.

"Yes." Mrs. Minot had no time to say more, for one of the red  slippers flew up in the air, and Jack had to clap both hands over his  mouth to suppress the "hurrah!" that nearly escaped. Frank said,  "That's good!" and nodded with his most cordial smile at Jill who  pulled herself up with cheeks now as rosy as the red carnation, and  a little catch in her breath as she said to herself,

"It's too lovely to be true."

"That's a first-rate end to a very good story," began Jack, with  grave decision, as he put on his slipper and sat up to pat Jill's hand,  wishing it was not quite so like a little claw.

"That's not the end"; and Mamma's eyes laughed more than ever as  three astonished faces turned to her, and three voices cried out,

"Still more?"

"The very best of all. You must know that, while Lucy was busy  for others, she was not forgotten, and when she was expecting to  lie on her bed through the summer, plans were being made for all  sorts of pleasant changes. First of all, she was to have a nice little  brace to support the back which was growing better every day;  then, as the warm weather came on, she was to go out, or lie on the  piazza; and by and by, when school was done, she was to go with  the queen and the princes for a month or two down to the sea-side,  where fresh air and salt water were to build her up in the most  delightful way. There, now! isn't that the best ending of all?" and  Mamma paused to read her answer in the bright faces of two of the  listeners, for Jill hid hers in the pillow, and lay quite still, as if it  was too much for her.

"That will be regularly splendid! I'll row you all about--boating is  so much easier than riding, and I like it on salt water," said

Frank, going to sit on the arm of the sofa, quite excited by the  charms of the new plan.

"And I'll teach you to swim, and roll you over the beach, and get  sea-weed and shells, and no end of nice things, and we'll all come  home as strong as lions," added Jack, scrambling up as if about to  set off at once.

"The doctor says you have been doing finely of late, and the brace  will come to-morrow, and the first really mild day you are to have  a breath of fresh air. Won't that be good?" asked Mrs. Minot,  hoping her story had not been too interesting.

"Is she crying?" said Jack, much concerned as he patted the pillow  in his most soothing way, while Frank lifted one curl after another  to see what was hidden underneath.

Not tears, for two eyes sparkled behind the fingers, then the hands  came down like clouds from before the sun, and Jill's face shone  out so bright and happy it did one's heart good to see it.

"I'm not crying," she said with a laugh which was fuller of blithe  music than any song she sung. "But it was so splendid, it sort of  took my breath away for a minute. I thought I wasn't any better,  and never should be, and I made up my mind I wouldn't ask, it  would be so hard for anyone to tell me so. Now I see why the  doctor made me stand up, and told me to get my baskets ready to  go a-Maying. I thought he was in fun; did he really mean I could  go?" asked Jill, expecting too much, for a word of encouragement  made her as hopeful as she had been despondent before.

"No, dear, not so soon as that. It will be months, probably, before  you can walk and run, as you used to; but they will soon pass. You  needn't mind about May-day; it is always too cold for flowers, and  you will find more here among your own plants, than on the hills,  to fill your baskets," answered Mrs. Minot, hastening to suggest  something pleasant to beguile the time of probation.

"I can wait. Months are not years, and if I'm truly getting well,  everything will seem beautiful and easy to me," said Jill, laying  herself down again, with the patient look she had learned to wear,  and gathering up the scattered carnations to enjoy their spicy  breath, as if the fairies hidden there had taught her some of their  sweet secrets.

"Dear little girl, it has been a long, hard trial for you, but it is  coming to an end, and I think you will find that it has not been  time wasted, I don't want you to be a saint quite yet, but I am sure  a gentler Jill will rise up from that sofa than the one who lay down  there in December."

"How could I help growing better, when you were so good to me?"  cried Jill, putting up both arms, as Mrs. Minot went to take Frank's  place, and he retired to the fire, there to stand surveying the scene  with calm approval.

"You have done quite as much for us; so we are even. I proved that  to your mother, and she is going to let the little house and take care  of the big one for me, while I borrow you to keep me happy and  make the boys gentle and kind. That is the bargain, and we get the  best of it," said Mrs. Minot, looking well pleased, while Jack  added, "That's so!" and Frank observed with an air of conviction,  'We couldn't get on without Jill, possibly."

"Can I do all that? I'd idn't know I was of any use. I only tried to be  good and grateful, for there didn't seem to be anything else I could  do," said Jill, wondering why they were all so fond of her.

"No real trying is ever in vain. It is like the spring rain, and flowers  are sure to follow in good time. The three gifts Patience gave Saint  Lucy were courage, cheerfulness, and love, and with these one can  work the sweetest miracles in the world, as you see," and Mrs.  Minot pointed to the pretty room and its happy inmates.

"Am I really the least bit like that good Lucinda? I tried to be, but I  didn't think I was," asked Jill softly.

"You are very like her in all ways but one. She did not get well,  and you will."

A short answer, but it satisfied Jill to her heart's core, and that  night, when she lay in bed, she thought to herself: "How curious it  is that I've been a sort of missionary without knowing it! They all  love and thank me, and won't let me go, so I suppose I must have  done something, but I don't know what, except trying to be good  and pleasant."

That was the secret, and Jill found it out just when it was most  grateful as a reward for past efforts, most helpful as an  encouragement toward the constant well-doing which can make  even a little girl a joy and comfort to all who know and love her.

Chapter 16  Up at Merry's

"Now fly round, child, and get your sweeping done up smart and  early."

"Yes, mother."

"I shall want you to help me about the baking, by and by."

"Yes, mother."

"Roxy is cleaning the cellar-closets, so you'll have to get the  vegetables ready for dinner. Father wants a boiled dish, and I shall  be so busy I can't see to it."

"Yes, mother."

A cheerful voice gave the three answers, but it cost Merry an effort  to keep it so, for she had certain little plans of her own which  made the work before her unusually distasteful. Saturday always  was a trying day, for, though she liked to see rooms in order, she  hated to sweep, as no speck escaped Mrs. Grant's eye, and only the  good old-fashioned broom, wielded by a pair of strong arms, was  allowed. Baking was another trial: she loved good bread and  delicate pastry, but did not enjoy burning her face over a hot stove,  daubing her hands with dough, or spending hours rolling out  cookies for the boys; while a "boiled dinner" was her especial  horror, as it was not elegant, and the washing of vegetables was a  job she always shirked when she could.

However, having made up her mind to do her work without  complaint, she ran upstairs to put on her dust-cap, trying to look as  if sweeping was the joy of her life.

"It is such a lovely day, I'd id want to rake my garden, and have a  walk with Molly, and finish my book so I can get another," she  said with a sigh, as she leaned out of the open window for a breath  of the unusually mild air.

Down in the ten-acre lot the boys were carting and spreading loam;  out in the barn her father was getting his plows ready; over the hill  rose the smoke of the distant factory, and the river that turned the  wheels was gliding through the meadows, where soon the  blackbirds would be singing. Old Bess pawed the ground, eager to  be off; the gray hens were scratching busily all about the yard;  even the green things in the garden were pushing through the  brown earth, softened by April rains, and there was a shimmer of  sunshine over the wide landscape that made every familiar object  beautiful with hints of spring, and the activity it brings.

Something made the old nursery hymn come into Merry's head,  and humming to herself,

"In works of labor or of skill  I would be busy too,"

she tied on her cap, shouldered her broom, and fell to work so  energetically that she soon swept her way through the chambers,  down the front stairs to the parlor door, leaving freshness and  order behind her as she went.

She always groaned when she entered that apartment, and got out  of it again as soon as possible, for it was, like most country  parlors, a prim and chilly place, with little beauty and no comfort.  Black horse-hair furniture, very slippery and hard, stood against  the wall; the table had its gift books, albums, worsted mat and ugly  lamp; the mantel-piece its china vases, pink shells, and clock that  never went; the gay carpet was kept distressingly bright by closed  shutters six days out of the seven, and a general air of go-to-  meeting solemnity pervaded the room. Merry longed to make it  pretty and pleasant, but her mother would allow of no change  there, so the girl gave up her dreams of rugs and hangings, fine  pictures and tasteful ornaments, and dutifully aired, dusted, and  shut up this awful apartment once a week, privately resolving that,  if she ever had a parlor of her own, it should not be as dismal as a  tomb.

The dining-room was a very different place, for here Merry had  been allowed to do as she liked, yet so gradual had been the  change, that she would have found it difficult to tell how it came  about. It seemed to begin with the flowers, for her father kept his  word about the "posy pots," and got enough to make quite a little  conservatory in the bay-window, which was sufficiently large for  three rows all round, and hanging-baskets overhead. Being  discouraged by her first failure, Merry gave up trying to have  things nice everywhere, and contented herself with making that  one nook so pretty that the boys called it her "bower." Even busy  Mrs. Grant owned that plants were not so messy as she expected,  and the fanner was never tired of watching "little daughter" as she  sat at work there, with her low chair and table full of books.

The lamp helped, also, for Merry set up her own, and kept it so  well trimmed that it burned clear and bright, shining on the green  arch of ivy overhead, and on the nasturtium vines framing the old  glass, and peeping at their gay little faces, and at the pretty young  girl, so pleasantly that first her father came to read his paper by it,  then her mother slipped in to rest on the lounge in the corner, and  finally the boys hovered about the door as if the "settin'-room" had  grown more attractive than the kitchen.

But the open fire did more than anything else to win and hold them  all, as it seldom fails to do when the black demon of an airtight  stove is banished from the hearth. After the room was cleaned till  it shone, Merry begged to have the brass andirons put in, and  offered to keep them as bright as gold if her mother would  consent. So the great logs were kindled, and the flames went  dancing up the chimney as if glad to be set free from their prison.  It changed the whole room like magic, and no one could  resist the desire to enjoy its cheery comfort. The farmer's  three-cornered leathern chair soon stood on one side, and mother's  rocker on the other, as they toasted their feet and dozed or chatted  in the pleasant warmth.

The boys' slippers were always ready on the hearth; and when the  big boots were once off, they naturally settled down about the  table, where the tall lamp, with its pretty shade of pressed autumn  leaves, burned brightly, and the books and papers lay ready to their  hands instead of being tucked out of sight in the closet. They were  beginning to see that "Merry's notions" had some sense in them,  since they were made comfortable, and good-naturedly took some  pains to please her in various ways. Tom brushed his hair and  washed his hands nicely before he came to table. Dick tried to  lower his boisterous laughter, and Harry never smoked in the  sitting-room. Even Roxy expressed her pleasure in seeing "things  kind of spruced up," and Merry's gentle treatment of the  hard-working drudge won her heart entirely.

The girl was thinking of these changes as she watered her flowers,  dusted the furniture, and laid the fire ready for kindling; and, when  all was done, she stood a minute to enjoy the pleasant room, full of  spring sunshine, fresh air, and exquisite order. It seemed to give  her heart for more distasteful labors, and she fell to work at the  pies as cheerfully as if she liked it.

Mrs. Grant was flying about the kitchen, getting the loaves of  brown and white bread ready for the big oven. Roxy's voice came  up from the cellar singing "Bounding Billows," with a swashing  and scrubbing accompaniment which suggested that she was  actually enjoying a "life on the ocean wave." Merry, in her neat  cap and apron, stood smiling over her work as she deftly rolled and  clipped, filled and covered, finding a certain sort of pleasure in  doing it well, and adding interest to it by crimping the crust,  making pretty devices with strips of paste and star-shaped  prickings of the fork.

"Good-will giveth skill," says the proverb, and even particular Mrs.  Grant was satisfied when she paused to examine the pastry with  her experienced eye.

"You are a handy child and a credit to your bringing up, though I  do say it. Those are as pretty pies as I'd wish to eat, if they bake  well, and there's no reason why they shouldn't."

"May I make some tarts or rabbits of these bits? The boys like  them, and I enjoy modelling this sort of thing," said Merry, who  was trying to mould a bird, as she had seen Ralph do with clay to  amuse Jill while the bust was going on.

"No, dear; there's no time for knick-knacks to-day. The beets ought  to be on this minute. Run and get 'em, and be sure you scrape the  carrots well."

Poor Merry put away the delicate task she was just beginning to  like, and taking a pan went down cellar, wishing vegetables could  be grown without earth, for she hated to put her hands in dirty  water. A word of praise to Roxy made that grateful scrubber leave  her work to poke about in the root-cellar, choosing "sech as was  pretty much of a muchness, else they wouldn't bile even"; so Merry  was spared that part of the job, and went up to scrape and wash  without complaint, since it was for father. She was repaid at noon  by the relish with which he enjoyed his dinner, for Merry tried to  make even a boiled dish pretty by arranging the beets, carrots,  turnips, and potatoes in contrasting colors, with the beef hidden  under the cabbage leaves.

"Now, I'll rest and read for an hour, then I'll rake my garden, or run  down town to see Molly and get some seeds," she thought to  herself, as she put away the spoons and glasses, which she liked to  wash, that they might always be clear and bright.

"If you've done all your own mending, there's a heap of socks to be  looked over. Then I'll show you about darning the tablecloths. I do  hate to have a stitch of work left over till Monday," said Mrs.  Grant, who never took naps, and prided herself on sitting down to  her needle at 3 P.M. every day.

"Yes, mother"; and Merry went slowly upstairs, feeling that a part  of Saturday ought to be a holiday after books and work all the  week. As she braided up her hair, her eye fell upon the reflection  of her own face in the glass. Not a happy nor a pretty one just then,  and Merry was so unaccustomed to seeing any other, that  involuntarily the frown smoothed itself out, the eyes lost their  weary look, the drooping lips curved into a smile, and, leaning her  elbows on the bureau, she shook her head at herself, saying, half  aloud, as she glanced at Ivanhoe lying near,

"You needn't look so cross and ugly just because you can't have  what you want. Sweeping, baking, and darning are not so bad as  being plagued with lovers and carried off and burnt at the stake, so  I won't envy poor Rebecca her jewels and curls and romantic  times, but make the best of my own."

Then she laughed, and the bright face came back into the mirror,  looking like an old friend, and Merry went on dressing with care,  for she took pleasure in her own little charms, and felt a sense of  comfort in knowing that she could always have one pretty thing to  look at if she kept her own face serene and sweet. It certainly  looked so as it bent over the pile of big socks half an hour later,  and brightened with each that was laid aside. Her mother saw it,  and, guessing why such wistful glances went from clock to  window, kindly shortened the task of table-cloth darning by doing  a good bit herself, before putting it into Merry's hands.

She was a good and loving mother in spite of her strict ways, and  knew that it was better for her romantic daughter to be learning all  the housewifery lessons she could teach her, than to be reading  novels, writing verses, or philandering about with her head full of  girlish fancies, quite innocent in themselves, but not the stuff to  live on. So she wisely taught the hands that preferred to pick  flowers, trim up rooms and mould birds, to work well with needle,  broom, and rolling-pin; put a receipt-book before the eyes that  loved to laugh and weep over tender tales, and kept the young head  and heart safe and happy with wholesome duties, useful studies,  and such harmless pleasures as girls should love, instead of letting  them waste their freshness in vague longings, idle dreams, and  frivolous pastimes.

But it was often hard to thwart the docile child, and lately she had  seemed to be growing up so fast that her mother began to feel a  new sort of tenderness for this sweet daughter, who was almost  ready to take upon herself the cares, as well as triumphs and  delights, of maidenhood. Something in the droop of the brown  head, and the quick motion of the busy hand with a little burn on  it, made it difficult for Mrs. Grant to keep Merry at work that day,  and her eye watched the clock almost as impatiently as the girl's,  for she liked to see the young face brighten when the hour of  release came.

"What next?" asked Merry, as the last stitch was set, and she  stifled a sigh on hearing the clock strike four, for the sun was  getting low, and the lovely afternoon going fast,

"One more job, if you are not too tired for it. I want the receipt for  diet drink Miss Dawes promised me; would you like to run down  and get it for me, dear?"

"Yes, mother!" and that answer was as blithe as a robin's chirp, for  that was just where Merry wanted to go.

Away went thimble and scissors, and in five minutes away went  Merry, skipping down the hill without a care in the world, for a  happy heart sat singing within, and everything seemed full of  beauty.

She had a capital time with Molly, called on Jill, did her shopping  in the village, and had just turned to walk up the hill, when Ralph  Evans came tramping along behind her, looking so pleased and  proud about something that she could not help asking what it was,  for they were great friends, and Merry thought that to be an artist  was the most glorious career a man could choose.

"I know you've got some good news," she said, looking up at him  as he touched his hat and fell into step with her, seeming more  contented than before.

"I have, and was just coming up to tell you, for I was sure you  would be glad. It is only a hope, a chance, but it is so splendid I  feel as if I must shout and dance, or fly over a fence or two, to let  off steam."

"Do tell me, quick; have you got an order?" asked Merry, full of  interest at once, for artistic vicissitudes were very romantic, and  she liked to hear about them.

"I may go abroad in the autumn."

"Oh, how lovely!"

"Isn't it? David German is going to spend a year in Rome, to finish  a statue, and wants me to go along. Grandma is willing, as cousin  Maria wants her for a long visit, so everything looks promising and  I really think I may go."

"Won't it cost a great deal?" asked Merry, who, in spite of her little  elegancies, had a good deal of her thrifty mother's common sense.

"Yes; and I've got to earn it. But I can--I know I can, for I've saved  some, and I shall work like ten beavers all summer. I won't borrow  if I can help it, but I know someone who would lend me five  hundred if I wanted it"; and Ralph looked as eager and secure as if  the earning of twice that sum was a mere trifle when all the  longing of his life was put into his daily tasks.

"I wish 1 had it to give you. It must be so splendid to feel that you  can do great things if you only have the chance. And to travel, and  see all the lovely pictures and statues, and people and places in  Italy. Flow happy you must be!" and Merry's eyes had the wistful  look they always wore when she dreamed dreams of the world she  loved to live in.

"I am--so happy that I'm afraid it never will happen. If I do go, I'll  write and tell you all about the fine sights, and how I get on.   Would you like me to?" asked Ralph, beginning enthusiastically  and ending rather bashfully, for he admired Merry very much, and  was not quite sure how this proposal would be received.

"Indeed I should! I'd feel so grand to have letters from Paris and  Rome, and you'd have so much to tell it would be almost as good  as going myself," she said, looking off into the daffodil sky, as they  paused a minute on the hill-top to get breath, for both had walked  as fast as they talked.

"And will you answer the letters?" asked Ralph, watching the  innocent face, which looked unusually kind and beautiful to him in  that soft light.

'Why, yes; I'd love to, only I shall not have anything interesting to  say. What can I write about?" and Merry smiled as she thought  how dull her letters would sound after the exciting details his  would doubtless give.

"Write about yourself, and all the rest of the people I know.  Grandma will be gone, and I shall want to hear how you get on."  Ralph looked very anxious indeed to hear, and Merry promised she  would tell all about the other people, adding, as she turned from  the evening peace and loveliness to the house, whence came the  clatter of milk-pans and the smell of cooking,

"I never should have anything very nice to tell about myself, for I  don't do interesting things as you do, and you wouldn't care to hear  about school, and sewing, and messing round at home."

Merry gave a disdainful little sniff at the savory perfume of ham  which saluted them, and paused with her hand on the gate, as if  she found it pleasanter out there than in the house. Ralph seemed  to agree with her, for, leaning on the gate, he lingered to say, with  real sympathy in his tone and something else in his face, "Yes, I  should; so you write and tell me all about it. I didn't

know you had any worries, for you always seemed like one of the  happiest people in the world, with so many to pet and care for you,  and plenty of money, and nothing very hard or hateful to do. You'd  think you were well off if you knew as much about poverty and  work and never getting what you want, as I do."

"You bear your worries so well that nobody knows you have them.  I ought not to complain, and I won't, for I do have all I need. I'm so  glad you are going to get what you want at last"; and Merry held  out her hand to say good-night, with so much pleasure in her face  that Ralph could not make up his mind to go just yet.

"I shall have to scratch round in a lively way before I do get it, for  David says a fellow can't live on less than four or five hundred a  year, even living as poor artists have to, in garrets and on Crusts. I  don't mind as long as Grandma is all right. She is away to-night, or    I should not be here," he added, as if some excuse was necessary.  Merry needed no hint, for her tender heart was touched by the  vision of her friend in a garret, and she suddenly rejoiced that there  was ham and eggs for supper, so that he might be well fed once, at  least, before he went away to feed on artistic crusts.

"Being here, come in and spend the evening. The boys will like to  hear the news, and so will father. Do, now."

It was impossible to refuse the invitation he had been longing for,  and in they went to the great delight of Roxy, who instantly retired  to the pantry, smiling significantly, and brought out the most  elaborate pie in honor of the occasion. Merry touched up the table,  and put a little vase of flowers in the middle to redeem the  vulgarity of doughnuts. Of course the boys upset it, but as there  was company nothing was said, and Ralph devoured his supper  with the appetite of a hungry boy, while watching Merry eat bread  and cream out of an old-fashioned silver porringer, and thinking it  the sweetest sight he ever beheld.

Then the young people gathered about the table, full of the new  plans, and the elders listened as they rested after the week's work.  A pleasant evening, for they all liked Ralph, but as the parents  watched Merry sitting among the great lads like a little queen  among her subjects, half unconscious as yet of the power in her  hands, they nodded to one another, and then shook their heads as if  they said,

"I'm afraid the time is coming, mother."

"No danger as long as she don't know it, father."

At nine the boys went off to the barn, the farmer to wind up the  eight-day clock, and the housewife to see how the baked beans and  Indian pudding for to-morrow were getting on in the oven. Ralph  took up his hat to go, saying as he looked at the shade on the tall  student lamp,

"What a good light that gives! I can see it as I go home every night,  and it burns up here like a beacon. I always look for it, and it  hardly ever fails to be burning. Sort of cheers up the way, you  know, when I'm tired or low in my mind."

"Then I'm very glad I got it. I liked the shape, but the boys laughed  at it as they did at my buirushes in a ginger-jar over there. I'd been  reading about 'household art,' and I thought I'd try a little,"  answered Merry, laughing at her own whims.

"You've got a better sort of household art, I think, for you make  people happy and places pretty, without fussing over it. This room  is ever so much improved every time I come, though I hardly see  what it is except the flowers," said Ralph, looking from the girl to  the tall calla that bent its white cup above her as if to pour its dew  upon her head.

"Isn't that lovely? I tried to draw it--the shape was so graceful I  wanted to keep it. But I couldn't. Isn't it a pity such beautiful things  won't last forever?" and Merry looked regretfully at the half-faded  one that grew beside the fresh blossom.

"I can keep it for you. It would look well in plaster. May I?" asked  Ralph.

"Thank you, I should like that very much. Take the real one as a  model--please do; there are more coming, and this will brighten up  your room for a day or two."

As she spoke, Merry cut the stem, and, adding two or three of the  great green leaves, put the handsome flower in his hand with so  much good-will that he felt as if he had received a very precious  gift. Then he said good-night so gratefully that Merry's hand quite  tingled with the grasp of his, and went away, often looking  backward through the darkness to where the light burned brightly  on the hill-top--the beacon kindled by an unconscious Hero for a  young Leander swimming gallantly against wind and tide toward  the goal of his ambition.

Chapter 17  Down at Molly's

"Now, my dears, I've something very curious to tell you, so listen  quietly and then I'll give you your dinners," said Molly, addressing  the nine cats who came trooping after her as she went into the  shed-chamber with a bowl of milk and a plate of scraps in her  hands. She had taught them to behave well at meals, so, though  their eyes glared and their tails quivered with impatience, they  obeyed; and when she put the food on a high shelf and retired to  the big basket, the four old cats sat demurely down before her,  while the five kits scrambled after her and tumbled into her lap, as  if hoping to hasten the desired feast by their innocent gambols.

Granny, Tobias, Mortification, and Molasses were the elders.  Granny, a gray old puss, was the mother and grandmother of all the  rest. Tobias was her eldest son, and Mortification his brother, so  named because he had lost his tail, which affliction depressed his  spirits and cast a blight over his young life. Molasses was a yellow  cat, the mamma of four of the kits, the fifth being Granny's latest  darling. Toddlekins, the little aunt, was the image of her mother,  and very sedate even at that early age; Miss Muffet, so called from  her dread of spiders, was a timid black and white kit; Beauty, a  pretty Maltese, with a serene little face and pink nose; Ragbag, a  funny thing, every color that a cat could be; and Scamp, who well  deserved his name, for he was the plague of Miss Bat's life, and  Molly's especial pet.

He was now perched on her shoulder, and, as she talked, kept  peeping into her face or biting her ear in the most impertinent way,  while the others sprawled in her lap or promenaded round the  basket rim.

"My friends, something very remarkable has happened: Miss Bat is  cleaning house!" and, having made this announcement, Molly  leaned back to see how the cats received it, for she insisted that  they understood all she said to them.

Tobias stared, Mortification lay down as if it was too much for  him, Molasses beat her tail on the floor as if whipping a dusty  carpet, and Granny began to purr approvingly. The giddy kits paid  no attention, as they did not know what house-cleaning meant,  happy little dears!

"I thought you'd like it, Granny, for you are a decent cat, and know  what is proper," continued Molly, leaning down to stroke the old  puss, who blinked affectionately at her. "I can't imagine what put it  into Miss Bat's head. I never said a word, and gave up groaning  over the clutter, as I couldn't mend it. I just took care of Boo and  myself, and left her to be as untidy as she pleased, and she is a  regular old----"

Here Scamp put his paw on her lips because he saw them moving,  but it seemed as if it was to check the disrespectful word just  coming out.

"Well, I won't call names; but what shall I do when I see  everything in confusion, and she won't let me clear up?" asked  Molly, looking round at Scamp, who promptly put the little paw on  her eyelid, as if the roll of the blue ball underneath amused him.

"Shut my eyes to it, you mean? I do all I can, but it is hard, when I  wish to be nice, and do try; don't I?" asked Molly. But Scamp was  ready for her, and began to comb her hair with both paws as he  stood on his hind legs to work so busily that Molly laughed and  pulled him down, saying, as she cuddled the sly kit.

"You sharp little thing! I know my hair is not neat now, for I've  been chasing Boo round the garden to wash him for school. Then  Miss Bat threw the parlor carpet out of the window, and I was so  surprised I had to run and tell you. Now, what had we better do  about it?"

The cats all winked at her, but no one had any advice to offer,  except Tobias, who walked to the shelf, and, looking up, uttered a  deep, suggestive yowl, which said as plainly as words, "Dinner  first and discussion afterward."

"Very well, don't scramble," said Molly, getting up to feed her  pets. First the kits, who rushed at the bowl and thrust their heads  in, lapping as if for a wager; then the cats, who each went to one of  the four piles of scraps laid round at intervals and placidly ate their  meat; while Molly retired to the basket, to ponder over the  phenomena taking place in the house.

She could not imagine what had started the old lady. It was not the  example of her neighbors, who had beaten carpets and scrubbed  paint every spring for years without exciting her to any greater  exertion than cleaning a few windows and having a man to clear  away the rubbish displayed when the snow melted. Molly never  guessed that her own efforts were at the bottom of the change, or  knew that a few words not meant for her ear had shamed Miss Bat  into action. Coming home from prayer-meeting one dark night, she  trotted along behind two old ladies who were gossiping in loud  voices, as one was rather deaf, and Miss Bat was both pleased and  troubled to hear herself unduly praised.

"I always said Sister Dawes meant well; but she's getting into  years, and the care of two children is a good deal for her, with her  cooking and her rheumatiz. I don't deny she did neglect 'em for a  spell, but she does well by 'em now, and I wouldn't wish to see  better-appearing children."

"You've no idee how improved Molly is. She came in to see my  girls, and brought her sewing-work, shirts for the boy, and done it  as neat and capable as you'd wish to see. She always was a smart  child, but dreadful careless," said the other old lady, evidently  much impressed by the change in harum-scarum Molly Loo.

"Being over to Mis Minot's so much has been good for her, and up  to Mis Grant's. Girls catch neat ways as quick as they'd o untidy  ones, and them wild little tykes often turn out smart women."

"Sister Dawes has done well by them children, and I hope Mr.  Bemis sees it. He ought to give her something comfortable to live  on when she can't do for him any longer. He can well afford it."

"I haven't a doubt he will. He's a lavish man when he starts to do a  thing, but dreadful unobserving, else he'd have seen to matters long  ago. Them children was town-talk last fall, and I used to feel as if  it was my bounden duty to speak to Miss Dawes. But I never did,  fearing I might speak too plain, and hurt her feelings."

"You've spoken plain enough now, and I'm beholden to you,  though you'll never know it," said Miss Bat to herself, as she  slipped into her own gate, while the gossips trudged on quite  unconscious of the listener behind them.

Miss Bat was a worthy old soul in the main, only, like so many of  us, she needed rousing up to her duty. She had got the rousing  now, and it did her good, for she could not bear to be praised when  she had not deserved it. She had watched Molly's efforts with lazy  interest, and when the girl gave up meddling with her affairs, as  she called the housekeeping, Miss Bat ceased to oppose her, and  let her scrub Boo, mend clothes, and brush her hair as much as she  liked. So Molly had worked along without any help from her,  running in to Mrs. Pecq for advice, to Merry for comfort, or Mrs.  Minot for the higher kind of help one often needs so much. Now  Miss Bat found that she was getting the credit and the praise  belonging to other people, and it stirred her up to try and deserve a  part at least.

"Molly don't want any help about her work or the boy: it's too late  for that; but if this house don't get a spring cleaning that will make  it shine, my name ain't Bathsheba Dawes," said the old lady, as she  put away her bonnet that night, and laid energetic plans for a grand  revolution, inspired thereto not only by shame, but by the hint that  "Mr. Bemis was a lavish man," as no one knew better than she.

Molly's amazement next day at seeing carpets fly out of window,  ancient cobwebs come down, and long-undisturbed closets routed  out to the great dismay of moths and mice, has been already  confided to the cats, and as she sat there watching them lap and  gnaw, she said to herself,

"I don't understand it, but as she never says much to me about my  affairs, I won't take any notice till she gets through, then I'll admire  everything all I can. It is so pleasant to be praised after you've been  trying hard."

She might well say that, for she got very little herself, and her  trials had been many, her efforts not always successful, and her  reward seemed a long way off. Poor Boo could have sympathized  with her, for he had suffered much persecution from his small  schoolmates when he appeared with large gray patches on the little  brown trousers, where he had worn them out coasting down those  too fascinating steps. As he could not see the patches himself, he  fancied them invisible, and came home much afflicted by the jeers  of his friends. Then Molly tried to make him a new pair out of a  sack of her own; but she cut both sides for the same leg, so one  was wrong side out. Fondly hoping no one would observe it, she  sewed bright buttons wherever they could be put, and sent  confiding Boo away in a pair of blue trousers, which were absurdly  hunchy behind and buttony before. He came home heart-broken  and muddy, having been accidentally tipped into a mud-puddle by  two bad boys who felt that such tailoring was an insult to mankind.  That roused Molly's spirit, and she begged her father to take the  boy and have him properly fitted out, as he was old enough now to  be well-dressed, and she wouldn't have him tormented. His  attention being called to the trousers, Mr. Bemis had a good laugh  over them, and then got Boo a suit which caused him to be the  admired of all observers, and to feel as proud as a little peacock.

Cheered by this success, Molly undertook a set of small shirts, and  stitched away bravely, though her own summer clothes were in a  sad state, and for the first time in her life she cared about what she  should wear.

"I must ask Merry, and maybe father will let me go with her and  her mother when they do their shopping, instead of leaving it to  Miss Bat, who dresses me like an old woman. Merry knows what  is pretty and becoming: I don't," thought Molly, meditating in the  bushel basket, with her eyes on her snuff-colored gown and the  dark purple bow at the end of the long braid Muffet had been  playing with.

Molly was beginning to see that even so small a matter as the  choice of colors made a difference in one's appearance, and to  wonder why Merry always took such pains to have a blue tie for  the gray dress, a rosy one for the brown, and gloves that matched  her bonnet ribbons. Merry never wore a locket outside her sack, a  gay bow in her hair and soiled cuffs, a smart hat and the braid  worn off her skirts. She was exquisitely neat and simple, yet  always looked well-dressed and pretty; for her love of beauty  taught her what all girls should learn as soon as they begin to care  for appearances--that neatness and simplicity are their best  ornaments, that good habits are better than fine clothes, and the  most elegant manners are the kindest.

All these thoughts were dancing through Molly's head, and when  she left her cats, after a general romp in which even decorous  Granny allowed her family to play leap-frog over her respectable  back, she had made up her mind not to have yellow ribbons on her  summer hat if she got a pink muslin as she had planned, but to  finish off Boo's last shirt before she went shopping with Merry.

It rained that evening, and Mr. Bemis had a headache, so he threw  himself down upon the lounge after tea for a nap, with his silk  handkerchief spread over his face. He did get a nap, and when he  waked he lay for a time drowsily listening to the patter of the rain,  and another sound which was even more soothing. Putting back a  corner of the handkerchief to learn what it was, he saw Molly  sitting by the fire with Boo in her lap, rocking and humming as she  warmed his little bare feet, having learned to guard against croup  by attending to the damp shoes and socks before going to bed. Boo  lay with his round face turned up to hers, stroking her cheek while  the sleepy blue eyes blinked lovingly at her as she sang her lullaby  with a motherly patience sweet to see. They made a pretty little  picture, and Mr. Bemis looked at it with pleasure, having a leisure  moment in which to discover, as all parents do sooner or later, that  his children were growing up.

"Molly is getting to be quite a woman, and very like her mother,"  thought papa, wiping the eye that peeped, for he had been fond of  the pretty wife who died when Boo was born. "Sad loss to them,  poor things! But Miss Bat seems to have done well by them. Molly  is much improved, and the boy looks finely. She's a good soul,  after all"; and Mr. Bemis began to think he had been hasty when  he half made up his mind to get a new housekeeper, feeling that  burnt steak, weak coffee, and ragged wristbands were sure signs  that Miss Bat's days of usefulness were over.

Molly was singing the lullaby her mother used to sing to her, and  her father listened to it silently till Boo was carried away too  sleepy for anything but bed. When she came back she sat down to  her work, fancying her father still asleep. She had a crimson bow  at her throat and one on the newly braided hair, her cuffs were  clean, and a white apron hid the shabbiness of the old dress. She  looked like a thrifty little housewife as she sat with her basket  beside her full of neat white rolls, her spools set forth, and a new  pair of scissors shining on the table. There was a sort of charm in  watching the busy needle flash to and fro, the anxious pucker of  the forehead as she looked to see if the stitches were even, and the  expression of intense relief upon her face as she surveyed the  finished button-hole with girlish satisfaction. Her father was wide  awake and looking at her, thinking, as he did so,

"Really the old lady has worked well to change my tomboy into  that nice little girl: I wonder how she did it." Then he gave a yawn,  pulled off the handkerchief, and said aloud, 'What are you making,  Molly?" for it struck him that sewing was a new amusement.

"Shirts for Boo, sir. Four, and this is the last," she answered, with  pardonable pride, as she held it up and nodded toward the pile in  her basket.

"Isn't that a new notion? I thought Miss Bat did the sewing," said  Mr. Bemis, as he smiled at the funny little garment, it looked so  like Boo himself.

"No, sir; only yours. I do mine and Boo's. At least, I'm learning  how, and Mrs. Pecq says I get on nicely," answered Molly,  threading her needle and making a knot in her most capable way.

"I suppose it is time you did learn, for you are getting to be a great  girl, and all women should know how to make and mend. You  must take a stitch for me now and then: Miss Bat's eyes are not  what they were, I find"; and Mr. Bemis looked at his frayed  wristband, as if he particularly felt the need of a stitch just then.

"I'd love to, and I guess I could. I can mend gloves; Merry taught  me, so I'd better begin on them, if you have any," said Molly, much  pleased at being able to do anything for her father, and still more  so at being asked.

"There's something to start with"; and he threw her a pair, with  nearly every finger ripped.

Molly shook her head over them, but got out her gray silk and fell  to work, glad to show how well she could sew.

"What are you smiling about?" asked her father, after a little pause,  for his head felt better, and it amused him to question Molly.

"I was thinking about my summer clothes. I must get them before  long, and I'd like to go with Mrs. Grant and learn how to shop, if  you are willing."

I thought Miss Bat did that for you.

"She always has, but she gets ugly, cheap things that I don't like. I  think I am old enough to choose myself, if there is someone to tell  me about prices and the goodness of the stuff. Merry does; and she  is only a few months older than I am."

"How old are you, child?" asked her father, feeling as if he had lost  his reckoning.

"Fifteen in August"; and Molly looked very proud of the fact.

"So you are! Bless my heart, how the time goes! Well, get what  you please; if I'm to have a young lady here, I'd like to have her  prettily dressed. It won't offend Miss Bat, will it?"

Molly's eyes sparkled, but she gave a little shrug as she answered,  "She won't care. She never troubles herself about me if I iet ncr  alone.

"Hey? what? Not trouble herself? If she doesn't, who does?" and  Mr. Bemis sat up as if this discovery was more surprising than the  other.

"I take care of myself and Boo, and she looks after you. The house  goes anyway."

"I should think so! I nearly broke my neck over the parlor sofa in  the hall to-night. What is it there for?"

Molly laughed. "That's the joke, sir, Miss Bat is cleaning house,  and I'm sure it needs cleaning, for it is years since it was properly  done. I thought you might have told her to."

"I've said nothing. Don't like house-cleaning well enough to  suggest it. I did think the hall was rather dirty when I dropped my  coat and took it up covered with lint. Is she going to upset the  whole place?" asked Mr. Bemis, looking alarmed at the prospect.

"I hope so, for I really am ashamed when people come, to have  them see the dust and cobwebs, and old carpets and dirty  windows," said Molly, with a sigh, though she never had cared a  bit till lately.

"Why don't you dust round a little, then? No time to spare from the  books and play?"

"I tried, father, but Miss Bat didn't like it, and it was too hard for  me alone. If things were once in nice order, I think I could keep  them so; for I do want to be neat, and I'm learning as fast as I can."

"It is high time someone took hold, if matters are left as you say.  I've just been thinking what a clever woman Miss Bat was, to make  such a tidy little girl out of what I used to hear called the greatest  tomboy in town, and wondering what I could give the old lady.  Now I find you are the one to be thanked, and it is a very pleasant  surprise to me."

"Give her the present, please; I'm satisfied, if you like what I've  done. It isn't much, and I'd idn't know as you would ever observe  any difference. But I'd id try, and now I guess I'm really getting  on," said Molly, sewing away with a bright color in her cheeks, for  she, too, found it a pleasant surprise to be praised after many  failures and few successes.

"You certainly are, my dear. I'll wait till the house-cleaning is over,  and then, if we are all alive, I'll see about Miss Bat's reward.  Meantime, you go with Mrs. Grant and get whatever you and the  boy need, and send the bills to me"; and Mr. Bemis lighted a cigar,  as if that matter was settled.

"Oh, thank you, sir! That will be splendid. Merry always has pretty  things, and I know you will like me when I get fixed," said Molly,  smoothing down her apron, with a little air.

"Seems to me you look very well as you are. Isn't that a pretty  enough frock?" asked Mr. Bemis, quite unconscious that his own  unusual interest in his daughter's affairs made her look so bright  and winsome.

"This? Why, father, I've worn it all winter, and it's frightfully ugly,  and almost in rags. I asked you for a new one a month ago, and you  said you'd 'see about it'; but you didn't, so I patched this up as well  as I could"; and Molly showed her elbows, feeling that such  masculine blindness as this deserved a mild reproof.

"Too bad! Well, go and get half a dozen pretty muslin and  gingham things, and be as gay as a butterfly, to make up for it,"  laughed her father, really touched by the patches and Molly's  resignation to the unreliable "I'll see about it," which he recognized  as a household word.

Molly clapped her hands, old gloves and all, exclaiming, with  girlish delight, "How nice it will seem to have a plenty of new,  neat dresses all at once, and be like other girls! Miss Bat always  talks about economy, and has no more taste than a--caterpillar."  Molly meant to say "cat," but remembering her pets, spared them  the insult.

"I think I can afford to dress my girl as well as Grant does his. Get  a new hat and coat, child, and any little notions you fancy. Miss  Bat's economy isn't the sort I like"; and Mr. Bemis looked at his  wristbands again, as if he could sympathize with Molly's elbows.

"At this rate, I shall have more clothes than I know what to do  with, after being a rag-bag," thought the girl, in great glee, as she  bravely stitched away at the worst glove, while her father smoked  silently for a while, feeling that several little matters had escaped  his eye which he really ought to "see about."

Presently he went to his desk, but not to bury himself in business  papers, as usual, for, after rummaging in several drawers, he took  out a small bunch of keys, and sat looking at them with an  expression only seen on his face when he looked up at the portrait  of a dark-eyed woman hanging in his room. He was a very busy  man, but he had a tender place in his heart for his children; and  when a look, a few words, a moment's reflection, called his  attention to the fact that his little girl was growing up, he found  both pride and pleasure in the thought that this young daughter was  trying to fill her mother's place, and be a comfort to him, if he  would let her.

"Molly, my dear, here is something for you," he said; and when she  stood beside him, added, as he put the keys into her hand, keeping  both in his own for a minute,

"Those are the keys to your mother's things. I always meant you to  have them, when you were old enough to use or care for them. I  think you'ii fancy this better than any other present, for you are a  good child, and very like her."

Something seemed to get into his throat there, and Molly put her  arm round his neck, saying, with a little choke in her own voice,  "Thank you, father, I'd rather have this than anything else in the  world, and I'll try to be more like her every day, for your sake.

He kissed her, then said, as he began to stir his papers about, "I  must write some letters. Run off to bed, child. Good-night, my  dear, good-night."

Seeing that he wanted to be alone, Molly slipped away, feeling that  she had received a very precious gift; for she remembered the dear,  dead mother, and had often longed to possess the relics laid away  in the one room where order reigned and Miss Bat had no power to  meddle. As she siowly undressed, she was not thinking of the  pretty new gowns in which she was to be "as gay as a butterfly,"  but of the half-worn garments waiting for her hands to unfold with  a tender touch; and when she fell asleep, with the keys under her  pillow and her arms round Boo, a few happy tears on her cheeks  seemed to show that, in trying to do the duty which lay nearest her,  she had earned a very sweet reward.

So the little missionaries succeeded better in their second attempt  than in their first; for, though still very far from being perfect girls,  each was slowly learning, in her own way, one of the three lessons  all are the better for knowing--that cheerfulness can change  misfortune into love and friends; that in ordering one's self aright  one helps others to do the same; and that the power of finding  beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.

Chapter 18 May Baskets

Spring was late that year, but to Jill it seemed the loveliest she had  ever known, for hope was growing green and strong in her own  little heart, and all the world looked beautiful. With the help of the  brace she could sit up for a short time every day, and when the air  was mild enough she was warmly wrapped and allowed to look out  at the open window into the garden, where the gold and purple  crocuses were coming bravely up, and the snowdrops nodded their  delicate heads as if calling to her,

"Good day, little sister, come out and play with us, for winter is  over and spring is here."

"I wish I could!" thought Jill, as the soft wind kissed a tinge of  color into her pale cheeks. "Never mind, they have been shut up in  a darker place than I for months, and had no fun at all; I won't fret,  but think about July and the seashore while I work."

The job now in hand was May baskets, for it was the custom of the  children to hang them on the doors of their friends the night before  May-day; and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the boys  would hunt for flowers, much the harder task of the two. Jill had  more leisure as well as taste and skill than the other girls, so she  amused herself with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of all  shapes, sizes, and colors, quite confident that they would be filled,  though not a flower had shown its head except a few hardy  dandelions, and here and there a small cluster of saxifrage.

The violets would not open their blue eyes till the sunshine was  warmer, the columbines refused to dance with the boisterous east  wind, the ferns kept themselves rolled up in their brown flannel  jackets, and little Hepatica, with many another spring beauty, hid  away in the woods, afraid to venture out, in spite of the eager  welcome awaiting them. But the birds had come, punctual as ever,  and the bluejays were screaming in the orchard, robins were  perking up their heads and tails as they went house-hunting, purple  finches in their little red hoods were feasting on the spruce buds,  and the faithful chip birds chirped gayly on the grapevine trellis  where they had lived all winter, warming their little gray breasts  against the southern side of the house when the sun shone, and  hiding under the evergreen boughs when the snow fell.

"That tree is a sort of bird's hotel," said Jill, looking out at the tall  spruce before her window, every spray now tipped with a soft  green. "They all go there to sleep and eat, and it has room for  everyone, It is green when other trees die, the wind can't break it,  and the snow only makes it look prettier. It sings to me, and nods  as if it knew I loved it."

"We might call it 'The Holly Tree Inn,' as some of the cheap  eating-houses for poor people are called in the city, as my holly  bush grows at its foot for a sign. You can be the landlady, and feed  your feathery customers every day, till the hard times are over,"  said Mrs. Minot, glad to see the child's enjoyment of the outer  world from which she had been shut so long.

Jill liked the fancy, and gladly strewed crumbs on the window  ledge for the chippies, who came confidingly to eat almost from  her hand. She threw out grain for the handsome jays, the jaunty  robins, and the neighbors' doves, who came with soft flight to trip  about on their pink feet, arching their shining necks as they cooed  and pecked. Carrots and cabbage-leaves also flew out of the  window for the marauding gray rabbit, last of all Jack's half-dozen,  who led him a weary life of it because they would not stay in the  Bunny-house, but undermined the garden with their burrows, ate  the neighbors' plants, and refused to be caught till all but one ran  away, to Jack's great relief. This old fellow camped out for the  winter, and seemed to get on very well among the cats and the  hens, who shared their stores with him, and he might be seen at all  hours of the day and night scampering about the place, or kicking  up his heels by moonlight, for he was a desperate poacher.

Jill took great delight in her pretty pensioners, who soon learned to  love "The Holly Tree Inn," and to feel that the Bird Room held a  caged comrade; for, when it was too cold or wet to open the  windows, the doves came and tapped at the pane, the chippies sat  on the ledge in plump little bunches as if she were their sunshine,  the jays called her in their shrill voices to ring the dinner-bell, and  the robins tilted on the spruce boughs where lunch was always to  be had.

The first of May came on Sunday, so all the celebrating must be  done on Saturday, which happily proved fair, though too chilly for  muslin gowns, paper garlands, and picnics on damp grass. Being a  holiday, the boys decided to devote the morning to ball and the  afternoon to the flower hunt, while the girls finished the baskets;  and in the evening our particular seven were to meet at the Minots  to fill them, ready for the closing frolic of hanging on  door-handles, ringing bells, and running away.

"Now I must do my Maying, for there will be no more sunshine,  and I want to pick my flowers before it is dark. Come, Mammy,  you go too," said Jill, as the last sunbeams shone in at the western  window where her hyacinths stood that no fostering ray might be  lost.

It was rather pathetic to see the once merry girl who used to be the  life of the wood-parties now carefully lifting herself from the  couch, and, leaning on her mother's strong arm, slowly take the  half-dozen steps that made up her little expedition. But she was  happy, and stood smiling out at old Bun skipping down the walk,  the gold-edged clouds that drew apart so that a sunbeam tiiight  give her a good-night kiss as she gathered her long-cherished  daisies, primroses, and hyacinths to fill the pretty basket in her  hand.

"Who is it for, my deane?" asked her mother, standing behind her  as a prop, while the thin fingers did their work so willingly that  not~a flower was left.

"For My Lady, of course. Who else would I give my posies to,  when I love them so well?" answered Jill, who thought no name  too fine for their best friend.

"I fancied it would be for Master Jack," said her mother, wishing  the excursion to be a cheerful one.

"I've another for him, but she must have the prettiest. He is going  to hang it for me, and ring and run away, and she won't know who  it's from till she sees this. She will remember it, for I've been  turning and tending it ever so long, to make it bloom to-day. Isn't it  a beauty?" and Jill held up her finest hyacinth, which seemed to  ring its pale pink bells as if glad to carry its sweet message from a  grateful little heart.

"Indeed it is; and you are right to give your best to her. Come away  now, you must not stand any longer. Come and rest while I fetch a  dish to put the flowers in till you want them"; and Mrs. Pecq  turned her round with her small Maying safely done.

"I didn't think I'd ever be able to do even so much, and here I am  walking and sitting up, and going to drive some day. Isn't it nice  that I'm not to be a poor Lucinda after all?" and Jill drew a long  sigh of relief that six months instead of twenty years would  probably be the end of her captivity.

"Yes, thank Heaven! I don't think I could have borne that"; and  the mother took Jill in her arms as if she were a baby, holding her  close for a minute, and laying her down with a tender kiss that  made the arms cling about her neck as her little girl returned it  heartily, for all sorts of new, sweet feelings seemed to be budding  in both, born of great joy and thankfulness.

Then Mrs. Pecq hurried away to see about tea for the hungry boys,  and Jill watched the pleasant twilight deepen as she lay singing to  herself one of the songs her friend taught her because it fitted her  so well.

"A little bird I am,  Shut from the fields of air,  And in my cage I sit and sing  To Him who placed me there:  Well pleased a prisoner to be,  Because, my God, it pleases Thee!

"Naught have I else to do;  I sing the whole day long;  And He whom most I love to please  Doth listen to my song,  He caught and bound my wandering wing,  But still He bends to hear me sing."

"Now we are ready for you, so bring on your flowers," said Molly  to the boys, as she and Merry added their store of baskets to the  gay show Jill had set forth on the long table ready for the evening's  work.

"They wouldn't let me see one, but I guess they have had good  luck, they look so jolly," answered Jill, looking at Gus, Frank, and  Jack, who stood laughing, each with a large basket in his hands.

"Fair to middling. Just look in and see"; with which cheerful  remark Gus tipped up his basket and displayed a few bits of green  at the bottom.

"I'd id better. Now, don't all scream at once over these beauties";  and Frank shook out some evergreen sprigs, half a dozen  saxifrages, and two or three forlorn violets with hardly any stems.

"I don't brag, but here's the best of all the three," chuckled Jack,  producing a bunch of feathery carrot-tops, with a few half-shut  dandelions trying to look brave and gay.

"Oh, boys, is that all?"

"What shall we do?"

"We've only a few house-flowers, and all those baskets to fill,"  cried the girls, in despair; for Merry's contribution had been small,  and Molly had only a handful of artificial flowers "to fill up," she  said.

"It isn't our fault: it is the late spring. We can't make flowers, can  we?" asked Frank, in a tone of calm resignation.

"Couldn't you buy some, then?" said Molly, smoothing her  crumpled morning-glories, with a sigh.

'Who ever heard of a fellow having any money left the last day of  the month?" demanded Gus, severely.

"Or girls either. I spent all mine in ribbon and paper for my  baskets, and now they are of no use. It's a shame!" lamented Jill,  while Merry began to thin out her full baskets to fill the empty  ones.

"Hold on!" cried Frank, relenting. "Now, Jack, make their minds  easy before they begin to weep and wail."

"Left the box outside. You tell while I go for it"; and Jack bolted,  as if afraid the young ladies might be too demonstrative when the  tale was told.

"Tell away," said Frank, modestly passing the story along to Gus,  who made short work of it.

"We rampaged all over the country, and got only that small mess  of greens. Knew you'd be disgusted, and sat down to see what we  could do. Then Jack piped up, and said he'd show us a place where  we could get a plenty. 'Come on,' said we, and after leading us a  nice tramp, he brought us out at Morse's greenhouse.

So we got a few on tick, as we had but four cents among us, and  there you are. Pretty clever of the little chap, wasn't it?"

A chorus of delight greeted Jack as he popped his head in, was  promptly seized by his elders and walked up to the table, where the  box was opened, displaying gay posies enough to fill most of the  baskets if distributed with great economy and much green.

"You are the dearest boy that ever was!" began Jill, with her nose  luxuriously buried in the box, though the flowers were more  remarkable for color than perfume.

"No, I'm not; there's a much dearer one coming upstairs now, and  he's got something that will make you howl for joy," said Jack,  ignoring his own prowess as Ed came in with a bigger box, looking  as if he had done nothing but go a Maying all his days.

"Don't believe it!" cried Jill, hugging her own treasure jealously.  "It's oniy another joke. I won't look," said Molly, still struggling to  make her cambric roses bloom again.

"I know what it is! Oh, how sweet!" added Merry, sniffing, as Ed  set the box before her, saying pleasantly,

"You shall see first, because you had faith."

Up went the cover, and a whiff of the freshest fragrance regaled  the seven eager noses bent to inhale it, as a general murmur of  pleasure greeted the nest of great, rosy mayflowers that lay before  them.

"The dear things, how lovely they are!" and Merry looked as if  greeting her cousins, so blooming and sweet was her own face.

Molly pushed her dingy garlands away, ashamed of such poor  attempts beside these perfect works of nature, and Jill stretched  out her hand involuntarily, as she said, forgetting her exotics,  "Give me just one to smell of, it is so woodsy and delicious."

"Here you are, plenty for all. Real Pilgrim Fathers, right from  Plymouth. One of our fellows lives there, and I told him to bring  me a good lot; so he did, and you can do what you like with them,"  explained Ed, passing round bunches and shaking the rest in a  mossy pile upon the table.

"Ed always gets ahead of us in doing the right thing at the right  time. Hope you've got some first-class baskets ready for him," said  Gus, refreshing the Washingtonian nose with a pink blossom or  two.

"Not much danger of his being forgotten," answered Molly; and  everyone laughed, for Ed was much beloved by all the girls, and  his door-steps always bloomed like a flower-bed on May eve.

"Now we must fly round and fill up. Come, boys, sort out the green  and hand us the flowers as we want them. Then we must direct  them, and, by the time that is done, you can go and leave them,"  said Jill, setting all to work.

"Ed must choose his baskets first. These are ours; but any of those  you can have"; and Molly pointed to a detachment of gay baskets,  set apart from those already partly filled.

Ed chose a blue one, and Merry filled it with the rosiest  may-flowers, knowing that it was to hang on Mabel's door-handle.

The others did the same, and the pretty work went on, with much  fun, till all were filled, and ready for the names or notes.

"Let us have poetry, as we can't get wild flowers. That will be  rather fine," proposed Jill, who liked jingles.

All had had some practice at the game parties, and pencils went  briskly for a few minutes, while silence reigned, as the poets  racked their brains for rhymes, and stared at the blooming array  before them for inspiration.

"Oh, dear! I can't find a word to rhyme to 'geranium,'" sighed  Molly, pulling her braid, as if to pump the well of her fancy dry.

"Cranium," said Frank, who was getting on bravely with "Annette"  and "violet."

"That is elegant!" and Molly scribbled away in great glee, for her  poems were always funny ones.

"How do you spell anemoly--the wild flower, I mean?" asked Jill,  who was trying to compose a very appropriate piece for her best  basket, and found it easier to feel love and gratitude than to put  them into verse.

"Anemone; do spell it properly, or you'll get laughed at," answered  Gus, wildly struggling to make his lines express great ardor,  without being "too spoony," as he expressed it.

"No, I shouldn't. This person never laughs at other persons'  mistakes, as some persons do," replied Jill, with dignity.

Jack was desperately chewing his pencil, for he could not get on at  all; but Ed had evidently prepared his poem, for his paper was half  full already, and Merry was smiling as she wrote a friendly line or  two for Ralph's basket, as she feared he would be forgotten, and  knew he loved kindness even more than he did beauty.

"Now let's read them," proposed Molly, who loved to laugh even at  herself.

The boys politely declined, and scrambled their notes into the  chosen baskets in great haste; but the girls were less bashful. Jill  was invited to begin, and gave her little piece, with the pink  hyacinth basket before her, to illustrate her poem.

"TO MY LADY

"There are no flowers in the fields,  No green leaves on the tree,  No columbines, no violets,  No sweet anemone.  So I have gathered from my pots  All that I have to fill  The basket that I hang to-night,  With heaps of love from Jill."

"That's perfectly sweet! Mine isn't; but I meant it to be funny," said  Molly, as if there could be any doubt about the following ditty:

"Dear Grif,  Here is a whiff  Of beautiful spring flowers;  The big red rose  Is for your nose,  As toward the sky it towers.

"Oh, do noi frown  Upon this crown  Of green pinks and blue geranium  But think of me  When this you see,  And put it on your cranium."

"O Molly, you will never hear the last of that if Grif gets it," said  Jill, as the applause subsided, for the boys pronounced it "tip-top."

"Don't care, he gets the worst of it anyway, for there is a pin in that  rose, and if he goes to smell the mayflowers underneath he will  find a thorn to pay for the tack he put in my rubber boot. I know he  will play me some joke to-night, and I mean to be first if I can,"  answered Molly, settling the artificial wreath round the  orange-colored canoe which held her effusion.

"Now, Merry, read yours: you always have sweet poems"; and Jill  folded her hands to listen with pleasure to something sentimental.

"I can't read the poems in some of mine, because they are for you;  but this little verse you can hear, if you like: I'm going to give that  basket to Ralph. He said he should hang one for his grandmother,  and I thought that was so nice of him, I'd love to surprise him with  one all to himself. He's always so good to us"; and Merry looked so  innocently earnest that no one smiled at her kind thought or the  unconscious paraphrase she had made of a famous stanza in her  own "little verse."

"To one who teaches me  The sweetness and the beauty  Of doing faithfully  And cheerfully my duty."

"He will like that, and know who sent it, for none of us have pretty  pink paper but you, or write such an elegant hand," said Molly,  admiring the delicate white basket shaped like a lily, with the  flowers inside and the note hidden among them, all daintily tied up  with the palest blush-colored ribbon.

"Well, that's no harm. He likes pretty things as much as I'd o, and I  made my basket like a flower because I gave him one of my callas,  he admired the shape so much"; and Merry smiled as she  remembered how pleased Ralph looked as he went away carrying  the lovely thing.

"I think it would be a good plan to hang some baskets on the doors  of other people who don't expect or often have any. I'll do it if you  can spare some of these, we have so many. Give me only one, and  let the others go to old Mrs. Tucker, and the little Irish girl who  has been sick so long, and lame Neddy, and Daddy Munson. It  would please and surprise them so. Will we?" asked Ed, in that  persuasive voice of his.

All agreed at once, and several people were made very happy by a  bit of spring left at their doors by the May elves who haunted the  town that night playing all sorts of pranks. Such a twanging of  bells and rapping of knockers; such a scampering of feet in the  dark; such droll collisions as boys came racing round corners, or  girls ran into one another's arms as they crept up and down steps  on the sly; such laughing, whistling, flying about of flowers and  friendly feeling--it was almost a pity that May-day did not come  oftener.

Molly got home late, and found that Grif had been before her, after  all; for she stumbled over a market-basket at her door, and on  taking it in found a mammoth nosegay of purple and white  cabbages, her favorite vegetable. Even Miss Bat laughed at the  funny sight, and Molly resolved to get Ralph to carve her a  bouquet out of carrots, beets, and turnips for next time, as Grif  would never think of that.

Merry ran up the garden-walk alone, for Frank left her at the gate,  and was fumbling for the latch when she felt something hanging  there. Opening the door carefully, she found it gay with offerings  from her mates; and among them was one long quiver-shaped  basket of birch bark, with something heavy under the green leaves  that lay at the top. Lifting these, a slender has-relief of a calla lily  in plaster appeared, with this couplet slipped into the blue cord by  which it was to hang:

"That mercy you to others show  That Mercy Grant to me."

"How lovely! and this one will never fade, but always be a  pleasure hanging there. Now, I really have something beautiful all  my own," said Merry to herself as she ran up to hang the pretty  thing on the dark wainscot of her room, where the graceful curve  of its pointed leaves and the depth of its white cup would be a joy  to her eyes as long as they lasted.

"I wonder what that means," and Merry read over the lines again,  while a soft color came into her cheeks and a little smile of girlish  pleasure began to dimple round her lips; for she was so romantic,  this touch of sentiment showed her that her friendship was more  valued than she dreamed. But she only said, "How glad I am I  remembered him, and how surprised he will be to see mayflowers  in return for the lily."

He was, and worked away more happily and bravely for the  thought of the little friend whose eyes would daily fall on the  white flower which always reminded him of her.

Chapter 19  Good Templars

"Hi there! Bell's rung! Get up, lazy-bones!" called Frank from his  room as the clock struck six one bright morning, and a great  creaking and stamping proclaimed that he was astir.

"All right, I'm coming," responded a drowsy voice, and Jack turned  over as if to obey; but there the effort ended, and he was off again,  for growing lads are hard to rouse, as many a mother knows to her  sorrow.

Frank made a beginning on his own toilet, and then took a look at  his brother, for the stillness was suspicious.

"I thought so! He told me to wake him, and I guess this will do it";  and, filling his great sponge with water, Frank stalked into the next  room and stood over the unconscious victim like a stern  executioner, glad to unite business with pleasure in this agreeable  manner.

A woman would have relented and tried some milder means, for  when his broad shoulders and stout limbs were hidden, Jack  looked very young and innocent in his sleep. Even Frank paused a  moment to look at the round, rosy face, the curly eyelashes,  half-open mouth, and the peaceful expression of a dreaming baby.  "I must do it, or he won't be ready for breakfast," said the Spartan  brother, and down came the sponge, cold, wet, and choky, as it  was briskly rubbed to and fro regardless of every obstacle.

"Come, I say! That's not fair! Leave me alone!" sputtered Jack,  hitting out so vigorously that the sponge flew across the room, and  Frank fell back to laugh at the indignant sufferer.

"I promised to wake you, and you believe in keeping promises, so  I'm doing my best to get you up."

"Well, you needn't pour a quart of water down a fellow's neck, and  rub his nose off, need you? I'm awake, so take your old sponge and  go along," growled Jack, with one eye open and a mighty gape.

"See that you keep so, then, or I'll come and give you another sort  of a rouser," said Frank, retiring well-pleased with his success.

"I shall have one good stretch, if I like. It is strengthening to the  muscles, and I'm as stiff as a board with all that football  yesterday," murmured Jack, lying down for one delicious moment.  He shut the open eye to enjoy it thoroughly, and forgot the stretch  altogether, for the bed was warm, the pillow soft, and a  half-finished dream still hung about his drowsy brain. Who does  not know the fatal charm of that stolen moment--for once yield to  it, and one is lost.

Jack was miles away "in the twinkling of a bedpost," and the  pleasing dream seemed about to return, when a ruthless hand tore  off the clothes, swept him out of bed, and he really did awake to  find himself standing in the middle of his bath-pan with both  windows open, and Frank about to pour a pail of water over him.

"Hold on! Yah, how cold the water is! Why, I thought I was up";  and, hopping out, Jack rubbed his eyes and looked about with such  a genuine surprise that Frank put down the pail, feeling that the  deluge would not be needed this time.

"You are now, and I'll see that you keep so," he said, as he stripped  the bed and carried off the pillows.

"I don't care. What a jolly day!" and Jack took a little promenade  to finish the rousing process.

"You'd better hurry up, or you won't get your chores done before  breakfast. No time for a go as you please now, said Frank; and  both boys laughed, for it was an old joke of theirs, and rather  funny.

Going up to bed one night expecting to find Jack asleep, Frank  discovered him tramping round and round the room airily attired in  a towel, and so dizzy with his brisk revolutions that as his brother  looked he tumbled over and lay panting like a fallen gladiator.

"What on earth are you about?"

"Playing Rowell. Walking for the belt, and I've got it too," laughed  Jack, pointing to an old gilt chandelier chain hanging on the  bedpost.

"You little noodle, you'd better revolve into bed before you lose  your head entirely. I never saw such a fellow for taking himself off  his legs."

"Well, if I didn't exercise, do you suppose I should be able to do  that--or that?" cried Jack, turning a somersault and striking a fine  attitude as he came up, flattering himself that he was the model of  a youthful athlete.

"You look more like a clothes-pin than a Hercules," was the  crushing reply of this unsympathetic brother, and Jack meekly  retired with a bad headache.

"I don't do such silly things now: I'm as broad across the shoulders  as you are, and twice as strong on my pins, thanks to my  gymnastics. Bet you a cent I'll be dressed first, though you have got  the start," said Jack, knowing that Frank always had a protracted  wrestle with his collar-buttons, which gave his adversary a great  advantage over him.

"Done!" answered Frank, and at it they went. A wild scramble was  heard in Jack's room, and a steady tramp in the other as Frank  worked away at the stiff collar and the unaccommodating button  till every finger ached. A clashing of boots followed, while Jack  whistled "Polly Hopkins," and Frank declaimed in his deepest  voice,

"Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris Italiam, fato  profugus, Laviniaque venit litora."

Hair-brushes came next, and here Frank got ahead, for Jack's thick  crop would stand straight up on the crown, and only a good  wetting and a steady brush would make it lie down.

"Play away, No. 2  called out frank as he put on his vest, while  Jack was still at it with a pair of the stiffest brushes procurable for  money.

"Hold hard, No. 11, and don't forget your teeth," answered Jack,  who had done his.

Frank took a hasty rub and whisked on his coat, while Jack was  picking up the various treasures which had flown out of his  pockets as he caught up his roundabout.

"Ready! I'll trouble you for a cent, sonny"; and Frank held out his  hand as he appeared equipped for the day.

"You haven't hung up your night-gown, nor aired the bed, nor  opened the windows. That's part of the dressing; mother said so.  I've got you there, for you did all that for me, except this," and Jack  threw his gown over a chair with a triumphant flourish as Frank  turned back to leave his room in the order which they had been  taught was one of the signs of a good bringing-up in boys as well  as girls.

"Ready! I'll trouble you for a cent, old man"; and Jack held out his  hand, with a chuckle.

He got the money and a good clap beside; then they retired to the  shed to black their boots, after which Frank filled the woodboxes  and Jack split kindlings, till the daily allowance was ready. Both  went at their lessons for half an hour, Jack scowling over his  algebra in the sofa corner, while Frank, with his elbows on and his  legs round the little stand which held his books, seemed to be  having a wrestling-match with Herodotus.

When the bell rang they were glad to drop the lessons and fall  upon their breakfast with the appetite of wolves, especially Jack,  who sequestered oatmeal and milk with such rapidity that one  would have thought he had a leathern bag hidden somewhere to  slip it into, like his famous namesake when he breakfasted with the  giant.

"I declare I don't see what he does with it! He really ought not to  'gobble' so, mother," said Frank, who was eating with great  deliberation and propriety.

"Never you mind, old quiddle. I'm so hungry I could tuck away a  bushel," answered Jack, emptying a glass of milk and holding out  his plate for more mush, regardless of his white moustache.

"Temperance in all things is wise, in speech as well as eating and  drinking--remember that, boys," said Mamma from behind the urn.

"That reminds me! We promised to do the 'Observer' this week,  and here it is Tuesday and I haven't done a thing: have you?" asked  Frank.

"Never thought of it. We must look up some bits at noon instead 0f  playing. Dare say Jill has got some: she always saves all she finds  for me."

"I have one or two good items, and can do any copying there may  be. But I think if you undertake the paper you should give some  time and labor to make it good," said Mamma, who was used to  this state of affairs, and often edited the little sheet read every  week at the Lodge. The boys seldom missed going, but the busy  lady was often unable to be there, so helped with the paper as her  share of the labor.

"Yes, we ought, but somehow we don't seem to get up much steam  about it lately. If more people belonged, and we could have a  grand time now and then, it would be jolly"; and Jack sighed  at the lack of interest felt by outsiders in the loyal little Lodge  which went on year after year kept up by the faithful few.

"I remember when in this very town we used to have a Cold Water  Army, and in the summer turn out with processions, banners, and  bands of music to march about, and end with a picnic, songs, and  speeches in some grove or hall. Nearly all the children belonged to  it, and the parents also, and we had fine times here twenty-five or  thirty years ago."

"It didn't do much good, seems to me, for people still drink, and  we haven't a decent hotel in the place," said Frank, as his mother  sat looking out of the window as if she saw again the pleasant sight  of old and young working together against the great enemy of  home peace and safety.

"Oh yes, it did, my dear; for to this day many of those children are  true to their pledge. One little girl was, I am sure, and now has two  big boys to fight for the reform she has upheld all her life. The  town is better than it was in those days, and if we each do our part  faithfully, it will improve yet more. Every boy and girl who joins is  one gained, perhaps, and your example is the best temperance  lecture you can give. Hold fast, and don't mind if it isn't 'jolly': it is  right, and that should be enough for us."

Mamma spoke warmly, for she heartily believed in young people's  guarding against this dangerous vice before it became a  temptation, and hoped her boys would never break the pledge they  had taken; for, young as they were, they were old enough to see its  worth, feel its wisdom, and pride themselves on the promise which  was fast growing into a principle. Jack's face brightened as he  listened, and Frank said, with the steady look which made his face  manly,

"It shall be. Now I'll tell you what I was going to keep as a surprise  till to-night, for I wanted to have my secret as well as other folks.  Ed and I went up to see Bob, Sunday, and he said he'd join the  Lodge, if they'd have him. I'm going to propose him to-night."

"Good! good!" cried Jack, joyfully, and Mrs. Minot clapped her  hands, for every new member was rejoiced over by the good  people, who were not discouraged by ridicule, indifference, or  opposition.

"We've got him now, for no one will object, and it is just the thing  for him. He wants to belong somewhere, he says, and he'll enjoy  the fun, and the good things will help him, and we will look after  him, The Captain was so pleased, and you ought to have seen Ed's  face when Bob said, 'I'm ready, if you'll have me."

Frank's own face was beaming, and Jack forgot to "gobble," he was  so interested in the new Convert, while Mamma said, as she threw  down her napkin and took up the newspaper,

"We must not forget our 'Observer,' but have a good one tonight in  honor of the occasion. There may be something here. Come home  early at noon, and I'll help you get your paper ready."

"I'll be here, but if you want Frank, you'd better tell him not to  dawdle over Annette's gate half an hour," began Jack, who could  not resist teasing his dignified brother about one of the few foolish  things he was fond of doing.

"Do you want your nose pulled?" demanded Frank, who never  would stand joking on that tender point from his brother.

"No, I don't; and if I did, you couldn't do it"; with which taunt he  was off and Frank after him, having made a futile dive at the  impertinent little nose which was turned up at him and his  sweetheart.

"Boys, boys, not through the parlor!" implored Mamma, resigned  to skirmishes, but trembling for her piano legs as the four stout  boots pranced about the table and then went thundering down the  hail, through the kitchen where the fat cook cheered them on, and  Mary, the maid, tried to head off Frank as Jack rushed out into the  garden. But the pursuer ducked under her arm and gave chase with  all speed. Then there was a glorious race all over the place; for  both were good runners, and, being as full of spring vigor as frisky  calves, they did astonishing things in the way of leaping fences,  dodging round corners, and making good time down the wide  walks.

But Jack's leg was not quite strong yet, and he felt that his round  nose was in danger of a vengeful tweak as his breath began to give  out and Frank's long arms drew nearer and nearer to the threatened  feature. Just when he was about to give up and meet his fate like a  man, old Bunny, who had been much excited by the race, came  scampering across the path with such a droll skip into the air and  shake of the hind legs that Frank had to dodge to avoid stepping on  him, and to laugh in spite of himself. This momentary check gave  Jack a chance to bolt up the back stairs and take refuge in the Bird  Room, from the window of which Jill had been watching the race  with great interest.

No romping was allowed there, so a truce was made by locking  little fingers, and both sat down to get their breath.

"I am to go on the piazza, for an hour, by and by, Doctor said.  Would you mind carrying me down before you go to school, you  do it so nicely, I'm not a bit afraid," said Jill, as eager for the little  change as if it had been a long and varied journey.

"Yes, indeed! Come on, Princess," answered Jack, glad to see her  so well and happy.

The boys made an arm-chair, and away she went, for a pleasant  day downstairs. She thanked Frank with a posy for his buttonhole,  well knowing that it would soon pass into other hands, and he  departed to join Annette. Having told Jill about Bob, and set her to  work on the "Observer," Jack kissed his mother, and went  whistling down the street, a gay little bachelor, with a nod and  smile for all he met, and no turned-up hat or jaunty turban bobbing  along beside him to delay his steps or trouble his peace of mind.

At noon they worked on their paper, which was a collection of  items, cut from other papers, concerning temperance, a few  anecdotes, a bit of poetry, a story, and, if possible, an original  article by the editor. Many hands make light work, and nothing  remained but a little copying, which Jill promised to do before  night. So the boys had time for a game of football after school in  the afternoon, which they much enjoyed. As they sat resting on the  posts, Gus said,

"Uncle Fred says he will give us a hay-cart ride to-night, as it is  moony, and after it you are all to come to our house and have  games.

"Can't do it," answered Frank, sadly.

"Lodge," groaned Jack, for both considered a drive in the cart,  where they all sat in a merry bunch among the hay, one of the joys  of life, and much regretted that a prior engagement would prevent  their sharing in it.

That s a pity! I forgot it was Tuesday, and can'tput it off, as I've  asked all the rest. Give up your old Lodge and come along," said  Gus, who had not joined yet.

"We might for once, perhaps, but I don't like to"--began Jack,  hesitating.

"I won't. Who's to propose Bob if we don't? I want to go awfully;  but I wouldn't disappoint Bob for a good deal, now he is willing to  come." And Frank sprang off his post as if anxious to flee  temptation, for it was very pleasant to go singing, up hill and down  dale, in the spring moonlight, with--well, the fellows of his set.

"Nor Ed, I forgot that. No, we can't go. We want to be Good  Templars, and we mustn't shirk," added Jack, following his  brother.

"Better come. Can't put it off. Lots of fun," called Gus,  disappointed at losing two of his favorite mates.

But the boys did not turn back, and as they went steadily away they  felt that they were doing their little part in the good work, and  making their small sacrifices, like faithful members.

They got their reward, however, for at home they found Mr.  Chauncey, a good and great man, from England, who had known  their grandfather, and was an honored friend of the family. The  boys loved to hear him talk, and all tea-time listened with interest  to the conversation, for Mr. Chauncey was a reformer as well as a  famous clergyman, and it was like inspiring music to hear him tell  about the world's work, and the brave men and women who were  carrying it on. Eager to show that they had, at least, begun, the  boys told him about their Lodge, and were immensely pleased  when their guest took from his pocket-book a worn paper, proving  that he too was a Good Templar, and belonged to the same army as  they did. Nor was that all, for when they reluctantly excused  themselves, Mr. Chauncey gave each a hearty "grip," and said,  holding their hands in his, as he smiled at the young faces looking  up at him with so much love and honor in them,

"Tell the brothers and Sisters that if I can serve them in anyway  while here, to command me. I will give them a lecture at their  Lodge or in public, whichever they like; and I wish you God-speed,  dear boys."

Two prouder lads never walked the streets than Frank and Jack as  they hurried away, nearly forgetting the poor little paper in their  haste to tell the good news; for it was seldom that such an offer  was made the Lodge, and they felt the honor done them as bearers  of it.

As the secrets of the association cannot be divulged to the  uninitiated, we can only say that there was great rejoicing over the  new member, for Bob was unanimously welcomed, and much  gratitude both felt and expressed for Mr. Chauncey's interest in this  small division of the grand army; for these good folk met with  little sympathy from the great people of the town, and it was very  cheering to have a well-known and much-beloved man say a word  for them. All agreed that the lecture should be public, that others  might share the pleasure with them, and perhaps be converted by a  higher eloquence than any they possessed.

So the services that night were unusually full of spirit and good  cheer; for all felt the influence of a friendly word, the beauty of a  fine example. The paper was much applauded, the songs were very  hearty, and when Frank, whose turn it was to be chaplain, read the  closing prayer, everyone felt that they had much to give thanks for,  since one more had joined them, and the work was slowly getting  on with unexpected helpers sent to lend a hand. The lights shone  out from the little hall across the street, the music reached the ears  of passers-by, and the busy hum of voices up there told how  faithfully some, at least, of the villagers tried to make the town a  safer place for their boys to grow up in, though the tavern still had  its private bar and the saloon-door stood open to invite them in.

There are many such quiet lodges, and in them many young people  learning as these lads were learning something of the duty they  owed their neighbors as well as themselves, and being fitted to  become good men and sober citizens by practising and preaching  the law and gospel of temperance.

The next night Mr. Chauncey lectured, and the town turned out to  hear the distinguishei man, who not only told them of the crime  and misery produced by this terrible vice which afflicted both  England and America, but of the great crusade against it going on  everywhere, and the need of courage, patience, hard work, and  much faith, that in time it might be overcome. Strong and cheerful  words that all liked to hear and many heartily believed, especially  the young Templars, whose boyish fancies were won by the idea of  fighting as knights of old did in the famous crusades they read  about in their splendid new young folks' edition of Froissart.

"We can't pitch into people as the Red Cross fellows did, but we  can smash rum-jugs when we get the chance, and stand by our flag  as our men did in the war," said Frank, with sparkling eyes, as they  went home in the moonlight arm in arm, keeping step behind Mr.  Chauncey, who led the way with their mother on his arm, a martial  figure though a minister, and a good captain to follow, as the boys  felt after hearing his stirring words.

"Let's try and get up a company of boys like those mother told us  about, and show people that we mean what we say. I'll be  color-bearer, and you may drill us as much as you like. A real Cold  Water Army, with flags flying, and drums, and all sorts of larks,"  said Jack, much excited, and taking a dramatic view of the matter.

"We'll see about it. Something ought to be done, and perhaps we  shall be the men to do it when the time comes," answered Frank,  feeling ready to shoulder a musket or be a minute-man in good  earnest.

Boyish talk and enthusiasm, but it was of the right sort; and when  time and training had fitted them to bear arms, these young knights  would be worthy to put on the red cross and ride away to help right  the wrongs and slay the dragons that afflict the world.

Chapter 20  A Sweet Memory

Now the lovely June days had come, everything began to look  really summer-like; school would soon be over, and the young  people were joyfully preparing for the long vacation.

"We are all going up to Bethlehem. We take the seashore one year  and the mountains the next. Better come along," said Gus, as the  boys lay on the grass after beating the Lincoins at one of the first  matches of the season.

"Can't; we are off to Pebbly Beach the second week in July. Our  invalids need sea air. That one looks delicate, doesn't he?" asked  Frank, giving Jack a slight rap with his bat as that young  gentleman lay in his usual attitude admiring the blue hose and  russet shoes which adorned his sturdy limbs.

"Stop that, Captain! You needn't talk about invalids, when you  know mother says you are not to look at a book for a month  because you have studied yourself thin and headachy. I'm all  right"; and Jack gave himself a sounding slap on the chest, where  shone the white star of the H. B. B. C.

"Hear the little cockerel crow! you just wait till you get into the  college class, and see if you don't have to study like fun," said Gus,  with unruffled composure, for he was going to Harvard next year,  and felt himself already a Senior.

"Never shall; I don't want any of your old colleges. I'm going into  business as soon as I can. Ed says I may be his book-keeper, if I  am ready when he starts for himself. That is much jollier than  grinding away for four years, and then having to grind ever so  many more at a profession," said Jack, examining with interest the  various knocks and bruises with which much ball-playing had  adorned his hands.

"Much you know about it. Just as well you don't mean to try, for it  would take a mighty long pull and strong pull to get you in.  Business would suit you better, and you and Ed would make a  capital partnership. Devlin, Minot, & Co. sounds well, hey, Gus?"

"Very, but they are such good-natured chaps, they'd never get rich.  By the way, Ed came home at noon today sick. I met him, and he  looked regularly knocked up," answered Gus, in a sober tone.

"I told him he'd better not go down Monday, for he wasn't well  Saturday, and couldn't come to sing Sunday evening, you  remember. I must go right round and see what the matter is"; and  Jack jumped up, with an anxious face.

"Let him alone till to-morrow. He won't want anyone fussing over  him now. We are going for a pull; come along and steer," said  Frank, for the sunset promised to be fine, and the boys liked a  brisk row in their newly painted boat, the "Rhodora."

"Go ahead and get ready, I'll just cut round and ask at the door, It  will seem kind, and I must know how Ed is. Won't be long"; and  Jack was off at his best pace.

The others were waiting impatiently when he came back with  slower steps and a more anxious face.

"How is the old fellow?" called Frank from the boat, while Gus  stood leaning on an oar in a nautical attitude.

"Pretty sick. Had the doctor. May have a fever. I didn't go in, but  Ed Sent his love, and wanted to know who beat," answered Jack,  stepping to his place, glad to rest and coo1 himself.

"Guess he'll be all right in a day or two"; and Gus pushed off,  leaving all care behind.

"Hope he won't have typhoid--that's no joke, I tell you," said Frank,  who knew all about it, and did not care to repeat the experience.

"He's worked too hard. He's so faithful he does more than his  share, and gets tired out. Mother asked him to come down and see  us when he has his vacation; we are going to have high old times  fishing and boating. Up or down?" asked Jack, as they glided out  into the river.

Gus looked both ways, and seeing another boat with a glimpse of  red in it just going round the bend, answered, with decision, "Up,  of course. Don't we always pull to the bridge?"

"Not when the girls are going down," laughed Jack, who had  recognized Juliet's scarlet boating-suit as he glanced over his  shoulder.

"Mind what you are about, and don't gabble," commanded Captain  Frank, as the crew bent to their oars and the slender boat cut  through the water leaving a long furrow trembling behind.

"Oh, ah! I see! There is a blue jacket as well as a red one, so it's all  right.

"Lady Queen Anne, she sits in the sun,  As white as a lily, as brown as a bun,"

sung Jack, recovering his spirits, and wishing Jill was there too.

"Do you want a ducking?" sternly demanded Gus, anxious to  preserve discipline.

"Shouldn'tmind, its so warm."

But Jack said no more, and soon the "Rhodora" was alongside the  "Water Witch," exchanging greetings in the most amiable manner.

"Pity this boat won't hold four. We'd put Jack in yours, and take  you girls a nice spin up to the Hemlocks," said Frank, whose idea  of bliss was floating down the river with Annette as coxswain.

"You'd better come in here, this will hold four, and we are tired of  rowing," returned the "Water Witch," so invitingly that Gus could  not resist.

"I don't think it is safe to put four in there. You'd better change  places with Annette, Gus, and then we shall be ship-shape," said  Frank, answering a telegram from the eyes that matched the blue  jacket.

"Wouldn't it be more ship-shape still if you put me ashore at Grif's  landing? I can take his boat, or wait till you come back. Don't care  what I'd o," said Jack, feeling himself sadly in the way.

The good-natured offer being accepted with thanks, the changes  were made, and, leaving him behind, the two boats went gayly up  the river. He really did not care what he did, so sat in Grif's boat  awhile watching the red sky, the shining stream, and the low green  meadows, where the blackbirds were singing as if they too had met  their little sweethearts and were happy.

Jack remembered that quiet half-hour long afterward, because  what followed seemed to impress it on his memory. As he sat  enjoying the scene, he very naturally thought about Ed; for the face  of the sister whom he saw was very anxious, and the word "fever"  recalled the hard times when Frank was ill, particularly the night it  was thought the boy would not live till dawn, and Jack cried  himself to sleep, wondering how he ever could get on without his  brother. Ed was almost as dear to him, and the thought that he was  suffering destroyed Jack's pleasure for a little while. But,  fortunately, young people do not know how to be anxious very  long, so our boy soon cheered up, thinking about the late match  between the Stars and the Lincoins, and after a good rest went  whistling home, with a handful of mint for Mrs. Pecq, and played  games with Jill as merrily as if there was no such thing as care in  the world.

Next day Ed was worse, and for a week the answer was the same,  when Jack crept to the back door with his eager question.

Others came also, for the dear boy lying upstairs had friends  everywhere, and older neighbors thought of him even more  anxiously and tenderly than his mates. It was not fever, but some  swifter trouble, for when Saturday night came, Ed had gone home  to a longer and more peaceful Sabbath than any he had ever known  in this world.

Jack had been there in the afternoon, and a kind message had  come down to him that his friend was not suffering so much, and  he had gone away, hoping, in his boyish ignorance, that all danger  was over. An hour later he was reading in the parlor, having no  heart for play, when Frank came in with a look upon his face  which would have prepared Jack for the news if he had seen it. But  he did not look up, and Frank found it so hard to speak, that he  lingered a moment at the piano, as he often did when he came  home. It stood open, and on the rack was the "Jolly Brothers'  Galop," which he had been learning to play with Ed. Big boy as he  was, the sudden thought that never again would they sit shoulder to  shoulder, thundering the marches or singing the songs both liked  so well, made his eyes fill as he laid away the music, and shut the  instrument, feeling as if he never wanted to touch it again. Then he  went and sat down beside Jack with an arm round his neck, trying  to steady his voice by a natural question before he told the heavy  news.

"What are you reading, Jacky?"

The unusual caress, the very gentle tone, made Jack look up, and  the minute he saw Frank's face he knew the truth.

"Is Ed----?" he could not say the hard word, and Frank could only  answer by a nod as he winked fast, for the tears would come. Jack  said no more, but as the book dropped from his knee he hid his  face in the sofa-pillow and lay quite still, not crying, but trying to  make it seem true that his dear Ed had gone away for ever. He  could not do it, and presently turned his head a little to say, in a  despairing tone,

"I don't see what I shall do without him!"

"I know it's hard for you. It is for all of us."

"You've got Gus, but now I haven't anybody. Ed was always so  good to me!" and with the name so many tender recollections  came, that poor Jack broke down in spite of his manful attempts to  smother the sobs in the red pillow.

There was an unconscious reproach in the words, Frank thought;  for he was not as gentle as Ed, and he did not wonder that Jack  loved and mourned for the lost friend like a brother.

"You've got me. I'll be good to you; cry if you want to, I don't  mind.

There was such a sympathetic choke in Frank's voice that Jack felt  comforted at once, and when he had had his cry out, which was  very soon, he let Frank pull him up with a bear-like but  affectionate hug, and sat leaning on him as they talked about their  loss, both feeling that there might have been a greater one, and  resolving to love one another very much hereafter.

Mrs. Minot often called Frank the "father-boy," because he was  now the head of the house, and a sober, reliable fellow for his  years. Usually he did not show much affection except to her, for,  as he once said, "I shall never be too old to kiss my mother," and  she often wished that he had a little sister, to bring out the softer  side of his character. He domineered over Jack and laughed at his  affectionate little ways, but now when trouble came, he was as  kind and patient as a girl; and when Mamma came in, having  heard the news, she found her "father-boy" comforting his brother  so well that she slipped away without a word, leaving them to  learn one of the sweet lessons sorrow teaches--to lean on one  another, and let each trial bring them closer together.

It is often said that there should be no death or grief in children's  stories. It is not wise to dwell on the dark and sad side of these  things; but they have also a bright and lovely side, and since even  the youngest, dearest, and most guarded child cannot escape some  knowledge of the great mystery, is it not well to teach them in  simple, cheerful ways that affection sweetens sorrow, and a lovely  life can make death beautiful? I think so, therefore try to tell the  last scene in the history of a boy who really lived and really left  behind him a memory so precious that it will not be soon forgotten  by those who knew and loved him. For the influence of this short  life was felt by many, and even this brief record of it may do for  other children what the reality did for those who still lay flowers  on his grave, and try to be "as good as Eddy.

Few would have thought that the death of a quiet lad of seventeen  would have been so widely felt, so sincerely mourned; but virtue,  like sunshine, works its own sweet miracles, and when it was  known that never again would the bright face be seen in the village  streets, the cheery voice heard, the loving heart felt in any of the  little acts which so endeared Ed Devlin to those about him, it  seemed as if young and old grieved alike for so much promise cut  off in its spring-time. This was proved at the funeral, for, though it  took place at the busy hour of a busy day, men left their affairs,  women their households, young people their studies and their play,  and gave an hour to show their affection, respect, and sympathy for  those who had lost so much.

The girls had trimmed the church with all the sweetest flowers  they could find, and garlands of lilies of the valley robbed the  casket of its mournful look. The boys had brought fresh boughs to  make the grave a green bed for their comrade's last sleep. Now  they were all gathered together, and it was a touching sight to see  the rows of young faces sobered and saddened by their first look at  sorrow. The girls sobbed, and the boys set their lips tightly as their  glances fell upon the lilies under which the familiar face lay full of  solemn peace. Tears dimmed older eyes when the hymn the dead  boy loved was sung, and the pastor told with how much pride and  pleasure he had watched the gracious growth of this young  parishioner since he first met the lad of twelve and was attracted  by the shining face, the pleasant manners. Dutiful and loving;  ready to help; patient to bear and forbear; eager to excel; faithful  to the smallest task, yet full of high ambitions; and, better still,  possessing the childlike piety that can trust and believe, wait and  hope. Good and happy--the two things we all long for and so few  of us truly are. This he was, and this single fact was the best  eulogy his pastor could pronounce over the beloved youth gone to  a nobler manhood whose promise left so sweet a memory behind.

As the young people looked, listened, and took in the scene, they  felt as if some mysterious power had changed their playmate from  a creature like themselves into a sort of saint or hero for them to  look up to, and imitate if they could. 'What has he done, to be so  loved, praised, and mourned?" they thought, with a tender sort of  wonder; and the answer seemed to come to them as never before,  for never had they been brought so near the solemn truth of life  and death. "It was not what he did but what he was that made him  so beloved. All that was sweet and noble in him still lives; for  goodness is the only thing we can take with us when we die, the  only thing that can comfort those we leave behind, and help us to  meet again hereafter."

This feeling was in many hearts when they went away to lay him,  with prayer and music, under the budding oak that leaned over his  grave, a fit emblem of the young life just beginning its new spring.  As the children did their part, the beauty of the summer day  soothed their sorrow, and something of the soft brightness of the  June sunshine seemed to gild their thoughts, as it gilded the  flower-strewn mound they left behind. The true and touching  words spoken cheered as well as impressed them, and made them  feel that their friend was not lost but gone on into a higher class of  the great school whose Master is eternal love and wisdom. So the  tears soon dried, and the young faces looked up like flowers after  rain. But the heaven-sent shower sank into the earth, and they were  the stronger, Sweeter for it, more eager to make life brave and  beautiful, because death had gently shown them what it should be.

When the boys came home they found their mother already  returned, and Jill upon the parlor sofa listening to her account of  the funeral with the same quiet, hopeful look which their own  faces wore; for somehow the sadness seemed to have gone, and a  sort of Sunday peace remained.

"I'm glad it was all so sweet and pleasant. Come and rest, you look  so tired"; and Jill held out her hands to greet them--a crumpled  handkerchief in one and a little bunch of fading lilies in the other.

Jack sat down in the low chair beside her and leaned his head  against the arm of the sofa, for he was tired. But Frank walked  slowly up and down the long rooms with a serious yet serene look  on his face, for he felt as if he had learned something that day, and  would always be the better for it. Presently he said, stopping  before his mother, who leaned in the easy-chair looking up at the  picture of her boys' father,

"I should should like to have just such things said about me when   I die."

"So should I, if I deserved them as Ed did!" cried Jack, earnestly.

"You may if you try. I should be proud to hear them, and if they  were true, they would comfort me more than anything else. I am  glad you see the lovely side of sorrow, and are learning the lesson  such losses teach us," answered their mother, who believed in  teaching young people to face trouble bravely, and find the silver  lining in the clouds that come to all of us.

"I never thought much about it before, but now dying doesn't seem  dreadful at all--only solemn and beautiful. Somehow everybody  seems to love everybody else more for it, and try to be kind and  good and pious. I can't say what I mean, but you know, mother";  and Frank went pacing on again with the bright look his eyes  always wore when he listened to music or read of some noble  action.

"That's what Merry said when she and Molly came in on their way  home. But Molly felt dreadfully, and so did Mabel. She brought  me these flowers to press, for we are all going to keep some to  remember dear Ed by," said Jill, carefully smoothing out the little  bells as she laid the lilies in her hymn-book, for she too had had a  thoughtful hour while she lay alone, imagining all that went on in  the church, and shedding a few tender tears over the friend who  was always so kind to her.

"I don't want anything to remember him by. I was so fond of him, I  couldn't forget if I tried. I know I ought not to say it, but I don't see  why God let him die," said Jack, with a quiver in his voice, for his  loving heart could not help aching still.

"No, dear, we cannot see or know many things that grieve us very  much, but we can trust that it is right, and try to believe that all is  meant for our good. That is what faith means, and without it we  are miserable. When you were little, you were afraid of the dark,  but if I spoke or touched you, then you were sure all was well, and  fell asleep holding my hand. God is wiser and stronger than any  father or mother, so hold fast to Him, and you will have no doubt  or fear, however dark it seems."

"As you do," said Jack, going to sit on the arm of Mamma's chair,  with his cheek to hers, willing to trust as she bade him, hut glad to  hold fast the living hand that had led and comforted him all his  life.

"Ed used to say to me when I fretted about getting well, and  thought nobody cared for me, which was very naughty, 'Don't be  troubled, God won't forget you; and if you must be lame, He will  make you able to bear it," said Jill, softly, her quick little mind all  alive with new thoughts and feelings.

"He believed it, and that's why he liked that hymn so much. I'm  glad they sung it to-day," said Frank, bringing his heavy dictionary  to lay on the book where the flowers were pressing.

"Oh, thank you! Could you play that tune for me? I'd idn't hear it,  and I'd love to, if you are willing," asked Jill.

"I'd idn't think I ever should want to play again, but I'd o. Will you  sing it for her, mother? I'm afraid I shall break down if I try alone.

"We will all sing, music is good for us now," said Mamma; and in  rather broken voices they did sing Ed's favorite words:

"Not a sparrow falleth but its God cloth know,  Just as when his mandate lays a monarch low;  Not a leaflet moveth, but its God cloth see,  Think not, then, O mortal, God forgetteth thee.  Far more precious surely than the birds that fly  Is a Father's image to a Father's eye.  E'en thy hairs are numbered; trust Him full and free,  Cast thy cares before Him, He will comfort thee;  For the God that planted in thy breast a soul,  On his sacred tables dcth thy name enroll.  Cheer thine heart, then, niortal, never faithless be,  He that marks the sparrows will remember thee."

Chapter 21 Pebbly Beach

"Now, Mr. Jack, it is a moral impossibility to get all those things  into one trunk, and you mustn't ask it of me," said Mrs. Pecq, in a  tone of despair, as she surveyed the heap of treasures she was  expected to pack for the boys.

"Never mind the clothes, we only want a boating-suit apiece.  Mamma can put a few collars in her trunk for us; but these  necessary things must go," answered Jack, adding his target and  air-pistol to the pile of bats, fishing-tackle, games, and a choice  collection of shabby balls.

"Those are the necessaries and clothes the luxuries, are they? Why  don't you add a velocipede, wheelbarrow, and printing-press, my  dear?" asked Mrs. Pecq, while Jill turned up her nose at "boys'  rubbish."

"Wish I could. Dare say we shall want them. Women don't know  what fellows need, and always must put in a lot of stiff shirts and  clean handkerchiefs and clothes-brushes and pots of cold cream.  We are going to rough it, and don't want any fuss and feathers,"  said Jack, beginning to pack the precious balls in his rubber boots,  and strap them up with the umbrellas, rods, and bats, seeing that  there was no hope of a place in the trunk.

Here Frank came in with two big books, saying calmly, "Just slip  these in somewhere, we shall need them."

"But you are not to study at all, so you won't want those great  dictionaries," cried Jill, busily packing her new travelling-basket  with all sorts of little rolls, bags, and boxes.

"They are not dics, but my Encyclopedia. We shall want to know  heaps of things, and this tells about everything. With those books,  and a microscope and a telescope, you could travel round the  world, and learn all you wanted to. Can't possibly get on without  them," said Frank, fondly patting his favorite work.

"My patience! What queer cattle boys are!" exclaimed Mrs. Pecq,  while they all laughed. "It can't be done, Mr. Frank; all the boxes  are brim full, and you'll have to leave those fat books behind, for  there's no place anywhere."

"Then I'll carry them myself"; and Frank tucked one under each  arm, with a determined air, which settled the matter.

"I suppose you'll study cockleology instead of boating, and read up  on polywogs while we play tennis, or go poking round with your  old spy-glass instead of having a jolly good time," said Jack,  hauling away on the strap till all was taut and ship-shape with the  bundle.

"Tadpoles don't live in salt water, my son, and if you mean  conchology, you'd better say so. I shall play as much as I wish, and  when I want to know about any new or curious thing, I shall  consult my Cyclo, instead of bothering other people with  questions, or giving it up like a dunce"; with which crushing reply  Frank departed, leaving Jill to pack and unpack her treasures a  dozen times, and Jack to dance jigs on the lids of the trunks till  they would shut.

A very happy party set off the next day, leaving Mrs. Pecq waving  her apron on the steps. Mrs. Minot carried the lunch, Jack his  precious bundle with trifles dropping out by the way, and Jill felt  very elegant bearing her new basket with red worsted cherries  bobbing on the outside. Frank actually did take the Encyclopedia,  done up in the roll of shawls, and whenever the others wondered  about anything--tides, lighthouses, towns, or natural productions--  he brought forth one of the books and triumphantly read therefrom,  to the great merriment, if not edification, of his party.

A very short trip by rail and the rest of the journey by boat, to Jill's  great contentment, for she hated to be shut up; and while the lads  roved here and there she sat under the awning, too happy to talk.  But Mrs. Minot watched with real satisfaction how the fresh wind  blew the color back into the pale cheeks, how the eyes shone and  the heart filled with delight at seeing the lovely world again, and  being able to take a share in its active pleasures.

The Willows was a long, low house close to the beach, and as full  as a beehive of pleasant people, all intent on having a good time. A  great many children were swarming about, and Jill found it  impossible to sleep after her journey, there was such a lively  clatter of tongues on the piazzas, and so many feet going to and fro  in the halls, She lay down obediently while Mrs. Minot settled  matters in the two airy rooms and gave her some dinner, but she  kept popping up her head to look out of the window to see what  she could see. Just opposite stood an artist's cottage and studio,  with all manner of charming galleries, towers, steps, and even a  sort of drawbridge to pull up when the painter wished to be left in  peace. He was absent now, and the visitors took possession of this  fine play-place. Children were racing up and down the galleries,  ladies sitting in the tower, boys disporting themselves on the roof,  and young gentlemen preparing for theatricals in the large studio.

"What fun I'll have over there," thought Jill, watching the merry  scene with intense interest, and wondering if the little girls she saw  were as nice as Molly and Merry.

Then there were glimpses of the sea beyond the green bank where  a path wound along to the beach, whence came the cool dash of  waves, and now and then the glimmer of a passing sail.

"Oh, when can I go out? It looks so lovely, I can't wait long," she  said, looking as eager as a little gull shut up in a cage and pining  for its home on the wide ocean.

"As soon as it is a little cooler, dear, I'm getting ready for our trip,  but we must be careful and not do too much at once. 'Slow and  sure' is our motto," answered Mrs. Minot, busily collecting the  camp-stools, the shawls, the air-cushions, and the big parasols.

"I'll be good, only do let me have my sailor-hat to wear, and my  new suit. I'm not a bit tired, and I do want to be like other folks  right off," said Jill, who had been improving rapidly of late, and  felt much elated at being able to drive out nearly every day, to  walk a little, and sit up some hours without any pain or fatigue.

To gratify her, the blue flannel suit with its white trimming was  put on, and Mamma was just buttoning the stout boots when Jack  thundered at the door, and burst in with all sorts of glorious news.

"Do come out, mother, it's perfectly splendid on the beach! I've  found a nice place for Jill to sit, and it's only a step. Lots of capital  fellows here; one has a bicycle, and is going to teach us to ride. No  end of fun up at the hotel, and everyone seems glad to see us. Two  ladies asked about Jill, and one of the girls has got some shells all  ready for her, Gerty Somebody, and her mother is so pretty and  jolly, I like her ever so much. They sit at our table, and Wally is  the boy, younger than I am, but very pleasant. Bacon is the fellow  in knickerbockers; just wish you could see what stout legs he's got!  Cox is the chap for me, though: we are going fishing to-morrow.  He's got a sweet-looking mother, and a sister for you, Jill. Now,  then, do come on, I'll take the traps."

Off they went, and Jill thought that very short walk to the shore the  most delightful she ever took; for people smiled at the little invalid  as she went slowly by leaning on Mrs. Minot's arm, while Jack  pranced in front, doing the honors, as if he owned the whole  Atlantic. A new world opened to her eyes as they came out upon  the pebbly beach full of people enjoying their afternoon  promenade. Jill save one rapturous Oh. and then sat on her stool,  forgetting everything but the beautiful blue ocean rolling away to  meet the sky, with nothing to break the wide expanse but a sail  here and there, a point of rocks on one hand, the little pier on the  other, and white gulls skimming by on their wide wings.

While she sat enjoying herself, Jack showed his mother the place  he had found, and a very nice one it was. Just under the green bank  lay an old boat propped up with some big stones. A willow  drooped over it, the tide rippled up within a few yards of it, and a  fine view of the waves could be seen as they'd ashed over the  rocks at the point.

"Isn't it a good cubby-house? Ben Cox and I fixed it for Jill, and  she can have it for hers. Put her cushions and things there on the  sand the children have thrown in--that will make it soft; then these  seats will do for tables; and up in the bow I'm going to have that  old rusty tin boiler full of salt-water, so she can put seaweed and  crabs and all sorts 0c chaps in h for an aquatium, you know,"  explained Jack, greatly interested in establishing his family  comfortably before he left them.

"There couldn't be a nicer place, and it is very kind of you to get it  ready. Spread the shawls and settle Jill, then you needn't think of  us any more, but go and scramble with Frank. I see him over there  with his spy-glass and some pleasant-looking boys," said Mamma,  bustling about in great spirits.

So the red cushions were placed, the plaids laid, and the little  work-basket set upon the seat, all ready for Jill, who was charmed  with her nest, and cuddled down under the big parasol, declaring  she would keep house there every day.

Even the old boiler pleased her, and Jack raced over the beach to  begin his search for inhabitants for the new aquarium, leaving Jill  to make friends with some pretty babies digging in the sand, while  Mamma sat on the camp-stool and talked with a friend from  Harmony Village.

It seemed as if there could not be anything more delightful than to  lie there lulled by the sound of the sea, watching the sunset and  listening to the pleasant babble of little voices close by. But when  thcy went to tea in the great hall, with six tables full of merry  people, and half a dozen maids flying about, Jill thought that was  even better, because it was so new to her. Gerty and Wally nodded  to her, and their pretty mamma was so kind and so gay, rhat Jill  could not feel bashful after the first few minutes, and soon looked  about her, sure of seeing friendly faces everywhere. Frank and Jack  ate as if the salt air bad already improved their appetites, arid  talked about Bacon and Cox as if  they had been bosom friends for  years. Mamma was as happy as they for her friend, Mrs.  Hammond, sat close by; and this rosy lady, who had been a  physician, cheered her up by predicting that Jill would soon be  running about as well as ever.

But the best of all was in the evening, when the elder people  gathered in the parlors and played Twenty Questions, while the  children looked on for an hour before going to bed, much amused  at the sight of grown people laughing, squabbling, dodging, and  joking as if they had all become young again; for, as everyone  knows, it is impossible to help lively skirmishes when that game is  played. Jill lay in the sofa corner enjoying it all immensely; for she  never saw anything so droll, and found it capital fun to help guess  the thing, or try to puzzle the opposite side. Her quick wits and  bright face attracted people, and in the pauses of the sport she held  quite a levee, for everybody was interested in the little invalid. The  girls shyly made friends in their own way, the mammas told  thrilling tales of the accidents their darlings had survived, several  gentlemen kindly offered their boats, and the boys, with the best  intentions in life, suggested strolls of two or three miles to Rafe's  Chasm and Norman's Woe, or invited her to tennis and archery, as  if violent exercise was the cure for all human ills. She was very  grateful, and reluctantly went away to bed, declaring, when she got  upstairs, that these new friends were the dearest people she ever  met, and the Willows the most delightful place in the whole world.

Next day a new life began for the young folks--a very healthy,  happy life; and all threw themselves into it so heartily, that it was  impossible to help getting great good from it, for these summer  weeks, if well spent, work miracles in tired bodies and souls.  Frank took a fancy to the bicycle boy, and, being able to hire one  of the breakneck articles, soon learned to ride it; and the two might  be seen wildly working their long legs on certain smooth stretches  of road, or getting up their muscle rowing about the bay till they  were almost as brown and nautical in appearance and language as  the fishermen who lived in nooks and corners along the shore.

Jack struck up a great friendship with the sturdy Bacon and the  agreeable Cox: the latter, being about his own age, was his  especial favorite; and they soon were called Box and Cox by the  other fellows, which did not annoy them a bit, as both had played  parts in that immortal farce. They had capital times fishing,  scrambling over the rocks, playing ball and tennis, and rainy days  they took possession of the studio opposite, drew up the portcullis,  and gallantly defended the castle, which some of the others  besieged with old umbrellas for shields, bats for battering-rams,  and bunches of burrs for cannon-balls. Great larks went on over  there, while the girls applauded from the piazza or  chamber-windows, and made a gay flag for the victors to display  from the tower when the fight was over.

But Jill had the best time of all, for each day brought increasing  strength and spirits, and she improved so fast it was hard to believe  that she was the same girl who lay so long almost helpless in the  Bird Room at home. Such lively letters as she sent her W1o~he~,  all aboul her new friends, her fine sails, drives, and little walks;  the good times she had in the evening, the lovely things people  gave her, and she was learning to make with shells and sea-weed,  and what splendid fun it was to keep house in a boat.

This last amusement soon grew quite absorbing, and her "cubby,"  as she called it, rapidly became a pretty grotto, where she lived  like a little mermaid, daily loving more and more the beauty of the  wonderful sea, Finding the boat too sunny at times, the boys cut  long willow boughs and arched them over the seats, laying  hemlock branches across till a green roof made it cool and shady  inside. There Jill sat or lay among her cushions reading, trying to  sketch, sorting shells, drying gay sea-weeds, or watching her crabs,  jelly-fish, and anemones in the old boiler, now buried in sand and  edged about with moss from the woods.

Nobody disturbed her treasures, but kindly added to them, and  often when she went to her nest she found fruit or flowers, books  or bon-bons, laid ready for her. Everyone pitied and liked the  bright little girl who could not run and frisk with the rest, who was  so patient and cheerful after her long confinement, ready to help  others, and so grateful for any small favor. She found now that the  weary months had not been wasted, and was very happy to  discover in herself a new sort of strength and sweetness that was  not only a comfort to her, but made those about her love and trust  her. The songs she had learned attracted the babies, who would  leave their play to peep at her and listen when she sung over her  work. Passers-by paused to hear the blithe voice of the bird in the  green cage, and other invalids, strolling on the beach, would take  heart when they saw the child so happy in spite of her great trial.

The boys kept all their marine curiosities for her, and were always  ready to take her a row or a sail, as the bay was safe and that sort  of travelling suited her better than driving. But the girls had capital  times together, and it did Jill good to see another sort from those  she knew at home. She had been so much petted of late, that she  was getting rather vain of her small accomplishments, and being  with strangers richer, better bred and educated than herself, made  her more humble in some things, while it showed her the worth of  such virtues as she could honestly claim. Mamie Cox took her to  drive in the fine carriage of her mamma, and Jill was much  impressed by the fact that Mamie was not a bit proud about it, and  did not put on any airs, though she had a maid to take care of her.  Gerty wore pretty costumes, and came down with pink and blue  ribbons in her hair that Jill envied very much; yet Gerty liked her  curls, and longed to have some, while her mother, "the lady from  Philadelphia," as they called her, was so kind and gay that Jill  quite adored her, and always felt as if sunshine had come into the  room when she entered. Two little sisters were very interesting to  her, and made her long for one of her own when she saw them  going about together and heard them talk of their pleasant home,  where the great silk factories were. But they invited her to come  and see the wonderful cocoons, and taught her to knot pretty gray  fringe on a cushion, which delighted her, being so new and easy.  There were several other nice little lasses, and they all gathered  about Jill with the sweet sympathy children are so quick to show  toward those in pain or misfortune. She thought they would not  care for a poor little girl like herself, yet here she was the queen of  the troupe, and this discovery touched and pleased her very much.

In the morning they camped round the boat on the stones with  books, gay work, and merry chatter, till bathing-time. Then the  beach was full of life and fun, for everyone looked so droll in the  flannel suits, it was hard to believe that the neat ladies and  respectable gentlemen who went into the little houses could be the  same persons as the queer, short-skirted women with old hats tied  down, and bareheaded, barefooted men in old suits, who came  skipping over the sand to disport themselves in the sea in the most  undignified ways. The boys raced about, looking like circus-  tumblers, and the babies were regular little cupids, running away  from the waves that tried to kiss their flying feet.

Some of the young ladies and girls were famous swimmers, and  looked very pretty in their bright red and blue costumes, with loose  hair and gay stockings, as they'd anced into the water and floated  away as fearlessly as real mermaidens. Jill had her quiet dip and  good rubbing each fine day, and then lay upon the warm sand  watching the pranks of the others, and longing to run and dive and  shout and tumble with the rest. Now that she was among the well  and active, it seemed harder to be patient than when shut up and  unable to stir. She felt so much better, and had so little pain to  remind her of past troubles, it was almost impossible to help  forgetting the poor back and letting her  recovered spirits run away  with her. If Mrs. Minot had not kept good watch, she would have  been off more than once, so eager was she to be "like other girls"  again, so difficult was it to keep the restless feet quietly folded  among the red cushions.

One day she did yield to temptation, and took a little voyage which  might have been her last, owing to the carelessness of those whom  she trusted. It was a good lesson, and made her as meek as a lamb  during the rest of her stay. Mrs. Minot drove to Gloucester one  afternoon, leaving Jill safely established after her nap in the boat,  with Gerty and Mamie making lace beside her.

"Don't try to walk or run about, my dear. Sit on the piazza if you  get tired of this, and amuse yourself quietly till I come back. I'll  not forget the worsted and the canvas," said Mamma, peeping over  the bank for a last word as she waited for the omnibus to come  along.

"Oh, don't forget the Gibraltars!" cried Jill, popping her head out of  the green roof.

"Nor the bananas, please!" added Gerty, looking round one end.

"Nor the pink and blue ribbon to tie our shell-baskets," called  Mamie, nearly tumbling into the aquarium at the other end.

Mrs. Minot laughed, and promised, and rumbled away, leaving Jill  to an experience which she never forgot.

For half an hour the little girls worked busily, then the boys came  for Gerty and Mamie to go to the Chasm with a party of friends  who were to leave next day. Off they went, and Jill felt very lonely  as the gay voices died away. Everyone had gone somewhere, and  only little Harry Hammond and his maid were on the beach. Two  or three sand-pipers ran about among the pebbles, and Jill envied  them their nimble legs so much, that she could not resist getting up  to take a few steps. She longed to run straight away over the firm,  smooth sand, and feel again the delight of swift motion; but she  dared not try it, and stood leaning on her  tall parasol with her  book in her hand, when Frank, Jack, and the bicycle boy came  rowing lazily along and hailed her.

"Come for a sail, Jill? Take you anywhere you like," called Jack,  touched by the lonely figure on the beach.

"I'd love to go, if you will row. Mamma made me promise not to  go sailing without a man to take care of me. Would it spoil your  fun to have me?" answered Jill, eagerly.

"Not a bit; come out on the big stones and we'll take you aboard,"  said Frank, as they steered to the place where she could embark the  easiest.

"All the rest are gone to the Chasm. I wanted to go, because I've  never seen it; but, of course, I had to give it up, as I do most of the  fun"; and Jill sat down with an impatient sigh.

"We'll row you round there. Can't land, but you can see the place  and shout to the others, if that will be any comfort to you,"  proposed Frank, as they pulled away round the pier.

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely!" and Jill smiled at Jack, who was  steering, for she found it impossible to be dismal now with the  fresh wind blowing in her face, the blue waves slapping against the  boat, and three good-natured lads ready to gratify her wishes.

Away they went, laughing and talking gayly till they came to  Goodwin's Rocks, where an unusual number of people were to be  seen though the tide was going out, and no white spray was  dashing high into the air to make a sight worth seeing.

'What do you suppose they are about? Never saw such a lot of  folks at this time. Shouldn't wonder if something had happened. I  say, put me ashore, and I'll cut up and see," said the bicycle boy,  who was of an inquiring turn.

"I'll go with you," said Frank; "it won't take but a minute, and I'd  like to discover what it is. Maybe something we ought to know  about."

So the boys pulled round into a quiet nook, and the two elder ones  scrambled up the rocks, to disappear in the crowd. Five, ten,  fifteen minutes passed, and they did not return. Jack grew  impatient, so did Jill, and bade him run up and bring them back.  Glad to know what kept them, Jack departed, to be swallowed up  in his turn, for not a sign of a boy did she see after that; and,  having vainly strained her eyes to discover the attraction which  held them, she gave it up, lay down on their jackets, and began to  read.

Then the treacherous tide, as it ebbed lower and lower down the  beach, began to lure the boat away; for it was not fastened, and  when lightened of its load was an easy prize to the hungry sea,  always ready to steal all it can. Jill knew nothing of this, for her  story was dull, the gentle motion proved soothing, and before she  knew it she was asleep. Little by little the runaway boat slid farther  from the shore, and presently was floating out to sea with its  drowsy freight, while the careless boys, unconscious of the time  they were wasting, lingered to see group after group photographed  by the enterprising man who had trundled his camera to the rocks.

In the midst of a dream about home, Jill was roused by a loud  shout, and, starting up so suddenly that the sun-umbrella went  overboard, she found herself sailing off alone, while the distracted  lads roared and beckoned vainly from the cove. The oars lay at  their feet, where they left them; and the poor child was quite  helpless, for she could not manage the sail, and even the parasol,  with which she might have paddled a little, had gone down with all  sail set. For a minute, Jill was so frightened that she could only  look about her with a scared face, and wonder if drowning was a  very disagreeable thing. Then the sight of the bicycle boy  struggling with Jack, who seemed inclined to swim after her, and  Frank shouting wildly, "Hold on! Come back!" made her laugh in  spite of her fear, it was so comical, and their distress so much  greater than hers, since it was their own carelessness which caused  the trouble.

"I can't come back! There's nothing to hold on to! You didn't fasten  me, and now I don't know where I'm going!" cried Jill, looking  from the shore to the treacherous sea that was gently carrying her  away.

"Keep cool! We'll get a boat and come after you,~ roared Frank,  before he followed Jack, who had collected his wits and was  tearing up the rocks like a chamois hunter.

The bicycle boy calmly sat down to keep his eye on the runaway,  calling out from time to time such cheering remarks as "All aboard  for Liverpool! Give my love to Victoria! Luff and bear away when  you come to Halifax! If you are hard up for provisions, you'll find  an apple and some bait in my coat-pocket," and other directions for  a comfortable voyage, till his voice was lost in the distance as a  stronger current bore her swiftly away and the big waves began to  tumble and splash.

At first Jill had laughed at his efforts to keep up her spirits, but  when the boat floated round a point of rock that shut in the cove,  she felt all alone, and sat quite still, wondering what would  become of her. She turned her back to the sea and looked at the  dear, safe land, which never had seemed so green and beautiful  before. Up on the hill rustled the wood through which the happy  party were wandering to the Chasm. On the rocks she still saw the  crowd all busy with their own affairs, unconscious of her danger.  Here and there artists were sketching in picturesque spots, and in  one place an old gentleman sat fishing peacefully. Jill called and  waved her handkerchief, but he never looked up, and an ugly little  dog barked at her in what seemed to her a most cruel way.

"Nobody sees or hears or cares, and those horrid boys will never  catch up!" she cried in despair, as the boat began to rock more and  more, and the loud swash of water dashing in and out of the  Chasm drew nearer and nearer. Holding on now with both hands  she turned and looked straight before her, pale and shivering,  while her eyes tried to see some sign of hope among the steep  cliffs that rose up on the left. No one was there, though usually at  this hour they were full of visitors, and it was time for the walkers  to have arrived.

"I wonder if Gerty and Mamie will be sorry if I'm drowned,"  thought Jill, remembering the poor girl who had been lost in the  Chasm not long ago. Her lively fancy pictured the grief of her  friends at her loss; but that did not help or comfort her now, and as  her anxious gaze wandered along the shore, she said aloud, in a  pensive tone,

"Perhaps I shall be wrecked on Norman's Woe, and somebody will  make poetry about me. It would be pretty to read, but I don't want  to die that way. Oh, why did I come! Why didn't I stay safe and  comfortable in my own boat?"

At the thought a sob rose, and poor Jill laid her head down on her  lap to cry with all her heart, feeling very helpless, small, and  forsaken alone there on the great sea. In the midst of her tears  came the thought, "When people are in danger, they ask God to  save them"; and, slipping down upon her knees, she said her prayer  as she had never said it before, for when human help seems gone  we turn to Him as naturally as lost children cry to their father, and  feel sure that he will hear and answer them.

After that she felt better, and wiped away the drops that blinded  her, to look out again like a shipwrecked mariner watching for a  sail. And there it was! Close by, coming swiftly on with a man  behind it, a sturdy brown fisher, busy with his lobster-pots, and  quite unconscious how like an angel he looked to the helpless little  girl in the rudderless boat.

"Hi! hi! Oh, please do stop and get me! I'm lost, no oars, nobody to  fix the sail! Oh, oh! please come!" screamed Jill, waving her hat  frantically as the other boat skimmed by and the man stared at her  as if she really was a mermaid with a fishy tail.

"Keep still! I'll come about and fetch you!" he called out; and Jill  obeyed, sitting like a little image of faith, till with a good deal of  shifting and flapping of the sail, the other boat came alongside and  took her in tow,

A few words told the story, and in five minutes she was sitting  snugly tucked up watching art unpleasant mass of lobsters flap  about dangerously near her toes, while the boat bounded over the  waves with a delightful motion, and every instant brought her  nearer borne. She did not say much, but felt a good deal; and when  they met two boats coming to meet her, manned by very anxious  crews of men and boys, she was so pale and quiet that Jack was  quite bowed down with remorse, and Frank nearly pitched the  bicycle boy overboard because he gayly asked Jill how she left her  friends in England. There was great rejoicing over her, for the  people on the rocks had heard of her loss, and ran about like ants  when their hill is disturbed. Of course half a dozen amiable souls  posted off to the Willows to tell the family that the little girl was  drowned, so that when the rescuers appeared quite a crowd was  assembled on the beach to welcome her. But Jill felt so used up  with her own share of the excitement that she was glad to be  carried to the house by Frank and Jack, and laid upon her bed,  where Mrs. Hammond soon restored her with sugar-coated pills,  and words even sweeter and more soothing.

Other people, busied with their own pleasures, forgot all about it  by the next day; but Jill remembered that hour long afterward, both  awake and asleep, for her dreams were troubled, and she often  started up imploring someone to save her. Then she would recall  the moment when, feeling most helpless, she had asked for help,  and it had come as quickly as if that tearful little cry had been  heard and answered, though her voice had been drowned by the  dash of the waves that seemed ready to devour her. This made  a deep impression on her, and a sense of childlike faith in the  Father of all began to grow up within her; for in that lonely  voyage, short as it was, she had found a very precious treasure to  keep for ever, to lean on, and to love during the longer voyage  which all must take before we reach our home.

Chapter 22 A Happy Day

"Oh dear! Only a week more, and then we must go back. Don't you  hate the thoughts of it?" said Jack, as he was giving Jill her early  walk on the beach one August morning.

"Yes, it will be dreadful to leave Gerty and Mamie and all the nice  people. But I'm so much better I won't have to be shut up again,  even if I don't go to school. How I long to see Merry and Molly.  Dear things, if it wasn't for them I should hate going home more  than you do," answered Jill, stepping along quite briskly, and  finding it very hard to resist breaking into a skip or a run, she felt  so well and gay.

"Wish they could be here to-day to see the fun," said Jack, for it  was the anniversary of the founding of the place, and the people  celebrated it by all sorts of festivity.

"I'd id want to ask Molly, but your mother is so good to me I  couldn't find courage to do it. Mammy told me not to ask for a  thing, and I'm sure I don't get a chance. I feel just as if I was your  truly born sister, Jack."

"That's all right, I'm glad you do," answered Jack, comfortably,  though his mind seemed a little absent and his eyes twinkled when  she spoke of Molly. "Now, you sit in the cubby-house, and keep  quiet till the boat comes in. Then the fun will begin, and you must  be fresh and ready to enjoy it. Don't run off, now, I shall want to  know where to find you by and by."

"No more running off, thank you. I'll stay here till you come, and  finish this box for Molly; she has a birthday this week, and I've  written to ask what day, so I can send it right up and surprise her.

Jack's eyes twinkled more than ever as he helped Jill settle herself  in the boat, and then with a whoop he tore over the beach, as if  practising for the race which was to come off in the afternoon.

Jill was so busy with her work that time went quickly, and th~  early boat came in just as the last pink shell was stuck in its place.  Putting the box in the sun to dry, she leaned out of her nook to  watch the gay parties land, and go streaming up the pier along the  road that went behind the bank that sheltered her. Flocks of  children were running about on the sand, and presently strangers  appeared, eager to see and enjoy all the delights of this gala-day.

"There's a fat little boy who looks ever so much like Boo," said Jill  to herself, watching the people and hoping they would not come  and find her, since she had promised to stay till Jack returned.

The fat little boy was staring about him in a blissful sort of maze,  holding a wooden shovel in one hand and the skirts of a young girl  with the other. Her back was turned to Jill, but something in the  long brown braid with a fly-away blue bow hanging down her back  looked very familiar to Jill. So did the gray suit and the Japanese  umbrella; but the hat was strange, and while she was thinking how  natural the boots looked, the girl turned round.

"Why, how much she looks like Molly! It can't be--yes, it might, I  do believe it is!" cried Jill, starting up and hardly daring to trust  her own eyes.

As she came out of her nest and showed herself, there could be no  doubt about the other girl, for she gave one shout and came racing  over the beach with both arms out, while her hat blew off  unheeded, and the gay umbrella flew away, to the great delight of  all the little people except Boo, who was upset by his sister's  impetuous rush, and lay upon his back howling. Molly did not do  all the running, though, and Jill got her wish, for, never stopping to  think of herself, she was off at once, and met her friend half-way  with an answering cry. Jr was a pretty sight to see them run into  one another's arms and hug and kiss and talk and skip in such a  state of girlish joy they never cared who saw or laughed at their  innocent raptures.

"You darling dear! where did you come from?" cried Jill, holding  Molly by both shoulders, and shaking her a little to be sure she was  real.

"Mrs. Minot sent for us to spend a week. You look so well, I can't  believe my eyes!" answered Molly, patting Jill's cheeks and kissing  them over and over, as if to make sure the bright color would not  come off.

"A week? How splendid! Oh, I've such heaps to tell and show you;  come right over to my cubby and see how lovely it is," said Jill,  forgetting everybody else in her delight at getting Molly.

"I must get poor Boo, and my hat and umbrella, I left them all  behind me when I saw you," laughed Molly, looking back.

But Mrs. Minot and Jack had consoled Boo and collected the  scattered property, so the girls went on arm in arm, and had a fine  time before anyone had the heart to disturb them. Molly was  charmed with the boat, and Jill very glad the box was done in  season. Both had so much to tell and hear and plan, that they  would have sat there for ever if bathing-time had not come, and  the beach suddenly looked like a bed of red and yellow tulips, for  everyone took a dip, and the strangers added much to the fun.

Molly could swim like a duck, and quite covered herself with glory  by diving off the pier. Jack undertook to teach Boo, who was a  promising pupil, being so plump that he could not sink if he tried.  Jill was soon through, and lay on the sand enjoying the antics of  the bathers till she was so faint with laughter she was glad to hear  the dinner-horn and do the honors of the Willows to Molly, whose  room was next hers.

Boat-races came first in the afternoon, and the girls watched them,  sitting luxuriously in the nest, with the ladies and children close  by. The sailing-matches were very pretty to see; but Molly and Jill  were more interested in the rowing, for Frank and the bicycle boy  pulled one boat, and the friends felt that this one must win. It did,  though the race was not very exciting nor the prize of great worth;  but the boys and girls were satisfied, and Jack was much exalted,  for he always told Frank he could do great things if he would only  drop books and "go in on his muscle."

Foot-races followed, and, burning to distinguish himself also, Jack  insisted on trying, though his mother warned him that the weak leg  might be harmed, and he had his own doubts about it, as he was all  out of practice. However, he took his place with a handkerchief  tied round his head, red shirt and stockings, and his sleeves rolled  up as if he meant business. Jill and Molly could not sit still during  this race, and stood on the bank quite trembling with excitement as  the half-dozen runners stood in a line at the starting-post waiting  for the word "Go!"

Off they went at last over the smooth beach to the pole with the  flag at the further end, and cveryone watched them with mingled  interest and merriment, for they were a droll set, and the running  not at all scientific with most of them. One young fisherman with  big boots over his trousers started off at a great pace, pounding  along in the most dogged way, while a little chap in a tight  bathing-suit with very thin legs skimmed by him, looking so like a  sand-piper it was impossible to help laughing at both. Jack's  former training stood him in good stead now; for he went to work  in professional style, and kept a steady trot till the flagpole had  been passed, then he put on his speed and shot ahead of all the  rest, several of whom broke down and gave up. But Cox and  Bacon held on gallantly; and soon it was evident that the sturdy  legs in the knickerbockers were gaining fast, for Jack gave his  ankle an ugly wrench on a round pebble, and the weak knee began  to fail. He did his best, however, and quite a breeze of enthusiasm  stirred the spectators as the three boys came down the course like  mettlesome horses, panting, pale, or purple, but each bound to win  at any cost.

Now, Bacon! "Go it, Minot! Hit him up, Cox! Jack's ahead!" "No,  he isn't!" "Here they come!" "Bacon's done it!" shouted the other  boys, and they were right; Bacon had won, for the gray legs came  in just half a yard ahead of the red ones, and Minot tumbled into  his brother's arms with hardly breath enough left to gasp out,  good-humoredly, "All right, I'm glad he beat!"

Then the victor was congratulated and borne off by his friends to  refresh himself, while the lookers-on scattered to see a game of  tennis and the shooting of the Archery Club up at the hotel. Jack  was soon rested, and, making light of his defeat, insisted on taking  the girls to see the fun. So they'd rove up in the old omnibus, and  enjoyed the pretty sight very much; for the young ladies were in  uniform, and the broad green ribbons over the white dresses, the  gay quivers, long bows, and big targets, made a lively scene. The  shooting was good; a handsome damsel got the prize of a dozen  arrows, and everyone clapped in the most enthusiastic manner.

Molly and Jill did not care about tennis, so they went home to rest  and dress for the evening, because to their minds the dancing, the  illumination, and the fireworks were the best fun of all. Jill's white  bunting with cherry ribbons was very becoming, and the lively feet  in the new slippers patted the floor impatiently as the sound of  dance music came down to the Willows after tea, and the other  girls waltzed on the wide piazza because they could not keep still.

"No dancing for me, but Molly must have a good time. You'll see  that she does, won't you, boys?" said Jill, who knew that her share  of the fun would be lying on a settee and watching the rest enjoy  her favorite pastime.

Frank and Jack promised, and kc~t their word handsomely; for  there was plenty of room in the great dancing-hall at the hotel, and  the band in the pavilion played such inspiring music that, as the  bicycle boy said, "Everyone who had a leg couldn't help shaking  it." Molly was twirled about to her heart's content, and flew hither  and thither like a blue butterfly; for all the lads liked her, and she  kept running up to tell Jill the funny things they said and did.

As night darkened from all the houses in the valley, on the cliffs  and along the shore lights shone and sparkled; for everyone  decorated with gay lanterns, and several yachts in the bay strung  colored lamps about the little vessels, making a pretty picture on  the quiet sea. Jill thought she had never seen anything so like  fairy-land, and felt very like one in a dream as she drove slowly up  and down with Mamie, Gerty, Molly, and Mrs. Cox in the carriage,  so that she might see it all without too much fatigue. It was very  lovely; and when rockets began to whizz, filling the air with  golden rain, a shower of colored stars, fiery dragons, or glittering  wheels, the girls could only shriek with delight, and beg to stay a  little longer each time the prudent lady proposed going home.

It had to be at last; but Molly and Jill comforted themselves by a  long talk in bed, for it was impossible to sleep with glares of light  coming every few minutes, flocks of people talking and tramping  by in the road, and bursts of music floating down to them ~s thc  oldcr but not wiser revellers kept up the merriment till a late hour.  They'd ropped off at last; but Jill had the nightmare, and Molly  was waked up by a violent jerking of her braid as Jill tried to tow  her along, dreaming she was a boat.

They were too sleepy to laugh much then, but next morning they  made merry over it, and went to breakfast with such happy faces  that all the young folks pronounced Jill's friend a most delightful  girl. What a good time Molly did have that week! Other people  were going to leave also, and therefore much picnicking, boating,  and driving was crowded into the last days. Clambakes on the  shore, charades in the studio, sewing-parties at the boat, evening  frolics in the big dining-room, farewell calls, gifts, and Invitations,  all Sorts of plans for next summer, and vows of eternal friendship  exchanged between people who would soon forget each other. It  was very pleasant, till poor Boo innocently added to the  excitement by poisoning a few of his neighbors with a bad lobster.

The ambitious little soul pined to catch one of these mysterious  but lovely red creatures, and spent days fishing on the beach,  investigating holes and corners, and tagging after the old man who  supplied the house. One day after a high wind he found several  "lobs" washed up on the beach, and, though disappointed at their  color, he picked out a big one, and set off to show his prize to  Molly. Half-way home he met the old man on his way with a  basket of fish, and being tired of lugging his contribution laid it  with the others, meaning to explain later. No one saw him do it, as  the old man was busy with his pipe; and Boo ran back to get more  dear lobs, leaving his treasure to go into the kettle and appear at  supper, by which time he had forgotten all about it.

Fortunately none of the children ate any, but several older people  were made ill, and quite a panic prevailed that night as one after  the other called up the doctor, who was boarding close by; and  good Mrs. Grey, the hostess, ran about with hot flannels, bottles of  medicine, and distracted messages from room to room. All were  comfortable by morning, but the friends of the sufferers lay in wait  for the old fisherman, and gave him a good scolding for his  carelessness. The poor man was protesting his innocence when   Boo, who was passing by, looked into the basket, and asked what  had become of his lob. A few questions brought the truth to light,  and a general laugh put everyone in good humor, when poor Boo  mildly said, by way of explanation,

"I fought I was helpin' Mrs. Dray, and I'd id want to see the dreen  lob come out all red when she boiled him. But I fordot, and I don't  fink I'll ever find such a nice big one any more."

"For our sakes, I hope you won't, my dear," said Mrs. Hammond,  who had been nursing one of the sufferers.

"It's lucky we are going home to-morrow, or that child would be  the death of himself and everybody else. He is perfectly crazy  about fish, and I've pulled him out of that old lobster-pot on the  beach a dozen times," groaned Molly, much afflicted by the  mishaps of her young charge.

There was a great breaking up next day, and the old omnibus went  off to the station with Bacon hanging on behind, the bicycle boy  and his iron whirligig atop, and heads popping out of all the  windows for last good-byes. Our party and the Hammonds were  going by boat, and were all ready to start for the pier when Boo  and little Harry were missing. Molly, the maid, and both boys ran  different ways to find them; and all sorts of dreadful suggestions  were being made when shouts of laughter were heard from the  beach, and the truants appeared, proudly dragging in Harry's little  wagon a dead devil-fish, as the natives call that ugly thing which  looks like a magnified tadpole--all head and no body.

"We've dot him!" called the innocents, tugging up their prize with  such solemn satisfaction it was impossible to help laughing.

"I always wanted to tatch a whale, and this is a baby one, I fink. A  boy said, when they wanted to die they corned on the sand and did  it, and we saw this one go dead just now. Ain't lie pretty?" asked  Boo, displaying the immense mouth with fond pride, while his  friend flapped the tail.

"What are you going to do with him?" said Mrs. Hammond,  regarding her infant as if she often asked herself the same question  about her boy.

"Wap him up in a paper and tate him home to pay wid," answered  Harry, with such confidence in his big blue eyes that it was very  hard to disappoint his hopes and tell him the treasure must be left  behind.

Wails of despair burst from both children as the hard-hearted boys  tipped out the little whale, and hustled the indignant fishermen on  board the boat, which had been whistling for them impatiently.  Boo recovered his spirits first, and gulping down a sob that nearly  shook his hat off, consoled his companion in affliction and  convulsed his friends by taking from his pocket several little crabs,  the remains of a jelly-fish, and such a collection of pebbles that  Frank understood why he found the fat boy such a burden when he  shouldered him, kicking and howling, in the late run to the boat.  These delicate toys healed the wounds of Boo and Harry, and they  were soon happily walking the little "trabs" about inside a stone  wall of their own building, while the others rested after their  exertions, and laid plans for coming to the Willows another year,  as people usually did who had once tasted the wholesome delights  and cordial hospitality of this charming place.

Chapter 23  Cattle Show

The children were not the oniy ones who had learned something at  Pebbly Beach. Mrs. Minot bad talked a good deal with some very  superior persons, and received light upon various subjects which  had much interested or perplexed her. While the ladies worked or  walked together, they naturally spoke oftenest and most earnestly  about their children, and each contributed her experience. Mrs.  Hammond, who had been a physician for many years, was wise in  the care of healthy little bodies, and the cure of sick ones. Mrs.  Channing, who had read, travelled, and observed much in the  cause of education, had many useful hints about the training of  young minds and hearts. Several teachers reported their trials, and  all the mothers were eager to know how to bring up their boys and  girls to be healthy, happy, useful men and women.

As young people do not care for such discussions, we will not  describe them, but as the impression they made upon one of the  mammas affected our hero and heroine, we must mention the  changes which took place in their life when they all got home  again.

"School begins to-morrow. Oh, dear!" sighed Jack, as he looked up  his books in the Bird Room, a day or two after their return.

"Don't you want to go? I long to, but don't believe I shall. I saw our  mothers talking to the doctor last night, but I haven't dared to ask  what they'd ecided," said Jill, affectionately eying the long-unused  books in her little library.

"I've had such a jolly good time, that I hate to be shut up all day  worse than ever, Don't you, Frank?" asked Jack, with a vengeful  slap at the arithmetic which was the torment of his life.

"Well, I confess I don't hanker for school as much as I expected.  I'd rather take a spin on the old bicycle. Our roads are so good, it is  a great temptation to hire a machine, and astonish the natives.  That's what comes of idleness. So brace up, my boy, and go to  work, for vacation is over," answered Frank, gravely regarding the  tall pile of books before him, as if trying to welcome his old  friends, or tyrants, rather, for they ruled him with a rod of iron  when he once gave himself up to them.

"Ah, but vacation is not over, my dears," said Mrs. Minot, hearing  the last words as she came in prepared to surprise her family.

"Glad of it. How much longer is it to be?" asked Jack, hoping for a  week at least.

"Two or three years for some of you."

"What?" cried all three, in utter astonishment, as they stared at  Mamma, who could not help smiling, though she was very much in  earnest.

"For the next two or three years I intend to cultivate my boys'  bodies, and let their minds rest a good deal, from books at least.  There is plenty to learn outside of school-houses, and I don't mean  to shut you up just when you most need all the air and exercise you  can get. Good health, good principles, and a good education are  the three blessings I ask for you, and I am going to make sure of  the first, as a firm foundation for the other two."

"But, mother, what becomes of college?" asked Frank, rather  disturbed at this change of base.

"Put it off for a year, and see if you are not better fitted for it then  than now."

"But I am already fitted: I've worked like a tiger all this year, and  I'm sure I shall pass."

"Ready in one way, but not in another. That hard work is no  preparation for four years of still harder study. It has cost you these  round shoulders, many a headache, and consumed hours when you  had far better have been on the river or in the fields. I cannot have  you break down, as so many boys do, or pull through at the cost of  ill-health afterward. Eighteen is young enough to begin the steady  grind, if you have a strong constitution to keep pace with the eager  mind. Sixteen is too young to send even my good boy out into the  world, just when he most needs his mother's care to help him be  the man she hopes to see him."

Mrs. Minot laid her hand on his shoulder as she spoke, looking so  fond and proud that it was impossible to rebel, though some of his  most cherished plans were spoilt.

"Other fellows go at my age, and I was rather pleased to be ready  at sixteen," he began. But she added, quickly,

"They go, but how do they come out? Many lose health of body,  and many what is more precious still, moral strength, because too  young and ignorant to withstand temptations of all sorts. The best  part of education does not come from books, and the good  principles I value more than either of the other things are to be  carefully watched over till firmly fixed; then you may face the  world, and come to no real harm. Trust me, dear, I do it for your  sake; so bear the disappointment bravely, and in the end I think  you will say I'm right."

"I'll do my best; but I don't see what is to become of us if we don't  go to school. You will get tired of it first," said Frank, trying to set  a good example to the others, who were looking much impressed  and interested.

"No danger of that, for I never sent my children to school to get rid  of them, and now that they are old enough to be companions, I  want them at home more than ever. There are to be some lessons,   however, for busy minds must be fed, but not crammed; so you  boys will go and recite at certain hours such things as seem most  important. But there is to be no studying at night, no shutting up all  the best hours of the day, no hurry and fret of getting on fast, or  skimming over the surface of many studies without learning any  thoroughly."

"So I say!" cried Jack, pleased with the new idea, for he never did  love books. "I do hate to be driven so I don't half understand,  because there is no time to have things explained. School is good  fun as far as play goes; but I don't see the sense of making a fellow  learn eighty questions in geography one day, and forget them the  next.

"What is to become of me, please?" asked Jill, meekly.

"You and Molly are to have lessons here. I was a teacher when I  was young, you know, and liked it, so I shall be school-ma'am, and  leave my house-keeping in better hands than mine. I always  thought that mothers should teach their girls during these years,  and vary their studies to suit the growing creatures as only mothers  can.

"That will be splendid! Will Molly's father let her come?" cried  Jill, feeling quite reconciled to staying at home, if her friend was  to be with her.

"He likes the plan very much, for Molly is growing fast, and needs  a sort of care that Miss Dawes cannot give her. I am not a hard  mistress, and I hope you will find my school a pleasant one."

"I know I shall; and I'm not disappointed, because I was pretty sure  I couldn't go to the old school again, when I heard the doctor say I  must be very careful for a long time. I thought he meant months;  but if it must he years, I can bear it, for I've been happy this last  one though I was sick," said Jill, glad to show that it had not been  wasted time by being cheerful and patient now.

"That's my good girl!" and Mrs. Minot stroked the curly black head  as if it was her own little daughter's. "You have done so well, I  want you to go on improving, for care now will save you pain and  disappointment by and by. You all have got a capital start during  these six weeks, so it is a good time to begin my experiment. If it  does not work well, we will go back to school and college next  spring."

"Hurrah for Mamma and the long vacation!" cried Jack, catching  up two big books and whirling them round like clubs, as if to get  his muscles in order at once.

"Now I shall have time to go to the Gymnasium and straighten out  my back," said Frank, who was growing so tall he needed more  breadth to make his height symmetrical.

"And to ride horscback. I am going to hire old Jane and get out the  little phaeton, so we can all enjoy the fine weather while it lasts.  Molly and I can drive Jill, and you can take turns in the saddle  when you are tired of ball and boating. Exercise of all sorts is one  of the lessons we are to learn," said Mrs. Minot, suggesting all the  pleasant things she could to sweeten the pill for her pupils, two of  whom did love their books, not being old enough to know that  even an excellent thing may be overdone.

"Won't that be gay? I'll get down the saddle to-day, so we can  begin right off. Lem rides, and we can go together. Hope old Jane  will like it as well as I shall," said Jack, who had found a new  friend in a pleasant lad lately come to town.

"You must see that she does, for you boys are to take care of her.  We will put the barn in order, and you can decide which shall be  hostler and which gardener, for I don't intend to hire labor on the  place any more. Our estate is not a large one, and it will be  excellent work for you, my men."

"All right! I'll see to Jane. I love horses," said Jack, well pleased  with the prospect.

"My horse won't need much care. I prefer a bicycle to a beast, so  I'll get in the squashes, pick the apples, and cover the strawberry  bed when it is time," added Frank, who had enjoyed the free life  at  Pebbly Beach so much that he was willing to prolong it.

"You may put me in a hen-coop, and keep me there a year, if you  like. I won't fret, for I'm sure you know what is best for me," said  Jill, gayly, as she looked up at the good friend who had done so  much for her.

"I'm not sure that I won't put you in a pretty cage and send you to  Cattle Show, as a sample of what we can do in the way of taming a  wild bird till it is nearly as meek as a dove," answered Mrs. Minot,  much gratified at the amiability of her flock.

"I don't see why there should not be an exhibition of children, and  prizes for the good and pretty ones, as well as for fat pigs, fine  horses, or handsome fruit and flowers--I don't mean a baby show,  but boys and girls, so people can see what the prospect is of a good  crop for the next generation," said Frank, glancing toward the  tower of the building where the yearly Agricultural Fair was soon  to be held.

"Years ago, there was a pretty custom here of collecting all the  schools together in the spring, and having a festival at the Town  Hall. Each school showed its best pupils, and the parents looked  on at the blooming flower show. It was a pity it was ever given up,  for the schools have never been so good as then, nor the interest in  them so great"; and Mrs. Minot wondered, as many people do, why  farmers seem to care more for their cattle and crops than for their  children, willingly spending large sums on big barns and costly  experiments, while the school-houses are shabby and inconvenient,  and the cheapest teachers preferred.

"Ralph is going to send my bust. He asked if he might, and mother  said Yes. Mr. German thinks it very good, and I hope other people  will," said Jill, nodding toward the little plaster head that smiled  down from its bracket with her own merry look.

"I could send my model; it is nearly done. Ralph told me it was a  clever piece of work, and he knows," added Frank, quite taken  with the idea of exhibiting his skill in mechanics.

"And I could send my star bedquilt! They always have things of  that kind at Cattle Show"; and Jill began to rummage in the closet  for the pride of her heart, burning to display it to an admiring  world.

"I haven't got anything. Can't sew rags together; or make baby  engines, and I have no live-stock--yes, I have too! There's old Bun.  I'll send him, for the fun of it; he really is a curiosity, for he is the  biggest one I ever saw, and hopping into the lime has made his fur  such a queer color, he looks like a new sort of rabbit. I'll catch and  shut him up before he gets wild again"; and off rushed Jack to lure  unsus Fectins old Bun, who had grown tame during their absence,  into  the cage which he detested.

They all laughed at his ardor, but the fancy pleased them; and as  Mamma saw no reason why their little works of art should not be  sent, Frank fell to work on his model, and Jill resolved to finish  her quilt at once, while Mrs. Minot went off to see Mr. Acton  about the hours and studies for the boys.

In a week or two, the young people were almost resigned to the  loss of school, for they found themselves delightfully fresh for the  few lessons they did have, and not weary of play, since it took  many useful forms. Old Jane not only carried them all to ride, but  gave Jack plenty of work keeping her premises in nice order. Frank  mourned privately over the delay of college, but found a solace in  his whirligig and the Gymnasium, where he set himself to  developing a chest to match the big head above, which head no  longer ached with eight or ten hours of study. Harvesting beans  and raking up leaves seemed to have a soothing effect upon his  nerves, for now he fell asleep at once instead of thumping his  pillow with vexation because his brain would go on working at  difficult problems and passages when he wanted it to stop.

Jill and Molly drove away in the little phaeton every fair morning  over the sunny hills and through the changing woods, filling their  hands with asters and golden-rod, their lungs with the pure,  invigorating air, and their heads with all manner of sweet and  happy fancies and feelings born of the wholesome influences ahout  them, People 5hook their heads, and said it was wasting time; but  the rosy-faced girls were Content to trust those wiser than  themselves, and found their new school very pleasant. They read  aloud a good deal, rapidly acquiring one of the rarest and most  beautiful accomplishments; for they could stop and ask questions  as they went along, so that they understood what they read, which  is half the secret. A thousand things came up as they sewed  together in the afternoon, and the eager minds received much  general information in an easy and well-ordered way. Physiology  was one of the favorite studies, and Mrs. Hammond often came in  to give them a little lecture, teaching them to understand the  wonders of their own systems, and how to keep them in order-- a  lesson of far more importance just then than Greek or Latin, for  girls are the future mothers, nurses, teachers, of the race, and  should feel how much depends on them. Merry could not resist the  attractions of the friendly circle, and soon persuaded her mother to  let her do as they did; so she got more exercise and less study,  which was just what the delicate girl needed.

The first of the new ideas seemed to prosper, and the second,  though suggested in joke, was carried out in earnest, for the other  young people were seized with a strong desire to send something  to the Fair. In fact, all sorts of queer articles were proposed, and  much fun prevailed, especially among the boys, who ransacked  their gardens for mammoth vegetables, sighed for five-legged  calves, blue roses, or any other natural curiosity by means of which  they might distinguish themselves. Ralph was the only one who  had anything really worth sending; for though Franks model  seemed quite perfect, it obstinately refused to go, and at the last  moment blew up with a report like a pop-gun. So it was laid away  for repairs, and its disappointed maker devoted his energies to  helping Jack keep Bun in order; for that indomitable animal got  out of every prison they put him in, and led Jack a dreadful life  during that last week. At all hours of the day and night that  distracted boy would start up, crying, "There he is again!" and dart  out to give chase and capture the villain now grown too fat to run  as he once did.

The very night before the Fair, Frank was wakened by a chilly  draught, and, getting up to see where it came from, found Jack's  door open and bed empty, while the vision of a white ghost flitting  about the garden suggested a midnight rush after old Bun. Frank  watched laughingly, till poor Jack came toward the house with the  gentleman in gray kicking lustily in his arms, and then whispered  in a sepulchral tone,

"Put him in the old refrigerator, he can't get out of that,"

Blessing him for the suggestion, the exhausted hunter shut up his  victim in the new cell, and found it a safe one, for Bun could not  burrow through a sheet of zinc, or climb up the smooth walls. Jill's  quilt was a very elaborate piece of work, being bright blue with  little white stars all over it; this she finished nicely, and felt sure  no patient old lady could outdo it. Merry decided to send butter,  for she had been helping her mother in the dairy that summer, and  rather liked the light part of the labor. She knew it would please  her very much if she chose that instead of wild Bowers, so she  practised moulding the yellow pats into pretty shapes, that it might  please both eye and taste.

Molly declared she would have a little pen, and put Boo in it, as  the prize fat boy--a threat which so alarmed the innocent that he  ran away, ani was ~ouncl two or three miles prom borne, asleep  under the wall, with two seed-cakes and a pair of socks done up in  a bundle. Being with difficulty convinced that it was a joke, he  consented to return to his family, but was evidently suspicious, till  Molly decided to send her cats, and set about preparing them for  exhibition. The Minots' deserted Bunny-house was rather large; but  as cats cannot be packed as closely as much-enduring sheep, Molly  borrowed this desirable family mansion, and put her darlings into  it, where they soon settled down, and appeared to enjoy their new  residence. It had been scrubbed up and painted red, cushions and  plates put in, and two American flags adorned the roof. Being  barred all round, a fine view of the Happy Family could be had,  now twelve in number, as Molasses had lately added three white  kits to the varied collection.

The girls thought this would be the most interesting spectacle of  all, and Grif proposed to give some of the cats extra tails, to  increase their charms, especially poor Mortification, who would  appreciate the honor of two, after having none for so long. But  Molly declined, and Grif looked about him for some attractive  animal to exhibit, so that he too might go in free and come to  honor, perhaps.

A young lady in the town owned a donkey, a small, gray beast,  who insisted on tripping along the sidewalks and bumping her  rider against the walls as she paused to browse at her own sweet  will, regardless of blows or cries, till ready to move on. Expressing  great admiration for this rare animal, Grif obtained leave to display  the charms of Graciosa at the Fair. Little did she guess the dark  designs entertained against her dignity, and happily she was not as  sensitive to ridicule as a less humble-minded animal, so she went  willingly with her new friend, and enjoyed the combing and  trimming up which she received at his hands, while he prepared  for the great occasion.

When the morning of September 28th arrived, the town was all  astir, and the Fair ground a lively scene. The air was full of the  lowing of cattle, the tramp of horses, squealing of indignant pigs,  and clatter of tongues, as people and animals streamed in at the  great gate and found their proper places. Our young folks were in a  high state of excitement, as they rumbled away with their treasures  in a hay-cart. The Bunny-house might have been a cage of tigers,  so rampant were the cats at this new move. Old Bun, in a small  box, brooded over the insult of the refrigerator, and looked as  fierce as a rabbit could. Gus had a coop of rare fowls, who clucked  wildly all the way, while Ralph, with the bust in his arms, stood up  in front, and Jill and Molly bore the precious bedquilt, as they sat  behind.

These objects of interest were soon arranged, and the girls went to  admire Merry's golden butter cups among the green leaves, under  which lay the ice that kept the pretty flowers fresh. The boys were  down below, where the cackling was very loud, but not loud  enough to drown the sonorous bray which suddenly startled them  as much as it did the horses outside. A shout of laughter followed,  and away went the lads, to see what the fun was, while the girls  ran out on the balcony, as someone said, "It's that rogue of a Grif  with some new joke."

It certainly was, and, to judge from the peals of merriment, the  joke was a good one. In at the gate came a two-headed donkey,  ridden by Grif, in great spirits at his success, for the gate-keeper  laughed so he never thought to ask for toll. A train of boys  followed him across the ground, lost in admiration of the animal  and the cleverness of her rider. Among the stage properties of the  Dramatic Club was the old ass's head once used in some tableaux  from "Midsummer Night's Dream." This Grif had mended up, and  fastened by means of straps and a collar to poor Graciosa's neck,  hiding ~ work with a red cloth over her back. One eye was gone,  but the other still opened and shut, and the long ears wagged by  means of strings, which he slyly managed with the bridle, so the  artificial head looked almost as natural as the real one. The  funniest thing of all was the innocent air of Graciosa, and the  mildly inquiring expression with which she now and then turned to  look at or to smell of the new ornament as if she recognized a  friend's face, yet was perplexed by its want of animation. She  vented her feelings in a bray, which Grif imitated, convulsing all  hearers by the sound as well as by the wink the one eye gave, and  the droll waggle of one erect ear, while the other pointed straight  forward.

The girls laughed so at the ridiculous sight that they nearly fell  over the railing, and the boys were in ecstasies, especially when  Grif, emboldened by his success, trotted briskly round the  race-course, followed by the cheers of the crowd. Excited by the  noise, Graciosa did her best, till the false head, loosened by the  rapid motion, slipped round under her nose, causing her to stop so  suddenly that Grif flew off, alighting on his own head with a  violence which would have killed any other boy. Sobered by his  downfall, he declined to mount again, but led his steed to repose in  a shed, while he rejoined his friends, who were waiting impatiently  to congratulate him on his latest and best prank.

The Committee went their rounds soon after, and, when the doors  were again opened, everyone hurried to see if their articles had  received a premium. A card lay on the butter cups, and Mrs. Grant  was full of pride because her butter always took a prize, and this  proved that Merry was walking in her mother's steps, in this  direction at least. Another card swung from the blue quilt, for the  kindly judges knew who made it, and were glad to please the little  girl, though several others as curious but not so pretty hung near  by. The cats were admired, but, as they were not among the  animals usually exhibited, there was no prize awarded. Gus hoped  his hens would get one; hut somebody else outdid him, to the great  indignation of Laura and Lotty, who had fed the white biddies  faithfully for months. Jack was sure his rabbit was the biggest  there, and went eagerly to look for his premium. But neither card  nor Bun were to be seen, for the old rascal had escaped for the last  time, and was never seen again; which was a great comfort to Jack,  who was heartily tired of him.

Ralph's bust was the best of all, for not only did it get a prize, and  was much admired, but a lady, who found Jill and Merry rejoicing  over it, was so pleased with the truth and grace of the little head,  that she asked about the artist, and whether he would do one of her  own child, who was so delicate she feared he might not live long.

Merry gladly told the story of her ambitious friend, and went to  find him, that he might secure the order. While she was gone, Jill  took up the tale, gratefully telling how kind he had been to her,  how patiently he worked and waited, and how much he longed to  go abroad. Fortunately the lady was rich and generous, as well as  fond of art, and being pleased with the bust, and interested in the  young sculptor, gave him the order wher~ he came, and filled his  soul with joy by adding, that, if it suited her when done, it should  be put into marble. She lived in the city, and Ralph soon arranged  his work so that he could give up his noon hour, and go to model  the child; for every penny he could earn or save now was very  precious, as he still hoped to go abroad.

The girls were so delighted with this good fortune, that they did  not stay for the races, but went home to tell the happy news,  leaving the boys to care for the cats, and enjoy the various matches  to come off that day.

"I'm so glad I tried to look pleasant when I was lying on the board  while Ralph did my head, for the pleasantness got into the clay  face, and that made the lady like it," said Jill, as she lay resting on  the sofa.

"I always thought it was a dear, bright little face, but now I love  and admire it more than ever," cried Merry, kissing it gratefully, as  she remembered the help and pleasure it had given Ralph.

Chapter 24 Down the River

A fortnight later, the boys were picking apples one golden October  afternoon, and the girls were hurrying to finish their work, that  they might go and help the harvesters. It was six weeks now Since  the new school began, and they had learned to like it very much,  though they found that it was not all play, by any means. But  lessons, exercise, and various sorts of housework made an  agreeable change, and they felt that they were learning things  which would be useful to them all their lives. They had been  making underclothes for themselves, and each had several neatly  finished garments cut, fitted, and sewed by herself, and trimmed  with the pretty tatting Jill made in such quantities while she lay on  her sofa.

Now they were completing new dressing sacks, and had enjoyed  this job very much, as each chose her own material, and suited her  own taste in the making. Jill's was white, with tiny scarlet leaves  all over it, trimmed with red braid and buttons so like  checkerberries she was tempted to eat them. Molly's was gay, with  bouquets of every sort of flower, scalloped all round, and adorned  with six buttons, each of a different color, which she thought the  last touch of elegance. Merry's, though the simplest, was the  daintiest of the three, being pale blue, trimmed with delicate  edging, and beautifully made.

Mrs. Minot had been reading from Miss Strickland's "Queens of  England" while the girls worked, and an illustrated Sliakspeare lay  open on the table, as well as several fine photographs of historical  places for them to look at as they went along. The hour was over  now, the teacher gone, and the pupils setting the last stitches as  they talked over the lesson, which had interested them  exceedingly.

"I really believe I have got Henry's six wives into my head right at  last. Two Annes, three Katherines, and one Jane. Now I've seen  where they lived and heard their stories, I quite feel as if I knew  them," said Merry, shaking the threads off her work before she  folded it up to carry home.

"King Henry the Eighth to six spouses was wedded,   One died, one survived, two divorced, two beheaded,'

was all I knew about them before. Poor things, what a bad time  they did have," added Jill, patting down the red braid, which would  pucker a bit at the corners.

"Katherine Parr had the best of it, because she outlived the old  tyrant and so kept her head on," said Molly, winding the thread  round her last button, as if bound to fasten it on so firmly that  nothing should decapitate that.

"I used to think I'd like to be a queen or a great lady, and wear  velvet and jewels, and live in a palace, but now I don't care much  for that sort of splendor. I like to make things pretty at home, and  know that they all depend on me, and love me very much. Queens  arc not happy, and I am," said Merry, pausing to look at Anne  Hathaway's cottage as she put up the picture, and to wonder if it  was very pleasant to have a famous man for one's husband.

"I guess your missionarying has done you good; mine has, and I'm  getting to have things my own way more and more every day. Miss  Bat is so amiable, I hardly know her, and father tells her to ask  Miss Molly when she goes to him for orders. Isn't that fun?"  laughed Molly, in high glee, at the agreeable change. "I like it ever  so much, but I don't want to stay so all my days. I mean to travel,  and just as soon as I can I shall take Boo and go all round the  world, and see everything," she added, waving her gay sack, as if it  were the flag she was about to nail to the masthead of her ship.

"Well, I should like to be famous in some way, and have people  admire me very much. I'd like to act, or dance, or sing, or be what I  heard the ladies at Pebbly Beach call a 'queen of society.' But I  don't expect to be anything, and I'm not going to worry I shall not  be a Lucinda, so I ought to be contented and happy all my life,"  said Jill, who was very ambitious in spite of the newly acquired  meekness, which was all the more becoming because her natural  liveliness often broke out like sunshine through a veil of light  clouds.

If the three girls could have looked forward ten years they would  have been surprised to see how different a fate was theirs from the  one each had chosen, and how happy each was in the place she  was called to fill. Merry was not making the old farmhouse pretty,  but living in Italy, with a young sculptor for her husband, and  beauty such as she never dreamed of all about her. Molly was not  travelling round the world, but contentedly keeping house for her  father and still watching over Boo, who was becoming her pride  and joy as well as care. Neither was Jill a famous woman, but a  very happy and useful one, with the two mothers leaning on her as  they grew old, the young men better for her influence over them,  many friends to love and honor her, and a charming home, where  she was queen by right of her cheery spirit, grateful heart, and  unfailing devotion to those who had made her what she was.

If any curious reader, not content with this peep into futurity, asks,  "Did Molly and Jill ever marry?" we must reply, for the sake of  peace--Molly remained a merry spinster all her days, one of the  independent, brave, and busy creatures of whom there is such need  in the world to help take care of other peoples' wives and children,  and do the many useful jobs that the married folk have no time for.  Jill certainly did wear a white veil on the day she was twenty-five  and called her husband Jack. Further than that we cannot go,  except to say that this leap did not end in a catastrophe, like the  first one they took together.

That day, however, they never dreamed of what was in store for  them, but chattered away as they cleared up the room, and then ran  off ready for play, feeling that they had earned it by work well  done. They found the lads just finishing, with Boo to help by  picking up the windfalls for the cider-heap, after he had amused  himself by putting about a bushel down the various holes old Bun  had left behind him. Jack was risking his neck climbing in the  most dangerous places, while Frank, with a long-handled  apple-picker, nipped off the finest fruit with care, both enjoying  the pleasant task and feeling proud of the handsome red and  yellow piles all about the little orchard. Merry and Molly caught  up baskets and fell to work with all their might, leaving Jill to sit  upon a stool and sort the early apples ready to use at once, looking  up now and then to nod and smile at her mother who watched her  from the window, rejoicing to see her lass so well and happy.

It was such a lovely day, they all felt its cheerful influence; for the  sun shone bright and warm, the air was full of an invigorating  freshness which soon made the girls' faces look like rosy apples,  and their spirits as gay as if they had been stealing sips of new  cider through a straw. Jack whistled like a blackbird as he swung  and bumped about, Frank orated and joked, Merry and Molly ran  races to see who would fill and empty fastest, and Jill sung to Boo,  who reposed in a barrel, exhausted with his labors.

"These are the last of the pleasant days, and we ought to make the  most of them. Let's have one more picnic before the frost spoils the  leaves," said Merry, resting a minute at the gate to look down the  street, which was a glorified sort of avenue, with brilliant maples  lining the way and carpeting the ground with crimson and gold.

"Oh, yes! Go down the river once more and have supper on the  Island. I couldn't go to some of your picnics, and I do long for a  last good time before winter shuts me up again," cried Jill, eager to  harvest all the sunshine she could, for she was not yet quite her old  self again.

"I'm your man, if the other fellows agree. We can't barrel these up  for a while, so to-morrow will be a holiday for us. Better make  sure of the day while you can, this weather can't last long"; and  Frank shook his head like one on intimate terms with Old Prob.

"Don't worry about those high ones, Jack. Give a shake and come  down and plan about the party," called Molly, throwing up a big  Baldwin with what seemed a remarkably good aim, for a shower of  apples followed, and a boy came tumbling earthward to catch on  the lowest bough and swing down like a caterpillar, exclaiming, as  he landed,

"I'm glad that job is done! I've rasped every knuckle I've got and  worn out the knees of my pants. Nice little crop though, isn't it?"

"It will be nicer if this young man does not bite every apple he  touches. Hi there! Stop it, Boo," commanded Frank, as he caught  his young assistant putting his small teeth into the best ones, to see  if they were sweet or sour.

Molly set the barrel up on end, and that took the boy out of the  reach of mischief, so he retired from view and peeped through a  crack as he ate his fifth pearmain, regardless of consequences.

"Gus will be at home to-morrow. He always comes up early on  Saturday, you know. We can't get on without him," said Frank,  who missed his mate very much, for Gus had entered college, and  so far did not like it as much as he had expected.

"Or Ralph; he is very busy every spare minute on the little boy's  bust, which is getting on nicely, he says; but he will be able to  come home in time for supper, I think," added Merry,  remembering the absent, as usual.

"I'll ask the girls on my way home, and all meet at two o'clock for  a good row while it's warm. What shall I bring?" asked Molly,  wondering if Miss Bat's amiability would extend to making  goodies in the midst of her usual Saturday's baking.

"You bring coffee and the big pot and some buttered crackers. I'll  see to the pie and cake, and the other girls can have anything else  they like," answered Merry, glad and proud that she could provide  the party with her own inviting handiwork.

"I'll take my zither, so we can have music as we sail, and Grif will  bring his violin, and Ralph can imitate a banjo so that you'd be  sure he had one. I do hope it will be fine, it is so splendid to go  round like other folks and enjoy myself," cried Jill, with a little  bounce of satisfaction at the prospect of a row and ramble.

"Come along, then, and make sure of the girls," said Merry,  catching up her roll of work, for the harvesting was done.

Molly put her sack on as the easiest way of carrying it, and,  extricating Boo, they went off, accompanied by the boys, "to make  sure of the fellows" also, leaving Jill to sit among the apples,  singing and sorting like a thrifty little housewife.

Next day eleven young people met at the appointed place, basket  in hand. Ralph could not come till later, for he was working now  as he never worked before. They were a merry flock, for the  mellow autumn day was even brighter and clearer than yesterday,  and the river looked its loveliest, winding away under the sombre  hemlocks, or through the fairyland the gay woods made on either  side. Two large boats and two small ones held them all, and away  they went, first up through the three bridges and round the bend,  then, turning, they floated down to the green island, where a grove  of oaks rustled their sere leaves and the squirrels were still  gathering acorns. Here they often met to keep their summer revels,  and here they now spread their feast on the flat rock which needed  no cloth beside its own gray lichens. The girls trimmed each dish  with bright leaves, and made the supper look like a banquet for the  elves, while the boys built a fire in the nook where ashes and  blackened stones told of many a rustic meal. The big tin coffee-pot  was not so romantic, but more successful than a kettle slung on  three sticks, gypsy fashion; so they did not risk a downfall, but set  the water boiling, and soon filled the air with the agreeable  perfume associated in their minds with picnics, as most of them  never tasted the fascinating stuff at any other time, being the worst  children can drink.

Frank was cook, Gus helped cut bread and cake, Jack and Grif  brought wood, while Bob Walker took Joe's place and made  himself generally useful, as the other gentleman never did, and so  was quite out of favor lately.

All was ready at last, and they were just deciding to sit down  without Ralph, when a shout told them he was coming, and down  the river skimmed a wherry at such a rate the boys wondered  whom he had been racing with.

"Something has happened, and he is coming to tell us," said Jill,  who sat where she could see his eager face.

"Nothing bad, or he wouldn't smile so. He is glad of a good row  and a little fun after working so hard all the week"; and Merry  shook a red napkin as a welcoming signal.

Something certainly had happened, and a very happy something it  must be, they all thought, as Ralph came on with flashing oars, and  leaping out as the boat touched the shore, ran up the slope, waving  his hat, and calling in a glad voice, sure of sympathy in his delight,

"Good news! good news! Hurrah for Rome, next month!"

The young folks forgot their supper for a moment, to congratulate  him on his happy prospect, and hear all about it, while the leaves  rustled as if echoing the kind words, and the squirrels sat up aloft,  wondering what all the pleasant clamor was about.

Yes, I'm really going in November. German asked me to go with  him to-day, and if there is any little hitch in my getting off, he'll  lend a hand, and I--I'll black his boots, wet his clay, and run his  errands the rest of my life to pay for this!" cried Ralph, in a burst  of gratitude; for, independent as he was, the kindness of this  successful friend to a deserving comrade touched and won his  heart.

"I call that a handsome thing to do!" said Frank, warmly, for noble  actions always pleased him. "I heard my mother say that making  good or useful men was the best sort of sculpture, so I think David  German may be proud of this piece of work, whether the big statue  succeeds or not."

"I'm very glad, old fellow, When I run over for my trip four years  from now, I'll look you up, and see how you are getting on," said  Gus, with a hearty shake of the hand; and the younger lads grinned  cheerfully, even while they wondered where the fun was in  shaping clay and chipping marble.

"Shall you stay four years?" asked Merry's soft voice, while a  wistful look came into her happy eyes.

"Ten, if I can," answered Ralph, decidedly, feeling as if a long  lifetime would be all too short for the immortal work he meant to  do. "I've got so much to learn, that I shall do whatever David  thinks best for me at first, and when I can go alone, I shall just shut  myself up and forget that there is any world outside my den."

"Do write and tell us how you get on now and then; I like to hear  about other people's good times while I'm waiting for my own,"  said Molly, too much interested to observe that Grif was sticking  burrs up and down her braids.

"Of course I shall write to some of you, but you mustn't expect any  great things for years yet. People don't grow famous in a hurry, and  it takes a deal of hard work even to earn your bread and butter, as  you'll find if you ever try it," answered Ralph, sobering down a  little as he remembered the long and steady effort it had taken to  get even so far.

"Speaking of bread and butter reminds me that we'd better eat ours  before the coffee gets quite cold," said Annette, for Merry seemed  to have forgotten that she had been chosen to play matron, as she  was the oldest.

The boys seconded the motion, and for a few minutes supper was  the all-absorbing topic, as the cups went round and the goodies  vanished rapidly, accompanied by the usual mishaps which make  picnic meals such fun. Ralph's health was drunk with all sorts of  good wishes; and such splendid prophecies were made, that he  would have far surpassed Michael Angelo, if they could have come  true. Grif gave him an order on the spot for a full-length statue of  himself, and stood up to show the imposing attitude in which he  wished to be taken, but unfortunately slipped and fell forward with  one hand in the custard pie, the other clutching wildly at the  coffee-pot, which inhospitably burnt his fingers.

"I think I grasp the idea, and will be sure to remember not to make  your hair blow one way and the tails of your coat another, as a  certain sculptor made those of a famous man," laughed Ralph, as  the fallen hero scrambled up, amidst general merriment.

"Will the little bust be done before you go?" asked Jill, anxiously,  feeling a personal interest in the success of that order.

"Yes: I've been hard at it every spare minute I could get, and have a  fortnight more. It suits Mrs. Lennox, and she will pay well for it,  so I shall have something to start with, though I haven't been able  to save much. I'm to thank you for that, and I shall send you the  first pretty thing I get hold of," answered Ralph, looking gratefully  at the bright face, which grew still brighter as Jill exclaimed,

"I do feel so proud to know a real artist, and have my bust done by  him. I only wish I could pay for it as Mrs. Lennox does; but I  haven't any money, and you don't need the sort of things I can  make," she added, shaking her head, as she thought over knit  slippers, wall-pockets, and crochet in all its forms, as offerings to  her departing friend.

"You can write often, and tell me all about everybody, for I shall  want to know, and people will soon forget me when I'm gone,"  said Ralph, lookir~g at Merry, who was making a garland of  yellow leaves for Juliet's black hair.

Jill promised, and kept her word; but the longest letters went from  the farm-house on the hill, though no one knew the fact till long  afterward. Merry said nothing now, but she smiled, with a pretty  color in her cheeks, and was very much absorbed in her work,  while the talk went on.

"I wish I was twenty, and going to seek my fortune, as you are,  "said Jack; and the other boys agreed with him, for something in  Ralph's new plans and purposes roused the manly spirit in all of  them, reminding them that playtime would soon be over, and the  great world before them, where to choose.

"It is easy enough to say what you'd like; but the trouble is, you  have to take what you can get, and make the best of it," said Gus,  whose own views were rather vague as yet.

"No you don't, always; you can make things go as you want them,  if you only try hard enough, and walk right over whatever stands in  the way. I don't mean to give up my plans for any man; but, if I  live, I'll carry them out--you see if I don't"; and Frank gave the  rock where he lay a blow with his fist, that sent the acorns flying  all about.

One of them hit Jack, and he said, sorrowfully, as he held it in his  hand so carefully it was evident he had some association with it,

"Ed used to say that, and he had some splendid plans, but they  didn't come to anything."

"Perhaps they did; who can tell? Do your best while you live, and I  don't believe anything good is lost, whether we have it a long or a  short time," said Ralph, who knew what a help and comfort high  hopes were, and how they led to better things, if worthily  cherished.

"A great many acorns are wasted, I suppose; but some of them  sprout and grow, and make splendid trees," added Merry, feeling  more than she knew how to express, as she looked up at the oaks  overhead.

Only seven of the party were sitting on the knoll now, for the rest  had gone to wash the dishes and pack the baskets down by the  boats.  Jack and Jill, with the three elder boys, were in a little  group,  and as Merry spoke, Gus said to Frank,

"Did you plant yours?"

"Yes, on the lawn, and I mean it shall come up if I can make it,"  answered Frank, gravely.

"I put mine where I can see it from the window, and not forget to  water and take care of it," added Jack, still turning the pretty  brown acorn to and fro as if he loved it.

"What do they mean?" whispered Merry to Jill, who was leaning  against her knee Lo rest.

"The boys were walking in the Cemetery last Sunday, as they often  do, and when they came to Ed's grave, the place was all covered  with little acorns from the tree that grows on the bank. They each  took up some as they stood talking, and Jack said he should plant  his, for he loved Ed very much, you know. The others said they  would, too; and I hope the trees will grow, though we don't need  anything to remember him by," answered Jill, in a low tone,  thinking of the pressed flowers the girls kept for his sake.

The boys heard her, but no one spoke for a moment as they sat  looking across the river toward the hill where the pines whispered  their lullabies and pointed heavenward, steadfast and green, all the  year round. None of them could express the thought that was in  their minds as Jill told the little story; but the act and the feeling  that prompted it were perhaps as beautiful an assurance as could  have been given that the dear dead boy's example had not been  wasted, for the planting of the acorns was a symbol of the desire  budding in those young hearts to be what he might have been, and  to make their lives nobler for the knowledge and the love of him.

"It seems as if a great deal had happened this year," said Merry, in  a pensive tone, for this quiet talk just suited her mood.

"So I say, for there's been a Declaration of Independence and a  Revolution in our house, and I'm commander-in-chief now; and  don't I like it!" cried Molly, complacently surveying the neat new  uniform she wore of her own choosing.

"I feel as if I never learned so much in my life as I have since last  December, and yet I never did so little," added Jill, wondering why  the months of weariness and pain did not seem more dreadful to  her.

'Well, pitching on my head seems to have given me a good shaking  up, somehow, and I mean to do great things next year in better  ways than breaking my bones coasting," said Jack, with a manly  air.

"I feel like a Siamese twin without his mate now you are gone, but  I'm under orders for a while, and mean to do my best. Guess it  won't be lost time"; and Frank nodded at Gus, who nodded back  with the slightly superior expression all Freshmen wear.

"Hope you won't find it so. My work is all cut out for me, and I  intend to go in and win, though it is more of a grind than you  fellows know."

"I'm sure I have everything to be grateful for. It won't be plain  sailing--I don't expect it; but, if I live, I'll do something to be proud  of," said Ralph, squaring his shoulders as if to meet and conquer  all obstacles as he looked into the glowing west, was not fairer  than his ambitious dreams.

Here we will say good-by to these girls and boys of ours as they sit  together in the sunshine talking over a year that was to be for ever  memorable to them, not because of any very remarkable events,  but because they were just beginning to look about them as they  stepped out of childhood into youth, and some of the experiences  of the past months had set them to thinking, taught them to see the  use and beauty of the small duties, joys, and sorrows which make  up our lives, and inspired them to resolve that the coming year  should be braver and brighter than the last.

There are many such boys and girls, full of high hopes, lovely   possibilities, and earnest plans, pausing a moment before they  push their little boats from the safe shore. Let those who launch  them see to it that they have good health to man the oars, good  education for ballast, and good principles as pilots to guide them  as they voyage down an ever-widening river to the sea.

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