none mary by mrs molesworth illustrations by leslie brooke published by macmillan and co, london and new york. this edition dated . mary, by mrs molesworth. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ mary, by mrs molesworth. chapter one. a birthday morning. one morning mary awoke very early. it was in the month of may, and the mornings were light, and sometimes the sun shone in through the windows very brightly. mary liked these mornings. the sunshine made everything in the room look so pretty; even the nursery furniture, which was no longer very new or fresh, seemed quite shiny and sparkling, as if fairy fingers had been rubbing it up in the night. "i wonder what day it is," thought mary. it was difficult for her to remember the days, for she was not yet four years old. she was only going to be four soon. mamma had told her her birthday would come in may, and that this year it would be on a thursday. and every day, ever since mary knew that may had come, she wondered if it was thursday. but it was rather puzzling. two thursdays had come without it being her birthday. "p'raps mamma has made a mistook," thought mary. "p'raps my birfday isn't going to be in may this time." for if it changed about from one day to another--last year it was wednesday, and next year it would be--oh, it was too difficult to remember that--mightn't it change out of may too? mary didn't think months were quite so difficult to remember as days, for different things came in months. in april there were showers, and in may flowers. nurse had told her that, and when the months with the long names came it would be winter. "i hope it isn't a mistook," thought mary. "i'd like it best to be in may. `may' is such a nice short little word, and only one letter more makes it `mary.' no, i think it can't be a mistook." mary could read very well, and she could spell little words. she had learnt to read when she was so little that she could not remember it. she thought knitting and cross-stitch work were much harder than reading. but she had to learn them, because mamma said too much reading was not good for such a little girl, and would make her head ache, and mamma bought her pretty coloured wools and nice short knitting needles, and mary had made a carpet for the drawing-room of her doll-house. but though it looked very pretty mary still liked reading best. she had also worked a kettle-holder for grandmamma: that is to say she had worked the stitches all round the picture of a kettle, which was already on the canvas when mamma bought it. mamma called it "grounding it," and while she was working it, mary often wondered what "grounding" it meant, for a kettle-holder was not meant to lie on the ground. she might have asked mamma to explain, but somehow she did not. she was not a very asking child. big people did not always understand, not even mamma _quite_ always, and it made mary feel very strange when they did not understand; it almost made her cry. though even that she did not mind as much as when they told her she would know when she got big. she did not want to wait to know things till when she got big. it made her feel all hot to think what a lot of knowing there would be to do then, it seemed like a very big hill standing straight up in front of her which she would never get to the top of. she thought she would rather go up it in what she called "a roundy-round way." papa had shown her that way once when it took her breath away to climb up one of the "mountings"--mary always called hills "mountings"--in grandmamma's garden, and mary had never forgotten it. she thought the hill of knowing would be much nicer to go up that way, and that she might begin it now--just a little bit at a time. she thought this all quite plain inside her own mind, but she could not have told it to anybody. very often it is not till children _are_ quite big that they can tell their own thoughts, looking back upon them. and mary did not know that she _was_ going up the hill of knowing already, a little bit at a time, just as she fancied she would like to go. mary felt glad when she had settled it in her mind that it could not be a mistake about her birthday coming on a thursday, and she lay quite still, watching the sunshine. it had got on to her bed by now, and it made all sorts of nice things on the counterpane. mary's bed was rather a big one for such a little girl, for the cot she used to have was now her brother artie's; artie slept now in leigh's room, and there was only a corner there for quite a small bed. leigh was the big brother of artie and mary. he was eight years old. yes, the sunshine made the counterpane very pretty. it was quite white, and as mary's home was in the country, white things did not get a grey dull look as they do in london. there were patterns all over the counterpane, and if mary bumped up her knees she could make fancies to suit the patterns--like garden paths leading to beautiful castles, or robber caves--the boys told her stories of robber caves which were very interesting, though rather frightening. and this morning the light shone on a pattern she had never noticed so much before. it was a round ring, just in the middle, and flowers and leaves seemed growing inside it. "it's a fairy ring," thought mary; "i wonder if the fairies p'raps come and dance on it when i'm asleep." for she had seen fairy rings on the grass in the fields sometimes when she and her brothers were out walking, and nurse had told her about them. mary had often wished she could get up in the night and go down to the fields to see the fairies, but she knew she could not. she would never be able to open the big door. besides, it would be naughty to go out without mamma's and nurse's leave. and it would be very cold--even if the moon were shining it would be cold. for mary had stood in the moonlight once or twice and she knew it did not warm like the sun. "i suppose they don't burn such big fires in the moon," she thought. the fancy about the fairy ring on the counterpane was very nice, for she could think about it and "pertend" she saw the fairies dancing without getting out of her warm nest at the top of the bed at all. she thought she would tell artie about it and perhaps he would help to make some nice stories of fairy rings. artie was not always very "listening" to mary's fancies. he did really like them, but he was afraid of leigh laughing at him. when leigh was away, and artie and mary were alone together, it was very nice. but very often leigh wanted artie to play big things with him, and then mary had to amuse herself alone. leigh was not an unkind big brother; he would carry mary if she was tired, and would have read stories to her, if she had not liked best to read them to herself. but he had quite boy ways, and thought little girls were not much more good than the pretty china figures in his mother's cabinets in the drawing-room. so mary was often alone. but she did not mind. she had lots of friends of different kinds. now and then nurse would say to her, "it would be nice, miss mary, if you had a little sister, wouldn't it?" but mary shook her head. she did not think so. "no, zank you," she would say, "i doesn't want a little sister." the waking so early and the thinking about the sun and the moon and fairy rings and how soon it would be her birthday, began to make mary rather tired at last. and after a while she fell asleep again without knowing it. when she woke up for the second time the sun was still shining, though not so brightly as before. and she heard voices talking in the next room, that was the day-nursery. there was a door open between it and the night-nursery where mary slept. "thursday, th may," said one of the voices. "may's a nice month for a baby, and all the summer before it. `thursday's child has far to go.' perhaps little missie will marry a hofficer and travel to the injies. who can say?" then there was a little laugh. "that's old sarah," said mary to herself. sarah was the housemaid--the upper housemaid, and though she was not _very_ old, the children called her so because her niece, who was also called sarah, was the nursery-maid. "little sarah," they sometimes called her. her father was the gardener, and he and her mother lived in a cottage which the children thought the prettiest house in the world. and sometimes they were allowed, for a very great treat, to go there to tea. it was little sarah who was talking to old sarah just now. mary heard her voice, but as she spoke rather low she could not quite tell what the nursery-maid said. she only heard the last words--it was something about "nurse will tell her." this put it into mary's mind that, though it was quite morning now, she had not seen nurse, and yet she must be up and dressed. "nurse," she called out in her little clear voice. "nurse, where are you?" the two sarahs popped their heads in at the door. "are you awake, miss mary?" asked little sarah. "in course i'm awake. you heard me calling," said mary. she thought little sarah was very stupid sometimes. "i'm calling nurse," mary went on, "i don't want you, little sarah. you can go and dress master artie." if little sarah was rather stupid, she was also very good-natured. she glanced at mary with a smile, but with rather an odd look on her face too. "what does you want? what is you looking at me for?" said mary. "oh, nothing," said sarah. "i was only thinking whatever would you do without nurse if--if nurse was busy and couldn't be so much with you, miss mary." "nurse wouldn't never be busy like that," said mary. "oh, well, never mind. i'll dress master artie and i dare say nurse--" began sarah, but she stopped short. nurse just then came into the room. "here's miss mary worretting for you," said the girl. nurse hurried up to the little girl's bed. "have you been awake long, my dear?" she said. "i'm so sorry." "nurse," whispered mary, pulling nurse's head close down so that she could whisper to her, "i heard old sarah and little sarah talking, and old sarah sayed `thursday' and `may.' is it my birfday comed, nurse? mamma sayed it was coming in may, and it would be thursday." "my dearie," said nurse, "you've guessed right. it is your birthday-- the th of may." mary felt pleased, but also a little disappointed. she had been waiting for her birthday and thinking about it for such a long time that now she could scarcely believe it had come. for it seemed just like other days. no, not quite like other days, not as nice. for nurse had got up so early and old sarah and little sarah had been talking in the nursery-- she did not like anybody to talk like that in the nursery. "dress me quick, please, nurse," she said, "and then i'll go to mamma's room, and then p'raps my birfday will begin. i don't think it can have beginned yet. i thought--" and then she stopped and her lips quivered a little. "what, my dearie?" said nurse. she was a very kind, understanding nurse always, but this morning she spoke even more kindly than other mornings to mary. "i don't know," said mary. "i think i thought mamma would come to kiss me in bed like a fairy, and--and--i thought there'd be stockings or somefin' like that--like kissimas, you know." nurse had lifted mary out of her bath by this time, and was rubbing her with a nice large "soft-roughey" towel--"soft-roughey" was one of mary and artie's words--it meant the opposite of "prick-roughey." they did not like "prick-roughey" things. she wrapped mary all round in the big towel for a minute; it was nice and warm, for it had been hanging in front of the fire; then she gave mary a little hug. "you mustn't be unhappy, dear miss mary," she said. "mamma meant to come, i'm sure, but she's fast asleep--and when she wakes i'm afraid she'll have a headache. so i'm afraid your birthday won't be quite like what you planned. but i'm sure there'll be some pretty presents for you--quite sure." but mary looked up with her lips quivering still more, and the tears beginning to come too. "it isn't presents i want," she said. "not presents like that way. i-- i want mamma. mammas shouldn't have headaches. it takes away all the birfday-ness." then she turned her head round and pressed it in to nurse's shoulder and burst into tears. chapter two. guessing. poor nurse was very sorry. but she knew it would not do to be _too_ sorry for mary, for then she would go on crying. and once mary got into a long cry it sometimes went on to be a very long one indeed. so nurse spoke to her quite brightly. "my dearie," she said, "you mustn't cry on your birthday morning. it's quite a mistake. look up, dear. see, the sun's coming out so beautiful again, and we'll have master leigh and master artie calling for their breakfast. and you'll have to be quick, for your papa gave me a message to say you were to go down to see him in the dining-room." mary gave a little wriggle, though she still kept her face hidden. but as nurse went on talking she slowly turned round so that her dressing could go on. "i've something to say to you before you go down," nurse went on. "there's something that's come just in time for your birthday. i'll give you each two guesses--you and master leigh and master artie, while you're eating your breakfast." mary looked up. "where's my hankercher?" she said, and when nurse gave it to her she wiped her eyes. that was a good sign. "let me have my guesses now, nursey," she said coaxingly. but nurse kept to what she had said. "no, dear, guesses are much nicer when there's two or three together. besides, we must be very quick. see, there's your nice frock all ready." and mary saw, where nurse pointed to, one of her sunday afternoon frocks lying on a chair. it was a blue one--blue with tiny white stripes, and mary was very fond of it. it had a very pretty wide sash, just the same colour, and there were little bows on her shoes the same colour too. her face got quite smiley when she saw all these things. she was not a vain little girl and she did not care about fine clothes, but it gave her a nice feeling that, after all, her birthday was going to be something different to other days. soon she was dressed; her hair, which was not very long but soft and shaggy and of a pretty brown colour, combed out so that no tuggy bits were left; her hands as clean as a little girl's hands could be; a nice white pinafore on the top of the pretty blue frock, so that mary felt that, as nurse said, she was quite fit to go to see the queen, if the queen had asked her. and when she went into the day-nursery things seemed to get still nicer. there were no bowls of bread and milk, but a regular "treat" breakfast set out. tea-cups for herself and the boys, and dear little twists of bacon, and toast--toast in a toast-rack--and some honeycomb in a glass dish. "oh," said mary, "it _is_ my birfday. i'm quite sure now there's no mistook." and in a minute leigh and artie came running in. i do not know, by the by, that leigh came _running_, most likely he was walking, for he was rather a solemn sort of boy, but artie made up for it. he scarcely ever walked. he was always hopping or jumping or turning head over heels, he could _almost_ do wheels, like a london street boy. and this morning he came in with an extra lot of jumps because it was mary's birthday. "you thought we'd forgotten, leigh and me, now didn't you?" he said. "but we hadn't a bit. it was leigh said you liked the bacon twisted up and it was me reminded about the honey. wasn't it now, nurse? and we've got a present for you after breakfast. it's downstairs with papa's and mamma's. we'll give you them all of us together, mary." but the mention of mamma brought a cloud again to mary's face. "nursey says mamma's dot a headache, and we can't see her. not mary on her birfday." at this leigh looked up. "is that true?" he said. "is mamma ill?" "she's asleep, master leigh, and she may sleep a good while. i dare say you'll all see her when she wakes." "her shouldn't be 'nill on my birfday," began mary again. "rubbish, mary," said leigh. "i dare say she'll be all right. and you should be sorry for mamma if she's ill; it isn't her fault." "i am sorry," said mary dolefully; "that's why i can't help crying." "come now, miss mary," began nurse. "you're forgetting what we fixed. no crying on a birthday, my dear. and you're forgetting about the guesses. i'm going to give you two guesses each, master leigh and master artie and miss mary, about what's come just in time for her birthday. now don't speak for a minute, but think it well over while you go on with your breakfast." there was a silence then; all the children looked very grave, though their thinking did not prevent their enjoying their nice breakfast. "now, master leigh," said nurse, "you guess first." "a pony," said leigh. "a new pony instead of dapple grey who's getting too old to trot." nurse shook her head. "no, it's not a new pony. besides, i don't think miss mary would care as much for a new pony as you boys would." "no," mary agreed. "i don't want no pony but dapple grey. nother ponies trot too fast." leigh thought again. this time he tried to make his guess some quite "girl" thing. "a doll--a big doll for mary," he said. nurse smiled. no, it was not that--at least--"a wax doll, do you mean, master leigh?" "yes, a wax doll. but i don't _think_ it could be a doll, for that could have been got already for a birthday present, and this is quite an _extra_ present, isn't it?" said leigh. "yes, _quite_ extra," said nurse. "but now it's master artie's turn." artie's ideas were very jumbled. he did not keep the inside of his head in nearly such good order as leigh kept his. first he guessed "a fine day for mary's birthday," as if any "guessing" could be needed for a thing which was already there before their eyes. then he guessed a _very_ big cake for tea, which was not a very clever guess, as a nice big cake on a birthday was an "of course." so now it came to mary's own guesses. she looked up eagerly. "for us all to be doo--" then with a great effort, for mary was growing a big girl and wanted to speak quite rightly, "to be g-ood all day. kite g-ood." "that would be very nice," said nurse, "and i hope it will come true, but that's more wishing than guessing, miss mary. it's something that's come, not going to come, that i want you to guess about." mary's face grew very grave. then it smiled again. "i know," she said, "mamma's headache to g-go away, now, jimmedjetly, and then we'll go and see her." "i hope it will," said nurse. "but that wasn't the guess." she saw that mary was too little quite to understand. "see if i can't help you," she said. "what would you like best of anything? don't you think a doll that could learn to speak and love you and play with you would be a nice birthday present?" artie and mary looked puzzled. they had to think about it. but leigh was quicker. "why, nurse," he said, "a doll like that would be a _living_--oh nurse, i do believe--" but just as he was going to say more there came a tap at the door, and robert, the footman, came in. "if you please, mrs barley," he began. "barley" was nurse's own name, and, of course, the other servants were all very respectful, and always called her "mrs barley." "master wants the young gentlemen and miss mary now at once, if so be as they've finished their breakfast." "i think you should say `miss mary and the young gentlemen,' robert," said leigh. "specially as it's mary's birthday," said artie. "oh rubbish," said leigh; "birthday or no birthday, it's proper." "i beg the young lady's pardon," said robert, who was a very well brought up footman. "i'm sure i meant no offence," and he looked towards mary, but just then he could not see anything of her. for while her brothers were correcting robert, mary had been employing herself in getting down from her chair, which took a good while, as it was high and she was very short. nothing but a sort of fluff of blue skirts and sash and white muslin pinafore and shaggy hair, with here and there a shoe or a little pink hand sticking out, was to be seen. robert sprang forwards, meaning to be extra polite and set miss mary right side uppermost again, but in some mysterious way she managed to get on her feet by herself. "no, zank you, robert," she said with dignity, as she stood there with a rather red face, smoothing down her pinafore. "i can get down alone." "miss mary, my dear," said nurse. "i'm always telling you to ask me to lift you down. the chair will topple over some day and you'll be hurting yourself badly." "but, nurse, i'm _four_, now," said mary. "four is big." "of course it is," said leigh. "never mind, nurse. the best plan will be for me to hold her chair while she gets down. are you ready, artie? mary and i are." artie had managed to "honey" his face and hands, and nurse thought mary too would not be the worse for a slight sponging. "papa likes a sweet kiss, but not a honey one," she said. but at last they were all ready and on their way down to the dining-room, where they came upon robert again, ready to throw open the door with great dignity, as he had hurried down the back stairs on purpose to be there before them. papa was just finishing _his_ breakfast. he looked up with a bright smile. "well, young people," he said. "well, my pet," this was to mary. "so this is your birthday, my little queen--eh?" he lifted her on to his knee and kissed her. mary loved when papa called her his little queen. "i have to be off immediately," he said, "but first i have to give you your birthday presents from dear mamma and me." "and ours, papa, leigh's and mine. they're all together--mamma put them all together," said artie. "all right. they are over there on the side-table. you fetch them," said papa. "are you going to a meeting, father?" asked leigh. "yes, my boy, to lots of meetings. i shan't be back till late to-night." "what are meetings?" mary was just going to ask, but the sight of artie and the parcels put it out of her head. there was a beautiful doll's perambulator from papa and mamma, and "a church book," bound in red, and with "mary" outside, in lovely gold letters; and from leigh and artie, a doll's tea-service--cups and saucers and teapot and everything--in white china with little pink flowers, and dear little teaspoons of shining silver, or at least quite as pretty as silver. and then there was the birthday cake--covered with white sugar and with "mary" in pink letters. there was no fear of mary forgetting her name this birthday, was there? how her eyes sparkled, and how quick her breath came with pleasure, and how rosy her cheeks grew! "oh papa," she said, "oh leigh, oh artie!" and for a minute or two that was all she could say. "are you pleased, my pet?" said papa. "oh, i _never_, never did have such sp'endid presents," said mary. "dear little mary," said artie, kissing her. "i am so glad you like them." then another thought struck mary, as she stood touching gently one of her treasures after the other, as if she did not know which she loved the most. "papa, dear," she said, "can't i see dear mamma? i would like to zank dear mamma." "and so you shall, my pet," said her father. and he picked her up as he spoke and seated her on his shoulder. mary was very fond of riding on papa's shoulder. "come along, boys," he said, "you may come with me, if you won't be noisy, to see mamma and something else--mary's best birthday present of all." "anoder birfday present," said mary, so surprised that she felt quite breathless. "_anoder_, papa?" "yes, old woman--you couldn't guess what, if you tried for a week of sundays," said papa. papa did say such funny things sometimes! mary would have begun wondering what a week of sundays could be like, if her thoughts had not been so busy with the idea of another birthday present, that she could not take in anything else. what _could_ it be? "there's been nothing but guessing to-day," said artie. "nurse _was_ making us guess so at breakfast, about something that's comed for mary's birthday. could it be this other present, papa? i'm tired of guessing." "well, don't guess any more," said papa. "i'm going to show you." chapter three. a wonderful birthday present. there was a room next to mary's mother's room which was not often used. mary was rather surprised when her father carried her straight to this room instead of to her mother's. and when he lifted her down from his shoulder she was still more surprised to see that there was a nice little fire burning in the grate, and that the room looked quite cheerful and almost like another nursery, with a rocking-chair in front of the fire, and the blinds drawn up to let the pretty summer morning brightness in. there was something in the corner of the room which mary would have stared at a great deal if she had seen it. but just now she did not look that way, for she was surprised for the third time by seeing that a door stood open in the corner near the window, where she had never known before that there was a door. "where does that go to, papa?" she said, and she was running forward to look when her father stopped her. "it goes into mamma's room, my pet," he said, "but i don't want you to go in there yet. perhaps mamma's asleep." "it's all dark," said mary; she had been peeping in. she felt rather strange, and a very tiny, weeny bit frightened. everything seemed "funny" this birthday morning. she almost felt as if she was dreaming. "why is mamma's room all dark?" she said again. "is her asleep?" "i'm not sure, dear. wait here a minute and i'll see," and her father went into the next room, closing the door a little after him. mary and her brothers stood looking at each other. what was going to happen? "it's to be a surprise, i s'pose," said artie. "it's the guesses, _i_ say," said leigh. "it's a birfday present for me. papa said so," said mary. "we're speaking like the three bears," said artie laughing. "let's go on doing it. it's rather fun. you say something, leigh--say `somebody's been in my bed'--that'll do quite well. say it very growlily." "somebody's been in my bed," said leigh, as growlily as he could. leigh was a very good-natured boy, you see. "now, it's my turn," said artie, and he tried to make his voice into a kind of gruff squeak that he thought would do for the mamma bear's talking. "somebody's been in _my_ bed," he said. "come along, mary, it's you now." mary was laughing by this time. "somebody," she began in a queer little peepy tone, "somebody's--" but suddenly a voice from the other side of the door made them all jump. "my dear three bears," it said--it was papa, of course, "be so good as to shut your eyes _tight_ till i tell you to open them, and then mary can finish." they did shut their eyes--they heard papa come into the room and cross over to the corner which they had not looked at. then there was a little rustling--then he called out: "all right. open your eyes. now, mary, tiny bear, fire away. somebody's lying--" "in my bed," said mary, as she opened her eyes, thinking to herself how _very_ funny papa was. but when her eyes were quite open she did stare. for there he was beckoning to her from the corner where he was standing beside a dear little bed, all white lace or muslin--mary called all sorts of stuff like that "lace"--and pink ribbons. "oh," said mary, running across the room, "that's _my_ bed. mamma showed it me one day. it were my bed when i was a little girl." "of course, it's your bed," said her father. "i told you to be tiny bear and say, `somebody's lying in my bed.' somebody _is_ lying in your bed. look and see." mary raised herself up on her tiptoes and peeped in. on the soft white pillow a little head was resting--a little head with dark fluffy curls all over it--mary could not see all the curls, for there was a flannel shawl drawn round the little head, but she could see the face and the curls above the forehead. "it," this wonderful new doll, seemed to be asleep--its eyes were shut, and its mouth was a tiny bit open, and it was breathing very softly. it had a dear little button of a nose, and it was rather pink all over. it looked very cosy and peaceful, and there seemed a sweet sort of lavendery scent all about the bed and the pretty new flannel blankets and the embroidered coverlet. that _was_ pretty--white cashmere worked with tiny rosebuds. mary remembered seeing her mamma working at it, and it was lined with pale pink silk. but just then, though mary saw all these things and noticed them, yet, in another way, she did not see them. for all her real seeing and noticing went to the living thing in this dear little nest, the little, soft, sleeping, breathing face, that she gazed at as if she could never leave off. and behind her, gazing too, though mary had the best place, of course, as it was her birthday and she was a girl--behind her stood her brothers. for a few seconds, which seemed longer to the children, there was perfect silence in the room. it was a strange wonderful silence. mary never forgot it. her breath came fast, her heart seemed to beat in a different way, her little face, which was generally rather pale, grew flushed. and then at last she turned to her father who was waiting quietly. he did not want to interrupt them. "like as if we were saying our prayers, wasn't it?" artie said afterwards. but when mary turned she felt that he had been watching them all the time, and there was a _very_ nice smile on his face. "papa," she said. she seemed as if she could not get out another word, "papa--is it?" "yes, darling," he replied, "it is. it's a baby sister. isn't that the nicest present you ever had?" then there came back to mary what she had often said about "not wanting a baby sister," and she could scarcely believe she had ever felt like that. she was sorry to remember she had said it, only she knew she had not understood about it. "i never thought her would be so pretty," she said. "i never thought her would be so sweet. oh papa, her is a _lubly_ birfday present! when her wakes up, mayn't i kiss her?" "of course you may, and hold her in your arms if you are very careful," said her father, looking very pleased. he had been very anxious for mary to love the baby a great deal, for sometimes "next-to-the-baby" children are rather jealous and cross at being no longer the pet and the youngest. it was a very good thing he and her mamma agreed that the baby had come as a birthday present to mary. the idea of holding her in her own arms was so delightful that again for a moment or two mary felt as if she could not speak. "and what do you two fellows think of your new sister?" said papa, turning to the boys. leigh leant over the cradle and peered in very earnestly. "she's something like," he said slowly, "something like those very tiny little ducklings," and seeing a smile on his father's face he went on to explain, though he grew rather red, "i don't know what makes me think that. she looks so soft and cosy, i suppose. you know the little ducklings, papa? they're like balls of fluffy down." "i don't think she's a bit like them," said artie, who in his turn had been having a good examination of the baby. "i think she's more like a very little monkey. do you remember that tiny monkey with a pink face, that sat on the organ in the street at grandmamma's one day, leigh? it _was_ like her." he spoke quite gravely. he had admired the monkey very much. he did not at all mean that the new baby was not pretty, and his father's smile grew rather comical. "see how she scroozles up her face," he went on; "she's _just_ like the monkey now. it was a very nice monkey, you know, papa." but mary was not pleased. she had never seen a monkey, but there was a picture of one for the letter "m" in what she called her "animal book," and she did not think it pretty at all. "no," she said, "no, artie, her's not a' inch like a monkey. her's _booful_, just booful, and monkeys isn't." then suddenly she gave a little cry. "oh papa, dear, do look," she called out, "her's openin' her eyes. i never 'amembered her could open her eyes," and mary nearly danced with delight. yes indeed, miss baby was opening her eyes and more than her eyes--her little round mouth opened too, and she began to cry--quite loud! mary had heard babies cry before now, of course, but somehow everything about _this_ baby was too wonderful. she did not seem at all like the babies mary saw sometimes when she was out walking; she was like herself and not anything else. mary's face grew red again when she heard the baby cry. "oh papa, dear," she said. "has her hurt herself?" "no, no, she's all right," said papa. but all the same he did not take baby out of her cot--papas are very fond of their babies of course, but i do not think they like them _quite_ so much when they cry--instead of that, he turned towards the door leading into the next room. "nurse," he said in a low voice, but nurse heard him. "yes, sir," said a voice, in reply, and then came another surprise for mary. the person who came quickly into the room was not "nurse" at all, but somebody quite different, though she had a nice face and was very neatly dressed. who could she be? the world did seem _very_ upside down this birthday morning to mary! "nurse," she repeated to her father, with a very puzzled look. "yes, dear," said the stranger, "i'm come to be baby's nurse. you see she needs so much taking care of just now while she's still so very little--your nurse wouldn't have time to do it all." "no," said mary, "i think it's a good plan," and she gave a little sigh of satisfaction. she loved the baby dearly already and she would have been quite ready to give her anything--any of her toys or pretty things, if they would have pleased her--but still she did feel it would have been rather hard for _her_ nurse to be so busy all day that she could not take care of artie and her as usual. the strange nurse smiled. mary was what people call an "old-fashioned" child, and one of her funny expressions was saying anything that she liked was "a good plan." she stood staring with all her eyes as the nurse cleverly lifted baby out of the cot and laid her on her knee in a comfortable way, so that she left off crying. but her eyes were still open, and mary came close to look at them. "is her going to stay awake now?" she said. "perhaps she will, for a little while," said the nurse. "but such very tiny babies like to sleep a great deal." mary stood quite still. she felt as if she could stay there all day just looking at the baby--every moment she found out some new wonder about her. "her's got ears," she said at last. "of course she has," said the strange nurse. "you wouldn't like her to be deaf?" "baby," said mary, but baby took no notice. "her _it_ deaf," she went on, looking very disappointed. "her doesn't look at me when i call her." "no, my dear," said the nurse. "she hasn't learnt yet to understand. it will take a good while. you will have to be very patient. little babies have a great, great deal to learn when they first come into this world. just think what a great many things you have learnt yourself since you were a baby, miss mary." mary looked at her. she had never thought of this. "i wasn't never so little, was i?" she said. "yes, quite as little. and you couldn't speak, or stand, or walk, or do anything except what this little baby does." this was very strange to think of. mary thought about it for a moment or two without speaking. then she was just going to ask some more questions, when she heard her father's voice. "mary," he said, "mamma is awake and you may come in and get a birthday kiss. leigh and artie are waiting for you to have the first kiss as you're the queen of the day." "i'd like there to be two queens," said mary, as she trotted across to her father. "'cos of baby coming on my birfday. when will her have a birfday of hers own?" she went on, stopping short on her way when this thought came into her head. her father laughed as he picked her up. "i'm afraid you'll have to wait a whole year for that," he said. "next year, if all's well, your birthday and baby's will come together." "oh, that will be nice," said mary, but then for a minute or two she forgot all about baby, as her father lifted her on to her mother's bed to get the birthday kiss waiting for her. "my pet," said her mother, "are you pleased with your presents, and are you having a happy day?" mary put up her little hand and stroked her mother's forehead, on which some little curls of pretty brown were falling. "mamma dear," she said, "your hair isn't very tidy. shall i call larkin to brush it smoove?" and she began to scramble off the bed to go to fetch the maid. "what a little fidget you are," said her mother. "never mind about my hair. i want you to tell me what you think of your little sister." "i think her _sweet_," said mary. "and her curls is somefin like yours, mamma. but leigh says hers like little ducks, and artie says hers like a pink monkey." mamma began to laugh at this, quite loud. but just then the nurse put her head in at the door. "baby's opening her eyes so wide, miss mary," she said. "do come and look at her, and you, master leigh and master artie too. you shall come and see your mamma again in the afternoon." so they all three went back into the other room to have another look at baby. "i say, children," called their father after them. "we've got to fix what baby's to be called. it'll take a lot of thinking about, so you must set your wits to work, and tell me to-morrow what name you like best." chapter four. babies. there was plenty to think of all that day. mary's little head had never been so full, and before bedtime came she began to feel quite sleepy. it had been a very happy day, even though everything seemed rather strange. their father would have liked to stay with them, but he was obliged to go away. nurse--i mean artie's and mary's own nurse--was _very_ good to them, and so were cook and all the other servants. the birthday dinner was just what mary liked--roast chicken and bread-sauce and little squirly rolls of bacon, and a sponge-cake pudding with strawberry jam. and there was a very nice tea, too; the only pity was that baby could not have any of the good things, because, as nurse explained, she had no teeth. "she'll have some by next birthday, won't she?" asked leigh. "i hope so, poor dear," said nurse, "though she'll scarcely be able to eat roast chicken by then." "why do you say `poor dear'?" asked leigh. "because their teeth coming often hurts babies a good deal," said nurse. "it would be much better if they were all ready," said leigh. "i don't see why they shouldn't be. baby's got hands and eyes and everything else--why shouldn't she have teeth?" "i'm sure i can't say, master leigh," nurse answered. "there's many things we can't explain." mary opened her mouth wide and began tugging at her own little white teeth. "them doesn't hurt me," she said. "ah but they did, miss mary," said nurse. "many a night you couldn't sleep for crying with the pain of them, but you can't remember it." "it's very funny," said mary. "what's funny?" asked leigh. "about 'amembering," answered mary, and a puzzled look came into her face. "can you 'amember when you was a tiny baby, nurse?" "no, my dear, nobody can," said nurse. "but don't worry yourself about understanding things of that kind." "there's somefin in my head now that i can't 'amember," said mary, "somefin papa said. it's that that's teasing me, nurse. i don't like to not 'amember what papa said." "you must ask him to-morrow, dearie," nurse answered. "you'll give yourself a headache if you go on trying too hard to remember." "isn't it _funny_ how things go out of our minds like that?" said leigh. "i'll tell you what i think it is. i think our minds are like cupboards or chests of drawers, and some of the things get poked very far back so that we can't get at them when we want them. you see the newest things are at the front, that's how we can remember things that have just happened and not things long ago." "no," said artie, "'tisn't quite like that, leigh. for i can remember what we had for dinner on my birthday, and that was very long ago, before last winter, much better than what we had for dinner one day last week." "i can tell you how that is," said nurse, "what you had for dinner on your birthday made a mark on your mind because it was your birthday. everything makes marks on our minds, i suppose, but some go deeper than others. that's how it's always seemed to me about remembering and forgetting. and if there's any name i want to remember very much i say it out loud to myself two or three times, and that seems to press it into my mind. dear, dear, how well i remember doing that way at school when i was a little girl. there was the kings and queens, do what i would, i couldn't remember how their names came, till i got that way of saying two or three together, like `william and mary, anne, george the first,' over and over." the children listened with great interest to nurse's recollections, the boys especially, that is to say; the talk was rather too difficult for mary to understand. but her face looked very grave; she seemed to be listening to what nurse said, and yet thinking of something behind it. all at once her eyes grew bright and a smile broke out like a ray of sunshine. "i 'amember," she said joyfully. "nursie said her couldn't 'amember names. it was names papa said. he said us was to fink of a name for baby." "oh, is that what you've been fussing about?" said leigh. "i could have told you that long ago. _i've_ fixed what i want her to be called. i've thought of a _very_ pretty name." mary looked rather sorry. "i can't fink of any names," she said; "i can only fink of `mary.' can't her be called `mary,' 'cos it's my birfday?" leigh and artie both began to laugh. "what a silly girl you are," said leigh; "how could you have two people in one family with the same name? whenever we called `mary,' you'd never know if it was you or the baby we meant." "you could say `baby mary,'" said mary, who did not like to be called a silly girl. "and when she was big," said leigh, "how would she like to be called `baby'?" mary had not thought of this, still she would not give in. "peoples has the same names," she said. "papa's name's `leigh,' and your name's `leigh,'--there now--" and as another idea struck her, "and us _all_ is called bertum. papa's mr bertum and mamma's mrs bertum and--and--" "and you're `miss bertum,'" said leigh, laughing. "but that's because bertram is our _family_ name, you see, mary. we've each got a first name too. it doesn't much matter papa and me being the same, except that sometimes i think mamma's calling me when she means papa, but it would never do if artie and i had the same name. fancy, if we were both called `artie,' we'd never know which you meant." "no," said mary, laughing too, "it would be a very bad plan. i never thought of that. but i _can't_ think of a pitty name for dear little baby." "there's lots," said artie, who had been sitting very silent--to tell the truth, he had forgotten all about choosing a name, but he did not want to say so. so he had been thinking of all the names he could, so that he might seem quite as ready as leigh. "there's cowslip and buttercup and firefly and--" "nonsense," said leigh, "considering you're six years old, artie, you're sillier than mary. those are cows' names, and--" "they're not--not all of them," said artie, "firefly's a pony's name. it's little ella curry's pony's name, and i think it's very pretty." "for a pony perhaps," said nurse, "but then you see, master artie, your little sister isn't a pony." "i wish she was," said leigh, and when nurse looked up astonished he looked rather ashamed. "of course i don't mean that it isn't nice for her to be a little girl," he went on, "but i do so wish we had a pony." "you may just be patient for a while, master leigh," said nurse; "you know your papa's promised you a pony when you're ten years old, and by that time baby will be nearly two." "that won't matter," said leigh, "even mary won't be able to ride my pony. it's to be a real sensible one, not a stupid donkey sort of pony, with panniers or a basket on its back." "no," said artie, "it's to be a galoppy-trot one! won't we make him go, leigh." "i shall," said leigh; "you won't have much to say to it. you'll be too little too." artie's face fell. mary, who was sitting beside him, slipped her little hand into his. "nebber mind, artie," she said. "we'll ask papa to give us anoder pony. a very gentle one for you and me and baby." "a perambulator will be more in baby's way," said nurse. "miss mary's old one is quite worn out and they do make such pretty ones nowadays. i hope your mamma will get her a very nice one." "and may we push it sometimes?" said artie, brightening up again, "that would be nice." leigh gave a little laugh. "what a baby you are, artie," he was beginning, but nurse, who saw that he was in one of his teasing humours, looked up quickly. "it's such a fine evening," she said, "and it's scarcely five o'clock. how would you like to go out a little walk? we didn't go very far to-day. we might go as far as the lavender cottages, i've something to take there from your mamma." the boys looked very pleased. "oh yes, nurse," they said, "do let's go out." "and mayn't we stop and see the puppies at the smithy on the way?" leigh went on. "i'm f'ightened of those little barky dogs," said mary; "i don't want to go out, nurse, i'm sleepy." "it'll do you good, my dear, to have a little walk before you go to bed; you'll sleep all the better for it and wake all the fresher in the morning," and a few minutes afterwards, when the little party were walking down the drive, mary looked quite bright again. it was a very lovely evening. the way to the lavender cottages lay across the fields, and, as every one knows, there is nothing prettier than a long stretch of grass land with the tender spring green lighted up by late afternoon sunshine. mary trotted along contentedly, thinking to herself. "my birfday's going to bed soon," she thought, "and to-morrow morning it'll be gone--gone away for a long, long time," and she gave a little sigh. "but somefins won't be gone away, all my birfday presents will stay, and baby sister will stay, and when my birfday comes back again it will be hers too. dear little baby sister! i wish her had comed out a walk wif us, the sun is so pitty." the smithy was at the foot of the road leading up to the cottages, just opposite the stile by which they left the fields. this stile had three steps up and three steps down, with a bar of wood to clamber across at the top. it was one of the children's favourite stiles, as the boys always pretended that the bar was a pony on which they had a ride on the way over. to-day nurse and mary waited patiently till they had ridden far enough. then artie hopped down the other side and leigh stood at the top to help his sister over, for though he was a teasing boy sometimes, he never forgot that she was a little girl and that it was his place to take care of her. "leigh," said mary, as he was lifting her down, "i is so f'ightened of those little dogs! please don't go to see them." "how can you be frightened of them, mary?" said leigh. "it's really very silly! they're only baby dogs, don't you understand; they couldn't hurt anybody." this was quite a new idea to mary, and she stopped short on the second step of the stile to think about it. "_baby_ dogs," she said, "i never thought little dogs was babies. is there babies of everything, leigh?" "of course there are. don't you remember the baby ducks? and the little lambs are baby sheep, and even the tiny buds are baby flowers." "and _babies_ never hurts nobody, does they?" said mary, as she got safely to the ground again with the help of her brother's hand. "then i won't be f'ightened, leigh, of the little doggies. you may take me to see them," and as leigh hurried on to the smithy, which he thought the most delightful place in the world, mary trotted beside him as fast as her little legs could go, holding firmly to him while she said over to herself, though in rather a trembling voice-- "i never thought them was _baby_ dogs, _babies_ don't hurt nobody." yakeman the smith was standing in front of his forge, taking a rest after the day's work. "good-evening, master leigh," he said, as the children came up to him. "come for a look at the puppies, sir? they're getting on finely. would missie like to see them too?" and he turned to open a little gate leading into his garden. leigh looked down at mary, not quite sure what she would feel about it. her face was rather red, and she pinched his hand more tightly. "would you like to see them, mary?" he asked. "oh, yes, i'm not f'ightened now," she answered bravely. "you've no call to be afear'd," said yakeman, as he led the way. "no," said mary, "'cos them's only babies." the puppies were all tumbling over each other in a comfortable nest of hay in the corner of a shed. there were four of them, brown curly balls, nearly as soft and fluffy as leigh's favourite ducklings. yakeman stooped down and picked one up with his big hand and held it close to mary. she stroked it gently with the very tip of her fingers. "it _are_ sweet," she said, with a rather shaky little laugh, and as no harm came of her touching it, she grew still braver. "may i kiss its little head?" she said, looking up at the tall blacksmith, who smiled down on her. "to be sure, missie," said he, so mary buried her nose in the brown fur, suddenly giving a little cry as she felt something warm and wet on her cheek. "he's licking you," said leigh; "i dare say he means it for kissing though. i say, mary, wouldn't it be nice if papa would let us have a puppy for our very own." "a baby puppy and a baby sister," said mary. "did you know us had got a baby sister?" she went on, to the smith. "her comed to-day 'cos it were my birfday." "that was a fine birthday present," said yakeman, "and you'd be welcome to this puppy if your papa would allow you to have it. i've promised two and i'm keeping one myself, but this here i'd not settled about." mary's eyes sparkled, and so did leigh's. "we'd have him between us, mary," said leigh. "we must ask papa. _you'd_ better ask him because of its being your birthday, you know." just then they heard nurse's voice, she had been waiting for artie while he had another ride on the stile. "master leigh and miss mary, where are you?" she said. "we must be getting on." the children thanked the smith and ran after her, full of the offer which had been made to them. "oh, nurse," said mary, when they had told her of it. "just fink of all my birfday presents! a baby sister and a baby dog, and all my nother things," and she gave a great sigh of pleasure. "yes, indeed, miss mary," said nurse. "i don't think you'll ever forget your fourth birthday." chapter five. with papa. the children's father came back late that night, but too late for them to see him. and the next morning he had to be off again, this time for two whole days together, so there was no chance of asking him about the dog. leigh and mary spoke of it to their mother, but dogs are things that papas have most to do with, and she could only say, "you must ask papa." it was rather trying to have to wait so long to know about it, or at least it would have been so if mary had not had so many other interesting things to think about just then. there were all her birthday presents, her "regular" birthday presents, as the boys called them, which were still of course quite new, not to speak of the baby, which seemed to mary more wonderful every time she saw her. unless you really live with a baby, and that, as you know, had never happened to mary before, you can have no idea how very interesting babies are, even when they are so tiny that they can do nothing but go to sleep and wake again, and cry when they are hungry, and stretch themselves and yawn, and make oh! such funny faces! why, that is quite a long list of things to do already, and there are ever so many more queer little ways about a baby when you come to notice them. even its little pink toes seemed to mary the prettiest and funniest things she had ever seen in her life. leigh and she fixed together that, till they had asked their father about the dog, they would not go past the smithy. "it only makes us fink about it," said mary. and nurse, who, to tell the truth, was not very eager for them to get the puppy, was not sorry when the children asked her not to pass that way. "miss mary is still frightened of yakeman's dogs," she thought to herself, "and it's just as well. i don't know whatever we'd do if we had to take a puppy out walks with us as well as miss baby." for of course nurse knew that before long, when the baby grew a little bigger, she would come to live in the nursery altogether and go out walks with the others. just at first nurse would carry her, but after awhile she would go in the new perambulator which nurse had set her heart upon getting. that reminds me of mary's present from her father and mother, which, as i told you, was a doll's perambulator. it was a great amusement to them all, not only to mary. you have no idea what a lot of fun you can get out of a doll's perambulator. it was not only the dolls that went drives in it; the children tried several other things which did not succeed very well. the kitten for one did not like it at all. leigh caught it one day, when there was no one else to take a drive, for the dolls had all got very bad colds, and doctor artie had said that they must on no account go out. mary looked very grave at this, but of course the doctor's orders had to be obeyed. "what shall we do?" she said sadly. "it will be so dull to go out a walk wifout the perambulator," for till now the dolls had had a drive every day. "leave it to me," said leigh, "you'll find some one all ready waiting when you come down to go out." and sure enough when nurse and mary arrived at the door, there was the perambulator, and seated in the doll's place, or rather tied into it, was a very queer figure indeed--the kitten, as i told you, looking and feeling perfectly miserable. leigh had done his best to make it comfortable. he had tied it in with a large soft handkerchief very cleverly, but it was mewing piteously all the same. "come along quick, mary," he said, "kitty's in a great hurry to be off; she doesn't like being kept waiting, that's what she's saying." mary looked as if she was not quite sure if that was what kitty's mews really meant, but of course, as leigh was so much bigger and older, she thought he must know best. so she began pushing the perambulator, very gently at first, for fear of frightening poor pussy, who was so much astonished at feeling herself moving that for a moment or two she left off mewing. "there now," said leigh, "you see how she likes it. go faster, mary." mary set off running as fast as she could, which was not very fast, however, for at four years old, one's legs are still very short, but she did her best, as she wanted to please leigh and the kitten too. the garden path was smooth and it was a little down hill. leigh scampered on in front, mary coming after him rather faster than she meant. indeed she began to have a queer feeling that her legs were running away with her, when all of a sudden there came a grand upset. mary found herself on the ground, on the top of the perambulator, and even before she had time to pick herself up her little voice was heard crying out: "oh poor kitty! i'se felled on the top of poor kitty!" but no, kitty was not as much to be pitied as mary herself, for the poor little girl's knees were sadly scratched by the gravel and one of her hands was really bleeding. while, there was kitty, galloping home in great glee--leigh's handkerchief spreading out behind her like a lady's train. mary scarcely knew whether to laugh or _cry_. i think she did a little of both. leigh wanted to catch pussy again, but nurse would not hear of it, and proposed instead that they should use the perambulator to bring home a beautiful lot of primroses for their mother, from the woods. after this adventure with the kitten, leigh tried one or two other "tricks," as nurse called them. he wanted to make a coachman of one of his guinea-pigs, who sat quite still as long as he had a leaf of lettuce to munch, but when that was done let himself roll out like a ball over and over again, till even leigh got tired of catching him and putting him back. artie's pet rabbit did no better, and then it was decided that when the dolls were ill it would be best to use the perambulator as a cart, for fetching flowers and fir-cones and all sorts of things. this was such fun that the dolls were often obliged to stay at home, even when their colds were not very bad. and for nearly a week the children kept away from the smithy. papa had been home during that week, of course, and they had tried to ask about the puppy. but he was very busy and hurried; all he could say was that he must see the dog first, and that of course he had had no time for. at last there came a morning on which, when the children went down to see their father after the nursery breakfast, they found him sitting comfortably at the table pouring himself out a second cup of nice hot coffee and reading the newspaper, as if he was not in a hurry at all. "oh papa," said leigh, "how jolly it is to see you like that, instead of gobbling up your breakfast as if the train was at the door." "if the train came as near as that i shouldn't be so hurried," said his father laughing, but mary did not look quite pleased. "papa doesn't gobble," she said. "leigh shouldn't speak that way, it's like gooses and turkeys." "i didn't mean that kind of gobbling," said leigh. "turkeys gobble-wobble--it's their way of talking. i didn't mean _that_ of papa." mary still looked rather doubtful, but her father caught her up and set her on his knee with a kiss. "thank you, my princess," he said, "for standing up for your poor old father. now, what can i do for you? i've got a nice long holiday before me, all to-day and all to-morrow at home, so i'm quite at your service." mary looked up. she did not quite understand what "quite at your service" meant, and it was her way when she did not understand anything to think it over for a moment or two before she asked to have it explained. it is not a bad way to do, because there are often things a child can get to understand by a little thinking, and some children have a silly way of never using their own minds if they can help it. "why don't you answer, mary?" said leigh. "i know what _i'd_ say, if papa offered to do anything i wanted, and i think you might remember what we're all wanting so much." mary's face cleared. "i didn't understand," she said. "but i do now. o papa dear, will you come and see the sweet little doggie at the smiffy? we've been waiting and waiting." "oh dear," said her father, "i'd forgotten all about it. yes, of course i'll take a look at it. let's see: they're retriever pups, aren't they?" leigh did not answer for a moment. to tell the truth, he was not quite sure what kind of dogs yakeman's were, though he did not like to say so. "they are brown and curly," he said at last. "and the top of our one's head is nearly as soft as--as baby," added mary. "baby would be flattered," said her father. "we're going to call it fuzzy," mary went on. "it are so very soft." "and oh, by the by," said papa, "you've never chosen a name for your little sister, so mamma and i have had to fix on one. what do you think of dorothea?" the children looked at their father doubtfully. "dorothea," said leigh. "doro--" began artie, stopping in the middle, as he forgot the rest. "dodo--" said mary, stopping too. "it's a difficult name, papa." "and i don't think it's very pretty," said leigh. "wait a minute," said papa. "you'll like it when i explain about it. you know that baby came on mary's birthday?" "yes," said mary. "she were my best birfday present." "that's just it," her father went on. "`dorothea' means a present--a present from god, which must mean the best kind of present." "oh," said mary, "that's very nice! please say it again, papa, and i'll try to learn it. dodo--" "no," said artie, looking very superior. "doro--not dodo." "you needn't look down upon mary," said leigh, "if you can't get any further than that. it's dorothea. i can say it well enough of course, but i do think it's a very long name, papa, for such a very little baby." "she'll grow up to be a big girl some day, i hope," said their father. "but you're all in such a hurry you won't let me finish explaining. besides having a nice meaning, we like dorothea because there's such a pretty way of shortening it. we're going to call your little sister `dolly.'" "that's not difficult," said mary. "only it seems as if she was a dolly." "no it doesn't," said leigh. "your dolls have all got their own names. i like dolly very much, papa, and i think we'll better call her it now. `baby' is so common, there's such lots of babies." "there's a baby at the baker's shop," said artie, who did not like being left out of the conversation. "it's a lot bigger than our baby, it goes in a sitting-up perambulator all alone." "dear me," said his father. "how very curious! i should like to see it! we shall be having babies riding tricycles next." artie stared, he did not understand, but leigh began to laugh. "how funny you are, papa," he said. "of course, artie doesn't mean that it pushes itself along, though _i_ think that pushing a perambulator is very stupid. if i had a baby i know what i'd do." "on the whole, i'd rather not be your baby, i think, leigh. but if we're going to the smithy this morning, we'd better set off. run and get ready, boys." leigh and artie scampered off, and their father was following them, when a sudden sound made him stop short. it was a wail from mary. "what is the matter, my darling?" he said, turning back to her. "i does so want to come too," said mary through her tears. "'cos the little dog were for me." "you shall come, dear," said her father; "but why didn't you ask me without beginning to cry? that's not being a sensible girl." mary's face was very like an april day. she smiled up at her father in a minute. "i won't cry," she said, "i'll be very good. will you wait for me if nurse dresses me very quick, papa?" and she set off after her brothers, mounting upstairs as fast as she could, though "could" was not very fast, as right leg was obliged to wait on each step till left leg made up to it. chapter six. "fuzzy." yakeman at the smithy looked very pleased to see his visitors, especially as their father was with the children. "the puppies are getting on finely," he said. "two of them are going to their new masters to-morrow. but i've held on to the one as miss mary fancied, thinking you'd be looking in some day soon." "we've wanted to come ever so often," said leigh. "we was waiting for papa," added mary. "and we didn't come round this way 'cos it made us want the dear little dog so much." yakeman listened gravely. "i thought i hadn't seen you passing the last few days," he said. "but i wouldn't have let the dog go, not without sending up to ask you." "oh, we knowed you'd keep him," said mary, and then yakeman led the way round to the side of the house again, where the four puppies were rolling and tumbling about in perfect content, their mother watching their gambols with great pride. suddenly a new thought struck mary. "won't her be very unhappy when them all goes away?" she asked yakeman anxiously. "and won't them cry for their mamma?" the smith smiled. "they're getting old enough to do without her now," he said. "but she'll miss them, no doubt, will poor old beauty," and he patted the retriever's head as he spoke. "it's the way of the world, bain't it, sir?" turning to the children's father. "dogs and humans. the young ones leave the old ones cheery enough. it's the old ones as it's hard on!" mary did not quite understand what he meant, but something made her catch hold of her father's hand. "you won't never let me go away, will you, papa?" she whispered. "not _never_, will you?" "not unless you want to go, certainly," said her father, smiling down at her. "but now show me which is the puppy you'd like to have." mary looked rather puzzled, and so, though they would not have owned it, were the boys. "i think," began leigh, not at all sure of what he was going to say, but just then, luckily, yakeman came to their help by picking up one of the puppies. "this here is miss mary's one. we've called it hers--the missis and i, ever since the last time you was here." he gave a little laugh, though he did not say what he was laughing at. to tell the truth, mrs yakeman and he had called the puppy "miss mary!" mary rubbed her nose, as she had done before, on the puppy's soft curly head. "it are so sweet," she said. "we're going to call him `fuzzy.' but, oh papa!" and her voice began to tremble. "oh leigh and artie, i don't think we should have him if it would make his poor mother unhappy to be leaved all alone." "it won't be so bad as that, miss mary," said the smith, who, though he was such a big man, had a very tender heart, and could not bear to see the little girl's face clouded. "we're going to keep number for ourselves, and after a day or two beauty will be quite content with him. you can look in and see for yourselves when you're passing." "of course," said leigh, in his wise tone. "it'll be all right, mary. and we can bring fuzzy to see his mother sometimes, to pay her a visit, you know." mary's face cleared. yakeman and leigh must know best, and papa would not let them have the dog if it was unkind. it was not what _she'd_ like--to live in a house across the fields from mamma, only to pay her a morning call now and then. but still, dogs were different, she supposed. all this time papa had been looking at fuzzy, as i think we may now begin to call him. "he's a nice puppy," he said, "a very nice little fellow. of course, he'll want to be properly taken care of, and careful training. but i can trust mellor--you know mellor, of course, the coachman?" he went on to the smith. "he's not bad with dogs." "no, sir, i should say he's very good with 'em," yakeman replied. "feedin's a deal to do with it--there's a many young dogs spoilt with over feedin'." "i'll see to that," said mr bertram. "now, children, we must be moving on, i think." but the three stood there looking rather strange. "i thought--" began leigh. "won't we--" began artie. "oh, papa," began mary. "what in the world is the matter?" said their father in surprise. "aren't you pleased about the puppy? i'll send mellor to fetch him to-morrow." "it's just that," said leigh. "yes," said artie. "we thought he'd be ours, our very own," said mary, at last explaining what they were in trouble about. for though the three had said nothing to each other, each knew that the others were thinking and feeling the same. "we meant to fetch him ourselves," said leigh again. "we was going to give him his breakfast and dinner and tea in the nursery," chimed in artie. "i was p'annin'," added mary, "that he'd sleep in our beds in turns. i didn't tell leigh and artie. i were going to 'apprise them. but i meaned to let it be in turns." papa began to laugh. so did yakeman. they could not help it. "sleep in your cots," said papa. "there wouldn't be much left of the cots or you by the morning." "he wouldn't _eat_ us," said leigh, looking rather startled. "not exactly," said his father. "but if he took to rolling on the top of you and making hay of the bedclothes--just look at him now tumbling about in the straw with his brothers--you would not be likely to have a very good night." "and if he had three meals a day in the nursery, there'd not be much left of _he_ in a week or less," said yakeman. the children looked very surprised. "_we_ always have breakfast and dinner and tea," said artie, "and little dogs is hungry too." "ah! yes," said the smith; "but they couldn't do with as much as that. and it'd never do neither for the puppy to eat all as you eats, master artie. puppies isn't little young gentlemen and ladies, and every creature has its own ways. he'll be all right in the stable, never you fear, and mr mellor'll see as he has all he should." but still the three faces did not clear. leigh moved away as if he were going to the gate, flicking his boots with a little whip he had in his hand, to seem as if he did not care, though in reality he was very nearly crying. and artie's and mary's faces grew longer and longer. "i don't think i want to have him," she said at last. "zank you, mr yakeman, and zank you, papa; but him wouldn't be _nours_--him'd be mellor's," and then there came a little choke in mary's voice and a misty look in her eyes, and in a moment artie's pocket-handkerchief was out of his pocket and he was rubbing her cheeks with all his might. "_don't_ cry, mary," he said; "_please_, don't cry. p'raps papa won't--" i am not quite sure what he was going to say. i am not sure that he knew himself. but whatever it was, he was interrupted. for before mary's tears had had time to begin their journey down her face, papa had picked her up in his arms and was busy comforting her. he could not bear to see her cry! really, it was rather a wonder that she was not spoilt. "my pet," he said, "there is truly nothing to cry about. the puppy-- what is it you call him, fudge or fuss--" mary could not help laughing a little. fancy calling a puppy "fudge." "no, papa dear; _fuzzy_--that's what we was going to call him." "well, darling, fuzzy shall be your very own. you shall go to see him in the stables whenever you like; i'll tell mellor. and he will go out walks with you--the puppy, i mean, not mellor--as soon as ever he has learnt to follow." this made mary laugh again. the idea of mellor going out a walk with them all, following behind like a well-behaved dog. for mellor was not very young, and he had a broad red face and was rather fat. papa was pleased to hear mary laughing, even though it was rather a shaky little laugh, and he went on to explain more. "you see he's not the sort of dog that you can have in the house, particularly not in the nursery," he said. "indeed, i hardly think that any dog except a very old and tried one is safe in a nursery, above all, where there's such a little baby as--" "dolly," said mary quietly, to show that she had not forgotten what baby was to be called. "yes, as dolly," her father went on. "they would be two babies together, and they might hurt each other without meaning it. dolly might pull fuddle's hair--" at this all three children burst out laughing, quite a hearty laugh this time. "oh, papa dear," said mary, "what a very bad mem'ry you've got! it isn't _fuddle_! can't you say _fuzzy_?" "fuzzy, _fuzzy_, fuzzy," said papa, speaking like the three bears turned the wrong way. "there, now, i think i've got it into my stupid old head at last. well, as i was saying, miss dolly might pull master fuzzy's hair, without meaning to hurt him of course, and he might turn round and snap at her, not exactly meaning to hurt her either, but still--it might be rather bad, you see." mary's face grew very grave. "i never thought of that," she said solemnly. "it would be dedful for dear little baby dolly to be hurted, though i'm kite sure fuzzy wouldn't mean it." "but when dolly's a good bit bigger, and when fuzzy is quite a trained dog, he may come into the house sometimes, mayn't he?" said leigh. "at auntie maud's," said artie, "there's _free_ dogs always lying in the hall. they get up and come and sniff you when you go in. when i was a little boy i was frightened of them, but they never bit me." "ah! well," said his father, "when dolly's a big girl and fuzzy's a big dog, we'll see. some dogs are very good indeed with little children; i hope he'll be. i remember seeing a great newfoundland that let his master's children ride on his back, just as if he was a little pony. he stalked along as steadily as possible." "and in some countries," said leigh eagerly, "dogs are taught to draw little carriages, aren't they? i've seen pictures of them, up where there's such lots of snow near the top of the world. squim--something, those people are called." "esquimaux, you mean, i suppose," said his father laughing. he had put down mary by this time, and they were walking on slowly up the hill towards the lavender cottages. "yes, and in other countries not so far off i've seen dogs drawing little carts as soberly as possible." "i _would_ like to see that!" said artie, his eyes sparkling. "and so would i!" said mary. and leigh, though he said nothing, took the idea into his mind more than either of the others. by this time they were close to the top of the little hill where stood the cottages of which we have spoken so often--the lavender cottages as they were called; because once, a good many years ago, an old man lived there, whose lavender was famed all about that part of the country. he had a garden, almost like a little field, quite full of it. this garden belonged to one of the end cottages, and it was now a regular cottage kitchen-garden, with potatoes and cabbages and other vegetables growing in it, though in one corner there was still a nice little stock of the old lavender bushes. here lived an old woman and her son, named sweeting. mrs sweeting had once been cook at the hall when the children's father was a little boy, and she was always pleased to have a visit from any of them. "i hear poor old mrs sweeting has been ill," said papa; "i'll just go in for a minute or two to see her. you children can wait outside for me." the boys and mary were not sorry to do so. they were always fond of coming to the lavender cottages, not only to see mrs sweeting who was very kind to them, but because they were much interested in the family of children who lived next door. there were such a lot of them! the cottage would never have held them all; but luckily, in the third cottage, at the other end again, lived the grandfather and grandmother of the large family, and some of the bigger boys had a room in their house. still there were plenty left in the middle cottage, as you will hear. chapter seven. the perry family and papa's story. besides the three big boys, the children had counted six more young perrys in the middle one of the lavender cottages, and by degrees they had found out most of their names. the eldest girl was about twelve, and her name was a very funny one--it was comfort. "how tired she must be of people saying to her that they hope she's a comfort to her father and mother," said leigh, when he first heard her name. i think nurse told it him, for she knew something of the perrys, and the odd name had taken her fancy. comfort was rather a tall girl for her age, and she was clever at school, where she often got prizes. but the next to her, a short, rosy-faced child called janie, who was generally seen carrying about the baby, a very motherly little girl, seemed as if her elder sister's name would have suited her better. after janie came ned, and after ned three little creatures so near each other that they all looked like babies together, and it was difficult to tell whether they were boys or girls. the quite youngest--the one that all the rest of them called "baby"-- spent most of its life seemingly in janie's arms. i _suppose_ janie went to school sometimes, but, anyway, the bertram children never passed the cottages or met the little perrys in the lanes without seeing the baby in its usual resting-place. the other two babies seemed to spend their lives in a queer old-fashioned kind of double perambulator. it was made of wicker; and in fine weather, and indeed sometimes in weather that was not so very fine, was almost always to be seen standing at the cottage-door or just outside the gate leading into the little garden, with the two small people tied into it, one at each side. to-day they were there as usual. there, too, was janie with number three baby in her arms, while comfort was strolling about with a book in her hand, out of which she seemed to be learning something. "good-morning," said leigh, by way of opening the conversation. "where's ned? he can't be at school; it's a half-holiday, isn't it?" "please, sir--no, sir, if ned was at school, comfort and me would be at school too," said janie. and comfort, hearing the talking, came up to where they were standing. they were all in the lane just outside the little garden. "ned's run in just to get a bit of cord," said the elder girl. "we're goin' a walk in the woods. we must take the little ones, 'cos mother's washing's got late this week, and she wants them out of the way." it was rather curious that mrs perry's washing often did get late. she was a kind, good-natured woman, but "folks said," according to nurse, not the best of good managers. "what's ned going to do with the cord?" asked leigh, artie and mary standing by, listening with the greatest interest, and holding each other's hands tightly, as they felt just a little shy. "oh, it's a notion of ned's," said janie, rather scornfully. "it's just his nonsense: he don't like pushing p'ram, 'cos he says it's girls' work, and comfort don't hold with pushing it neither, 'cos she wants to be reading her book." here comfort broke in. "'tisn't that i'm so taken up with my book," she said,--"leastways not to please myself; but i want to get moved up after next holidays. when i'm big enough i'm to be a pupil teacher." "that would be very nice," said leigh. "and then, when you're quite big, you'll get to be a schoolmistress, i suppose." comfort murmured something and got very red. to be a schoolmistress was the greatest wish she had. "but i don't see," leigh went on, "what ned and the cord's got to do with it." "bless you, sir," said janie, "he's going to make hisself into a pony to draw the p'ram, so as comfort need do nothing but walk behind pushing with one hand and a-holding of the book with the other, and no need to look out where they're going." "oh, i see," said leigh slowly. he could not help admiring the idea. then, as ned at that moment ran out of the cottage, the three little visitors stood in a row watching with the greatest interest while ned harnessed himself to the front of the wicker carriage. it was a little difficult to manage, but luckily the perry family were very good-natured, and the two babies in the perambulator only laughed when they got jogged about. and at last, with leigh's help, the two-legged pony was ready for the start. off they set, comfort holding on behind. she was so interested in it all, by this time that her book was given to one of the babies to hold. this was lucky, as the first start was rather a queer one. ned was not tied in quite evenly, so when he set off at a trot the perambulator ran to one side, as if a crab instead of a boy were drawing it. and but for comfort behind, no doubt, in another minute it would have turned over. "stop, ned, stop!" shouted his sisters, leigh and artie and mary joining in, and the babies too. then they all burst out laughing; it did seem so funny, and it took a minute or two before they could set to work to put things right. when ned's harness was made quite even, he set off again more slowly. this time it was a great success, or it seemed so anyway, though perhaps it was as much thanks to comfort's pushing behind as to ned's pulling in front. mary and her brothers stood watching the little party as they made their way along the smooth path leading to the wood. "it's a good thing," said leigh, "they're not going the smithy way, for if they went down hill, i believe the carriage would tumble over; it's such a shaky old thing." "when our baby gets a perambulator it'll not be like that ugly old thing, will it?" said artie. "it will be a reg'lar nice one." "of course it will," said mary. "i'd like it to be the same as the one in my animal book. `g' for goats, with little goats drawing it." "we can't have a goat," said leigh; "but we might have something. of course it's rubbish to harness a boy into a carriage, but--i've got something in my head." there was no time for artie and mary to ask him what he meant, for just then they saw their father coming out of the gate. "i've kept you waiting a long time, i'm afraid," he said. "poor old sweeting was so glad to see me, and when she begins talking, it goes on for a good while." "we didn't mind, papa dear," said mary, slipping her hand into her father's. "we've been speaking to the children in the next cottage. there's such lotses of them. when you was a little boy, papa, did you have lotses of brothers and sisters--did you?" "no, my pet, i hadn't any at all," papa answered. "that was rather sad, wasn't it? but i had a very kind father and mother. your grandfather died many years ago, but you know for yourselves how kind grandmother is." "grandmother," said artie and mary together, looking rather puzzled. "i don't understand," said mary, and artie did not understand either, though he would not say so. "how silly you are!" said leigh; "of course grandmother is papa's mother." "oh," said mary, with a little laugh, "i never thought of that! i understand now. then grandmother used to be a mamma!" "yes, indeed, and a very sweet one," said papa. "i'm afraid, perhaps, she spoilt me a very little. when i was a child the rules for small people were much stricter than they are now. but i was never at all afraid of my mother." "were you afraid of your father?" asked leigh with great interest. "well, just a little perhaps. i had to be a very obedient boy, i can tell you. that reminds me of a story--" "oh, papa, do tell it us!" said all three at once, while mary, who was holding his hand, began giving little jumps up and down in her eagerness. "it was ever so long ago, almost thirty years! i was only six at the time. my father had to go up to london for a few days, and as my mother was away from home--nursing her mother who was ill--" "what was _she_ to us?" interrupted leigh, who liked to get things straight in his head. "great-grandmother," answered his father; "_one_ of your great-grandmothers, not the one that we have a picture of, though." "i thought we had pictures of all our grand--i don't know what you call them--for hundreds of years," said leigh. "ancestors, you mean," said his father, "but mostly the bertram ones of course. but if i begin explaining about that now, we'll never get on with my story. where was i? oh, yes! i was telling you that my father took me up to london with him, rather than leave me alone at home. i was very pleased to go, for i'd never been in a town before, and i thought myself quite a great man, going off travelling alone with my father. we stayed at an hotel--i'm not sure where it was, but that doesn't matter; i only know it was in a quiet street running out of another large wide street, where there were lots of shops of all kinds, and carriages and omnibuses and carts always passing by. my father took me out with him as much as he could; sometimes he would leave me waiting for him in a cab at the door of the houses where he had to see people on business, and once or twice he found me fast asleep when he came out. he didn't think that good for me; so after that, he sometimes left me in the hotel in the care of the landlady who had a nice little girl just about my age, with whom i used to play very happily. "one day--the day before we were to leave--my father took me out shopping with him. he had to buy some presents, for it was near christmas-time, to take home for the little cousins who were coming to stay with us. we went off to a large toy-shop in the big street i told you of. it was a very large shop, with a door at each end--one out of the big street, and the other opening on to a smaller back street nearer our hotel. and besides the toy-shop there was another part where they sold dressing-cases and travelling-bags and things of that kind. "we were a good while choosing the toys; among them, i remember, was a fine rocking-horse which my father was very anxious to hear what i thought of, for though i didn't know it at the time, he meant it for me myself." "like _our_ old rocking-horse in the nursery?" asked leigh. papa smiled. "more than like it," he said; "it is that very horse. i've kept it ever since, and i had it done up with a new mane and tail when you got big enough to ride it, leigh." "oh, how nice," said mary, "to think it's papa's own horse! but, please, go on with the story, papa." "well, when we had chosen the horse and all the other things, my father had something else to buy that he thought i wouldn't care about in the other part of the shop. and i think he wanted to tell them where to send the horse to without my hearing. he looked at his watch and seemed vexed to find it so late. he asked me if i should be afraid to run back to the hotel alone, and turned towards the door opening on to the back street, from which we could see the hotel as it faced the end of that small street. but i think he must have fancied that i looked a little frightened, for then he changed and pointed to the front door of the shop, telling me to stay there till he came back. he said it would amuse me to stand just outside in the entrance where i could both see the shop window and watch the carriages passing. "`but whatever you do, charlie,' he said, `don't move from there till i come back for you!'" chapter eight. papa's story continued. "for some time, a quarter of an hour or so, i dare say, i stood at the shop door very contentedly. it was very amusing, as my father had said, to watch the bustle in the street. i don't think i looked much at the things in the shop window; i'd seen so many of the toys inside. but after awhile i began to wish that my father would be quick. he did seem to be a very long time. i peeped in through the glass door, but i couldn't see him anywhere near. i even opened it a tiny bit to listen if i could hear his voice, but i couldn't. people often passed me to go into the shop and to come out, but nobody specially noticed me; they were all too busy about their own affairs; besides, there's nothing uncommon in a little boy standing at a toy-shop window. "it seemed to grow colder too. i should have liked to run up and down on the pavement in front to warm myself a little; but i dared not move from where i was. at last some one belonging to the shop happened to come to the door to reach down some large toys hanging in the entrance, and this shopman noticed me. by this time, though i scarcely knew it, the tears were running down my face; i was growing so very tired with waiting. he said to me-- "`is there anything the matter? have you hurt yourself?' "i answered no, i was only waiting for my father who was in the shop. `but i don't know why he's such a long time,' i said; `i am so tired of waiting,' and somehow the saying it out made me begin to cry much more. "the young man was very kind and seemed sorry for me. he wanted me to come inside where it would be warmer, while he went to look for my father; but i shook my head and told him that papa had said i must stay just there where i was. i wouldn't even come the least bit inside the door. i remembered papa's words so well-- "`whatever you do, charlie, don't move from there till i come back for you!' "in a few minutes the shopman came back again. he was shaking his head now; there was no one in the shop with a little boy belonging to them. there were one or two ladies whom he had asked, which i thought very ridiculous, as if i could have mistaken papa for a lady, but there was no gentleman at all, and he tried again to persuade me to come inside. he said there must be some mistake; my father had most likely gone on somewhere else; perhaps he'd be back in a little while; he'd never want me to stay out there in the cold. but there was no getting me to move. i can remember, even now, the sort of fixed feeling in my mind that i _wouldn't_ do the least differently from what he had told me. "then the young man went off to fetch some one else--the owner of the shop most likely. i remember two or three people coming up and all talking to me and trying to get me to come inside. but i wouldn't--even though by this time i couldn't leave off crying--i just went on shaking my head and saying-- "he said i was to stay here." "i dare say they thought me a very tiresome little boy, but they were very kind. the young man, my first friend, brought me out a chair, and then i heard them talking about what was to be done. they had asked me my name, which i told them, but i couldn't tell them the name of the hotel where we were staying, for i didn't know it, and i _wouldn't_ tell them that it was in a street close by, because i was afraid they would carry me off there. i think i was getting rather confused by this time; i could only remember that i must stay where i was if ever i was to see papa again. i heard them saying that the gentleman had only given his country address, as the toys were to be sent straight home. "after awhile, in spite of the cold and my unhappiness, i think i must have fallen asleep a little. i was almost too young to be anxious about my father and to fear that some accident must have happened to him, but yet i can quite remember that i had really very dreadful feelings. as the evening went on and the street grew darker and darker, and there began to be fewer passers-by, it seemed worse and worse. once i remember bursting out into fresh crying at seeing, by the light of the gas-lamp, a little boy passing along chattering merrily to the gentleman whose hand he was holding. i felt like a poor shipwrecked mariner on a desert island--all the lonelier that i was in the middle of a great town. "no doubt the shop people must have been getting uncomfortable and wondering what was to come of it. it must have seemed very strange to them; and, at last, the head man came out again and spoke to me--this time rather sharply, perhaps he thought it the best thing to do-- "`young gentleman,' he said, `this really can't go on! you must see you can't sit there the whole night. try and think again of the name of the place you're staying at.' "`i don't know it,' i said, and i dare say i seemed rather sulky, for he grew crosser. "`well, if you can't or won't tell us, something'll have to be done,' he answered. `it's the police's business, not ours, to look after strayed children, or children that won't say where they come from. here, smith,' he called out to the young shopman, `just look up and down the street if there's a policeman to be seen.' "he didn't really mean to do anything unkind, but he thought it the best way to frighten me into coming inside the shop, or into telling where i lived, for i don't think they quite believed that i didn't know. but the word `policeman' terrified me out of my wits; i suppose i was already half-stupefied with tiredness and crying. if i had dared, i would have rushed out into the street and run off anywhere as fast as i could. but, through all, the feeling never left me that i must stay where i was, and i burst into loud screams. "`oh, papa, papa!' i cried, `why won't you come back? the police are coming to take me; oh, papa, papa!' "i was crying so that for a moment or two i didn't hear a bustle at the other end of the shop. then, all at once, i saw some one hurrying to me from the door leading into the other street, and as soon as i saw who it was, i rushed to meet him and threw myself into his arms, for of course it was my father. i don't think, in all my life, i have ever felt greater happiness than i did then. "`oh, charlie,' he said, `my poor little boy! have you been waiting here all these hours--my good, obedient, little son?' "then he turned to the shopman who was now a little ashamed of himself-- i dare say the poor man had been getting really afraid that i was to be left on his hands altogether--and explained the whole mistake. he had gone straight on to the city after finishing his orders in the other part of the shop, forgetting that the _last_ thing he had said to me was to wait for him at the front door of the shop; for his thoughts were very much taken up that morning with some very serious business, and it was actually not till he got back to the hotel, late in the afternoon, and found i wasn't there, that he remembered that the plan of my running back alone had been given up. "then he was terribly frightened and rushed off to the shop, hardly daring to hope he would find me still there. he kept saying he could scarcely forgive himself, and even years after, i often heard him say that he couldn't understand what had come over his memory that day. "when the shop people saw how troubled he was about it, they began telling him how they had tried to make me come inside, but that it had been no use, and all the way home papa kept saying to me-- "`my faithful little charlie'--which pleased me very much. "he carried me to the hotel, and i felt so weak and tired that i didn't mind, even though i was a big boy of six years old. and i remember, even now, how delightful it was to get well warmed at the fire, and what a nice tea papa ordered for me. "and the next day i was none the worse; luckily i hadn't caught cold, which papa was very glad of, as my mother came up to london that day to meet us, and we all three travelled home together." the children had been listening with all their ears to papa's story. when he stopped mary gave a deep sigh. "that's a bee-yu-tiful story, papa," she said. "but it nearly made me cry for the poor little boy." "you shouldn't say that, mary," said leigh. "the poor little boy was papa himself! don't you understand?" "yes, in course i do," said mary. "but papa _were_ a little boy then, so i might call him the poor little boy." "that's right, mary," said her father. "stick up for yourself when you know what you mean to say. yes, indeed, i did feel a very poor little boy that day: the thought of it has always made me so sorry for children who are lost, or think they're lost. it's a dreadful feeling." "papa," said mary--she was trotting beside her father, holding his hand very tight,--"i think, please, i don't want never to go to london, for fear i should get losted; and, please, never take leigh or artie either--not to london--'cos, you see, it was when you was a little boy your papa nearly losted you, and leigh and artie are little boys." "rubbish, mary," said leigh. "i'm eight, and papa was only six, not much bigger than you are now. if _i_ was with papa in london at a shop i could find my way home ever so far; there's always people in the street you can ask. it's not like getting lost when there's nobody to tell you the way." "the worst kind of getting lost," said artie, "is in the snow. up on those mountains, you know, where the snow comes down so thick that you can't see, and then it gets so deep that you are buried in it." "oh, how dedful!" said mary; "you won't ever take us to that place, will you, papa? i'd be more f'ightened than in london! where is that country, papa?" "i suppose artie means switzerland," said their father. "i mean the picture in my book," said artie; "where there's dogs, you know, snuffing to find the poor people under the snow." "oh, the great saint bernard mountain you mean!" said papa; "it's sure to be that. you often see pictures of it in children's books; there are such pretty stories about the good dogs and the kind monks who live there." "can you teach any dogs to do things like that?" asked leigh. "no; they have to be a particular kind," answered papa; "but a dog like your puppy can be taught to fetch anything out of the water, from a bit of stick to a baby. he's what you call a retriever: that means fetching or finding something. you can teach a good retriever almost anything." "i thought so," said leigh, nodding his head wisely. "i'll see what i can't teach fuzzy." they were back in the park by this time. it was a beautiful may day, almost as warm as summer. the children's father stood still and looked round with pleasure. "it is nice to have a holiday sometimes," he said. "what a lovely colour the grass is in the sunshine!" "and how happy the little lambs are; aren't they, papa?" said mary. "i wish i had one of my very own--like mary and the lamb in my nursery book." "you couldn't have a lamb _and_ a dog," said artie. "fuzzy would soon knock the lamb over." "i never thought of that," said mary. "oh, papa dear," she went on, "i do so want baby dolly to get big quick! there's such lotses of pretty things to show her in the world. the grass and the trees and the lambs"--and while she spoke her blue eyes wandered all round her,--"and the birds and the sky and--and--oh! the daisies, and"--as at that moment she caught sight of the old woman at the lodge crossing the drive with her red cloak on--"and old mrs crutch and her pussy-cat, and--" "you're getting to talk nonsense, mary," said leigh. "old mrs crutch isn't a pretty thing!" "her _cloak's_ very pretty," said mary, "and she does make such nice ginger-b'ead cake." chapter nine. tears and smiles. the spring turned into summer, and with the longer days and warmer sunshine and gentle rain there grew up a great many more "pretty things" for mary to show to her little sister dolly; and dolly herself grew like the flowers and the lambs. by the time she was three months old she could not only smile, she could even give little chuckling laughs when she was very pleased. mary was quite sure that the baby understood all she said to her, and i do not think she would have been very surprised any day if dolly had begun to talk. "why can't she talk, mamma?" she asked her mother one morning. "no little baby learns to do everything at once," mamma answered. "she has to learn to walk and run and use her little hands the way you do. just think what a lot of things babies have to learn; you must have patience." mary tried to have patience; she did not so much mind baby's not being able to stand or walk or things of that kind, for she could understand that her little legs needed to grow stronger and firmer, but for a long time she could not understand about the not talking, and it got to be quite a trouble to her. "she can cry and she can laugh and she can coo, and she hears all the words we say to her," said mary, with a little sigh; "i can't think why she won't talk. oh, baby dear! don't you think you could if you tried? it's _kite_ easy." baby was lying on the ground out on the lawn, where nurse had spread a nice thick shawl for her in case the grass might be damp, and mary was sitting beside her, taking care of her for a minute or two all by herself. nurse had gone in to fetch some more work. mary was very proud of being trusted with baby. leigh and artie were at their lessons. "baby dear," she said again, "don't you think you could say just some little words if you tried? nurse would be so pleased when she comes out if she could hear you saying, `dear little sister mary' to me!" she was leaning over baby, and gave her a little kiss. baby looked up and opened her mouth very wide. mary could see her little pink tongue, but that was all there was to be seen; and just at that moment there started into mary's head what must be the reason that baby could not speak. "she hasn't got no teeth!" cried mary. "she's opening her mouth wide to show me! oh, poor little darling baby! has they been forgotten? the baby at the lavender cottages has got teeth!" baby did not seem to mind; she lay there smiling quite happily, as if she was pleased that mary understood her, but mary felt very unhappy indeed. something came back into her mind that she had heard about baby's teeth, but it was a long time ago, and she could not remember it clearly. was it something about them having been forgotten? "i'm afraid there's been a mistook," said mary to herself. "oh, poor baby! a'posing she never can speak! oh, nurse, nurse, do come; i want to tell you something about poor baby!" but nurse was still in the house and could not hear mary calling, and mary dared not go to fetch her because baby must not be left alone. so she did what most little girls, and little boys too sometimes, do when they're in trouble,--she began to cry. "oh, nurse, nurse!" she wailed through her tears, "do come--oh, do come?" and though baby could not speak she certainly could hear. she half-rolled herself round at the sound of her sister's sad sobs and cries, and for a moment or two her own little face puckered up as if she were going to cry too--it is wonderful how soon a tiny baby learns to know if the people about it are in trouble--but then she seemed to change her mind, for she was a very sensible baby. and instead of crying she gave a sort of little gurgling coo that was very sweet, for it said quite plainly that she knew mary was grieving, and she wanted to be told what it was all about. at first mary did not hear her, she was so taken up with her own crying. that is the worst of crying; it makes one quite unnoticing of everything else. then baby rolled herself still nearer; if only she had understood about catching hold of things, no doubt she would have given mary a little tug. but she had not learnt that yet. so all she could do was to go on with her cooing till at last mary heard it. then the big sister turned round, her poor face all red and wet with her tears; and when she saw baby staring up at her with her sweet, big, baby eyes, and cooing away in her dear little voice, which sounded rather sad, she stooped down and gave her _such_ a hug that, if dolly had not been really very good-natured, i am afraid her cooing would have been changed into crying. "oh, baby, you sweet--you dear little innicent sweet!" said mary; "you're too little to understand what i'm crying for. i'm crying 'cos the angels or the fairies has forgotten about your teeth, and i'm afraid you'll never be able to speak--not all your life, poor baby!" but baby only cooed louder than before. and mary, looking up, saw what baby saw too--that nurse was coming over the lawn; and baby's face broke out into quite a wide smile; she was very fond of nurse. poor nurse did not smile when she got close to the two little girls, for she saw that mary was crying, and she was afraid there was something the matter. "have you hurt yourself, miss mary?" she said. "miss baby's all right, but what are you crying about?" "oh, nurse, i've been calling you so," said mary,--"calling and _calling_. i'm so unhappy about baby;" and then she told nurse the sad thought that had come into her mind, and how troubled she was about it. nurse listened very gravely, but--would you believe it?--when mary had finished all her story, what do you think she did? she sat down on the grass and picked up baby in her arms and burst out laughing. i do not think she had laughed so much for a long time. "oh, miss mary, my dear," she said, "you are a funny child!" mary looked up at her, her face still wet with tears and with a very solemn expression; she did not quite like nurse's laughing at her when she had been so unhappy. "i'm not funny," she said. "it's very sad for poor baby," and new tears came into her eyes at the thought that even nurse did not care. but nurse had left off laughing by this time. "miss mary, my dear," she said, "don't make a trouble about it. miss baby's teeth will come all in good time. i shouldn't wonder if she has several dear little pearls in her mouth to show you before christmas. don't you remember that day when we were talking about her teeth, i told you how yours had come, one after the other, and that they used to hurt you sometimes." mary's face cleared at this. "oh, yes," she said, "i 'amember. does everybody's teeth come like that? doesn't any babies have them all ready?" "no," said nurse; "why, even the perrys' baby that's more than a year old hasn't got all its teeth yet, and it can't say many words. don't you trouble, miss mary, the teeth and the talking will come all right. there now," as little dolly looked up with a crow in nurse's smiling face, "miss baby knows all about it, you see!" mary put her arms round baby and gave her another big hug. "oh, you dear little sweet!" she said. "oh, nurse, i do think she's got such lots of things to tell me if only she could speak!" baby gave a little chuckle as much as to say, "no fear, i'll talk fast enough before long;" and mary, who was rather like an april day, set off laughing so much that she did not hear steps coming along the terrace till a voice said, quite close to her-- "well, mary, darling, what are you and baby so merry about?" it was mamma. mary looked at her, and then mamma saw that her eyes were red. "it's all right now ma'am," said nurse, for she knew that mamma was wondering what was the matter even though she had not asked; so mamma went on to tell them what she had come out about, for she knew that when mary had had a fit of crying the tears were rather ready to come back again if anything more was said about her troubles. "nurse," she said, "i want you to dress miss mary as quickly as possible after her dinner. i'm going to take her a drive with me--quite a long drive; i'm going to the town to choose a perambulator for baby." "oh, mamma!" said mary in great delight, "how lovely! and may i get into the p'ram-bilator to see if it's comfor'ble for baby?" "yes," said mamma, "though a tight fit for you will be all right for baby. and i've other things to buy as well! you've got a list ready for me, nurse, haven't you? i'm quite sure the boys need new boots, and wasn't there something about a sash for mary?" "she wouldn't be the worse for another blue one, ma'am," said nurse. "her papa always likes her in blue." "ah! well, i won't forget about it. i like her in blue best too. and baby--doesn't she want anything?" asked mamma. of course she did, ever so many things. i never knew a baby that did not want a lot of things--or a baby's nurse perhaps we should say--when there was a chance. ribbons to tie up its sleeves, and little shoes and tiny socks, and some very fine kind of soap that would not make its soft skin smart, and more things than i can remember. babies have plenty of wants, though they are such small people. and mamma wrote them all down, saying each aloud as she did so, and mary stood listening with a very grave face. for she thought to herself, "just _supposing_ mamma lost the paper or couldn't read all the pencil words, or forgot to write down everything, it would be a very good thing for _her_ to know them all and 'amind mamma." soon it was time to go in to dinner, and mary was so full of the thought of going to the town with mamma, that at first she sat with her spoon and fork in her hands, looking at her plate without eating at all. "why don't you eat your dinner, mary?" said leigh. "my nungryness has gone away with thinking of going out with mamma and buyin' such lotses of things," said mary. "how silly you are!" said leigh. "why, when i've something nice to think of, it makes me all the hungrier! if you don't eat your dinner, i don't believe mamma will take you." "yes, miss mary, you must eat it," said nurse. "you'll be later than usual of getting your tea, too, so you should make an extra good dinner." mary did not feel as if she _could_ be hungry, but she did not want to be left behind, so she began to try to eat, and after one or two mouthfuls it got rather easier. nurse went on talking, for she knew the less mary thought about not being hungry the better it would be. "perhaps your mamma, will let you bring home a nice bagful of buns for tea," she said. "that would be a treat for master leigh and master artie, to make up for their not going to the town too." "i don't want to go," said leigh. "i hate shopping. it's such rubbish--taking half an hour to choose things you could settle about in half a minute. of course i suppose it's different for women and girls." nurse smiled a little. "have you nothing for miss mary to get for you?" she said. "what shops are you going to?" asked leigh. "are you going to the confectioner's?" asked artie. mary was not quite sure what the confectioner's was. you see, she did not often see shops, as the children's home was quite in the country. but she knew leigh would laugh at her if she asked, so she just said-- "we're going to all the shops there is, i think. we're going to buy baby dolly's p'ram-bilator." she got rather red as she spoke; but leigh did not notice it, for he was very much interested by this news. "to buy the p'rambulator," he repeated. "oh, i say--i wouldn't mind going to choose that! but i couldn't stand the rest of the shopping. mary--" and he hesitated. "what?" said mary. "there's one thing i want, if you think you could choose it for me; it's a pair of reins. i've got money to pay for them--plenty; so you can tell mamma if she'll pay them in the shop, she can take the money out of my best purse that she keeps for me, when she comes home. they'll cost about--" he stopped again, for he really did not know. "do you mean red braid ones, leigh, like my old ones with the bells on?" asked artie. "no, of course not. i want regular good strong leather ones--proper ones, d'you hear, mary?" "yes," said mary, "i'm listenin'." "well, look here then; they must be of nice brown leather, and you must pull it well to be sure it's strong. and they must have a kind of front-piece, stiff, you know, that they are fastened to, or perhaps they cross over it, i'm not sure. and they must be about as long as from me, where i'm sitting now, to where artie is. and if you can't get them nice in one shop, you must ask mamma to let you go to another, and you mustn't be in a hurry to just take the first ones they show you. you must _choose_ well, mary, and--" "don't take half an hour about it when half a minute would do," said nurse, in rather an odd voice. leigh grew very red. "nurse," he said, "reins are very pertickler things to get. leather things have to be _good_, you know." "and so have silk things and cotton things and all the other things that ladies take so long to shop about," said nurse. "but, i'm sure poor dear miss mary's head will never hold all the explaining you've been giving her. if you take my advice, master leigh, you'll run off to your mamma and tell her what you want and settle about the price and everything. she will be just finishing luncheon, i should think. it was to be early to-day." leigh thought it a good idea, and did as nurse proposed. mary was very glad not to have to remember all about the reins; her little head was full enough already. she was looking quite pale with excitement when nurse began to dress her in her best things to go out with her mamma. but it was very interesting to have all her sunday things on on a week-day, and by the time she was ready--her best boots buttoned and her little white silk gloves drawn on, and her fair curls, nicely brushed, hanging down under her big straw hat, which had white bows and tufty feathers at one side--mary's face had grown rosier again. chapter ten. shopping. she felt _quite_ happy when she found herself at last settled by mamma's side in the victoria. she gave a deep sigh--it was a sigh of content-- just because she was so happy. but mamma turned round quickly. "my darling," she said, "is there anything the matter? why are you sighing so?" mary cuddled a little bit nearer to mamma, and looked up in her face with a smile. "i'm quite _dreffully_ happy, mamma dear," she said. "the breaving comes like that when i'm dreffully happy. but oh, mamma," she went on, with an anxious look creeping over her face, "i _hope_ we'll 'amember all the lotses of things there is to buy!" "i wrote them down, dear," said mamma. "you saw me?" "yes, but doesn't writing sometimes get rubbed out? i think i can 'amember neely all if you asked me. did leigh tell you all about his reins, mamma?" "yes, dear. he was very particular indeed. i can't think what has put reins in his head again. he told me some time ago that he thought he was getting too big for playing at horses. perhaps it's to amuse artie." "i wonder," said mary, "if p'raps it's something to do with fuzzy." but her mother did not hear, or at least did not notice what she said. she had taken the paper with the list of things she had to do, out of her bag and was looking it over. it seemed a long way to the town to mary. it was between five and six miles, and she had not often driven so far, for you know she was still a very little girl. now and then her mamma looked at her to see if she was getting sleepy, but every time she seemed quite bright. her little mind was so full of all the messages they had to do that i don't think she _could_ have grown sleepy. and there were a great many pretty and strange and interesting things to notice as they went along. mamma kept pointing them out to her and talking about them. there were the flowers in the hedges to begin with--some late ones were still in bloom--here and there stray sprays of honeysuckle even, and low down, nearer the ground, there came now and then little glimpses of pretty colours where smaller wild-flowers, such as "ragged robin," "speedwell," "crow's-foot," and a few others were still peeping out. "if i were a tiny flower," said mamma, "i think i would choose my home on the inside of the hedge--the field-side. it would be so hot and dusty near the road." but mary thought it would be nice to see the carriages and carts passing, and that it would be rather dull to see nothing but the grass, and then she and mamma laughed at their funny fancies, as if flowers had eyes and ears like children. then they passed a very queer-looking waggon lumbering along. it seemed like a house built of baskets and straw chairs and brushes instead of brick or stone, and mary's mamma told her it was a travelling shop, and that the people lived inside and had a little kitchen and a little bedroom, and that _sometimes_ they were quite clean and tidy and nice people. there was a tiny window with a red curtain at the side of the waggon they passed, and mary saw a little girl, with a nice rosy face, peeping out at her. she nearly jumped when she saw the little girl, and she pulled mamma to make her look. "see, see, mamma!" she cried. "they must be nice people that lives in that basket shop, mustn't they, for that little girl's got a clean face, and she's smilin' so sweetly?" "yes," said mamma; "it looks as if she had a kind father and mother, and i hope she has. for many poor children have quite as kind fathers and mothers as rich children have, you know, mary." "like the perrys--the perrys at the lavender cottages," said mary. and then she went on thinking to herself how nice it would be to live in a "going-about house," as she called it. and she wished very much indeed she could have seen inside the waggon. the next thing they passed after that, was a great high carriage with four horses; a man in a red coat was blowing a horn, and there were ever so many ladies and gentlemen sitting up on the top. it made _such_ a dust! mary began to think mamma was right about the field-side of the hedges, for even though she was a little girl in a carriage and not a flower, she felt quite choked for a minute. mamma told her it was a stagecoach, and that long ago, before clever men had found out how to make railway trains go, drawn by steam-engines instead of horses, people were obliged to travel in these big coaches. mary was very much surprised. she thought there had always been railways, but mamma had not time to explain any more about them to her, for just then the carriage began to make a very rattling noise over the stones, so that they could scarcely hear each other speak. they were entering the town. mary looked about her with great interest. it was a long time since she had been there, and the last day she remembered being driven through the streets it had only been to go to the railway station. for the children and their mother were then on their way to visit their grandmamma. that was six months ago, half a year--before mary's birthday, which had brought her the wonderful present of baby dolly--a very long time ago. but mary remembered how she had wished that day to stop at the shops and look in at the windows. and now she was not only going to look in; she was going to _go_ in to help mamma to choose all the things she had to buy. it was very nice, but it seemed rather to take away her breath again to think of all they had to do. mary gave a deep sigh, which made her mamma turn round. "mary, my dear, you are looking quite troubled," she said; "what is it?" "it's on'y the lotses of things," said mary. "but you mustn't be like that, or i shall be afraid to bring you out shopping with me," said mamma. "it will be all right, you'll see. here we are at the first shop--the draper's. that's right; give thomas your hand and get out slowly." thomas was quite ready to have lifted her out, but mary did not like being lifted. it seemed as if she was a baby. mamma knew this, and unless she was in a great hurry she let mary manage for herself like a big girl. mary was not like some children, who do not care about any shops except a toy-shop and a confectioner's; she was interested in all the things mamma had to buy, and she liked to watch the careful way mamma went about it. she had a list all ready, and she had put the same sorts of things together on it, so that she did not need to go backwards and forwards from one counter to another. it was a large shop, but there were not many people in it, so mary climbed up on a chair and sat there comfortably watching, while mamma chose tape and buttons and reels of cotton and needles, and lots of what are called "small-wares." mary enjoyed seeing them all brought out in their neat boxes and drawers; she thought to herself that she would like very much to have a shop and have all these interesting things to take care of. and then, when they moved a little farther down, to that part of the counter where pretty silks and ribbons were hanging up--silks and ribbons of all sorts of colours and shades--she was still more delighted. "we are going to choose a sash for you now, mary," said mamma. "and ribbins to tie up baby dolly's sleeves. weren't you forgetting about the ribbins?" said mary. mamma had not forgotten, but she did not say so, for she saw her little girl was proud of remembering; and she was pleased too to see that mary thought of dolly before herself. "yes; of course there are baby's bows to get," she said. "thank you for reminding me. what colour shall they be? would you like to choose?" the shopman--i think it was the draper himself, who knew mary's mamma and was pleased to wait upon her--smiled as he brought out a large box full of ribbons of the right width for tying up babies' sleeves. there were so many pretty colours that mary felt as if she _could not_ choose. "i'd like some of all of them," she said. but mamma helped her by putting aside those that would not do. yellow would not be pretty for baby, she said, nor green, nor bright red, nor deep blue or purple; and that left only the soft delicate colours--pale pink and pale blue and very pale lilac. there were pretty white ribbons too, with very fine little checks and spots over them, which she said would be very nice. so then mary found it easier, and she chose four sets--blue, with a little white line down the edge; and white, with a pink check over it; and another, with tiny blue spots, and one of the pale pinky lilac. it was like wild geranium colour, mamma said, and as mary did not know what that flower was, mamma promised to look for one in the fields to show her. then there came the choosing of mary's sashes. mamma got two, and mary was quite pleased, for she saw that mamma was the best chooser after all. one was pale blue, very wide, and with a white line down the side. it was just "like the mamma of _dolly's_ blue ribbon," mary said, and the other was all pink, very pretty pale pink. mary did not like it quite so well, but still she felt sure it would look nice, or else mamma "wouldn't have chosened it." it would take too long to tell you about all the things mamma bought. after she had finished at the draper's she went to the shoemaker's and got boots for the boys and slippers for mary, and dear sweet little blue silk shoes for dolly. they were to be her very best ones, to match her blue ribbons. mary was so pleased that her mamma got them. after that came the great thing of all--that was the perambulator. there was a man in that town who made pony-carriages, and he made perambulators too. mamma took mary into a large room which was all glass at the front, and was quite filled with pony-carriages. they did look so shiny and nice--some of them were wicker, and some were made of wood like big carriages. mary would have liked to get into them all, one after the other, to see which was the most comfortable, and she could not help thinking how very nice it would be to be a pony-carriage man's little girl. what lovely games she and leigh and artie could have in this big room! it would be even nicer than having a draper's shop. she did not know that carriage-builders' children and drapers' children are not allowed to play with their fathers' carriages and ribbons any more than she and her brothers would be allowed to pull about the books in the library, or to gather all the fruit and flowers in the garden. they passed through the big room with the glass front to a smaller one behind, where there were a good many perambulators. the man who had shown them in explained to mary's mamma about the different kinds and told her the prices; and mamma chose three which she made the man draw out by themselves in front of all the others. "it must be one of those," she said; "i want a really good one, but still rather plain and strong, as it is for the country roads." mary thought to herself what a good way of choosing mamma had; it makes choosing so much easier if you put away the things that _won't_ do. and while she was thinking this, mamma told her she wanted her to get into the perambulator standing next, and say if it was comfortable. "i will lift her in," she said to the man. "it's quite strong enough, i suppose?" "oh, dear, yes, ma'am!" he answered. "it could bear a child twice this little lady's weight. the springs are fust-rate." it was very comfortable, and when mary jigged up and down a little gently, it felt quite "dancey," she said. "it's the springs," the man repeated; "they're fust-rate." mary wondered what "fust-rate" meant. she thought she would ask her mamma. then she was lifted into the next perambulator--the man lifted her in. he meant to be quite kind, but mary did not like it, and when at last she found herself on the floor again she stroked down her skirts and gave herself a little shake. mamma saw that she did not like it, but afterwards she told mary that sometimes it is best to hide that you do not like things, when they are done out of kindness. "it didn't matter to-day," said mamma, "for the man was busy talking to me and he didn't see you shaking yourself; but you must remember for another time." mary felt very sorry. she did not forget what her mamma said. even when she grew to be a big girl she remembered about the man meaning to be kind, and how glad she was he had not seen her shake herself. the other perambulators were not quite as wide as the first one. mary said they felt rather squeezy, so mamma fixed on the first one. but it could not be sent home at once because the lining had to be changed. it was brown, and the linings of mamma's victoria and pony-carriage were dark red, and mamma liked dolly's carriage to match. so the man promised it should be ready in two or three days; but mary looked at it a great deal, because she knew leigh and artie would want to know exactly what it was like. after that they went to the grocer's, but mamma did not stay long there, and then they went to the toy-shop to get a rattle for baby and reins for leigh. but neither mamma nor mary liked the reins much. there were some of red braid, but they were too common, and the leather ones did not seem strong, and they were not made of the right sort of leather; mary was quite distressed. "what shall we do?" she said. "leigh will be so disappointed." she said the word quite right, but it took her a good while. then mamma had a capital thought. "i know," she said. "we'll go to the saddler's. even if he hasn't got any toy-reins ready he can easily make them." and fancy--was not it lucky?--the saddler had a pair quite ready-- beauties, just like what leigh wanted. mamma was so pleased, and so was mary; though i do not think mamma would have been quite so pleased if she had known what leigh had in his head about the reins. then mamma went to the confectioner's, where she bought some very nice little cakes for mary to take home for the nursery tea, and, as she thought mary looked a little tired and must be beginning to feel hungry, she asked for a glass of milk for her and a bun, and then she put mary on a chair close up to the counter, where she could reach the milk. and then, just as she was going to pay for what she had bought, poor mamma started. "oh, dear!" she said, "where is my little bag with my purse in it? i must have left it somewhere; i was carrying so many parcels." "mamma, dear," said mary, "you had it at the reins' shop. i sawed it in your hand." "oh, i'm so glad!" said mamma. "then it'll be all right. i'll run back for it. you finish your milk and bun, dear, and i will come for you as quickly as i can." mary did not quite like waiting alone, but she did not want to trouble her mother, so she said, "very well, mamma dear." her milk and bun did not take long to finish, but she sat on still on the high chair, partly because she thought her mamma would look for her there, partly because she could not get down alone, and she was too shy to ask to be lifted off. but mamma did not come as quickly as mary hoped, though the time seemed longer to her than it really was. in a few minutes she heard the door open, and she looked up gladly, thinking it was her mamma; but it was not. instead of mamma in came a rather fat lady, with two boys and a girl. the lady had a red face, and they all talked very loudly. "now, what will you have, my loveys?" said the lady. "puffs, cheesecakes, macaroons?" the three children pushed up to the counter and began helping themselves. it was not a large shop, and they crushed against mary, who was growing very uncomfortable. "dear, dear," said the fat lady, "i am 'ot!" and she fanned herself with her handkerchief. "haven't you got a chair for me?" the shop-woman looked at the girl who had seated herself on the only chair besides mary's one. "i dare say miss isn't tired," she said; "won't you give the lady your chair?" but the girl would not move. "no," she said; "that child isn't eating anything. she can give her chair. put her down, fred." and the bigger of the boys lifted mary roughly down from her perch before the shop-woman could interfere, and then they all burst out laughing, and mary, whose face had been getting whiter and whiter, rushed to the open door and ran with all her might down the street. chapter eleven. nursery tea. i dare say it was silly of mary to be so frightened; but then, you know, she was only a very little girl, and she was not used to rude or rough ways. "mamma, mamma!" she cried as she ran along. and she did not even think or know which way she was going. but the town was not a big one, not like london, where her papa had been left alone in the toy-shop--and the street was quiet. several people noticed the prettily-dressed little girl running so fast, the tears rolling down her face. "she's lost her way, poor dear," said one woman, standing at the door of a greengrocer's shop. "she's been bitten by a dog," said another. but nobody did anything till, luckily, mary flew past the draper's where she had been with her mamma; one of the young men in the shop was reaching something out of the window and saw her. he called to the draper--mr mitcham--and mr mitcham, who was a kind man and had little girls of his own, hurried after mary and soon caught her up, for she was getting very tired now. her legs were shaking sadly, and her breath seemed to choke her, and her heart,--oh, how her poor heart was thumping--it seemed to come right up into her ears. "are you looking for your mamma, my dear?" said mr mitcham. he was rather out of breath himself though he had only run a short way, for he was a fat little man, and he seldom took more exercise than walking about his shop. "zes, zes!" cried mary, who went back to her baby talk when she was unhappy or frightened. "her is goned away, and the naughty boy pulled me off my chair, and--oh, oh, where is my mamma goned?" mr mitcham, could not make out what was the matter, but, luckily, just at that moment her mamma came round the corner of the street. she had found her bag at the saddler's, but she had had to wait a few minutes for it, as he had locked it up in a drawer while he went to the inn, where the carriage was, to ask if mrs bertram was still in the town. mamma looked quite startled when she saw poor mary all in tears, but mary soon got happy again when she felt her own dear mamma's hand clasping hers firmly. and then, when mamma had thanked the draper, she turned back to the confectioner's again, to get the cakes to take home and to pay for them. mary did not much want to go; she was afraid of seeing the rude boy and his mother again. but mamma told her she must try not to be so easily frightened. "for, you see, dear, when you ran away in that wild way, i might not have been able to find you for some time, and think how unhappy it would have made me." mary squeezed mamma's hand very tight. she was beginning to see she had been rather silly. "i won't do like that again," she said. "when i'm a big girl i won't be frightened. but, please, mamma, let me _always_ stay 'aside you when we go to shops." when they got to the confectioner's, they found the young woman there very sorry about mary having run away, as she felt she should have taken better care of her. the stout lady and her children were still there, and the lady was looking very ashamed, for the confectioner had been telling her that mary was little miss bertram of the priory--the priory was the name of mary's home--and that mrs bertram would be very vexed. so the rude boy's mother came up with a very red face, and told mary's mamma if they had only known who the young lady was, they would never have made so free as to disturb her. mary's mamma listened gravely, and then she said, "i think you should teach your son to be gentle and polite to everybody, especially little girls, _whoever they are_. of course i know he did not mean to hurt her, but she is accustomed to her brothers behaving very nicely to her at home." then she turned away rather coldly, and the children and their mother looked very red and ashamed, and just then the victoria came up to the door, with the two pretty bay horses, all so smart and nice. and mamma took mary's hand to lead her away. but mary pulled it out of hers for a moment and ran back to the boy. "please, don't be sorry any more," she said. "i were a silly little girl, but i don't mind now," and she held out her hand. the boy took it and mumbled something about "beg your pardon." and then mary got up into the carriage beside mamma. "i am glad you did that, mary dear," she said; "i hope it will make the boy remember." "and i _were_ a silly little girl," said mary, as she nestled up to her mamma. they did not talk very much going home. mary was rather tired, and i think she must have had a little nap on the way; for she looked all right again, and her eyes were scarcely at all red when they drove up to the door of mary's own dear house. there were leigh and artie waiting for them; they had heard the carriage coming and they ran up to the door to be there to help their mamma and mary out, and to tell them how glad they were to see them again. "tea's all ready waiting," said leigh; "and, oh, mamma--we were wondering--nurse has put out a 'nextra cup just in case. _would_ you come up and have tea with us? then we could hear all about all you've been buying and everything, for mary mightn't remember so well." "i don't think i'd forget," said mary; "on'y we _have_ had lotses of 'ventures. doesn't it seem a long, long time since we started off after dinner? i _would_ like mamma to have tea with us!" mamma could not resist all these coaxings, and i think she was very pleased to accept the nursery invitation, for it seemed to her a long time since she had seen dear baby dolly. so she told leigh to run up and tell nurse she was coming, and then, when all the parcels were brought into the hall, she chose out some which she sent upstairs; but the parcel of cakes for tea she gave to artie to carry up. that was a very happy tea-party. there was so much to tell, and so much to ask about. mary chattered so fast that mamma had to remind her that her tea would be getting quite cold and everybody would have finished before her if she did not take care. but mary said she was not very hungry because of the afternoon luncheon she had had at the confectioner's; and that reminded her of what had happened there, and she told leigh and artie and nurse and dolly--though i am not sure if dolly _quite_ understood--the story of the rude boy and how frightened she had been. "horrid cad," said leigh; "i'd like to knock him down." "he were much bigger than you, leigh," said mary. "what does that matter?" said leigh. "i'd knock any fellow down who was rude to my sister." mary thought it was very brave of leigh to talk like that. she wondered if he would be vexed if he heard she had forgiven the boy afterwards. "i think he was sorry," said mamma. "he had no idea mary would have minded so much, you see." "i cried," said mary,--she felt rather proud of herself now for having had such an adventure,--"i cried lotses." "i hope he didn't see you crying," said leigh. "he would think you a baby and not a lady if he saw you crying." "i leaved off crying when mamma came," said mary; "but my eyes was reddy." "you shouldn't have cried," said artie. "you should have looked at him grand--like this." and artie reared up his head as high as he could get it out of his brown-holland blouse, and stared round at dolly, who was cooing and laughing at him over nurse's shoulder, with such a very severe face, that the poor baby, not knowing what she had done to vex him, drew down the corners of her mouth and opened her blue eyes very wide and then burst into a pitiful cry. artie changed all at once. "darling baby, kiss artie," he said. "sweet baby artie wasn't angry with you." but nurse told him he should not frighten miss baby. she was such a noticing little lady already. "and i forgaved the boy," said mary. "i shaked hands with him." nobody could quite see what this had to do with artie and baby, but mary seemed to know what she meant. perhaps she thought that if she had "looked grand" at the boy, he would have set off crying like poor dolly. then when tea was over and grace had been said--it was artie's turn to say grace, and he was always very slow at his tea, so they had some time to wait--mamma undid the parcels that she had sent up to the nursery. the children all came round to see the things, and mary was very pleased to be able to explain about them. "i helped mamma to choose, didn't i, mamma dear?" she kept saying. she was most proud of all, i think, about baby dolly's ribbons. and nurse thought them very pretty indeed, and so i suppose did baby, for she caught hold of them when mary held them out and tried to stuff them all into her mouth. that is a baby's way of showing it thinks things are pretty; it fancies they must be good to eat. "and my reins, mamma?" said leigh at last; "when are you coming to my reins?" he had been rather patient, considering he was a boy, for boys do not care about ribbons and sashes and those sorts of things, though he was very pleased with his own boots. so mamma looked out the parcel of his reins before she undid the tapes and cottons and buttons she had got for nurse. "they are really very good reins," she said. "i told you we got them at the saddler's. they are much better and stronger than those you buy at a toy-shop." leigh turned them over in his hands and pulled them and tugged them in a very knowing way. "yes," he said, "they're not bad--not bad at all. in fact they are beauties. and what did they cost?" "they cost rather dear," she said,--"dearer than you expected. but if you pay me two shillings, i will give you a present of the rest." "whew!" said leigh, "more than two shillings. but they are first-rate. thank you very much indeed, mamma." "and you won't over-drive your horses or your horse, will you?" said mamma. "i suppose artie will be your regular one, or do you mean to have a pair--mary too?" leigh did not answer at once. "i shall drive artie sometimes, and mary sometimes, if she likes," he said. "but i've, another horse too, better than them." mamma did not pay much attention to what he said; she thought he meant one of the gardener's boys or the page, with whom he was allowed to play sometimes, as they were good boys. "and the p'ram-bilator?" leigh asked. "when is it coming, mamma? and is it a very nice one? does it go smoothly? and has it good springs?" "i think it's a very nice one," mamma replied. she was pleased to see leigh so interested about his little sister's carriage. "but it won't be here for some days--a week or so--as they have to change the linings." "oh," said leigh to himself in a low voice, "all the better! i'll have time to break him in a little." the next day, and every day after that for some time, leigh was very busy indeed. he begged nurse to let him off going regular walks once or twice, because he had something he was making in the shed, where he and artie were allowed to do their carpentering and all the rather messy work boys are so fond of, which it does not do to bring into the house. he was not "after any mischief" he told nurse, and she quite believed it, for he was a very truthful boy; but he said it was a secret he did not want to tell till he had got it all ready. so nurse let him have his way, only she would not allow artie to miss his walk too, for she did not think it safe to leave him alone with leigh, with all his "hammering and nailing and pincering" going on. and i think nurse was right. i wonder if you can guess what was leigh's "secret"--what it was he was so busy about? he did not tell either artie or mary; he wanted to "surprise" them. the truth was, he was making harness for fuzzy and trying to teach him to be driven. he had begun the teaching already by fastening the reins to an arrangement of strong cord round the dog's body, and he was also making better harness with some old straps he had coaxed out of the coachman. he really managed it very cleverly. it took him two or three days to get it finished, and in the meantime he "practised" with the cord. poor fuzzy! he was a big strong dog by this time, but still only a puppy. i am sure he must have wondered very much what all the tying up and pulling and tugging and "who-ho"-ing and "gee-up"-ing meant; but he was very good-tempered. i suppose he settled in his own mind that it was a new kind of play; and, on the whole--once he was allowed to start off running, with leigh holding the reins behind him, trying to imagine _he_ was driving fuzzy, while it was really fuzzy pulling _him_--he did not behave badly, though leigh found "breaking him in" harder work than he had expected. by the fourth day the "proper harness," as leigh called it, was ready. he had got the coachman's wife, who was very fond of the children and very clever with her fingers, to stitch some of the straps which he could not manage to fasten neatly with boring holes and passing twine through, though that did for part. and as the coachman did not see that this new fancy could do any harm, he was rather interested in it too. so when it was all complete, and fuzzy was fitted into his new attire, or it was fitted on to him, perhaps i should say, mr and mrs mellor, and the grooms, and two or three of the under-gardeners all stood round admiring, while leigh started off in grand style, driving his queer steed. "if you had but a little cart now, master leigh," said one of the boys; "it'd be quite a turn-out." "yes," said leigh, with a smile; "i mean to get to something like that some day. but driving with reins this way is how they often begin with young horses, isn't it, mellor?" "to be sure it is!" the coachman replied, as he went off, smiling to himself at the funny notions children take up. "the very idea of harnessing a puppy." for mellor had never been in flanders, you see, nor in lapland. chapter twelve. leigh's plan. ever since the day the children had waited for their father outside the lavender cottages--the day when it was settled that they were to have fuzzy--the idea of training the dog to be driven, and making him draw the perambulator as he had seen ned drawing the perrys' old wicker carriage, had been in leigh's head. that was why he was so interested about the new carriage for his little sister. he was sensible in some ways. he knew it would be no use harnessing the dog into a cart or anything till he had accustomed him a little to being driven. that was what had made him think of buying reins. he had waited a good while too, till the dog was nearly full-grown and had grown pretty obedient to his voice and call. but when he heard that the perambulator was really to be bought, he thought to himself that it was quite time fuzzy's "breaking-in" should begin. for it was now late september. baby dolly was close upon her fifth "month-day," as the children called it, and growing so big and lively that nurse could scarcely manage to carry her any distance without feeling rather tired, as dolly was very fond of sitting straight up and looking about her and giving little jumps and springs when mary or the boys ran up to her. and "fuzz," as leigh generally called him--for he thought "fuzzy" rather a girl's name--was a very big puppy indeed--so big and playful that, when he came galloping over the lawn to the children, mary used to run behind nurse, if she was there, for fear of being knocked over. it was fun and affection, of course, and when he stood still mary would pat him and call him "dear fuzzy," "poor old fuzzy," quite bravely, but at the bottom, of her heart she was a little afraid of him. and though she did not like to say so to the boys, she often wished that he had stayed a roly-poly, soft, tumbling-about creature, as he was when she had first seen him--only a few weeks old. but leigh would not have liked that at all, of course. well, the driving-lessons went on, and thanks to leigh's patience, of which he had a good deal when he chose, fuzz became more manageable, as i said. after a while leigh found an old remains of a little cart on wheels--it was really a sort of small dray which some of his young uncles had knocked together years ago for dragging wood on--which he managed to harness the dog to, to accustom him to feeling something behind him. fuzz kicked and spluttered and ran away ever so many times; he did not like the rattling noise coming after him, but after a while he grew used to it and would scamper off quite merrily, and so fast that leigh could scarcely keep up with him. that was the great difficulty-- to make him go slowly. but leigh was not discouraged. "it'll be all right," he thought, "when he feels he's pulling something heavier." and still he kept it all a secret, except of course from mellor and the outdoor servants, and they did not know anything about his plan for the perambulator. it came, about ten days after it had been promised. mary had been growing very impatient. she thought it was _never_ coming, and even her mamma was on the point of writing to the place where she had ordered it, to ask why they were so long of sending it, when all of a sudden one afternoon it arrived. everybody admired it extremely. it was really a very pretty little carriage, and baby dolly liked it very much, to judge by the way she crowed and chattered in her own sweet baby language the first time she was tucked into it for a drive. this was the very morning after it came. for it was luckily a fine, mild day, and the nursery dinner was made a little earlier than usual, so that baby dolly should have the best of the afternoon for the first trial of her perambulator; and mary and the boys and the under-nurse and fuzzy were all to go too. nurse had a holiday indeed! she began by pushing the new carriage herself, just to make sure that baby would not be frightened. but frightened--no, indeed; the little lady chuckled and crowed, and was as happy as could be. so then nurse let leigh push it for a while, and then artie, and then even mary for a little bit, though not for very long, as, though it was beautifully light, it was tiring for her to stretch up her arms, and of course she was too small to see in front if the road was getting at all rough, or if there were stones or ruts to get out of the way of. and then nurse told emma, the under-nurse (i think i have forgotten to say that "little sarah" was not big enough to help with dolly, so a new under-nurse had come), to push it for a while--not that leigh and artie were not most eager to do so, but nurse wanted to make sure that emma pushed it carefully, for there are two ways of doing even such a simple thing as pushing a perambulator, though you might not think it. and emma was rather a silly girl, though she was very good-natured. "now, we'se _all_ pussed it except fuzzy," said mary. she was dancing along holding nurse's hand and feeling very happy and safe. for, to tell the truth, she was often a little frightened of the doggie knocking her over if she was walking along alone or with only artie. "poor fuzzy!" mary was always very affectionate to fuzz when she felt herself well protected; "don't you think, nursie, he'd like to puss it too? if leigh made him walk like a bear,"--for walking like a bear was one of the tricks leigh had taught fuzz,--"on his two behind legs, and then put his two before legs on the pussing place; don't you think he could do it a little, nursie dear? and then we'd all have took turns?" nursie laughed at mary's funny idea. "i'm afraid miss dolly and the perambulator would soon all be in a heap on the road if fuzzy was to have a try at pushing," she said. and fuzz, who always seemed to know when they were talking of him, came close to nurse and looked up wistfully in her face with his bright sweet eyes as if he would say, "i'm rather afraid so too." leigh gave him a pat. "_pushing_ the p'rambulator," he said. "no, indeed. you know something better than that; don't you, fuzz?" and fuzz wagged his tail as much as to say, "yes, indeed; _leigh_ knows what i can do. but we'll keep our secret." no one paid any attention to what leigh said however; no one had any idea there was any secret to keep. so the little party finished their walk very happily, and returned home greatly pleased with the new perambulator. it was about a fortnight later that something happened which i must tell you about. all this time leigh kept on patiently with his training or "breaking-in" of fuzz. whenever he had a chance of getting off to the stables alone, for half an hour or so, he harnessed the dog to the remains of a cart that i told you of, and drove him up and down the paths. no one but the stablemen and the gardeners knew about it, and they only thought it was a fancy of the boy's and never spoke about it. and leigh told nobody--not even artie--of what he had got in his head. he kept saying to himself he wanted to "surprise" them all, and that if he told artie every one would be sure to hear of it. "and i must manage to try it first without nurse fussing," he thought. "she'd never believe it would do. she's so stupid about some things." but at the bottom of his heart, i think he knew that what he was meaning to do was not a right thing for him to try without leave from the grown-up people, and that it was the fear of their stopping it much more than the wish to "surprise" everybody that made him keep his plan so secret. so he said nothing, but waited for a chance to come. and before long the chance did come. it does seem sometimes as if chances for wrong things or not-right things come more quickly and more surely than for good things, i am afraid. or is it, perhaps, that we are more ready to catch at them? now i must tell you that emma, the under-nurse, was not a very sensible girl. she was more taken up with herself and her dresses and chattering to whoever would listen to her than with her own work and duties; and she was very fond of calling nurse old-fashioned and fussy and too strict, which was not right. she spoke of her in that way to leigh, and made him fancy he was too big a boy to be treated like a nursery child, which was very mischievous. but she was a good-natured girl, and she was what is called "civil-spoken" to nurse and to the other servants, so nurse hoped she would improve as she got older, though she found her lazy and careless very often. just about this time, unfortunately, poor nurse sprained her ankle. it did not make her ill, for it was not very bad and soon began to get better, but it stopped her going out walks for two or three days. the first day this happened was one of the afternoons that leigh had latin lessons with a tutor, so only artie and mary went out a walk with baby dolly in the perambulator and emma pushing it. nurse spoke a great deal to emma about being very careful, and not going near the field where the bull was, and not crossing the little bridge which was soon going to be mended, and about several other "nots." and emma listened to what she said, and that day all went well. artie and mary trotted along very peacefully, and now and then, when the road was smooth, emma let them push baby for a little bit, and baby cooed and crowed when they talked to her. they went near the perrys' cottage and they met all the children--janie as usual carrying the baby, comfort pushing the old wicker carriage with the two other babies, and staring away at the open book in her hand at the same time, so that janie had to keep calling out every minute or two to warn her where she was going. ned was not with them, that was the only difference. for ned was beginning now to do a little work out of school hours. the perrys all came to a stop when they met the other party. "how do you do?" said mary and artie politely. "how do you like our new p'ram-bilator?" "it do be a beauty, miss," said janie. poor janie looked tired and hot, though it was not a warm day; the baby was growing heavy. "law," said emma, "i'd never carry that child if i was you. why don't you put it in the cart and make one of the others walk?" "law" is not a pretty word; but emma was not very particular when she was alone with the children. "comfort'd never get her reading done if she had to look after sammy walking," said janie. "and i'd have to push the carriage if the dear baby was in it." "where's ned?" asked artie. "and why doesn't he pull the carriage?" emma stared. "law, master artie--" she was beginning, but janie, who did not seem at all surprised at the question, for of course she had seen ned's attempts to make a horse of himself, answered quietly-- "it didn't do--not so very well, sir, and it gave me a turn, it did, to see sammy and bertie a-tumblin' about, and all but overturned. no, 'tweren't no good; so ned, he's give it up." "what a pity!" said artie and mary together, "isn't our p'ram-bilator nice, janie?" "'tis indeed, the wheels _is_ beautiful _and_ the springs," said janie, as she stood watching, while artie pushed it up and down, to let her see how it went; while even comfort took her eyes off her book for a minute or two to join in, the admiration. "and miss baby do be getting on finely," the little nurse-sister added. "you've not come our way for a good bit, miss," said comfort to mary. "it's a nice road past the cottages and on to the wood--so smooth, i can go on reading all the way. no need to look to one side nor the t'other." and then the perrys moved on, with a curtsey from janie, which she managed with some difficulty on account of the fat baby, and a kind of nod from comfort, as she let her eyes drop on to her book again. that evening at tea, mary and artie told leigh and nurse about meeting the lavender cottages children, and how tired poor janie looked. "isn't it a pity ned couldn't dror the carriage?" said artie. "_draw_, not _dror_," said leigh. "how vulgar you are, artie. no, i don't see that it could do much good to janie, for somebody'd have to drive, and so she'd still have the baby to carry. the big sister should take turns with her." "yes, indeed," said nurse. "that'd be much better than nonsense about harnessing boys. it's a wonder those children weren't driven into bits, that day you told us of." "oh, but ned was so stupid," said leigh. "he hadn't got proper reins, and he fastened the rope in a perfectly silly way. _i_ could show him how to do it properly. in lapland, you know, nurse, and in some other country, even dogs pull carts quite nicely." "they must be a different kind of dog from ours then," said nurse. "i know dogs used to turn the spit with the meat to roast it before the fire, but they were a queer kind, and i suppose they were trained to it when they were little puppies." "yes," said leigh, "that's it. it's all the training. it's no good unless you begin to teach a dog while he's a puppy." he did not say anything more just then; but that evening he said to emma that he was going out a walk with the little ones the next day, as he would not have any lessons that afternoon. "i suppose nurse won't be able to go out to-morrow," he added. "no, not till the day after, if then," said emma. "but never mind, master leigh, i'll go any way you like to name, and we'll have a nice walk, if it's a fine day." "i hope it will be a fine day," said leigh. and the next morning, quite early, before his lessons, he took fuzz a regular "exercising" up and down the long avenue leading to the stables at the back of the house--cart and all--the dog had really learnt to go pretty well. but then a rough little wooden sledge, on wheels, is a very different thing from a beautiful new perambulator with a sweet baby sister inside it. chapter thirteen. brave janie. at dinner that day there was some talk of nurse going out to walk with the children. "oh do come, nursie dear," said mary. "it _are_ so much nicer when you come too," and baby cooed up in nurse's face for all the world as if she were saying "do come," too. "i'd like to, dearly," said nurse. "but i think i'd better rest my ankle one day more, and then i hope it will be quite well. i feel quite ashamed of having been so stupid about it." "it wasn't _your_ fault," said artie. "it was the carpet's fault for being loose." "and mine for not seeing it and getting it fastened," said nurse. though really i think it was more emma's fault, for she had charge of the passage where nurse had tripped and fallen. "i think you'd much better wait another day," said leigh gravely. and nurse said to herself that master leigh was very thoughtful for his age. but leigh had a reason of his own for not wanting nurse to go out with them that day, and if he had let himself think about it honestly he would have seen that his dislike to nurse coming showed that he was not doing right. but all he would allow to himself was "nurse is so fussy." "if we could put you in the p'ram-bilator, that would be nice," said mary. "but i'm afraid it wouldn't be big enough." "of course not, you silly girl," said leigh rather crossly. he did not want the perambulator spoken of, for fear nurse should say something about not playing any tricks with it. but mary stared at him. she could not understand why he was so cross. it was again a very fine day for october. and as soon as they could be got ready after dinner the children set off for their walk. "i'll follow you in a moment," said leigh, as they were waiting at the side door into the garden while emma got out the perambulator. "if you go slowly down the drive i'll make up to you. i'm going to fetch fuzzy." mary's face fell. she was frightened of the dog, you know, when nurse was not there for her to walk beside, for emma only laughed at her. "i _wiss_ poor fuzzy wasn't coming," she said. "rubbish," said leigh, and then he said more kindly, "you needn't be frightened of him, mary, you'll see. he can't knock you down to-day;" and then, as he ran off, he cried back to emma, "if i don't catch you up in the drive, turn to the right. we're going round by the smithy and the lavender cottages-- it's the best road for the p'ram-bilator." no one paid much attention to what he said, or they might have wondered what he meant, for there were plenty of good roads for the perambulator. mary kept as close as she could to emma and baby, and every now and then she looked round over her shoulder for fear of fuzz coming full bang upon her in his affection, and knocking her down. but till they had got some little way along the road there was no sign of him or of leigh. suddenly there came a whoop and cry from behind them. mary caught hold of emma's skirt, and in another moment leigh rushed past them, "driving fuzz," he would have said, though it looked more like fuzz dragging _him_. the dog had his harness on, and leigh was holding the reins and shouting to him. "i'm taking it out of him," he called out, "just to quiet him down. doesn't he go well?" it was certainly a comfort to mary to see that fuzz was not loose; and in a minute or two, when the pair came back again, running more slowly, she left off trembling and began to laugh a little. "doesn't fuzzy go just like a little pony?" she said. "hasn't leigh taught him cleverly?" then leigh showed off all he had trained the dog to do. he made him walk quite slowly, and then run, and then stop short when he called out "woa-wo-a, now; gently, old man," till they all admired it greatly. "he'd soon learn to pull a cart," said emma. "he _can_ pull a cart, that's what i've been teaching him for," said leigh. "he could draw the p'ram-bilator beautifully." "law!" said emma, "could he now, really?" "of course he could," said leigh, "as soon as we get into the lane i'll let you see. the road's nice and smooth there." mary clapped her hands. she thought it would be lovely. but emma did hesitate a little. "are you sure it's quite safe, master leigh?" she said. "safe, of course it's safe," said leigh. "but if you're afraid you can hold on behind just like you're doing now, and then you can stop us going faster than you like." the lane, when they got into it, ran almost straight to the cottages. leigh meant to pass them and come home by the smithy, for he wanted yakeman to admire him driving fuzzy. there was a hill to go down, as you may remember, from the cottages to yakeman's, and i do not know how leigh meant to manage there. but as things turned out he did not get so far as that. the little party stopped when they had got some way down the lane, and leigh began to fasten fuzz to the perambulator. he had got everything ready--for he had secretly tried it before, and he had straps of the right length which he brought out of his pocket. mary and artie stood admiring his cleverness, but baby dolly was not pleased. she wanted to go on, and of course she did not understand what they were all stopping for. so she began to cry. poor little girl, what else could she do? "p'raps she's cold," said mary. "it _are_ raver cold standing still." "cold, miss mary, oh dear no," said emma. "she's that wrapped up she _couldn't_ be cold. but she's very fractious to-day; she was crying and fretting all the time nurse was dressing her. nurse spoils her--if she were my baby i'd be a bit sharper with her." "poor dolly--dear dolly," said mary, going up to her little sister and trying to sooth her. "don't cry--dolly's going to have a beauty drive and go _so_ fast." "get out of the way, mary," shouted leigh. "we're just starting, don't you see?" he held the reins in his hand and ran back behind the perambulator. then he made emma take her place as usual, holding the bar--not that there was any _need_ for her, he said, but just to make quite sure of fuzz not running away--they were a funny-looking party, emma between the reins and fuzzy wagging his tail in his hurry to be off. dolly left off crying and stared about her, wondering what it all meant. "gee-up, old fellow," said leigh, emma giving a little starting push at the same time, and off they went, mary and artie at each side, breathless with excitement. at first it seemed all right. they went slowly, and fuzzy did nothing worse than stand still every minute or two, and look over his shoulder to see what was behind him. the first and second times he did this leigh only called out, "all right, old fellow--gee-up then." but when it got to the third and fourth time leigh grew impatient. "get on with you, you stupid fellow," he shouted, cracking the whip he held. and poor fuzzy, meaning no harm, not understanding what all the unusual noise and fuss were about, did the only thing he could--he _did_ "get on." he started off, running as fast as he could, and that was pretty fast, for the carriage was very light and emma was pushing--she could not have helped pushing as she was holding the bar and running. and for a minute or two she laughed so that she could not speak. the silly girl thought it was such fun. and seeing her laughing, leigh thought it was all right and laughed too. but--on went fuzz, excited by the laughter, and thinking _he_ was doing all right, till--at the corner where the lane they were in crossed another lane or road, wider but much rougher, and full of deep cart-ruts--instead of keeping straight on he turned sharply round, for some doggy reason or other, and rushed, still at the same speed, along this road to the right. "fuzz," shouted leigh, tugging at the left rein. "fuzz, wo-a then, wo-a." "stop, stop," screamed emma. but it was no use; in another instant emma, already panting with running and laughing, found herself flung off as it were, and leigh, a moment after, lay sprawling at full length on the road, the reins torn out of his grasp, while fuzzy in the greatest delight rushed on, on--the perambulator after him, swaying from side to side; and, oh dear, dear-- sweet baby dolly inside! mary and artie were some little way behind, but when they came up, this was what they saw: emma sitting on the road crying and rubbing her arm, leigh tearing along as fast as he could go, and a small dark thing far in front of him, bumping up and down among the cart-ruts, and swinging from side to side, as if every moment it would tumble over, or else be broken to pieces. mary stood still and screamed. artie ran on at once, shouting at the top of his voice, though i do not quite know what good he thought that would do. and then mary ran after him and left off screaming, which was sensible. indeed, i think both of them showed more sense than silly emma, though she was grown up and they were little children. for what could be less use than to sit on the ground crying and rubbing her bruised arm? but somebody else--somebody none of them was thinking of at all--showed the most sense of any one. the perry children were coming along a field-path at one side of the road--it was dry weather, and the path was pretty hard and smooth, so comfort and the old wicker perambulator got on pretty well with janie and the baby beside them of course--when the sound of leigh's shouts came across the hedge. janie had quick ears and still quicker wits. "someat's wrong," she cried, and she plumped the baby into her sister's arms. "now hold he," she added, and for once comfort had to leave off reading--indeed the flop of the baby made her book drop to the ground-- and get it into her head that the care of her three baby brothers was _her_ business for the present, while janie flew to the gate, which she scrambled over or crept under, i am not sure which, in less time than it takes to tell it, and found herself in the middle of the road. leigh was some little way off still; but nearer than he, and coming nearer every instant, was something else which made even janie's stout little heart rise up to her mouth, as she afterwards said. it was the perambulator from the hall, the beautiful new perambulator, banging and dashing along, dragged by something that looked just then very like a little wild beast instead of a well-disposed tame doggie. and yet it was only looks, for fuzzy was in the best of spirits, quite pleased with himself, and thinking that leigh's shouts only meant he was to go faster and faster. but janie had not time to think anything. she only saw that the perambulator was not empty; she only took in that it must be stopped. she would not have been frightened, even if she had thought the dog was mad, for she was very brave. but she knew that her voice would have no power over him, and she made her plan in a moment. just as the wildly excited dog came close to her--luckily just then he was going pretty evenly--she threw herself in his way, which made him slacken his pace, and then, somehow or other, she got hold of the edge of the carriage, holding on to it with all her strength, and she was very strong for her size. and then--what happened exactly she could not tell--i fancy fuzzy must have given a bound forward to get rid of this troublesome interruption to his grand race--but before she knew where she was they were all in a jumbled-up heap on the ground, janie, baby dolly, perambulator, and dog--fuzzy barking loudly; baby, janie was thankful to hear, crying and roaring, but, as far as the small sister-nurse could make out, unhurt. she had got her safely in her motherly little arms by the time leigh came up. the first thing he did was to seize hold of the reins which had been dragging behind, for after a glance had shown him that the baby was in good hands, leigh's next thought was for the new perambulator. "she's not hurt?" he exclaimed. "no, no, sir. i think not," said janie. "she fell soft--right atop of me, master leigh. hush, hush now, miss baby dear. don't 'ee cry. there's miss mary a-coming along. hush, hush, my dearie." and in surprise at the strange voice, and pleased by the sweet tones, dolly actually did leave off crying. she opened her eyes wide, and by degrees a smile--a real smile--crept out of her mouth, and brightened up all the little face, still shining with tears. so that when poor wee mary, all out of breath, and white with fear for her darling sister, came up to the little group, janie was able to say, while dolly stretched out her hands in welcome-- "she's not hurt, miss mary, dear. she's not hurt." leigh by this time had unfastened fuzz, and set the perambulator on its legs, or wheels, again. he was all trembling; and though it was not a hot day of course, the drops were standing out on his forehead. wonderful to say, the perambulator was not broken or spoilt. "oh mary," said leigh. he could scarcely speak. "oh janie, i don't know how to thank you." janie opened her eyes. it had never come into her head that she had done anything to be thanked for. but she was, as i said, very sensible. "master leigh," she replied, "i couldn't a' done less--that's nothing. but i can't think how mrs nurse could a' let you do such a thing." "nurse is ill; at least she's hurt her leg," said leigh. "it's emma that's with us." "then she oughter be ashamed of herself," exclaimed janie, as if she was nineteen and emma ten, instead of the other way about. "what's the good of a big person to look after children if she's as silly as them. i beg your parding, master leigh, but this 'ere precious baby's had a narrer escape, and no mistake." janie was hot with indignation and fright. "but you tried yourselves, janie," said leigh, feeling rather small. "ned harnessed himself to--" "_that_ was quite different," said janie. "and i told you the other day as it hadn't turned out a good plan at all. i'm sure if i'd had any notion you were thinking of such a thing, i'd have--" she stopped, then went on again, "but you'll never try such tricks again, now, will you, master leigh? and you'll go straight to your dear mamma as soon as you get in and tell her all about it." "no, i'll never try it again, i promise you. and of course i'd rather tell about it myself, janie. you won't, will you? they'd be making such a song of it all through the village." "very well then, i won't say nothing," agreed the little woman. "and i'll tell comfort--she's in the field there behind the hedge with the babies. i'll see to it that comfort says nothing neither." then janie put baby dolly tenderly back into her nest again, charging the children to stay close round her till emma came up, "for fear the sweet little lady should be frightened again." there was a vision in the distance of emma slowly making her way to them, and janie did not want to see her. "i've a sharp tongue in my head, and i'd mebbe say too much," she thought. so she hurried back to her own charges, whom she found quite content; _the_ baby sprawling on comfort's knee, and comfort seated on the grass, late october though it was, buried in her book. there was no need to warn _her_ to say nothing. she looked up with a start as janie ran up to them. "what have you been doing, janie?" she said. she had no idea anything had been the matter! emma was very cross when she got to the children. she was vexed at her own arm being bruised, and began scolding leigh as if he had done it all on purpose to hurt her. "you said it would be as right as could be, master leigh," she grumbled, "and how was i to know? _i'm_ not going to be scolded for it, i can tell you." "you needn't be afraid," said leigh, very proudly. "i'll take all the blame on myself when i tell mamma." then emma changed her tone and began to cry. "you'll not really tell your mamma," she said. "_of course_ i'd be blamed, and i'd lose a good place, and what my poor mother'd say i don't know. it'd go near to break her heart, and she's not well. oh master leigh, you'll not tell? there's no harm done, and miss dolly's none the worse, and we'll never be so silly again. miss mary, my dear, do ask master leigh not to tell." mary could not bear to see any one cry, least of all a big person. her lips began to quiver, and she looked timidly at her brother. "leigh," she began. and leigh too was very tender-hearted. but both of them, and artie too, felt deep down in their hearts that however sorry they might be for emma they were not doing right in giving in to her. they did promise not to tell, however; and then the little party turned homewards in very low spirits, though they had such great reason for thankfulness that their dear little sister was not hurt. they hardly spoke all the way; and dolly, by this time, tired out by all her adventures, had fallen fast asleep. chapter fourteen. happy again. it was two or three days after fuzzy's running away with the perambulator that nurse, who was now quite well again, came in to breakfast in the nursery with a grave face, and without, as usual, baby dolly in her arms. "where's baby?" said leigh; and mary, who was deeply engaged with her bowl of bread-and-milk, looked up. "where's baby dolly, nursie?" she said, in turn. "in bed," nurse answered, "in bed and fast asleep. she's had a bad night, and she only fell really asleep when it was about time for getting up. so of course i didn't wake her." "is she ill?" asked leigh; and both he, and mary and artie, looked at nurse so anxiously that she felt sorry for them. "i hope not," she said. "i hope she'll be all right when she wakes up. the best and strongest of babies have their little turns. don't look so troubled, my dears." just then emma, who had had her breakfast before, came into the room, and was crossing to the door which led into the night-nursery, when she was stopped. "i'll tidy the room myself this morning, emma," said nurse. "i don't want any one to go in. miss dolly's not very well." "she's been very cross this day or two, crying enough to make herself ill. you spoil her, nurse, that's what i say," said emma, pertly. nurse made no reply, except to repeat her orders to emma not to enter the bedroom. as soon as breakfast was over, the three children--artie and mary with clean pinafores, and all with smoothed hair and nicely-washed hands-- went downstairs as usual to the dining-room for prayers. but to their surprise their mamma was not there, nor was nurse. they did not wonder much about nurse, however, for they knew some one would have to stay beside baby in case she woke. but to-day several things seemed strange and different from usual. instead of going up to the nursery again their father told them they were all to go to the little study where leigh and artie did their lessons with their tutor. "for baby must not be disturbed," he said, "and if you were all playing in the nursery the noise would go through to the other room." "mayn't i go up to the nursery, papa dear?" asked mary. "just me. i'd be _kite_ quiet. i don't like to be away from nursie and baby," and her voice sounded as if she were going to cry. "and i don't know what to do when mr fibbetts comes." "mr _phillips_," said papa. "you're getting too big to talk so babyishly, mary. and you mustn't be selfish, my dear. if you can play quietly in the nursery you can play quietly in the study, or perhaps i'll send emma to take you out a little." "i don't want emma. i want mamma, and nursie and dolly," said mary. she thought her papa was rather "c'oss," and she was not used to his being the least cross. and she was unhappy about baby; and deep down in her heart was a sort of fear she tried not to think about. mary had never been so unhappy in all her life before. the fear was not in _her_ heart only. leigh and artie were feeling just the same. at first when they found themselves alone in the study they all three tried to pretend there was nothing the matter. they hid away the fear, and covered it up, and told it to go to sleep. but fears like that are very troublesome. they won't go to sleep; just as we think we have got them safely shut in and all seems still, up they jump again, and there they are knocking at the door, not only of our hearts, but of our _consciences_. "you have done wrong," they say, "and wrongdoing brings trouble." and after a while the two little brothers and their sister left off pretending. they sat down close together on the hearthrug and looked at each other. "leigh," said artie, in a strange hushed sort of voice, "do you think baby dolly's _very_ ill?" mary did not speak; but she looked up in leigh's face, so that he turned his head away. "how should i know?" he said roughly. "you heard as much as i did. babies are often ill." but both the others knew quite well that he was just as unhappy as they were. "oh, leigh," said mary at last, her voice trembling, "do you think it can be 'cos of--" but here she stopped. leigh turned round sharply. his face was white, but still he tried to be angry. "why can't you speak out, you silly girl?" he said. "why don't you say what you mean?--that i've made her ill by the tumbling out of the perambulator? nonsense, she fell on the top of janie perry, and janie said she came quite softly. how _could_ it have hurt her?" "i don't know," said mary, but she spoke very sadly. "there's was a little boy," began artie, "wot fell out of a winder, and he jumped up and said he wasn't hurt, but then he was killed." "what do you mean?" said leigh. "how was he killed if he wasn't hurt?" "i mean he died soon," said artie. "p'raps it was the next day. he was hurt inside his head though it wasn't blooding outside." "and babies are so dellykid," said mary. leigh gave a sort of angry grunt, something between a sob and a scold. certainly mary and artie were not comforting. but did he deserve comforting? it was true he had meant no harm at all to dear baby. he had thought it would be fun for her as well as for the others and himself--most for himself, i am afraid--if fuzz could be taught to draw her carriage quite well, like the dogs papa had told them about. but, had it been right to do it secretly, without anybody's leave? he had turned it and twisted it so in his mind that he had persuaded himself he only wanted to "surprise" everybody, for one reason; and for another, that nurse was so silly and fussy; and for still another, that there was no need to tease papa and mamma about every little plan for amusing themselves that he and the others made. but now, somehow, none of these reasons seemed any good; they all slipped and melted away as if there was nothing real in them. and then there was the second piece of concealment--the hiding about the accident. there was no good excuse for that. leigh's own first feelings had been to tell at once, and janie perry had trusted that he would. why had he given in to emma? was it really out of pity for her and her mother; or was it partly--a good big "partly"--that he was afraid of being very much scolded himself? as he got to this point of his gloomy thoughts leigh gave another groan; it was much more of a groan this time, as if he could not bear his own unhappiness. then, for he had covered up his eyes, he felt a little hand stealing round his neck--it was mary. "oh, leigh, dear poor leigh," she whispered. "i _are_ so sorry for you, and i are so miderable." leigh drew the trembling, quivering little creature to him, and left off trying to keep up. artie crept near to them, and they all cried together. then leigh started up. "i'll go and tell now," he said, "now, this minute. it's been all my fault, and i don't care what emma says, nor how i'm scolded. p'raps, _p'raps_, the doctor'll be able to do something, even if her head is hurt inside the way that boy's was." he kissed the two others and started off. he seemed away a long time; but, alas! when he came back there was no look of comfort or hope in his face. it was only very white, and his eyes very red. "it's no good," he said, flinging himself down on a chair and bursting out crying. "it's no good. that's my punishment. now that i want to tell i can't." mary and artie could not understand. "was you too f'ightened, poor leigh?" said mary. "shall i go?" "no, no, it's not about me. it's this way. papa's gone, ever so long ago. he's gone to the station, and i think he was going to see the doctor on the way. and mamma and nurse are shut up in the night-nursery with baby, not to be disturbed by _nobody_," said leigh, forgetting his grammar in his distress. "i saw emma, but _she's_ no good, she'd only tell stories to keep herself from being scolded. but i do think she looks frightened about baby. oh dear, what _shall_ i do? darling baby dolly, and it's all my fault. i see it now;" and leigh flung himself on to the floor and burst out sobbing again. "leigh, leigh, poor leigh," said mary and artie together. "mr fibbetts will be coming," said mary in a moment, "and then i'll have to go out with emma. oh, i don't want to go." leigh looked up. "mr phillips won't be coming," he said, "i forgot. everything's been so strange to-day. it's saturday, mary. he doesn't come on saturdays. you shan't go out with emma if you don't want. she's a untrue bad girl; it's a good deal her fault, though she's not been half so wicked as me." "you've not been wicked, dear leigh. you didn't mean any harm," sobbed mary. "and we've _all_ been naughty for not telling," added artie. "oh, but what _are_ we to do?" cried leigh again. "the doctor'll be coming and he won't know, and p'raps he'll give dolly the wrong medicines with not knowing, and baby will get worser and worser. oh, what _shall_ we do?" "_i_ know," said mary, in a clear, decided voice, which made both her brothers look at her in surprise. "we'll hide somewhere, so that we can jump out when the doctor passes and tell _him_. so then he must know what to do for dolly. where shall we hide, leigh?" leigh stopped crying to consider. "near the lodge would be best," he said. "the bushes are thick, and he must pass there. but it's cold, mary, and we can't possibly go upstairs to get your things. artie and i have got our caps and comforters in the hall. and if we left you here emma would find you." "no, no," said mary, dancing about in her eagerness, "don't leave me here, leigh. there's shawls in the hall. can't you wrap me up in one of them? i'll be _quite_ good. i won't fuss about at all." so it was settled. the three set off as silently as they could to the hall, where they caught up the best wraps they could find. then they made their way through the big drawing-room, which opened into a conservatory, out by a side path to the drive. five minutes after they had left the study emma came to look for them, but found the birds flown. she took no further trouble; for, to tell the truth, she was not sorry to keep out of the children's way; her own conscience was not at all at rest, and she had made up her mind to write to her mother asking for her to come home at once. though it was two miles to the village it did not take long to drive there, and mr bertram luckily caught mr wiseman the doctor just as he was starting on his rounds. mr wiseman was driving a young horse; he went well, but he was rather timid, and apt to shy when anything startled him. the lodge gates were open; as the children's papa had told the woman that the doctor would be coming, so he drove in without stopping. but, oh dear! scarcely had he got a few yards up the avenue before there was a great fuss. the young horse was dancing and shaking with fear, and if the groom had not jumped down and got to his head more quickly than it takes me to tell it, who knows what might not have happened. what had frightened him so? three funny-looking little figures had sprung out from among the bushes, calling out in eager but melancholy tones-- "mr wiseman, mr wiseman, please stop. oh please stop." these were leigh and artie, one with an old squashy wide-awake of papa's, that was much too big for him, the other with a cloth deer-stalker cap which made him look like a laplander, for in their hurry they had not been able to find their own things. and mary, funniest of all, with a shawl mamma used on the lawn, all huddled up round her, and the fringes trailing elegantly behind. for half a minute the doctor thought they were gypsy children from the van on the common. but then again came the cry-- "oh, mr wiseman, _please_ stay," and his quick eye saw that all the little faces were swollen and tear-stained. something must be very wrong. "the baby," he thought to himself, "poor little woman. surely nothing worse has happened to her since i saw mr bertram? they could never have sent the children to tell me--" he jumped down, stopping an instant to pat his frightened horse. but he had not the heart to scold the children for startling poor paddy so. "what _is_ the matter, my dear children?" he said kindly. the children knew mr wiseman well, and were not afraid of him, still it was not easy to get the story clearly from them. the doctor saw he must be patient, and as soon as he heard baby's name he felt that the matter might be serious, and by careful questioning he at last understood the whole. in his heart he did not feel very uneasy, for little dolly's father had told him in what way she seemed ill, and it was not the kind of illness that could have come from a fall. but to the children he was very grave, for he thought it most wrong of them, leigh especially of course, not to have told exactly what had happened; and he thought, too, that the sooner the under-nurse was sent away the better. "i don't think," he said, "i don't think i need to tell you how wrong you have been. there is no fear, leigh, of your ever trying anything of the kind again without leave. and even you two little ones are old enough to know you should not have kept the accident a secret. but i must hurry on to see poor baby as quickly as possible. come back to the house now, for it is too cold for you to be standing about, and as soon as i can i will let you know how your little sister is. all you can do now is to be as good as possible, and give no trouble while she is ill, even if your mamma and nurse cannot be with you at all." with these words he sprang up into his dogcart again and drove off quickly to the house, the children gazing after him. then mary burst into a sad fit of crying again. "oh leigh! oh artie!" she said. "does you think baby dolly's going to die?" leigh was very pale, and his eyes were still swollen and red, but he had made up his mind not to cry any more. he felt he was so much more to blame than the others that he wanted to try to comfort them. "i hope god will make her better," he said in a very low voice. "please try not to cry, mary dear. it makes me so very miserable. let us go home now and wait quietly in the study till mr wiseman comes to tell us how baby is." mary slipped her hand into leigh's, and choked down her tears. "i'll try not to cry," she said. "but i can't help thinking about if we have to be all alone with emma, and she'll be so c'oss. do you think, p'raps, we won't see mamma for a lot of days, leigh?" leigh could only say he did not know, but he squeezed mary's hand tight. "i'll not let emma be cross to you, mary dear," he said. "i'll try to be very good to you, for it's all my fault." artie took mary's other hand, and they all three went back to the house. the study was just as they had left it--there was no sign of emma, which they were very glad of. they felt chilly and tired, though they had walked such a little way, and they were glad all to creep round the fire again, and sit there waiting--oh so very, very anxiously, till they heard mr wiseman coming. for leigh had told him they would be in the study. it seemed a long time. "i wonder if he's _never_ coming," said mary, more than once. at last there came the sound of footsteps, quick and firm, running downstairs. "there he is," said leigh, and he ran to the door which he opened and stood there listening. but strange to say the footsteps crossed the hall towards the front door, instead of turning down the passage to the study. leigh could scarcely believe his ears--surely it _could_ not be the doctor? yes it was--he heard his voice speaking to the butler in the hall. and then--before leigh had time to run out and call to him, there came the sound of mr wiseman's dogcart driving away as fast as it had come. leigh felt faint with disappointment. he came back into the room again, looking so white that mary and artie started up. "he's gone," said leigh, "gone without coming in to tell us." "can it be that dolly's so ill he doesn't like to tell us?" said artie. "p'raps he's gone to get another doctor," said mary. "peoples has two doctors when they're very ill, nurse said. oh leigh, dear leigh, i'm afraid i'm going to cry." leigh did not speak. if he had, he would have burst out crying himself, i'm afraid. but just then--just when they were feeling as if they _could not_ bear it any more, there came again the sound of some one hastening downstairs, a lighter tread than mr wiseman's this time. and the footsteps did not cross the hall. they came quick and eager, one after the other, down the passages to the study. then the door opened-- and--some one stood there, looking in. "my poor dears," said a loving voice with a little tremble in it. and in another second somebody's arms were round them all--it is wonderful how many children can creep into one pair of arms sometimes!--and they all seemed to be kissing mamma, for of course it was mamma--and each other at once. and somehow--mary could not remember how mamma told it them--they knew that there were good news. baby dolly was not going to be very ill! it had nothing to do with the fall--but, till the doctor came, it was thought the little sister had got scarlet fever or measles, and that was why the children had been kept out of the nursery all the morning and not allowed to see the baby, or mamma or nurse who had been with her. for those illnesses are very easily caught. but it was nothing so bad. it was only a little feverish attack, which would soon pass away if she was kept quiet and warm. "you shall see her this afternoon, just for a minute or two," said mamma. "i told the doctor i would come down myself to tell you the good news. and i am going to take you out a walk, so as to leave the nursery quite quiet." "not with emma?" said mary. she was not sorry, but she was rather surprised. "no, dear, not with emma. you will not be with emma any more, for i cannot trust her." leigh grew very red at this. "mamma," he said, "then you can't trust _me_." "yes," she replied. "i do trust you, for i know you have had a lesson you will never forget. will you, my boy?" "no, mamma, never," said leigh in a very low voice. the walk was to the lavender cottages. mamma had two reasons for going there. she wanted to thank janie perry for the brave way she had behaved; and she also wanted to ask janie's mother about a niece of hers, who she thought would make a nice nursery-maid instead of emma. it was a very happy walk; they all felt as if they had never loved mamma _quite_ so much before. and a few days later, when baby dolly had got quite well and was able to go out in her carriage once more, mamma came with them again for a great treat. and fuzzy came too. "poor old fuzzy," said mary, who was hopping along as merry as a cricket, feeling quite safe with mamma's hand. "poor old fuzzy. he never _meaned_ to run away, did he, mamma? when baby dolly's a big girl we'll tell her she needn't be f'ightened of poor fuzzy--it's only his play; isn't it, mamma dear?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the end. [transcriber's note: bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.] bobby in search of a birthday by lebbeus mitchell [illustration] cover and illustrations by joseph pierre nuyttens [illustration] chicago p. f. volland & co. copyright p. f. volland & co. chicago, u. s. a. all rights reserved table of contents chapter i once when bobby wasn't left behind. chapter ii the boy with eight birthdays. chapter iii hunting for the thing you mustn't think about. chapter iv the lady who likes little boys. chapter v the man with the pocketful of quarters reappears. chapter vi the borrowed birthday. chapter vii "all the perquisites pertaining thereto." chapter viii "fathers and mothers and things like that." [illustration] bobby in search of a birthday chapter i once when bobby wasn't left behind bobby north went out into the front yard by the iron gate between the two tall stone columns to watch the horses and wagons and 'mobiles traveling up and down that invitingly dusty and mysterious road that he was forbidden ever to set foot upon. he knew he could crawl under the gate, he was so little, and raise clouds of dust by dragging his feet in the road as two small boys did who passed by and stopped to gaze in wonder at bobby and at the big brick house set back in the yard among some trees. he wondered if the supe'tendent would _really_ send him to bed without anything to eat if he disobeyed her just this once and slipped under the gate, out into the road for as many as forty or a dozen minutes. he was afraid she _really_ might, and was standing with face pressed against the iron bars of the gate when a man drove up back of him with a buggy jammed as full as it would hold of boys and girls from the home. "bobby north!" cried the sharp, irritated voice of the supe'tendent. "how many times must i tell you to keep away from that gate!" he turned clear around and saw on the porch the tall, thin figure of the supe'tendent. the man in the buggy jumped out to open the gate. bobby stepped back from the graveled road, for he knew by experience that it is always safer, if you are a small boy, to keep out of the way of grown-up folks--_then_ they can't scold you for doing something you mustn't, or not doing something you should, even when you had never _thought_ of doing either one. he looked up longingly at the buggy load of boys and girls who were going to explore the mysteries of that delightfully dusty road and not coming back for maybe forty or a dozen days. bobby was used to being left behind and stepped further away, but without taking his lonely eyes off those more fortunate children. when the man had opened the gate, he stopped and looked at bobby and then at the supe'tendent on the porch. he came directly towards bobby as he kept backing away, caught him up in his arms and tossed him into the lap of the lady who sat on the front seat! "you'd like a whole week in the country, too, wouldn't you?" said the man. "yes'm." bobby was so surprised that that was all he could think of to say. "i'm afraid he will be too much trouble for you," called the supe'tendent. "he's so young." bobby steeled his heart and started to climb down from the lady's lap, but his lower lip twitched in spite of his effort to keep it steady. "nonsense!" exclaimed the man, as he led the horses out into the road, shut the gate, jumped into the seat by the woman and drove off in a cloud of dust. he didn't seem to be at all afraid of the much-to-be-feared supe'tendent! bobby was so glad to be riding away from the home that he thought he almost _liked_ the supe'tendent this once, and looked back and waved good-bye to her. she stood there stiff and angry and did not reply. thus it came about that bobby north had his first trip away from the home that he could remember. the week at mr. and mrs. robert eller's in the country was a glorious time--days to be remembered by all the red letters on the playing blocks that were sometimes given him on a sunday to keep him quiet. besides the calves and little pigs, the clover field and the daisies in the yard, there was the two-months' old puppy that mr. eller's little boy told him was a st. bernard. it soon became the chief delight of this puppy to chase bobby about the yard and trip him and then, when he fell headlong, to lick his hands and face affectionately with a moist, red tongue. the man never once objected to his playing with the awkward and much-to-be-desired puppy all day long. he was an answer to ardent and secret prayer, this man who lets you play with the puppy, and bobby looked up to him with a great deal of awe; his words carried the weight of authority. he seemed to understand what small boys want, to know that the greatest of all treasures, a real live puppy, is good for them. thus the happy days in the country passed like magic. [illustration] chapter ii the boy with eight birthdays one afternoon the puppy was not to be found anywhere. bobby returned to the front yard at mr. eller's, after a vain search for his playmate, and found that _that_ day was a very special occasion. the grown-ups, and the children, too, were celebrating something which seemed to be called a "birthdays." it belonged to richard, the small son of the man who lets you play with the puppy. it was the boy's eighth birthdays, and he was very proud of that fact. there was ice-cream--enough so that bobby's dish was heaped full a second time without asking and before he had quite finished the first helping--and cake and two big red and white apples for each child. bobby was still munching contentedly away at his first apple, the other clutched tightly in his left hand, when richard's mothers led the children into the house to see the "presents." there was quite an array of them--enough bobby decided for all eight birthdays and he vaguely wondered if all eight of them had come on that one day. there was a baseball, and a bat, a dozen marbles--"glassies" richard called them, presents it seemed from his fathers; a nice, new, starchy white blouse with blue trousers, a gift from his mothers. then there was a pair of high boots with a copper plate on the point of each toe, sent him by his uncle john in the city. last of all there was something out at the barn which was to be sold when "they" grew up and help to buy something for richard some day which his fathers never had--"an edge-cation." "they" proved to be six little pigs with curly tails and squealy voices. bobby wondered if richard wouldn't grow up before they did, he was so much bigger, and then what would become of his edge-cation? he fell to wondering about this thing called a birthdays. as near as he could make out, it was a very special day on which everybody--at least your fathers and mothers, if you had such possessions--unaccountably gave you playthings that you had always wanted, such as "glassies" and baseballs and, yes, little curly-tailed pigs that were to help buy you an edge-cation. he decided he wanted a birthdays, but didn't know the least thing about how to go about it to get one. he determined to ask and went immediately to richard who, having eight birthdays of his own, must be an authority on the matter. "where did you get your birthdays?" he asked in what he thought was a very loud voice, but apparently it wasn't for richard said "huh?" and for a moment stopped trying to straighten the curls out of the tails of the little pigs. bobby repeated his question and added wistfully: "never had none." "you have, too," said richard. "ain't not," said bobby resolutely. "you have, too," repeated richard. bobby fell silent under that assertion and tried to remember when anybody had ever given him presents. he could recall no such occasion. then an explanation came to him. "p'raps," he suggested timidly, "you only have birthdays when you have fathers and mothers and things like that." "everybody has birthdays," said richard from the lofty peak of his superior years. bobby again remained silent and richard, to add the final, crushing blow, gave further information. "everybody has fathers and mothers, _some_ time." "p'raps i'm not big enough yet to have fathers and mothers and birthdays. how big will i have to be?" richard snorted in derision. "_they_ have _you_," he said and turned his attention to straightening out the curls from his pigs' tails. bobby did not understand, but felt that somehow he was in the wrong, and he went off a ways by himself and took the first comforting bite out of his other apple, carefully choosing the side with the most red on it. after a time richard convinced himself that the kink was a part of the pig's tail and stopped trying to uncurl it. then his eye fell on bobby and he scowled fiercely. "everybody has birthdays," he said. "what you done with yours?" "not done nothing with it," replied bobby. then, after a time, "never had none." "papa," called richard to the man who lets you play with the puppy, "bobby says he hasn't got a birthday. everybody has birthdays, haven't they, papa?" mr. eller was talking with his wife and paid no attention. "everybody has birthdays, haven't they, papa?" this time richard yelled so loud his father couldn't help hearing. "yes, of course," he replied carelessly. "there, i told you so!" said richard. "ain't not," insisted bobby stubbornly, and hunted out another red spot on his apple. richard seemed to take bobby's words as a personal affront. "papa, he has too, hasn't he, papa?" "has what?" asked mr. eller impatiently. "bobby has too a birthday, hasn't he?" "everybody has a birthday," replied his father. "i told you so! i told you so!" chanted richard, skipping about. "bobby north has lost his birthday! bobby north has lost his birthday and don't know where to find it!" "ain't not," repeated bobby and his lower lip began to twist up. "wouldn't lose a 'portant thing like a birthdays." mr. eller and his wife approached the children. that capable woman put her hand on bobby's head. "haven't they ever celebrated your birthday at the home?" she asked. "perhaps they don't know when it is," mr. eller suggested in a low voice to his wife. "couldn't lose it, could i?" appealed bobby to the man who lets you play with the puppy. "some children lose their birthday before they are big enough to know what it is," comforted mr. eller. "bobby north has lost his birthday and don't know where to find it!" chanted richard in derision. "ain't not," repeated bobby dismally. "that will do, richard," said mr. eller severely. "go and play pump-pump-pull-away with the other children." "yes, sir," said richard and went obediently off, turning back only once to make a face at the boy who had lost his birthday. "never mind, bobby," said mr. eller. "you'll find it some day." "when i get growed up?" "perhaps sooner. i'll see the superintendent. we may be able to find it for you." "could _i_ find it if i hunted and hunted all day long, like the spoon?" queried bobby eagerly. the man who lets you play with the puppy laughed. "don't worry about your birthday, bobby. you'll stumble across it some day when you are walking along and not thinking about it." "it won't matter if you don't, dear," said mrs. eller. "folks will love you just the same." "no'm," said bobby skeptically, replying to her first statement, and retiring under a tree to puzzle over the matter and consume the rest of the apple. the other children were playing their games and mr. and mrs. eller soon went into the house. bobby decided that the lady, richard's mothers, didn't know the importance of a birthdays, whereas _nothing_ could be more important. birthdays brought little boys all the things they had always wanted, like "glassies" and baseball bats and little pigs. he knew he wanted the "glassies" and the bat and wasn't quite sure but that he might want the pigs to help buy an edge-cation when he grew to be as big as richard's fathers who said he wished that he had one. if he had really lost his birthdays _himself_, he might find it as he did the spoon which he lost in the yard one day. the supe'tendent made him hunt and hunt for it till he couldn't see for the water in his eyes. and then, suddenly, he stepped on it when he wasn't thinking about it and bent it all twisty-like. what if he should step on his birthdays and bend it just as he had the spoon? he must be very careful where he stepped. didn't the man who lets you play with the puppy say he would find his birthdays some time when he was walking along and not thinking about it? he wanted very much to find his birthdays; so he must be up and about it. he would start at once; he might find it before night and would show that richard that he _did_ know where to find his birthdays. he knew that he could walk ever so far, but was not so sure that he could keep from thinking about what he was looking for. it was worth trying anyway. if only he might step on his birthdays! he must be careful though not to step on it with all his weight and bend it as he did the spoon--it might be harder to straighten it out. he rose and started for the road. the other children were too busy with their playing to notice him. stepping lightly, with eyes fixed on the ground, bobby trudged out through the yard into the road. so he started out on his strange quest. [illustration] [illustration] chapter iii hunting for the thing you musn't think about when he had gone a long way, bobby crossed the road and crawled under the fence into the field beyond. he tried so hard not to think about the thing he was searching for that he forgot all about the fact that it had been hours since dinner and that the sun's bedtime could not be so very far off. one can't remember _everything_ when trying so hard not to think of _one_ thing. he _wasn't_ thinking of that--only of the presents richard had received, and _that_ wasn't the same! he trudged on till his short legs grew weary, always looking down at the ground and stepping, oh, so lightly! he was startled when a big gruff voice suddenly boomed out right in front of him: "hullo, bub! what're you doin' out here?" bobby was so astounded that he blurted out the truth without thinking. "hunting for my birthdays." "huntin' for your birthday, huh? well, now, what do you think of that, steve?" and the rough, bearded man who had spoken to him, winked prodigiously at the youth who was helping him mend a broken place in the fence. "where'd-ja lose it?" asked the youth. "don't know," confessed bobby. "that's a funny thing to lose," said the rough, bearded man. "sure you had one?" "don't perzactly 'member," replied bobby. then a dreadful thought came to him: he was _thinking_ about his birthdays! "please, i musn't not think about it." the bearded man burst out laughing. "you're a funny codger! huntin' for something you mustn't think about! what do you think of that, steve?" steve didn't think very highly of the matter, bobby was sure from the way he laughed. "does your mother know you're out?" asked steve, and in turn exchanged another prodigious wink with the man with whiskers. "ain't not got any mothers," said bobby. "oh," said the bearded man in a different voice, "you're one of the kids old man eller has out to his place." "yes'm," bobby admitted and began to back away. these men were making fun of him and he felt uncomfortable, and they had made him _think_ of his birthdays! he had taken only a few backward steps when a big pleasant voice behind him made him jump. "quite a ways from home, aren't you, son?" "i'm hunting my----," but bobby remembered just in time and stopped. "yes'm," he added and turned to look up into a pair of friendly blue eyes and at lips that smiled under a blond mustache that curled up at the ends. the man put a hand on bobby's shoulder and drew him closer. "lost, are you? well, we'll soon fix that. what is your name?" "no'm," said bobby, trying to answer the man's questions in order. "no'm! that's a funny name!" exclaimed the man and laughed till his eyes all crinkled up. "no'm's not my name!" laughed bobby. "no'm, i'm not lost, i'm hunting----" again he remembered just in time and stopped. "that's a secret, is it? is your name, too?" "bobby north," he replied and smiled up at this man who laughed at him without making fun of him. "where do you live?" "way off--_there_," replied bobby, pointing over the tops of the trees. "oh, up there! you've chosen a fine home--" "he's one of the kids at eller's place, mr. anning," interrupted the man with the whiskers. "he's huntin' for his birthday which he was careless enough to lose," added steve. "was not care-_less_!" denied bobby and that unsteady lower lip began to tremble. "of course you were not careless," said the man with the mustache. "somebody just forgot to tell you. here, take this." he put his hand in his pocket and drew it out full of money. he selected a large shining white piece and put it in bobby's hand. "here's a quarter for you. now it will soon be sundown and you'd better make tracks for mr. eller's. know how to find it?" "thank you," said bobby, clutching the quarter and not forgetting what the supe'tendent told him to say whenever anybody gave him anything. then, after a time, he remembered the man's question and he replied to it. "yes'm." "that's it--that house way over there on the other side of the road," said the man. "keep your eyes on the house and you can't miss it." "yes'm," said bobby and started off. "here," called the man, "wait a minute. here's a quarter for you." he drew out another handful of money and selected another shining white quarter, only it was not so shiny as the other one. "now skeedaddle for mr. eller's." forgetting to thank the man for the second quarter, bobby started off, keeping his eyes fixed on the house. when he had gone a long ways he turned and looked back. the man with the pocketful of quarters waved to him, and bobby, after waving, too, set resolutely onwards for the house far off across the road. now it's hard to remember just what you a going to do when one is a very little boy and has just been given two whole quarters all for his very own, particularly if the disturbing thought _will_ come to you that you can have lots and lots of quarters and other things given to you if you have birth--the thing you musn't think about. that reminded bobby; he was sure that he hadn't stepped on _it_ while he wasn't thinking or he would have felt it under his foot as he did the spoon. perhaps it might be somewhere along this mysterious, inviting white road, all covered with dust and lined with trees and bushes, that wound away further than anyone could see. it might be just beyond that turn; there where the meadow lark went sailing happily up into the sky. he would go there and look. dragging his toes in the dust to see if his lost birthdays might be covered up there, bobby gained the turn in the road, and the next one, and the one beyond that, and still trudged on, his short legs aching and stumbling. he _wasn't_ thinking about the thing he musn't think about! why didn't he feel it under his feet? perhaps because the water wasn't in his eyes so he couldn't see, as it had been when he stepped on the spoon. he began to fear he couldn't go much farther. still he kept on. then suddenly the sun went entirely to bed. bobby began to be frightened for he had never been out all alone with the darkness. when it's all dark, little boys can't tell what other things may be about. his lip began to tremble and now the water _did_ come into his eyes. that interested him; it was so when he stepped on the spoon; it might be that he would find his--what he was looking for--now, and he stumbled on through the dust and the gathering darkness towards the next turn in the road. as he toiled on, he became conscious of a gentle purring sound behind him that kept getting louder and louder. he was almost at the turn when there came a fierce honking right behind him. blinded by the water in his eyes, he could but dimly see a great black mysterious object almost on him when he turned. he was too frightened to move. the thing came to a sudden stop just a few feet from him and he saw that it was only a 'mobile. a rough, young voice cried: "don't you know enough to get out of the road when you hear a car coming, you little--" "james! you might have struck him!" cried a sweet, frightened voice from the body of the 'mobile. "we ought not to have tried to make home without having the lights on." "don't stand there in the way like a----" the rough, young voice began, but the woman's voice interrupted: "the child is crying! open the door, james." before he knew what she was going to do, the lady was kneeling right in the dust of the road by his side. she put her arms about him and drew his head against her breast. it was so soft and warm there and so _safe_ that bobby cried all the harder for very relief and his arms stole about the neck of the lady until his fingers got tangled in her soft hair. "i _do_ believe the child is lost," said the lady and gathered bobby up in her arms and carried him into the 'mobile. "light the lamps, james," she added from the depths of the black-cushioned seat. james, who wore a pair of big glasses that almost hid his face, turned on the lights, and, through his tears, bobby soon saw two beams of light spurt out on the road ahead. "tell me your name, won't you?" begged a low voice close to bobby's ear. he struggled to control his sobs enough to answer. "i like little boys," added the voice coaxingly. "b-b-bob-b-by," he said at last, nestling closer in those protecting arms. "he's so tired he's falling asleep," said the voice which was the sweetest bobby had ever heard. [illustration] [illustration] chapter iv the lady who likes little boys the next thing bobby knew, he woke up to find himself sitting in a great big, soft red chair in a great big, red room with as many as forty or a dozen red-shaded lights, with a strange lady kneeling in front of him. he looked into her eyes, puzzled at finding she was not the supe'tendent. "you don't remember one thing that happened, do you?" laughed the lady. "yes'm," said bobby after a pause, smiling sleepily back at her. "you're the lady who likes little boys." "you darling!" murmured the lady and squeezed bobby until he could hardly breathe. "tell me where you live." "there," and he pointed hesitatingly towards the top of the door. "n-no, that way. don't know." the knowledge that he was lost came to him and that lower lip began to twitch tremulously. "never mind, dear, i'll find your home. what is your father's name?" bobby's big brown eyes opened wide and he stared at her unblinking for a while. "got none," he answered at last. "then your mother. what is her name?" "got none," he repeated. "but she must have a name. tell me what you call her when she sits by your bed at night and kisses you and tucks you in," coaxed the lady. bobby sat up straight. "do mothers do that?" "why, yes. don't you know?" and the lady kissed bobby. "no'm," said bobby wistfully. "she must be worried frantic because you don't come home. tell me about her so i can find her and tell her you are not lost." "got no mothers," said bobby after a long pause. "who are you? what's the rest of your name?" "bobby north, little imp." the lady didn't like that: she almost frowned. "you're not _that_ at all. who ever told you so?" "supe'tendent at the home said so." "oh," said the lady, taking in her breath quickly, "then you're--" the lady who likes little boys stopped: then she put her arms about bobby and squeezed till he squirmed. "yes'm," said bobby timidly, trying to breathe. "how did you come to be wandering alone along the road?" bobby looked at her for a long time without moving an eyelash. "please, will telling be thinking about it?" "not if you whisper it close in my ear." bobby took his courage in both hands, placed his lips close to her ear, shut both eyes tight, and whispered all in a breath: "wanted to find my birthdays which i lost before when i was too little to know what it was." "your birthdays!" the lady was so surprised that the smile faded from her lips. "have you lost _that_?" "hunted and hunted all day," said bobby. "and i _didn't_ think about it----not _very_ much." "why didn't you think about it? can't you tell me?" bobby opened his eyes wide. "'cause if you don't think about it maybe i'll step on it like the spoon." "who told you that?" "the man who lets you play with the puppy." "who is he? don't you remember his name?" "no'm," said bobby after a long struggle to think. "to-day is his birthdays." "the man's who lets you play with the puppy?" "his little boy's. he has eight of them and presents, glassies, and a bat, and little pigs to help buy you an edge-cation." a delicious drowsiness crept all over bobby till his eyelids went all tickly and prickly and he rubbed both fists into them. "you're all tired out," said the lady, "and hungry, too. i'm going to get you something to eat and put you to bed. would you like to be my little boy tonight?" for reply, bobby flung both arms about her neck and squeezed with all his might until he squeezed a sob right out of her throat. she took him up in her arms and carried him out into a room with a big shiny red table with two red chairs by it. then she rang a bell and soon a girl with a little white apron came in. "sarah, bring me a glass of milk, some bread and butter and jam." "why does that girl wear a little white apron?" asked bobby. "is she a 'tendant?" "no, she's the maid," replied the lady. the girl seemed hardly to have had time to leave the room before she was back, bringing on a tray the bread, the milk, two little cakes of butter and a dish all ready to run over with red jam. the lady put lots and lots of butter on the bread, besides all the jam it could hold without running over the edges, and watched bobby eat it all up. she didn't tell him to pick up the crumbs,--just kept smiling at him and asked if he could eat another piece. of course he could! but, as it happened, he couldn't, for he hadn't eaten half of it when the prickling in his eyelids got so bad he had to close them. when he opened his eyes again, he was in a little white bed in a little white room, and there--it couldn't be! he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. yes, it was! a little train with an engine and a whole string of cars! he looked around. in one corner of the room stood a baseball bat with a catcher's glove, and there on the little stand by the window was a box all full of marbles, "glassies" and agates and many other kinds. he felt queer and looked down at himself and found he no longer had on his own clothes but a nice clean nighty. "what made you wake, dear?" he twisted his head and there sat the lady who likes little boys, smiling at him. it took him a long time to think of the reason. "please, i forgot 'now i lay me'." "will you say it to me, right here at my knees?" bobby climbed out of the bed, knelt by the lady, laid his head on her knees and repeated the sleep-forgotten prayer. he looked up when he had finished and found the lady had covered her face with both hands. perhaps she was saying her "now i lay me," and bobby kept still for a long time. finally he squirmed around for another look at the train of cars. the lady must have known that he was through, for he felt gentle hands on his shoulders. "who taught you that?" she asked. "the 'tendant with the blue and white dress." "it's--it's beautiful," said the lady in a voice that sounded very much like bobby's when he had water in his eyes. he looked up and saw there was water in _her_ eyes! suddenly he felt queer inside and knew something without having been told. "is the train your little boy's?" "yes, dear. this was his room." "and his bed?" "yes; everything in the room was his." "where is your little boy?" it was quite a long time before she replied and then it was so low bobby scarcely heard. "he's gone away." "when did he go away?" that seemed a very hard question to answer. "three months ago," said the lady at last, her fingers at her throat as though to help the words come out. "when's he coming back?" the question this time was still harder to answer. "he's never coming back . . . never till i . . . go for him. he was sick a long time . . . until god had pity on him and took him home." "are you going for him tonight?" asked bobby in that new, diffident voice. "no, dear. i can't go for a long, long time." "not till he gets growed up?" the lady who likes little boys put a handkerchief to her eyes before she answered. "not . . . not till god sends for me." bobby remained silent till his eyes fell on the box of marbles. "can i play with the marbles till he comes back?" "yes, dear, tomorrow when you've had your sleep out." then bobby looked at the little train again and fell to wondering; perhaps this boy, too, had birthdays. he turned to the lady. "did your little boy have birthdays?" "yes, dear. day after tomorrow is his birthday." "are you going to cel'brate it?" "yes . . . in my heart." it was just a whisper that bobby barely heard. "how many birthdays did he have?" "seven." bobby considered that. the little boy whose fathers was the man who lets you play with the puppy had eight birthdays and the little boy whose mothers was the lady who likes little boys had seven. but _her_ little boy had gone away. perhaps he wouldn't mind letting him have just one of his birthdays. "would he let me have just _one_ of his birthdays?" the lady remained perfectly still and did not answer. bobby added wistfully: "just till i see what it's like? p'raps i wouldn't want it any more. if i _did_ like it, then i could go on hunting for the birthdays i lost." he knew before she spoke that _her_ little boy wouldn't let him have one of his birthdays. "not his. i couldn't. don't. . . . there, dear, go to sleep now and i'll. . . ." she didn't finish what she was saying, but went quickly out, carrying her handkerchief to her face. bobby was too tired to be very much disappointed, so tired that he fell asleep almost before the swishing of her dress had ceased to sound in his ears. [illustration] chapter v the man with the pocketful of quarters reappears the lady who likes little boys went quickly into another room and took down from a closet shelf a little suit of clothes and gave way to tears, hugging the empty clothes desperately to her heart. after a time, a big man with a brown mustache whose ends curled up, came into the room, looked down pityingly at her, then took her up in his arms like a little tired child and held her silently while she wept her heart out. "you mustn't take his things out, alice," said the man. "not yet." "i can't bear it, alfred. i want him! i won't try not to think of him!" mr. anning placed his wife gently in a chair and began to tell her about meeting a small boy in the field who was hunting for something he must not think about. "for the birthdays he lost before he was big enough to know what it was?" said his wife smiling through her tears. "do you know him? who is he?" asked mr. anning eagerly. for answer, his wife took him by the hand and led him into the little white room where bobby lay fast asleep. mr. anning bent quickly over him and exclaimed: "why, it's the very same! the little fellow who lost his birthdays! and in edward's room. now i understand, dear, why----" "it was not that," interrupted his wife, and covered her eyes with her hand. "he asked for just _one_ of edward's birthdays so he could find out what it was like. and i couldn't give it to him, alfred! i couldn't!" "poor little chap," said her husband. then he took his wife by the hand and led her out of the little white room. they entered the red room just as sarah, the maid, ushered in mr. eller. he was very much disturbed and spoke quickly. "i'm sorry to trouble you, mr. anning, but one of the children from the home is lost. i wonder if you would take your car and----" "was he a little boy of five?" interrupted mrs. anning. "the boy who had lost his birthdays?" questioned her husband. "yes," replied mr. eller. "have you found him?" "he is upstairs fast asleep." "you don't know what a relief that is!" sighed mr. eller. "my wife is nearly distracted at the thought that he may be wandering about in the woods or the fields." "we'll bring him over in the morning," said mr. anning. "i think i'd better take him with me," said mr. eller. "it will calm mary to have him right under her eyes with the other children." "i know how she feels," said mrs. anning. "i will get him ready." after he had been asleep for a long, long while, bobby woke to find himself dressed in his own clothes and in the arms of the lady who likes little boys. she was speaking. "he is so tired and sleepy, mr. eller. it's a pity to wake him. i wish you would let me have him until morning." "my wife's worried sick by his disappearance," replied a voice that was familiar to bobby. he turned his head about to see. it was the man who lets you play with the puppy. in the doorway stood another man, a big man with a mustache whose ends curled up. he came forward, smiling at bobby, and held out his hand. "well, young man, i didn't expect to see you again so soon, and in my own house, too." bobby didn't know quite what to say to that although he was sure the man was not making fun of him, so he said nothing. "you haven't forgotten me already, have you?" continued the man. "no'm," smiled bobby. "you're the man with the pocketful of quarters." "right you are!" laughed the man and, to prove it, drew out a handful of coins from his pocket, selected a quarter and pressed it into bobby's palm. the lady kissed bobby good-bye while the man looked pleadingly at her. "i can't, alfred! i can't!" she said all choked up, and bobby wondered what had made her cry. "no, of course, you can't, alice, i understand." the man who lets you play with the puppy took bobby from the lady and carried him out. bobby looked back and saw the man with the pocketful of quarters put his arm about the lady who likes little boys. bobby did not see the 'mobile drive up toward evening of the next day for he was out in the yard at mr. eller's playing with the st. bernard puppy. he was running with all his might, the puppy right at his heels, when he looked up and saw the lady who likes little boys coming swiftly towards him. he stopped quite still for a time, then ran with all his might right into her arms and tangled his fingers among the soft hair at the back of her neck. "oh, bobby, i just can't let you go back to the . . . home, without your first knowing what a birthdays is." "have you found it? is it mine?" asked bobby eagerly. "not yours, bobby. my little boy is going to lend you--one of his." bobby squirmed in delight. "day after tomorrow?" "tomorrow," smiled the lady. "when will that be?" "soon, dear. i'll tell you when it comes." bobby remained in thought for a long while. "your little boy won't be mad at you?" "no, bobby. he was always generous--just like his father." then she said something that bobby decided was addressed to herself and not to him. "i can't be less generous." bobby squeezed her neck until his arms ached. then he remembered something she had just said. "did your little boy have fathers, too?" "yes. he's waiting in the car. let's go to him, will you? mrs. eller is going to let you spend the night with us." holding hands, they went out through the yard, while the deserted puppy sat on his haunches and stared forlornly after his little playmate who did not even look back. when they got to the car, there sat the man with the pocketful of quarters! so _that_ was the fathers of the little boy who was going to lend him a birthdays! "well, son," said the man as they solemnly shook hands, "we're going to show you what a real birthdays is." "yes'm?" queried bobby as he was lifted into the 'mobile. "sure thing. it will be birthday all day long, from the moment you open your eyes until the sandman comes." bobby snuggled happily at the side of the lady in the back seat, while the car sped swiftly on towards the house with the little white room with the little train and a whole string of little cars. [illustration] [illustration] chapter vi the borrowed birthday "is it tomorrow now?" asked bobby eagerly as he awoke the next morning in the little white room and found the lady who likes little boys bending over him. "yes, this is day-after-tomorrow." "your little boy's birthday?" the reply was a long time in coming. "it's your birthday this time, dear." "for all day and always?" "for all day long." bobby felt of himself all over and then announced wistfully: "it doesn't not feel any different, having birthdays--not yet." "wait, bobby, until you have had your bath and breakfast, then maybe it will be different." bobby didn't mind the bath this time at all, only he was in a tremendous hurry to get through with it, and when he was seated at the table he scampered through breakfast very quickly without being scolded once. he did not even notice that the girl with the little white apron did not bring him things to eat as she had the night before. he was back in the red room with the forty or a dozen red-shaded lights, now all put out, shaking hands with the man with the pocketful of quarters, when the maid came into the room and said: "it's all ready now, sir." "all right, sarah," replied the man and the girl left the room. "we're going to start out _this_ birthday right, son." "yes'm," said bobby, watching him with eyes that sparkled expectantly. "up in the room where you slept," continued the man, "are a lot of things that small boys like. i want you to go up there alone and look them over. then you are to pick out the _one_ thing that you want most of all--just one. that will be yours for keeps." "'glassies' or the bat or the train?" asked bobby. "it's just _one_ thing for now," interposed the lady. "there will be--" "don't give me away, alice," pleaded the man. bobby wondered how she _could_ give away the man with the pocketful of quarters, but soon forgot that thinking about more important matters. "or little pigs to buy an edge-cation with curly tails?" pursued bobby. the man burst out into a big laugh that filled the room. "i haven't a doubt but what you'll have a curly-tailed edge-cation all right, bobby, when the time comes, pigs or no pigs." "yes'm," smiled bobby not knowing quite what the man meant. "come," said the lady. "i'll go as far as the door with you." and that was as far as she _did_ go. her hand slipped gently over bobby's straight blond hair and lingered there before she pushed him into the room and closed the door between them. bobby stopped at the head of the little bed which had already been made up, and looked carefully about the room. there was the enchanting train all ready to get up steam to carry him away into that strange land where red indians tomahawk little boys, or where pirates dig all day in the white sand making places to hide yellow gold in. and there on the bed was the box of marbles, "glassies," agates and all, and a little blue sailor suit, and a baseball bat, and a whole row of quarters, and there-- bobby's eyes opened wide and he made a jump for the thing that was almost hidden in the pocket of the sailor suit. it _couldn't_ be, and yet it _was_! the shiningest, white-handled pocket knife a boy ever had! he counted the blades; there were three of them, but not one of them could he open. he sat down on the floor and tried and tried to open those blades, oblivious to everything else. before very long he became aware of a barely audible scratching sound. it was soon followed by a high-pitched whine. bobby looked eagerly all about; a strange excitement thrilled his blood, but didn't see anything that _could_ make such a noise. at last he leaned clear over until his head almost touched the floor and looked under the bed. way down at the foot of it was something in a basket, that moved. bobby watched fascinated, hardly daring to breathe. the whining came again. then the dearest little black nose was lifted above the edge of the basket and two soft brown eyes looked into bobby's. bobby shouted and the puppy yelped at the same instant. bobby, forgetting that he could walk around the bed, crawled under it. the puppy tried just as hard to come to him. it managed to get half way out of the basket when bobby's face came down against its black nose. puppy and boy mingled affection and gratitude. the puppy's ugly face and wide-apart bow-legs were at that moment the most beautiful things in the world to bobby. even birthdays were forgotten and he hugged and patted that worshipping creature for a long, long time before recollection of the lady who likes little boys caused him to crawl hastily out from under the bed, burst through the door, and tear wildly downstairs to the red room, the puppy clutched to his heart. the man with the pocketful of quarters sat at the table in the corner, talking to the lady. they both looked up. "well, son, is that what you want most?" "yes'm," smiled bobby. "is it _all_ mine?" "head, body and tail," replied the man. "it knew me!" exulted bobby. the man and the lady exchanged laughs. "he's all boy," said the man. "made of the right stuff." the lady patted the man's shoulder and looked away. "come here, son, and tell me what you think about birthdays." bobby marched close up to the man. "wish it was mine." the wistful note in his voice made the lady's hands fly out to him. "oh, you like it, do you?" asked the man. "well, this birthday has only just started." "yes'm," said bobby and hugged the squirming puppy till it licked his ear. "here's another quarter for you. that's four quarters--quite a sum for a small boy." bobby took one hand off the puppy long enough to accept the quarter. "what have you done with the others, bobby?" asked the lady. he fished them out of the pocket of his blouse and held all four out in the palm of his hand. "that makes a dollar, son. that's a whole lot of money for a boy only five years old." that set bobby to wondering. "is it lots of money for a little boy with _seven_ birthdays?" he asked. "you can just bet your boots it is. a boy can buy all sorts of things with a dollar." as he spoke, the man pulled a great, round white piece of money out of his pocket, thereby revealing to bobby that his pockets contained other things besides quarters, and making him forget that four quarters _is_ an awful lot of money even for a boy with seven birthdays. "know what this is?" asked the man. "money," replied bobby. "how much money?" "a grown-up quarter," hazarded bobby at length. "it's a dollar," replied the man, "and is worth just as much as the four quarters. would you rather have your money all in one piece? i'll give you the dollar for the four quarters." bobby hesitated in perplexity and the lady came to his rescue. "take the big piece, bobby. it's not so easy to lose and easier to find if you do lose it." [illustration] chapter vii all the perquisites pertaining thereto bobby obediently exchanged the four quarters for the dollar despite the frantic efforts of the puppy to see what was going on. the dollar was heavy in his hand and it was very thick. bobby felt quite wealthy, able to buy all sorts of things, an edge-cation or . . . or perhaps even birthdays! his eyes grew big and round. the man with the pocketful of quarters had just said a moment before that a boy could buy all sorts of things with a dollar. and a dollar is lots of money even to a boy with seven birthdays! in his excitement bobby almost dropped the puppy, retaining his hold on that delight by one leg only. his eyes sparkled with the intensity of the desire lighted in them. "is it enough to buy a birthdays?" he asked, stammering in his eagerness. the lady gasped at the question and the man was too staggered to do anything at first; finally he exploded into that huge laughter which always seemed to bobby to fill the room. he didn't mind the laughter for he knew the man was not making fun of him. "i don't know, bobby," said the man when he had stopped laughing. "i've never heard of anybody selling his birthday. you might try and see." bobby turned at once to the lady who likes little boys. "your little boy ain't not never coming back," he fairly stammered in his excitement. "would he sell me a birthdays?" and he held out the round, shining dollar. the lady shrank back from him and went suddenly all white. bobby knew he had done something wrong, but couldn't for the life of him imagine what it was. the father of the boy with seven birthdays went quickly to his wife. "he's got grit and perseverance," said the man. "a birthday looks good to him and he won't give up till he gets one. it would make him happy as a king, alice." she hid her face on his shoulder. "i can't, alfred. don't ask that." bobby didn't understand what it was _she_ couldn't do, but felt that he had in some way hurt her and his lower lip began to move unsteadily. "it's only day-after-tomorrow, alice," pleaded the man. "it's edward's," replied the lady. "you have no heart or you couldn't. . . ." the man looked at bobby and then said in a low voice to his wife: "day-after-tomorrow is never to-day." bobby's heart smote him anew, for he saw water running down the lady's face as she lifted her head. it had all been caused by his wanting a birthdays. very well, he would pretend he didn't want a birthdays any more; then perhaps the water would go out of the lady's eyes. "don't want a birthdays," he announced with a suspicious dolefulness in his voice. "it doesn't not feel good." "look at him, alice," said the man. bobby didn't want the lady to see the water in _his_ eyes, so he tried to rub it out, but the tightly clutched dollar got in the way, and the lady must have seen what he was doing, for she simply rushed at bobby and gathered him, puppy, dollar and all, into her arms and kissed him forty or a dozen times and held his face against her wet cheek. "birthdays can't be bought, bobby, but you shall have one all of your very own. i'll _give_ you one." "don't not want any," whimpered bobby. "not if _i_ give you one?" asked the lady, wiping the water out of her eyes. "we'll give you our little boy's." bobby kept perfectly still and in that stillness a miracle was performed; that trembling lip of his, without stopping its trembling, was transformed into a joyful smile. and when the lady saw it, _she_ smiled too. "i've been selfish and . . . rebellious," said her sweet, low voice right at his ear, but she was looking up at the man with the pocketful of quarters when she said it. the man blew his nose and made such a loud noise that it startled bobby and the lady. they looked into one another's face and then began to smile like persons sharing a happy secret that no one else knew. "i'll draw it up on paper, son," said the man, "and then if you ever lose it again, whoever finds the paper will know _that_ birthday belongs to you and return it." he went to the writing desk in one corner of the room, took paper, pen and ink and began to write. when all the water had gone out of the eyes of bobby and the lady, they went over to watch the man who was writing away rapidly and smiling to himself. "there you are," he said at last, with a concluding flourish, and handed the paper to his wife. she smiled as if it hurt her to read what he had written, and pressed bobby more closely to her. "now we must sign it," said the man. with another flourish, he wrote his name on the paper. his wife's lip trembled just like bobby's as she signed it. then the man took bobby on his lap and guided his hand in making a big cross, and then wrote something himself above and below the mark bobby made. "is that a birthdays?" asked bobby. "no," replied the lady, "it's just proof that we have given you a birthday. if anybody ever doesn't believe you have one, just show him that, and he'll know that you have." "i'll read it to you, son," said the man and proceeded to read in a big, booming voice: "done at our house this second day of august, . we, alfred and alice anning, do hereby and herewith give and convey to bobby north, day-after-tomorrow, which on every second day of august becomes to-day, to be his very own birthday forever. _this_ day-after-tomorrow is his fifth birthday; the next one will be his sixth. no one can take this birthday from him because it is ours to give. whenever day-after-tomorrow comes, the aforesaid bobby north is to have his birthday with a celebration and all the perquisites pertaining thereto. in witness whereof our signatures are herewith attached. signed: alfred anning alice anning. bobby north accepted by his =x= mark." "there, i guess that's all ship-shape and tight enough so water can't leak through," said the man and offered the paper to bobby. he accepted it gravely, as one should in such important matters, then smiled up at the lady whose lip still twitched curiously. he looked thoughtfully at the paper in his hand. "a birthdays and perk--perk--" "and all the perquisites pertaining thereto," said the man, helping him out. "what is perk-_wiz_its?" bobby asked. "perk-_wiz_its," replied the man gravely, "are the things that go with birthdays, a celebration, marbles, cake and ice cream, pocket knives, pigs and pups. why, look at that pup!" bobby looked and the puppy had the precious bit of paper in his mouth and was trying to swallow it! the man opened the puppy's mouth and rescued bobby's birthdays. "i was only just in time," he confided to bobby. "a second later and that dog would have swallowed it. then where would your birthdays have been?" bobby took time to consider. in due course he arrived at a decision. "long's the puppy's mine, i'd have the birthdays, too." he joined in the laughter of his two friends without quite knowing why. "keep the paper in your pocket, bobby. if the dog eats it you couldn't prove to anybody that you had a birthday. now we are going to continue the celebration." all day long that celebration lasted and bobby was so happy and excited and had so many good things to eat and so many wonderful things to do that he didn't know where the hours had gone when the man said the day was almost over and that it was time to take him back to mr. eller's. [illustration] [illustration] chapter viii fathers and mothers and things like that the lady who likes little boys took bobby into the house to get him ready while the man was bringing the 'mobile out to the gate. the car was waiting long before the lady had bobby ready. she was very slow about it; first she held him tight and ran her fingers through his hair; then she put his hat on, and took it off to smooth his hair again. next she brushed his clothes. finally she put the puppy in his arms and gathered up all the presents which bobby was to take with him. there came a sudden honking from the waiting 'mobile, the lady hastily kissed bobby, put on his hat for the last time, and led him out of the house. she helped bobby into the car and very slowly arranged his presents about him in the back seat. then, reluctantly, she closed the door. "aren't you coming with us, alice?" asked the man. "the ride will do you good." "no," she replied, "the day is over for me. "why, the sun hasn't not gone to bed--_quite_," said bobby, for the edge of the round, red ball in the west had not yet touched the horizon. "all right, son, we're off," said the man and honked the horn, and the wheels began to go slowly 'round. "wait, alfred!" called his wife in an unsteady voice and her hands went out quickly towards bobby. the 'mobile came to a sudden stop, the lady opened the door and snatched bobby out and to her breast. "i can't let you go, bobby. they wouldn't celebrate your birthday at the home. they wouldn't know how." "i'm afraid it wouldn't be much like a birthday there; not after this one," said the man. the lady put bobby down and he seized the opportunity to readjust his hold on the puppy and to look into his blouse pocket to see if the precious bit of paper was still there. "may i, alfred?" he heard the lady who likes little boys saying to the man in the 'mobile. "alice!" cried the man. "i love you a thousand times better than ever!" that seemed a very funny sort of answer to bobby; there was no sense in it. he looked up and found the lady's arms held out to him. "bobby, would you like to stay with us and be _my_ little boy? then, every year when your birthday comes, we could celebrate it together." bobby's eyes glistened. he looked from her to the man and back again. they were both smiling at him. "will you be my mothers, then?" "yes, dear, i'll be your mother." then, forgetting all about the puppy, which fell to the ground with a surprised little yelp, bobby rushed to the lady who likes little boys and threw his arms passionately about her neck as she knelt to receive him. they both squeezed just as hard as they could and the lady laughed and cried and then laughed again. bobby sighed with complete happiness. he had found a birthdays and already that magical thing was bringing him all sorts of presents--puppies and perk-_wiz_its and "glassies" and mothers and perhaps curly-tailed little pigs to buy him an edge-cation. he hugged the lady again. "well, son, you seem to like mothers." bobby looked up and saw that the man with the pocketful of quarters had climbed out of the 'mobile and was standing over them. "yes'm," replied bobby and twined his fingers in the soft hair at the back of the lady's neck. "and fathers, too?" smiled the lady. bobby drew back and looked at her with shining eyes. "have i fathers, too?" "yes, dear. you will love him because he likes little boys, too." bobby thought that over, then looked up with a shy smile at the man. "the man who lets you play with the puppy?" he asked. "no, dear," said his mothers, "not that man--the man with the pocketful of quarters. will you shake hands with him?" "why _he's_ the man who lets you play with the puppy, too!" said bobby, anticipating the fact. "already he's found me out!" laughed the man. smilingly, bobby held out his hand to his fathers. the end [illustration] * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. page , "did'nt" changed to "didn't" (i _didn't_ think about) page , "and" changed to "an" (things, an edge-cation) page , "fathers" changed to "father" (the father of the boy) file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by microsoft for their live search books site.) [illustration: writing the notes.] riverdale story books the birthday party boston, lee & shepard. the riverdale books. the birthday party. a story for little folks. by oliver optic, author of "the boat club," "all aboard," "now or never," "try again," "poor and proud," "little by little," &c. boston: lee and shepard, (successors to phillips, sampson & co.) . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by william t. adams, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts. electrotyped at the boston stereotype foundry. the birthday party. i. flora lee's birthday came in july. her mother wished very much to celebrate the occasion in a proper manner. flora was a good girl, and her parents were always glad to do any thing they could to please her, and to increase her happiness. they were very indulgent parents, and as they had plenty of money, they could afford to pay well for a "good time." yet they were not weak and silly in their indulgence. as much as they loved their little daughter, they did not give her pies and cakes to eat when they thought such articles would hurt her. they did not let her lie in bed till noon because they loved her, or permit her to do any thing that would injure her, either in body or mind. flora always went to church, and to the sunday school, and never cried to stay at home. if she had cried, it would have made no difference, for her father and mother meant to have her do right, whether she liked it or not. but flora gave them very little trouble about such matters. her parents knew best what was good for her, and she was willing in all things to obey them. it was for this reason that they were so anxious to please her, even at the expense of a great deal of time and money. the birthday of flora came on wednesday, and school did not keep in the afternoon. all the children, therefore, could attend the party which they intended to give in honor of the day. about a week before the time, mrs. lee told flora she might have the party, and wanted her to make out a list of all the children whom she wished to invite. "i want to ask all the children in riverdale," said flora, promptly. "not all, i think," replied mrs. lee. "yes, mother, all of them." "but you know there are a great many bad boys in town. do you wish to invite them?" "perhaps, if we treat them well, they will be made better by it." "would you like to have joe birch come to the party?" "i don't know, mother," said flora, musing. "i think you had better invite only those who will enjoy the party, and who will not be likely to spoil the pleasure of others. we will not invite such boys as joe birch." "just as you think best, dear mother," replied flora. "shall i ask such boys as tommy woggs?" "tommy isn't a bad boy," said mrs. lee, with a smile. "i don't know that he is; but he is a very queer fellow. you said i had better not ask those who would be likely to spoil the pleasure of others." "do you think, my child, tommy woggs will do so?" "i am afraid he would; he is such a queer boy." "but tommy is a great traveller, you know," added mrs. lee, laughing. "the boys and girls don't like him, he pretends to be such a big man. he knows more than all the rest of the world put together--at least, he thinks he does." "i think you had better ask him, for he will probably feel slighted if you don't." "very well, mother." "now, flora, i will take a pencil and paper and write down the names of all the boys and girls with whom you are acquainted; and you must be careful not to forget any. here comes frank; he will help you." frank was told about the party, and he was quite as much pleased with the idea as his sister had been; and both of them began to repeat the names of all the boys and girls they could remember. for half an hour they were employed in this manner, and then the list was read over to them, so as to be sure that no names had been omitted. flora and frank now went through all the streets of riverdale, in imagination, thinking who lived in each house; and when they had completed their journey in fancy, they felt sure they had omitted none. "but we must invite cousins sarah and henry," said flora. "o, i hope they will come! henry is so funny; we can't do without them." "perhaps they will come; at any rate we will send them invitations," replied mrs. lee. the next day, when the children had gone to school, mrs. lee went to the office of the riverdale gazette, which was the village newspaper, and had the invitations printed on nice gilt-edged paper. by the following day mrs. lee had written in the names of the children invited, enclosed the notes in envelopes, and directed them. i will give you a copy of one of them, that you may know how to write them when you have a birthday party, though i dare say it would do just as well if you go to your friends and ask them to attend. if you change the names and dates, this note will answer for any party. _miss flora lee presents her compliments to miss nellie green, and requests the pleasure of her company on wednesday afternoon, july ._ _riverdale, july ._ "those are very fine indeed," said flora: "shall i put on my bonnet, and carry out some of them to-day?" "no, my child; it is not quite the thing for you to carry your own invitations. i will tell you what you may do. you may hire david white to deliver them for you. you must pay him for it; give him half a dollar, which will be a good thing for him." this plan was adopted, and frank was sent with the notes and the money over to the poor widow's cottage. "don't you think it is very wicked, mother, for rich folks to have parties, when the money they cost will do so much good to the poor?" asked flora. "i do not think so, my dear child." "well, i think so, mother," added flora, warmly. "perhaps you do not fully understand it." "i think i do." "why should it be wicked for you to enjoy yourself?" "i don't think it is wicked to enjoy myself, but only to spend money for such things. you said you were going to have the riverdale band, and that the music would cost more than twenty dollars." "i did, and the supper will cost at least twenty more; for i have spoken to the confectioner to supply us with ice cream, cake, jellies, and other luxuries. we shall have a supply of strawberries and cream, and all the nice things of the season. we must also erect a tent in the garden, in which we shall have the supper; but after tea i will tell you all about it." [illustration] [illustration: flora and her father.] ii. flora could not help thinking how much good the forty dollars, which her father would have to pay for the birthday party, would do if given to the poor. it seemed to her just like spending the money for a few hours' pleasure; and even if they had a fine time, which she was quite sure they would have, it would be soon over, and not do any real good. forty dollars was a great deal of money. it would pay mrs. white's rent for a whole year; it would clothe her family, and feed them nearly all the next winter. it appeared to her like a shameful waste; and these thoughts promised to take away a great deal from the pleasure of the occasion. "i think, mother, i had just as lief not have the band, and only have a supper of bread and butter and seed cakes." "why, flora, what has got into you?" said her father. mrs. lee laughed at the troubled looks of flora, and explained to her father the nature of her scruples in regard to the party. "where did the child get this foolish idea?" asked her father, who thought her notions were too old and too severe for a little girl. "didn't i see last winter how much good only a little money would do?" replied flora. "don't you think it is wicked for me to live in this great house, keep five or six horses, and nine or ten servants, when i could live in a little house, like mrs. white?" laughed mr. lee. "all the money you spend would take care of a dozen families of poor folks," said flora. "that is very true. suppose i should turn away all the men and women that work for me,--those, i mean, who work about the house and garden,--and give the money i spend in luxuries to the poor." "but what would john and peter, hannah and bridget do then? they would lose their places, and not be able to earn any thing. why, no, father; peter has a family; he has got three children, and he must take care of them." "ah, you begin to see it--do you?" said mr. lee, with a smile. "all that i spend upon luxury goes into the pockets of the farmer, mechanic, and laborer." "i see that, father," replied flora, looking as bright as sunshine again; "but all the money spent on my party will be wasted--won't it?" "not a cent of it; my child. if i were a miser, and kept my money in an iron safe, and lived like a poor man, i should waste it then." "but twenty dollars for the riverdale band is a great deal to give for a few hours' service. it don't do any good, i think." "yes, it does; music improves our minds and hearts. it makes us happy. i have engaged six men to play. they are musicians only at such times as they can get a job. they are shoemakers, also, and poor men; and the money which i shall pay them will help support their families and educate them." "what a fool i was, father!" exclaimed flora. "o, no; not so bad as that; for a great many older and wiser persons than yourself have thought just what you think." "but the supper, father,--the ice cream, the cake, and the lemonade,--won't all the money spent for these things be wasted?" "no more than the money spent for the music. the confectioner and those whom he employs depend upon their work for the means of supporting themselves and their families." "so they do, father. and when you have a party, you are really doing good to the poor." "that depends upon circumstances," replied mr. lee. "i don't think it would be an act of charity for a person who could not afford it to give a party. i only mean to say that when we spend money for that which does not injure us or any body else, what we spend goes into the pockets of those who need it. "a party--a proper party, i mean, such a one as you will have--is a good thing in itself. innocent amusement is just as necessary as food and drink. "god has given me wealth, flora, and he expects me to do all the good i can with it. i hold it as his steward. now, when i pay one of these musicians three or four dollars for an afternoon's work, i do him a favor as well as you and those whom you invite to your party. "and i hope the party will make you love one another more than ever before. i hope the music will warm your hearts, and that the supper will make you happy, and render you thankful to the giver of all things for his constant bounty." "how funny that i should make such a blunder!" exclaimed flora. "i am sure i shall enjoy my party a great deal more now that i understand these things." "i hope you won't understand too much, flora. suppose you had only a dollar, and that it had been given you to purchase a story book. then, suppose mrs. white and her children were suffering from want of fuel and clothing. what would you do with your dollar?" "i would----" "wait a minute, flora," interposed her father. "when you buy the book, you pay the printer, the paper maker, the bookseller, the type founder, the miner who dug the lead and the iron from the earth, the machinist who made the press, and a great many other persons whose labor enters into the making of a book--you pay all these men for their labor; you give them money to help take care of their wives and children, their fathers and mothers. you help all these men when you buy a book. now, what would you do with your dollar?" "i would give it to poor mrs. white," promptly replied flora. "i think you would do right, for your money would do more good in her hands. the self-denial on your part would do you good. i only wanted you to understand that, when you bought a book,--even a book which was only to amuse you,--the money is not thrown away. "riches are given to men for a good purpose; and they ought to use their wealth for the benefit of others, as well as for their own pleasure. if they spend money, even for things that are of no real use to them, it helps the poor, for it feeds and clothes them." flora was much interested in this conversation, and perhaps some of my young friends will think she was an old head to care for such things; but i think they can all understand what was said as well as she did. [illustration] [illustration: on the lawn.] iii. the great day at length arrived, and every thing was ready for the party. on the lawn, by the side of the house, a large tent had been put up, in which the children were to have the feast. under a large maple tree, near the tent, a stage for the musicians had been erected. two swings had been put up; and there was no good reason why the children should not enjoy themselves to their hearts' content. i think the teachers in the riverdale school found it hard work to secure the attention of their scholars on the forenoon of that day, for all the boys and girls in the neighborhood were thinking about the party. as early as one o'clock in the afternoon the children began to collect at the house of mr. lee, and at the end of an hour all who had received invitations were present. the band had arrived, and at a signal from mr. lee the music commenced. "now, father, we are all here. what shall we do?" asked flora, who was so excited she did not know which way to turn, or how to proceed to entertain the party. "wait a few minutes, and let the children listen to the music. they seem to enjoy it very well." "but we want to play something, father." "very soon, my child, we will play something." "what shall we play, father?" "there are plenty of plays. wouldn't you like to march a little while to the music?" "march?" "yes, march to the tune of 'hail, columbia.' i will show you how to do it." "i don't know what you mean, father." "well, i will show you in a few minutes." when the band had played a little while longer, mr. lee assembled the children in the middle of the lawn, and asked them if they would like to march. they were pleased with the idea, though some of them thought it would be rather tame amusement for such an exciting occasion. "you want two leaders, and i think you had better choose them yourselves. it would be the most proper to select two boys." mr. lee thought the choice of the leaders would amuse them; so he proposed that they should vote for them. "how shall we vote, father?" asked frank. "three of the children must retire, and pick out four persons; and the two of these four who get the most votes shall be the leaders." mr. lee appointed two girls and one boy to be on this committee; but while he was doing so, tommy woggs said he did not think this was a good play. "i don't think they will choose the best leaders," said tommy. "don't you, mr. woggs?" asked mr. lee, laughing. "no, sir, i do not. what do any of these boys know about such things!" said tommy, with a sneer. "i have been to new york, and have seen a great many parades." "have you, indeed?" "yes, sir, i have." "and you think you would make a better leader than any of the others?" "i think so, sir." all the children laughed heartily at master woggs, who was so very modest! "none of these boys and girls have ever been to new york," added tommy, his vanity increasing every moment. "that is very true; and perhaps the children will select you as their leader." "they can do as they like. if they want me, i should be very willing to be their leader," replied tommy. it was very clear that master woggs had a very good opinion of himself. he seemed to think that the fact of his having been to new york made a hero of him, and that all the boys ought to take off their caps to him. but it is quite as certain that the riverdale children did not think master woggs was a very great man. he thought so much of himself, that there was no room for others to think much of him. the committee of three returned in a few minutes, and reported the names of four boys to be voted for as the leaders. they were henry vernon, charley green, david white, and tommy woggs. the important little gentleman who had been to new york, was delighted with the action of the committee. he thought all the children could see what a very fine leader he would make, and that all of them would vote for him. "what shall we do for votes, father?" asked frank. "we can easily manage that, frank," replied mr. lee. "we have no paper here." "listen to me a moment, children," continued mr. lee. "there are four boys to be voted for; and we will choose one leader first, and then the other. "those who want henry vernon for a leader will put a blade of grass in the hat which will be the ballot box; those who want charley green will put in a clover blossom; those who want david white will put in a maple leaf; and those who want to vote for tommy woggs will put in a--let me see--put in a dandelion flower." the children laughed, for they thought the dandelion was just the thing for master woggs, who had been to new york. one of the boys carried round mr. lee's hat, and it was found that henry vernon had the most votes; so he was declared to be the first leader. "humph!" said tommy woggs. "what does henry vernon know? he has never been to new york." "but he lives in boston," added charley green. "boston is nothing side of new york." "i think boston is a great place," replied charley. "that's because you have never been to new york," said master woggs. "they will, of course, all vote for me next time. if they do, i will show them how things are done in new york." "pooh!" exclaimed charley, as he left the vain little man. while all the children were wondering who would be the other leader, flora was electioneering among them for her favorite candidate; that is, she was asking her friends to vote for the one she wanted. who do you suppose it was? master woggs? no. it was david white. the hat was passed round again, and when the votes were counted, there was only one single dandelion blossom found in the hat. tommy woggs was mad, for he felt that his companions had slighted him; but it was only because he was so vain and silly. people do not often think much of those who think a great deal of themselves. there was a great demand for maple leaves, and david white was chosen the second leader, and had nearly all the votes. the boys then gave three cheers for the leaders, and the lines were formed. mr. lee told henry and david just how they were to march, and the band at once began to play "hail columbia." the children first marched, two by two, round the lawn, and then down the centre. when they reached the end, one leader turned off to the right, and the other to the left, each followed by a single line of the children. passing round the lawn, they came together again on the other side. then they formed a great circle, a circle within a circle, and concluded the march with the "grand basket." this was certainly a very simple play, but the children enjoyed it ever so much--i mean all but vain master woggs, who was so greatly displeased because he was not chosen one of the leaders, that he said there was no fun at all in the whole thing. about half an hour was spent in marching, and then mr. lee proposed a second game. the children wanted to march a little longer; but there were a great number of things to be done before night, and so it was thought best, on the whole, to try a new game. [illustration] [illustration: the old fiddler.] iv. when the children had done marching, mrs. lee took charge of the games. several new plays, which none of them had heard of before, were introduced. the boys and girls all liked them very well, and the time passed away most rapidly. just before they were going to supper, an old man, with a fiddle in his hand, tottered into the garden, and down the lawn. he was a very queer-looking old man. he had long white hair, and a long white beard. he was dressed in old, worn-out, soldier clothes, in part, and had a sailor's hat upon his head, so that they could not tell whether he was a soldier or a sailor. as he approached the children, they began to laugh with all their might; and he certainly was a very funny old man. his long beard and hair, his tattered finery, and his hobbling walk, would have made almost any one laugh--much more a company of children as full of fun as those who were attending the birthday party. "children," said the old man, as he took off his hat and made a low bow, "i heard there was a party here, and i came to play the fiddle for you. all the boys and girls like a fiddle, because it is so merry." "o mother! what did send that old man here?" cried flora. "he came of himself, i suppose," replied mrs. lee, laughing. "i think it is too bad to laugh at an old man like him," added flora. "it would be, if he were in distress; but don't you see he is as merry as any of the children?" "play us some tunes," said the children. "i will, my little dears;" and the old man raised the fiddle. "let's see--i will play 'napoleon's grand march.'" the fiddler played, but he behaved so queerly that the children laughed so loud they could hardly hear the music. "why, that's 'yankee doodle,'" said henry vernon; and they all shouted at the idea of calling that tune "napoleon's grand march." "now i will play you the solo to the opera of 'la sonnambula,'" said the old man. "whew!" said henry. the old man fiddled again, with the same funny movements as before. "why, that's 'yankee doodle' too!" exclaimed henry. "i guess he don't know any other tune." "you like that tune so well, i will play you 'washington's march;'" and the funny old fiddler, with a great flourish, began to play again; but still it was "yankee doodle." and so he went on saying he would play many different tunes, but he played nothing but "yankee doodle." "can't you tell us a story now?" asked charley green. "o, yes, my little man, i can tell you a story. what shall it be?" "are you a soldier or a sailor?" "neither, my boy." "the story! the story!" shouted the boys, very much excited. "some years ago i was in new york," the old man commenced. "did you see me there?" demanded tommy woggs. "well, my little man, i don't remember that i saw you." "o, i was there;" and tommy thrust his hands down to the bottom of his pockets, and strutted up the space between the children and the comical old fiddler. "i did see a very nice-looking little gentleman----" "that was me," pompously added tommy. "he was stalking up broadway. he thought every body was looking at and admiring him; but such was not the case. he looked just like--just like----" "like me?" asked tommy. "like a sick monkey," replied the fiddler. "go on with your story." "i will, children. several years ago i was in new york. it is a great city; if you don't believe it, ask master tommy woggs." "you tell the truth, mr. fiddler. it is a great city, and i have been all over it, and can speak from observation," replied master woggs. "the story!" shouted the children. "i was walking up broadway. this street is always crowded with people, as well as with carts and carriages." "i have seen that street," said tommy. "now you keep still a few minutes, tommy, if you can," interposed mrs. lee. "at the corner of wall street----" "i know where that is," exclaimed tommy. "at the corner of wall street there was a man with a kind of cart, loaded with apples and candy, which he was selling to the passers-by. suddenly there came a stage down the street, and ran into the apple cart." "i saw the very same thing done," added tommy, with his usual self-important air. "keep still, tom woggs," said charley green. "the apples were scattered all over the sidewalk; yet the man picked up all but one of them, though he was very angry with the driver of the stage for running against his cart." "why didn't he pick up the other apple?" asked henry. "a well-dressed man, with big black whiskers, picked that up. 'give it to me,' said the apple man. 'i will not,' replied the man with whiskers. the apple merchant was as mad as he could be; and then the man with black whiskers put his hand in his pocket and drew out a knife. the blade was six inches long." "o, dear me!" exclaimed flora. "raising the knife, he at once moved towards the angry apple merchant, and--and----" "well, what?" asked several, eagerly. "and cut a piece out of the apple, and put it in his mouth." the children all laughed heartily, for they were sure the man with the whiskers was going to stab the apple merchant. "he then took two cents from his pocket, paid for the apple, and went his way," continued the old man. "now, there is one thing more i can do. i want to run a race with these boys." "pooh! you run a race!" sneered charley. "i can beat you." "try it, and see." the old man and charley took places, and were to start at the word from henry. but when it was given, the fiddler hobbled off, leaving charley to follow at his leisure. when the old man had got half way round the lawn, charley started, sure he could catch him long before he reached the goal. but just as the boy was coming up with the man, the latter began to run, and poor charley found, much to his surprise, that he ran very fast. he was unable to overtake him, and consequently lost the race. the children were much astonished when they saw the old man run so fast. he appeared to have grown young all at once. but he offered to race with any of the boys again; and half a dozen of them agreed to run with him. "i guess i will take my coat off this time," said the fiddler. as he threw away the coat, he slipped off the wig and false beard he wore; and the children found, to their surprise, that the old man was mr. lee, who had dressed himself up in this disguise to please them. the supper was now ready, and all the children were invited to the tent. they had played so hard that all of them had excellent appetites, and the supper was just as nice as a supper could be. it was now nearly dark, and the children had to go home; but all of them declared the birthday party of flora was the best they ever attended. "only to think," said flora, when she went to bed that night, "the old fiddler was my father!" lizzie. mother, what ails our lizzie dear, so cold and still she lies? she does not speak a word to-day, and closed her soft blue eyes. why won't she look at me again, and laugh and play once more? i cannot make her look at me as she used to look before. her face and neck as marble white, and, o, so very cold! why don't you warm her, mother dear, your cloak around her fold? her little hand is cold as ice, upon her waveless breast,-- so pure, i thought i could see through the little hand i pressed. your darling sister's dead, my child; she cannot see you now; the damps of death are gath'ring there upon her marble brow. she cannot speak to you again, her lips are sealed in death; that little hand will never move, nor come that fleeting breath. all robed in white, and decked with flowers, we'll lay her in the tomb; the flower that bloomed so sweetly here, no more on earth will bloom; but in our hearts we'll lay her up, and love her all the more, because she died in life's spring time, ere earth had won her o'er. nay, nay, my child, she is not dead, although she slumbers there, and cold and still her marble brow, and free from pain and care. she slept, and passed from earth to heaven, and won her early crown: an angel now she dwells above, and looks in triumph down. she is not dead, for jesus died that she might live again. "forbid them not," the saviour said, and blessed dear sister then. her little lamp this morn went out on earth's time-bounded shore; but angels bright in heaven this morn relighted it once more. some time we, too, shall fall asleep, to wake in heaven above, and meet our angel lizzie there in realms of endless love. we'll bear sweet sister in our hearts, and then there'll ever be an angel there to keep our souls from sin and sorrow free. the magic of oz a faithful record of the remarkable adventures of dorothy and trot and the wizard of oz, together with the cowardly lion, the hungry tiger and cap'n bill, in their successful search for a magical and beautiful birthday present for princess ozma of oz by l. frank baum "royal historian of oz" contents --to my readers-- . mount munch . the hawk . two bad ones . conspirators . a happy corner of oz . ozma's birthday presents . the forest of gugu . the li-mon-eags make trouble . the isle of the magic flower . stuck fast . the beasts of the forest of gugu . kiki uses his magic . the loss of the black bag . the wizard learns the magic word . the lonesome duck . the glass cat finds the black bag . a remarkable journey . the magic of the wizard . dorothy and the bumble bees . the monkeys have trouble . the college of athletic arts . ozma's birthday party . the fountain of oblivion to my readers curiously enough, in the events which have taken place in the last few years in our "great outside world," we may find incidents so marvelous and inspiring that i cannot hope to equal them with stories of the land of oz. however, "the magic of oz" is really more strange and unusual than anything i have read or heard about on our side of the great sandy desert which shuts us off from the land of oz, even during the past exciting years, so i hope it will appeal to your love of novelty. a long and confining illness has prevented my answering all the good letters sent me--unless stamps were enclosed--but from now on i hope to be able to give prompt attention to each and every letter with which my readers favor me. assuring you that my love for you has never faltered and hoping the oz books will continue to give you pleasure as long as i am able to write them, i am yours affectionately, l. frank baum, "royal historian of oz." "ozcot" at hollywood in california . mount munch on the east edge of the land of oz, in the munchkin country, is a big, tall hill called mount munch. one one side, the bottom of this hill just touches the deadly sandy desert that separates the fairyland of oz from all the rest of the world, but on the other side, the hill touches the beautiful, fertile country of the munchkins. the munchkin folks, however, merely stand off and look at mount munch and know very little about it; for, about a third of the way up, its sides become too steep to climb, and if any people live upon the top of that great towering peak that seems to reach nearly to the skies, the munchkins are not aware of the fact. but people do live there, just the same. the top of mount munch is shaped like a saucer, broad and deep, and in the saucer are fields where grains and vegetables grow, and flocks are fed, and brooks flow and trees bear all sorts of things. there are houses scattered here and there, each having its family of hyups, as the people call themselves. the hyups seldom go down the mountain, for the same reason that the munchkins never climb up: the sides are too steep. in one of the houses lived a wise old hyup named bini aru, who used to be a clever sorcerer. but ozma of oz, who rules everyone in the land of oz, had made a decree that no one should practice magic in her dominions except glinda the good and the wizard of oz, and when glinda sent this royal command to the hyups by means of a strong-winged eagle, old bini aru at once stopped performing magical arts. he destroyed many of his magic powders and tools of magic, and afterward honestly obeyed the law. he had never seen ozma, but he knew she was his ruler and must be obeyed. there was only one thing that grieved him. he had discovered a new and secret method of transformations that was unknown to any other sorcerer. glinda the good did not know it, nor did the little wizard of oz, nor dr. pipt nor old mombi, nor anyone else who dealt in magic arts. it was bini aru's own secret. by its means, it was the simplest thing in the world to transform anyone into beast, bird or fish, or anything else, and back again, once you know how to pronounce the mystical word: "pyrzqxgl." bini aru had used this secret many times, but not to cause evil or suffering to others. when he had wandered far from home and was hungry, he would say: "i want to become a cow--pyrzqxgl!" in an instant he would be a cow, and then he would eat grass and satisfy his hunger. all beasts and birds can talk in the land of oz, so when the cow was no longer hungry, it would say: "i want to be bini aru again: pyrzqxgl!" and the magic word, properly pronounced, would instantly restore him to his proper form. now, of course, i would not dare to write down this magic word so plainly if i thought my readers would pronounce it properly and so be able to transform themselves and others, but it is a fact that no one in all the world except bini aru, had ever (up to the time this story begins) been able to pronounce "pyrzqxgl!" the right way, so i think it is safe to give it to you. it might be well, however, in reading this story aloud, to be careful not to pronounce pyrzqxgl the proper way, and thus avoid all danger of the secret being able to work mischief. bini aru, having discovered the secret of instant transformation, which required no tools or powders or other chemicals or herbs and always worked perfectly, was reluctant to have such a wonderful discovery entirely unknown or lost to all human knowledge. he decided not to use it again, since ozma had forbidden him to do so, but he reflected that ozma was a girl and some time might change her mind and allow her subjects to practice magic, in which case bini aru could again transform himself and others at will,--unless, of course, he forgot how to pronounce pyrzqxgl in the meantime. after giving the matter careful thought, he decided to write the word, and how it should be pronounced, in some secret place, so that he could find it after many years, but where no one else could ever find it. that was a clever idea, but what bothered the old sorcerer was to find a secret place. he wandered all over the saucer at the top of mount munch, but found no place in which to write the secret word where others might not be likely to stumble upon it. so finally he decided it must be written somewhere in his own house. bini aru had a wife named mopsi aru who was famous for making fine huckleberry pies, and he had a son named kiki aru who was not famous at all. he was noted as being cross and disagreeable because he was not happy, and he was not happy because he wanted to go down the mountain and visit the big world below and his father would not let him. no one paid any attention to kiki aru, because he didn't amount to anything, anyway. once a year there was a festival on mount munch which all the hyups attended. it was held in the center of the saucer-shaped country, and the day was given over to feasting and merry-making. the young folks danced and sang songs; the women spread the tables with good things to eat, and the men played on musical instruments and told fairy tales. kiki aru usually went to these festivals with his parents, and then sat sullenly outside the circle and would not dance or sing or even talk to the other young people. so the festival did not make him any happier than other days, and this time he told bini aru and mopsi aru that he would not go. he would rather stay at home and be unhappy all by himself, he said, and so they gladly let him stay. but after he was left alone kiki decided to enter his father's private room, where he was forbidden to go, and see if he could find any of the magic tools bini aru used to work with when he practiced sorcery. as he went in kiki stubbed his toe on one of the floor boards. he searched everywhere but found no trace of his father's magic. all had been destroyed. much disappointed, he started to go out again when he stubbed his toe on the same floor board. that set him thinking. examining the board more closely, kiki found it had been pried up and then nailed down again in such a manner that it was a little higher than the other boards. but why had his father taken up the board? had he hidden some of his magic tools underneath the floor? kiki got a chisel and pried up the board, but found nothing under it. he was just about to replace the board when it slipped from his hand and turned over, and he saw something written on the underside of it. the light was rather dim, so he took the board to the window and examined it, and found that the writing described exactly how to pronounce the magic word pyrzqxgl, which would transform anyone into anything instantly, and back again when the word was repeated. now, at first, kiki aru didn't realize what a wonderful secret he had discovered; but he thought it might be of use to him and so he took a piece of paper and made on it an exact copy of the instructions for pronouncing pyrzqxgl. then he folded the paper and put it in his pocket, and replaced the board in the floor so that no one would suspect it had been removed. after this kiki went into the garden and sitting beneath a tree made a careful study of the paper. he had always wanted to get away from mount munch and visit the big world--especially the land of oz--and the idea now came to him that if he could transform himself into a bird, he could fly to any place he wished to go and fly back again whenever he cared to. it was necessary, however, to learn by heart the way to pronounce the magic word, because a bird would have no way to carry a paper with it, and kiki would be unable to resume his proper shape if he forgot the word or its pronunciation. so he studied it a long time, repeating it a hundred times in his mind until he was sure he would not forget it. but to make safety doubly sure he placed the paper in a tin box in a neglected part of the garden and covered the box with small stones. by this time it was getting late in the day and kiki wished to attempt his first transformation before his parents returned from the festival. so he stood on the front porch of his home and said: "i want to become a big, strong bird, like a hawk--pyrzqxgl!" he pronounced it the right way, so in a flash he felt that he was completely changed in form. he flapped his wings, hopped to the porch railing and said: "caw-oo! caw-oo!" then he laughed and said half aloud: "i suppose that's the funny sound this sort of a bird makes. but now let me try my wings and see if i'm strong enough to fly across the desert." for he had decided to make his first trip to the country outside the land of oz. he had stolen this secret of transformation and he knew he had disobeyed the law of oz by working magic. perhaps glinda or the wizard of oz would discover him and punish him, so it would be good policy to keep away from oz altogether. slowly kiki rose into the air, and resting on his broad wings, floated in graceful circles above the saucer-shaped mountain-top. from his height, he could see, far across the burning sands of the deadly desert, another country that might be pleasant to explore, so he headed that way, and with strong, steady strokes of his wings, began the long flight. . the hawk even a hawk has to fly high in order to cross the deadly desert, from which poisonous fumes are constantly rising. kiki aru felt sick and faint by the time he reached good land again, for he could not quite escape the effects of the poisons. but the fresh air soon restored him and he alighted in a broad table-land which is called hiland. just beyond it is a valley known as loland, and these two countries are ruled by the gingerbread man, john dough, with chick the cherub as his prime minister. the hawk merely stopped here long enough to rest, and then he flew north and passed over a fine country called merryland, which is ruled by a lovely wax doll. then, following the curve of the desert, he turned north and settled on a tree-top in the kingdom of noland. kiki was tired by this time, and the sun was now setting, so he decided to remain here till morning. from his tree-top he could see a house near by, which looked very comfortable. a man was milking a cow in the yard and a pleasant-faced woman came to the door and called him to supper. that made kiki wonder what sort of food hawks ate. he felt hungry, but didn't know what to eat or where to get it. also he thought a bed would be more comfortable than a tree-top for sleeping, so he hopped to the ground and said: "i want to become kiki aru again--pyrzqxgl!" instantly he had resumed his natural shape, and going to the house, he knocked upon the door and asked for some supper. "who are you?" asked the man of the house. "a stranger from the land of oz," replied kiki aru. "then you are welcome," said the man. kiki was given a good supper and a good bed, and he behaved very well, although he refused to answer all the questions the good people of noland asked him. having escaped from his home and found a way to see the world, the young man was no longer unhappy, and so he was no longer cross and disagreeable. the people thought him a very respectable person and gave him breakfast next morning, after which he started on his way feeling quite contented. having walked for an hour or two through the pretty country that is ruled by king bud, kiki aru decided he could travel faster and see more as a bird, so he transformed himself into a white dove and visited the great city of nole and saw the king's palace and gardens and many other places of interest. then he flew westward into the kingdom of ix, and after a day in queen zixi's country went on westward into the land of ev. every place he visited he thought was much more pleasant than the saucer-country of the hyups, and he decided that when he reached the finest country of all he would settle there and enjoy his future life to the utmost. in the land of ev he resumed his own shape again, for the cities and villages were close together and he could easily go on foot from one to another of them. toward evening he came to a good inn and asked the inn-keeper if he could have food and lodging. "you can if you have the money to pay," said the man, "otherwise you must go elsewhere." this surprised kiki, for in the land of oz they do not use money at all, everyone being allowed to take what he wishes without price. he had no money, therefore, and so he turned away to seek hospitality elsewhere. looking through an open window into one of the rooms of the inn, as he passed along, he saw an old man counting on a table a big heap of gold pieces, which kiki thought to be money. one of these would buy him supper and a bed, he reflected, so he transformed himself into a magpie and, flying through the open window, caught up one of the gold pieces in his beak and flew out again before the old man could interfere. indeed, the old man who was robbed was quite helpless, for he dared not leave his pile of gold to chase the magpie, and before he could place the gold in a sack in his pocket the robber bird was out of sight and to seek it would be folly. kiki aru flew to a group of trees and, dropping the gold piece to the ground, resumed his proper shape, and then picked up the money and put it in his pocket. "you'll be sorry for this!" exclaimed a small voice just over his head. kiki looked up and saw that a sparrow, perched upon a branch, was watching him. "sorry for what?" he demanded. "oh, i saw the whole thing," asserted the sparrow. "i saw you look in the window at the gold, and then make yourself into a magpie and rob the poor man, and then i saw you fly here and make the bird into your former shape. that's magic, and magic is wicked and unlawful; and you stole money, and that's a still greater crime. you'll be sorry, some day." "i don't care," replied kiki aru, scowling. "aren't you afraid to be wicked?" asked the sparrow. "no, i didn't know i was being wicked," said kiki, "but if i was, i'm glad of it. i hate good people. i've always wanted to be wicked, but i didn't know how." "haw, haw, haw!" laughed someone behind him, in a big voice; "that's the proper spirit, my lad! i'm glad i've met you; shake hands." the sparrow gave a frightened squeak and flew away. . two bad ones kiki turned around and saw a queer old man standing near. he didn't stand straight, for he was crooked. he had a fat body and thin legs and arms. he had a big, round face with bushy, white whiskers that came to a point below his waist, and white hair that came to a point on top of his head. he wore dull-gray clothes that were tight fitting, and his pockets were all bunched out as if stuffed full of something. "i didn't know you were here," said kiki. "i didn't come until after you did," said the queer old man. "who are you?" asked kiki. "my name's ruggedo. i used to be the nome king; but i got kicked out of my country, and now i'm a wanderer." "what made them kick you out?" inquired the hyup boy. "well, it's the fashion to kick kings nowadays. i was a pretty good king--to myself--but those dreadful oz people wouldn't let me alone. so i had to abdicate." "what does that mean?" "it means to be kicked out. but let's talk about something pleasant. who are you and where did you come from?" "i'm called kiki aru. i used to live on mount munch in the land of oz, but now i'm a wanderer like yourself." the nome king gave him a shrewd look. "i heard that bird say that you transformed yourself into a magpie and back again. is that true?" kiki hesitated, but saw no reason to deny it. he felt that it would make him appear more important. "well--yes," he said. "then you're a wizard?" "no; i only understand transformations," he admitted. "well, that's pretty good magic, anyhow," declared old ruggedo. "i used to have some very fine magic, myself, but my enemies took it all away from me. where are you going now?" "i'm going into the inn, to get some supper and a bed," said kiki. "have you the money to pay for it?" asked the nome. "i have one gold piece." "which you stole. very good. and you're glad that you're wicked. better yet. i like you, young man, and i'll go to the inn with you if you'll promise not to eat eggs for supper." "don't you like eggs?" asked kiki. "i'm afraid of 'em; they're dangerous!" said ruggedo, with a shudder. "all right," agreed kiki; "i won't ask for eggs." "then come along," said the nome. when they entered the inn, the landlord scowled at kiki and said: "i told you i would not feed you unless you had money." kiki showed him the gold piece. "and how about you?" asked the landlord, turning to ruggedo. "have you money?" "i've something better," answered the old nome, and taking a bag from one of his pockets he poured from it upon the table a mass of glittering gems--diamonds, rubies and emeralds. the landlord was very polite to the strangers after that. he served them an excellent supper, and while they ate it, the hyup boy asked his companion: "where did you get so many jewels?" "well, i'll tell you," answered the nome. "when those oz people took my kingdom away from me--just because it was my kingdom and i wanted to run it to suit myself--they said i could take as many precious stones as i could carry. so i had a lot of pockets made in my clothes and loaded them all up. jewels are fine things to have with you when you travel; you can trade them for anything." "are they better than gold pieces?" asked kiki. "the smallest of these jewels is worth a hundred gold pieces such as you stole from the old man." "don't talk so loud," begged kiki, uneasily. "some one else might hear what you are saying." after supper they took a walk together, and the former nome king said: "do you know the shaggy man, and the scarecrow, and the tin woodman, and dorothy, and ozma and all the other oz people?" "no," replied the boy, "i have never been away from mount munch until i flew over the deadly desert the other day in the shape of a hawk." "then you've never seen the emerald city of oz?" "never." "well," said the nome, "i knew all the oz people, and you can guess i do not love them. all during my wanderings i have brooded on how i can be revenged on them. now that i've met you i can see a way to conquer the land of oz and be king there myself, which is better than being king of the nomes." "how can you do that?" inquired kiki aru, wonderingly. "never mind how. in the first place, i'll make a bargain with you. tell me the secret of how to perform transformations and i will give you a pocketful of jewels, the biggest and finest that i possess." "no," said kiki, who realized that to share his power with another would be dangerous to himself. "i'll give you two pocketsful of jewels," said the nome. "no," answered kiki. "i'll give you every jewel i possess." "no, no, no!" said kiki, who was beginning to be frightened. "then," said the nome, with a wicked look at the boy, "i'll tell the inn-keeper that you stole that gold piece and he will have you put in prison." kiki laughed at the threat. "before he can do that," said he, "i will transform myself into a lion and tear him to pieces, or into a bear and eat him up, or into a fly and fly away where he could not find me." "can you really do such wonderful transformations?" asked the old nome, looking at him curiously. "of course," declared kiki. "i can transform you into a stick of wood, in a flash, or into a stone, and leave you here by the roadside." "the wicked nome shivered a little when he heard that, but it made him long more than ever to possess the great secret. after a while he said: "i'll tell you what i'll do. if you will help me to conquer oz and to transform the oz people, who are my enemies, into sticks or stones, by telling me your secret, i'll agree to make you the ruler of all oz, and i will be your prime minister and see that your orders are obeyed." "i'll help do that," said kiki, "but i won't tell you my secret." the nome was so furious at this refusal that he jumped up and down with rage and spluttered and choked for a long time before he could control his passion. but the boy was not at all frightened. he laughed at the wicked old nome, which made him more furious than ever. "let's give up the idea," he proposed, when ruggedo had quieted somewhat. "i don't know the oz people you mention and so they are not my enemies. if they've kicked you out of your kingdom, that's your affair--not mine." "wouldn't you like to be king of that splendid fairyland?" asked ruggedo. "yes, i would," replied kiki aru; "but you want to be king yourself, and we would quarrel over it." "no," said the nome, trying to deceive him. "i don't care to be king of oz, come to think it over. i don't even care to live in that country. what i want first is revenge. if we can conquer oz, i'll get enough magic then to conquer my own kingdom of the nomes, and i'll go back and live in my underground caverns, which are more home-like than the top of the earth. so here's my proposition: help me conquer oz and get revenge, and help me get the magic away from glinda and the wizard, and i'll let you be king of oz forever afterward." "i'll think it over," answered kiki, and that is all he would say that evening. in the night when all in the inn were asleep but himself, old ruggedo the nome rose softly from his couch and went into the room of kiki aru the hyup, and searched everywhere for the magic tool that performed his transformations. of course, there was no such tool, and although ruggedo searched in all the boy's pockets, he found nothing magical whatever. so he went back to his bed and began to doubt that kiki could perform transformations. next morning he said: "which way do you travel to-day?" "i think i shall visit the rose kingdom," answered the boy. "that is a long journey," declared the nome. "i shall transform myself into a bird," said kiki, "and so fly to the rose kingdom in an hour." "then transform me, also, into a bird, and i will go with you," suggested ruggedo. "but, in that case, let us fly together to the land of oz, and see what it looks like." kiki thought this over. pleasant as were the countries he had visited, he heard everywhere that the land of oz was more beautiful and delightful. the land of oz was his own country, too, and if there was any possibility of his becoming its king, he must know something about it. while kiki the hyup thought, ruggedo the nome was also thinking. this boy possessed a marvelous power, and although very simple in some ways, he was determined not to part with his secret. however, if ruggedo could get him to transport the wily old nome to oz, which he could reach in no other way, he might then induce the boy to follow his advice and enter into the plot for revenge, which he had already planned in his wicked heart. "there are wizards and magicians in oz," remarked kiki, after a time. "they might discover us, in spite of our transformations." "not if we are careful," ruggedo assured him. "ozma has a magic picture, in which she can see whatever she wishes to see; but ozma will know nothing of our going to oz, and so she will not command her magic picture to show where we are or what we are doing. glinda the good has a great book called the book of records, in which is magically written everything that people do in the land of oz, just the instant they do it." "then," said kiki, "there is no use our attempting to conquer the country, for glinda would read in her book all that we do, and as her magic is greater than mine, she would soon put a stop to our plans." "i said 'people,' didn't i?" retorted the nome. "the book doesn't make a record of what birds do, or beasts. it only tells the doings of people. so, if we fly into the country as birds, glinda won't know anything about it." "two birds couldn't conquer the land of oz," asserted the boy, scornfully. "no; that's true," admitted ruggedo, and then he rubbed his forehead and stroked his long pointed beard and thought some more. "ah, now i have the idea!" he declared. "i suppose you can transform us into beasts as well as birds?" "of course." "and can you make a bird a beast, and a beast a bird again, without taking a human form in between?" "certainly," said kiki. "i can transform myself or others into anything that can talk. there's a magic word that must be spoken in connection with the transformations, and as beasts and birds and dragons and fishes can talk in oz, we may become any of these we desire to. however, if i transformed myself into a tree, i would always remain a tree, because then i could not utter the magic word to change the transformation." "i see; i see," said ruggedo, nodding his bushy, white head until the point of his hair waved back and forth like a pendulum. "that fits in with my idea, exactly. now, listen, and i'll explain to you my plan. we'll fly to oz as birds and settle in one of the thick forests in the gillikin country. there you will transform us into powerful beasts, and as glinda doesn't keep any track of the doings of beasts we can act without being discovered." "but how can two beasts raise an army to conquer the powerful people of oz?" inquired kiki. "that's easy. but not an army of people, mind you. that would be quickly discovered. and while we are in oz you and i will never resume our human forms until we've conquered the country and destroyed glinda, and ozma, and the wizard, and dorothy, and all the rest, and so have nothing more to fear from them." "it is impossible to kill anyone in the land of oz," declared kiki. "it isn't necessary to kill the oz people," rejoined ruggedo. "i'm afraid i don't understand you," objected the boy. "what will happen to the oz people, and what sort of an army could we get together, except of people?" "i'll tell you. the forests of oz are full of beasts. some of them, in the far-away places, are savage and cruel, and would gladly follow a leader as savage as themselves. they have never troubled the oz people much, because they had no leader to urge them on, but we will tell them to help us conquer oz and as a reward we will transform all the beasts into men and women, and let them live in the houses and enjoy all the good things; and we will transform all the people of oz into beasts of various sorts, and send them to live in the forests and the jungles. that is a splendid idea, you must admit, and it's so easy that we won't have any trouble at all to carry it through to success." "will the beasts consent, do you think?" asked the boy. "to be sure they will. we can get every beast in oz on our side--except a few who live in ozma's palace, and they won't count." . conspirators kiki aru didn't know much about oz and didn't know much about the beasts who lived there, but the old nome's plan seemed to him to be quite reasonable. he had a faint suspicion that ruggedo meant to get the best of him in some way, and he resolved to keep a close watch on his fellow-conspirator. as long as he kept to himself the secret word of the transformations, ruggedo would not dare to harm him, and he promised himself that as soon as they had conquered oz, he would transform the old nome into a marble statue and keep him in that form forever. ruggedo, on his part, decided that he could, by careful watching and listening, surprise the boy's secret, and when he had learned the magic word he would transform kiki aru into a bundle of faggots and burn him up and so be rid of him. this is always the way with wicked people. they cannot be trusted even by one another. ruggedo thought he was fooling kiki, and kiki thought he was fooling ruggedo; so both were pleased. "it's a long way across the desert," remarked the boy, "and the sands are hot and send up poisonous vapors. let us wait until evening and then fly across in the night when it will be cooler." the former nome king agreed to this, and the two spent the rest of that day in talking over their plans. when evening came they paid the inn-keeper and walked out to a little grove of trees that stood near by. "remain here for a few minutes and i'll soon be back," said kiki, and walking swiftly away, he left the nome standing in the grove. ruggedo wondered where he had gone, but stood quietly in his place until, all of a sudden, his form changed to that of a great eagle, and he uttered a piercing cry of astonishment and flapped his wings in a sort of panic. at once his eagle cry was answered from beyond the grove, and another eagle, even larger and more powerful than the transformed ruggedo, came sailing through the trees and alighted beside him. "now we are ready for the start," said the voice of kiki, coming from the eagle. ruggedo realized that this time he had been outwitted. he had thought kiki would utter the magic word in his presence, and so he would learn what it was, but the boy had been too shrewd for that. as the two eagles mounted high into the air and began their flight across the great desert that separates the land of oz from all the rest of the world, the nome said: "when i was king of the nomes i had a magic way of working transformations that i thought was good, but it could not compare with your secret word. i had to have certain tools and make passes and say a lot of mystic words before i could transform anybody." "what became of your magic tools?" inquired kiki. "the oz people took them all away from me--that horrid girl, dorothy, and that terrible fairy, ozma, the ruler of oz--at the time they took away my underground kingdom and kicked me upstairs into the cold, heartless world." "why did you let them do that?" asked the boy. "well," said ruggedo, "i couldn't help it. they rolled eggs at me--eggs--dreadful eggs!--and if an egg even touches a nome, he is ruined for life." "is any kind of an egg dangerous to a nome?" "any kind and every kind. an egg is the only thing i'm afraid of." . a happy corner of oz there is no other country so beautiful as the land of oz. there are no other people so happy and contented and prosperous as the oz people. they have all they desire; they love and admire their beautiful girl ruler, ozma of oz, and they mix work and play so justly that both are delightful and satisfying and no one has any reason to complain. once in a while something happens in oz to disturb the people's happiness for a brief time, for so rich and attractive a fairyland is sure to make a few selfish and greedy outsiders envious, and therefore certain evil-doers have treacherously plotted to conquer oz and enslave its people and destroy its girl ruler, and so gain the wealth of oz for themselves. but up to the time when the cruel and crafty nome, ruggedo, conspired with kiki aru, the hyup, all such attempts had failed. the oz people suspected no danger. life in the world's nicest fairyland was one round of joyous, happy days. in the center of the emerald city of oz, the capital city of ozma's dominions, is a vast and beautiful garden, surrounded by a wall inlaid with shining emeralds, and in the center of this garden stands ozma's royal palace, the most splendid building ever constructed. from a hundred towers and domes floated the banners of oz, which included the ozmies, the munchkins, the gillikins, the winkies and the quadlings. the banner of the munchkins is blue, that of the winkies yellow; the gillikin banner is purple, and the quadling's banner is red. the colors of the emerald city are of course green. ozma's own banner has a green center, and is divided into four quarters. these quarters are colored blue, purple, yellow and red, indicating that she rules over all the countries of the land of oz. this fairyland is so big, however, that all of it is not yet known to its girl ruler, and it is said that in some far parts of the country, in forests and mountain fastnesses, in hidden valleys and thick jungles, are people and beasts that know as little about ozma as she knows of them. still, these unknown subjects are not nearly so numerous as the known inhabitants of oz, who occupy all the countries near to the emerald city. indeed, i'm sure it will not be long until all parts of the fairyland of oz are explored and their peoples made acquainted with their ruler, for in ozma's palace are several of her friends who are so curious that they are constantly discovering new and extraordinary places and inhabitants. one of the most frequent discoverers of these hidden places in oz is a little kansas girl named dorothy, who is ozma's dearest friend and lives in luxurious rooms in the royal palace. dorothy is, indeed, a princess of oz, but she does not like to be called a princess, and because she is simple and sweet and does not pretend to be anything but an ordinary little girl, she is called just "dorothy" by everybody and is the most popular person, next to ozma, in all the land of oz. one morning dorothy crossed the hall of the palace and knocked on the door of another girl named trot, also a guest and friend of ozma. when told to enter, dorothy found that trot had company, an old sailor-man with one wooden leg and one meat leg, who was sitting by the open window puffing smoke from a corn-cob pipe. this sailor-man was named cap'n bill, and he had accompanied trot to the land of oz and was her oldest and most faithful comrade and friend. dorothy liked cap'n bill, too, and after she had greeted him, she said to trot: "you know, ozma's birthday is next month, and i've been wondering what i can give here as a birthday present. she's so good to us all that we certainly ought to remember her birthday." "that's true," agreed trot. "i've been wondering, too, what i could give ozma. it's pretty hard to decide, 'cause she's got already all she wants, and as she's a fairy and knows a lot about magic, she could satisfy any wish." "i know," returned dorothy, "but that isn't the point. it isn't that ozma needs anything, but that it will please her to know we've remembered her birthday. but what shall we give her?" trot shook her head in despair. "i've tried to think and i can't," she declared. "it's the same way with me," said dorothy. "i know one thing that 'ud please her," remarked cap'n bill, turning his round face with its fringe of whiskers toward the two girls and staring at them with his big, light-blue eyes wide open. "what is it, cap'n bill?" "it's an enchanted flower," said he. "it's a pretty plant that stands in a golden flower-pot an' grows all sorts o' flowers, one after another. one minute a fine rose buds an' blooms, an' then a tulip, an' next a chrys--chrys--" "--anthemum," said dorothy, helping him. "that's it; and next a dahlia, an' then a daffydil, an' on all through the range o' posies. jus' as soon as one fades away, another comes, of a different sort, an' the perfume from 'em is mighty snifty, an' they keeps bloomin' night and day, year in an' year out." "that's wonderful!" exclaimed dorothy. "i think ozma would like it." "but where is the magic flower, and how can we get it?" asked trot. "dun'no, zac'ly," slowly replied cap'n bill. "the glass cat tol' me about it only yesterday, an' said it was in some lonely place up at the nor'east o' here. the glass cat goes travelin' all around oz, you know, an' the little critter sees a lot o' things no one else does." "that's true," said dorothy, thoughtfully. "northeast of here must be in the munchkin country, and perhaps a good way off, so let's ask the glass cat to tell us how to get to the magic flower." so the two girls, with cap'n bill stumping along on his wooden leg after them, went out into the garden, and after some time spent in searching, they found the glass cat curled up in the sunshine beside a bush, fast sleep. the glass cat is one of the most curious creatures in all oz. it was made by a famous magician named dr. pipt before ozma had forbidden her subjects to work magic. dr. pipt had made the glass cat to catch mice, but the cat refused to catch mice and was considered more curious than useful. this astonished cat was made all of glass and was so clear and transparent that you could see through it as easily as through a window. in the top of its head, however, was a mass of delicate pink balls which looked like jewels but were intended for brains. it had a heart made of blood-red ruby. the eyes were two large emeralds. but, aside from these colors, all the rest of the animal was of clear glass, and it had a spun-glass tail that was really beautiful. "here, wake up," said cap'n bill. "we want to talk to you." slowly the glass cat got upon its feed, yawned and then looked at the three who stood before it. "how dare you disturb me?" it asked in a peevish voice. "you ought to be ashamed of yourselves." "never mind that," returned the sailor. "do you remember tellin' me yesterday 'bout a magic flower in a gold pot?" "do you think i'm a fool? look at my brains--you can see 'em work. of course i remember!" said the cat. "well, where can we find it?" "you can't. it's none of your business, anyhow. go away and let me sleep," advised the glass cat. "now, see here," said dorothy; "we want the magic flower to give to ozma on her birthday. you'd be glad to please ozma, wouldn't you?" "i'm not sure," replied the creature. "why should i want to please anybody?" "you've got a heart, 'cause i can see it inside of you," said trot. "yes; it's a pretty heart, and i'm fond of it," said the cat, twisting around to view its own body. "but it's made from a ruby, and it's hard as nails." "aren't you good for anything?" asked trot. "yes, i'm pretty to look at, and that's more than can be said of you," retorted the creature. trot laughed at this, and dorothy, who understood the glass cat pretty well, said soothingly: "you are indeed beautiful, and if you can tell cap'n bill where to find the magic flower, all the people in oz will praise your cleverness. the flower will belong to ozma, but everyone will know the glass cat discovered it." this was the kind of praise the crystal creature liked. "well," it said, while the pink brains rolled around, "i found the magic flower way up in the north of the munchkin country where few people live or ever go. there's a river there that flows through a forest, and in the middle of the forest there is a small island on which stands the gold pot in which grows the magic flower." "how did you get to the island?" asked dorothy. "glass cats can't swim." "no, but i'm not afraid of water," was the reply. "i just walked across the river on the bottom." "under the water?" exclaimed trot. the cat gave her a scornful look. "how could i walk over the water on the bottom of the river? if you were transparent, anyone could see your brains were not working. but i'm sure you could never find the place alone. it has always been hidden from the oz people." "but you, with your fine pink brains, could find it again, i s'pose," remarked dorothy. "yes; and if you want that magic flower for ozma, i'll go with you and show you the way." "that's lovely of you!" declared dorothy. "trot and cap'n bill will go with you, for this is to be their birthday present to ozma. while you're gone i'll have to find something else to give her." "all right. come on, then, cap'n," said the glass cat, starting to move away. "wait a minute," begged trot. "how long will we be gone?" "oh, about a week." "then i'll put some things in a basket to take with us," said the girl, and ran into the palace to make her preparations for the journey. . ozma's birthday presents when cap'n bill and trot and the glass cat had started for the hidden island in the far-off river to get the magic flower, dorothy wondered again what she could give ozma on her birthday. she met the patchwork girl and said: "what are you going to give ozma for a birthday present?" "i've written a song for her," answered the strange patchwork girl, who went by the name of "scraps," and who, through stuffed with cotton, had a fair assortment of mixed brains. "it's a splendid song and the chorus runs this way: i am crazy; you're a daisy, ozma dear; i'm demented; you're contented, ozma dear; i am patched and gay and glary; you're a sweet and lovely fairy; may your birthdays all be happy, ozma dear!" "how do you like it, dorothy?" inquired the patchwork girl. "is it good poetry, scraps?" asked dorothy, doubtfully. "it's as good as any ordinary song," was the reply. "i have given it a dandy title, too. i shall call the song: 'when ozma has a birthday, everybody's sure to be gay, for she cannot help the fact that she was born.'" "that's a pretty long title, scraps," said dorothy. "that makes it stylish," replied the patchwork girl, turning a somersault and alighting on one stuffed foot. "now-a-days the titles are sometimes longer than the songs." dorothy left her and walked slowly toward the place, where she met the tin woodman just going up the front steps. "what are you going to give ozma on her birthday?" she asked. "it's a secret, but i'll tell you," replied the tin woodman, who was emperor of the winkies. "i am having my people make ozma a lovely girdle set with beautiful tin nuggets. each tin nugget will be surrounded by a circle of emeralds, just to set it off to good advantage. the clasp of the girdle will be pure tin! won't that be fine?" "i'm sure she'll like it," said dorothy. "do you know what i can give her?" "i haven't the slightest idea, dorothy. it took me three months to think of my own present for ozma." the girl walked thoughtfully around to the back of the palace, and presently came upon the famous scarecrow of oz, who has having two of the palace servants stuff his legs with fresh straw. "what are you going to give ozma on her birthday?" asked dorothy. "i want to surprise her," answered the scarecrow. "i won't tell," promised dorothy. "well, i'm having some straw slippers made for her--all straw, mind you, and braided very artistically. ozma has always admired my straw filling, so i'm sure she'll be pleased with these lovely straw slippers." "ozma will be pleased with anything her loving friends give her," said the girl. "what i'm worried about, scarecrow, is what to give ozma that she hasn't got already." "that's what worried me, until i thought of the slippers," said the scarecrow. "you'll have to think, dorothy; that's the only way to get a good idea. if i hadn't such wonderful brains, i'd never have thought of those straw foot-decorations." dorothy left him and went to her room, where she sat down and tried to think hard. a pink kitten was curled up on the window-sill and dorothy asked her: "what can i give ozma for her birthday present?" "oh, give her some milk," replied the pink kitten; "that's the nicest thing i know of." a fuzzy little black dog had squatted down at dorothy's feet and now looked up at her with intelligent eyes. "tell me, toto," said the girl; "what would ozma like best for a birthday present?" the little black dog wagged his tail. "your love," said he. "ozma wants to be loved more than anything else." "but i already love her, toto!" "then tell her you love her twice as much as you ever did before." "that wouldn't be true," objected dorothy, "for i've always loved her as much as i could, and, really, toto, i want to give ozma some present, 'cause everyone else will give her a present." "let me see," said toto. "how would it be to give her that useless pink kitten?" "no, toto; that wouldn't do." "then six kisses." "no; that's no present." "well, i guess you'll have to figure it out for yourself, dorothy," said the little dog. "to my notion you're more particular than ozma will be." dorothy decided that if anyone could help her it would be glinda the good, the wonderful sorceress of oz who was ozma's faithful subject and friend. but glinda's castle was in the quadling country and quite a journey from the emerald city. so the little girl went to ozma and asked permission to use the wooden sawhorse and the royal red wagon to pay a visit to glinda, and the girl ruler kissed princess dorothy and graciously granted permission. the wooden sawhorse was one of the most remarkable creatures in oz. its body was a small log and its legs were limbs of trees stuck in the body. its eyes were knots, its mouth was sawed in the end of the log and its ears were two chips. a small branch had been left at the rear end of the log to serve as a tail. ozma herself, during one of her early adventures, had brought this wooden horse to life, and so she was much attached to the queer animal and had shod the bottoms of its wooden legs with plates of gold so they would not wear out. the sawhorse was a swift and willing traveler, and though it could talk if need arose, it seldom said anything unless spoken to. when the sawhorse was harnessed to the red wagon there were no reins to guide him because all that was needed was to tell him where to go. dorothy now told him to go to glinda's castle and the sawhorse carried her there with marvelous speed. "glinda," said dorothy, when she had been greeted by the sorceress, who was tall and stately, with handsome and dignified features and dressed in a splendid and becoming gown, "what are you going to give ozma for a birthday present?" the sorceress smiled and answered: "come into my patio and i will show you." so they entered a place that was surrounded by the wings of the great castle but had no roof, and was filled with flowers and fountains and exquisite statuary and many settees and chairs of polished marble or filigree gold. here there were gathered fifty beautiful young girls, glinda's handmaids, who had been selected from all parts of the land of oz on account of their wit and beauty and sweet dispositions. it was a great honor to be made one of glinda's handmaidens. when dorothy followed the sorceress into this delightful patio all the fifty girls were busily weaving, and their shuttles were filled with a sparkling green spun glass such as the little girl had never seen before. "what is it, glinda?" she asked. "one of my recent discoveries," explained the sorceress. "i have found a way to make threads from emeralds, by softening the stones and then spinning them into long, silken strands. with these emerald threads we are weaving cloth to make ozma a splendid court gown for her birthday. you will notice that the threads have all the beautiful glitter and luster of the emeralds from which they are made, and so ozma's new dress will be the most magnificent the world has ever seen, and quite fitting for our lovely ruler of the fairyland of oz." dorothy's eyes were fairly dazed by the brilliance of the emerald cloth, some of which the girls had already woven. "i've never seen anything so beautiful!" she said, with a sigh. "but tell me, glinda, what can i give our lovely ozma on her birthday?" the good sorceress considered this question for a long time before she replied. finally she said: "of course there will be a grand feast at the royal palace on ozma's birthday, and all our friends will be present. so i suggest that you make a fine big birthday cake of ozma, and surround it with candles." "oh, just a cake!" exclaimed dorothy, in disappointment. "nothing is nicer for a birthday," said the sorceress. "how many candles should there be on the cake?" asked the girl. "just a row of them," replied glinda, "for no one knows how old ozma is, although she appears to us to be just a young girl--as fresh and fair as if she had lived but a few years." "a cake doesn't seem like much of a present," dorothy asserted. "make it a surprise cake," suggested the sorceress. "don't you remember the four and twenty blackbirds that were baked in a pie? well, you need not use live blackbirds in your cake, but you could have some surprise of a different sort." "like what?" questioned dorothy, eagerly. "if i told you, it wouldn't be your present to ozma, but mine," answered the sorceress, with a smile. "think it over, my dear, and i am sure you can originate a surprise that will add greatly to the joy and merriment of ozma's birthday banquet." dorothy thanked her friend and entered the red wagon and told the sawhorse to take her back home to the palace in the emerald city. on the way she thought the matter over seriously of making a surprise birthday cake and finally decided what to do. as soon as she reached home, she went to the wizard of oz, who had a room fitted up in one of the high towers of the palace, where he studied magic so as to be able to perform such wizardry as ozma commanded him to do for the welfare of her subjects. the wizard and dorothy were firm friends and had enjoyed many strange adventures together. he was a little man with a bald head and sharp eyes and a round, jolly face, and because he was neither haughty nor proud he had become a great favorite with the oz people. "wizard," said dorothy, "i want you to help me fix up a present for ozma's birthday." "i'll be glad to do anything for you and for ozma," he answered. "what's on your mind, dorothy?" "i'm going to make a great cake, with frosting and candles, and all that, you know." "very good," said the wizard. "in the center of this cake i'm going to leave a hollow place, with just a roof of the frosting over it," continued the girl. "very good," repeated the wizard, nodding his bald head. "in that hollow place," said dorothy, "i want to hide a lot of monkeys about three inches high, and after the cake is placed on the banquet table, i want the monkeys to break through the frosting and dance around on the table-cloth. then, i want each monkey to cut out a piece of cake and hand it to a guest." "mercy me!" cried the little wizard, as he chuckled with laughter. "is that all you want, dorothy?" "almost," said she. "can you think of anything more the little monkeys can do, wizard?" "not just now," he replied. "but where will you get such tiny monkeys?" "that's where you're to help me," said dorothy. "in some of those wild forests in the gillikin country are lots of monkeys." "big ones," said the wizard. "well, you and i will go there, and we'll get some of the big monkeys, and you will make them small--just three inches high--by means of your magic, and we'll put the little monkeys all in a basket and bring them home with us. then you'll train them to dance--up here in your room, where no one can see them--and on ozma's birthday we'll put 'em into the cake and they'll know by that time just what to do." the wizard looked at dorothy with admiring approval, and chuckled again. "that's really clever, my dear," he said, "and i see no reason why we can't do it, just the way you say, if only we can get the wild monkeys to agree to it." "do you think they'll object?" asked the girl. "yes; but perhaps we can argue them into it. anyhow it's worth trying, and i'll help you if you'll agree to let this surprise cake be a present to ozma from you and me together. i've been wondering what i could give ozma, and as i've got to train the monkeys as well as make them small, i think you ought to make me your partner." "of course," said dorothy; "i'll be glad to do so." "then it's a bargain," declared the wizard. "we must go to seek those monkeys at once, however, for it will take time to train them and we'll have to travel a good way to the gillikin forests where they live." "i'm ready to go any time," agreed dorothy. "shall we ask ozma to let us take the sawhorse?" the wizard did not answer that at once. he took time to think of the suggestion. "no," he answered at length, "the red wagon couldn't get through the thick forests and there's some danger to us in going into the wild places to search for monkeys. so i propose we take the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger. we can ride on their backs as well as in the red wagon, and if there is danger to us from other beasts, these two friendly champions will protect us from all harm." "that's a splendid idea!" exclaimed dorothy. "let's go now and ask the hungry tiger and the cowardly lion if they will help us. shall we ask ozma if we can go?" "i think not," said the wizard, getting his hat and his black bag of magic tools. "this is to be a surprise for her birthday, and so she mustn't know where we're going. we'll just leave word, in case ozma inquires for us, that we'll be back in a few days." . the forest of gugu in the central western part of the gillikin country is a great tangle of trees called gugu forest. it is the biggest forest in all oz and stretches miles and miles in every direction--north, south, east and west. adjoining it on the east side is a range of rugged mountains covered with underbrush and small twisted trees. you can find this place by looking at the map of the land of oz. gugu forest is the home of most of the wild beasts that inhabit oz. these are seldom disturbed in their leafy haunts because there is no reason why oz people should go there, except on rare occasions, and most parts of the forest have never been seen by any eyes but the eyes of the beasts who make their home there. the biggest beasts inhabit the great forest, while the smaller ones live mostly in the mountain underbrush at the east. now, you must know that there are laws in the forests, as well as in every other place, and these laws are made by the beasts themselves, and are necessary to keep them from fighting and tearing one another to pieces. in gugu forest there is a king--an enormous yellow leopard called "gugu"--after whom the forest is named. and this king has three other beasts to advise him in keeping the laws and maintaining order--bru the bear, loo the unicorn and rango the gray ape--who are known as the king's counselors. all these are fierce and ferocious beasts, and hold their high offices because they are more intelligent and more feared then their fellows. since oz became a fairyland, no man, woman or child ever dies in that land nor is anyone ever sick. likewise the beasts of the forests never die, so that long years add to their cunning and wisdom, as well as to their size and strength. it is possible for beasts--or even people--to be destroyed, but the task is so difficult that it is seldom attempted. because it is free from sickness and death is one reason why oz is a fairyland, but it is doubtful whether those who come to oz from the outside world, as dorothy and button-bright and trot and cap'n bill and the wizard did, will live forever or cannot be injured. even ozma is not sure about this, and so the guests of ozma from other lands are always carefully protected from any danger, so as to be on the safe side. in spite of the laws of the forests there are often fights among the beasts; some of them have lost an eye or an ear or even had a leg torn off. the king and the king's counselors always punish those who start a fight, but so fierce is the nature of some beasts that they will at times fight in spite of laws and punishment. over this vast, wild forest of gugu flew two eagles, one morning, and near the center of the jungle the eagles alighted on a branch of a tall tree. "here is the place for us to begin our work," said one, who was ruggedo, the nome. "do many beasts live here?" asked kiki aru, the other eagle. "the forest is full of them," said the nome. "there are enough beasts right here to enable us to conquer the people of oz, if we can get them to consent to join us. to do that, we must go among them and tell them our plans, so we must now decide on what shapes we had better assume while in the forest." "i suppose we must take the shapes of beasts?" said kiki. "of course. but that requires some thought. all kinds of beasts live here, and a yellow leopard is king. if we become leopards, the king will be jealous of us. if we take the forms of some of the other beasts, we shall not command proper respect." "i wonder if the beasts will attack us?" asked kiki. "i'm a nome, and immortal, so nothing can hurt me," replied ruggedo. "i was born in the land of oz, so nothing can hurt me," said kiki. "but, in order to carry out our plans, we must win the favor of all the animals of the forest." "then what shall we do?" asked kiki. "let us mix the shapes of several beasts, so we will not look like any one of them," proposed the wily old nome. "let us have the heads of lions, the bodies of monkeys, the wings of eagles and the tails of wild asses, with knobs of gold on the end of them instead of bunches of hair." "won't that make a queer combination?" inquired kiki. "the queerer the better," declared ruggedo. "all right," said kiki. "you stay here, and i'll fly away to another tree and transform us both, and then we'll climb down our trees and meet in the forest." "no," said the nome, "we mustn't separate. you must transform us while we are together." "i won't do that," asserted kiki, firmly. "you're trying to get my secret, and i won't let you." the eyes of the other eagle flashed angrily, but ruggedo did not dare insist. if he offended this boy, he might have to remain an eagle always and he wouldn't like that. some day he hoped to be able to learn the secret word of the magical transformations, but just now he must let kiki have his own way. "all right," he said gruffly; "do as you please." so kiki flew to a tree that was far enough distant so that ruggedo could not overhear him and said: "i want ruggedo, the nome, and myself to have the heads of lions, the bodies of monkeys, the wings of eagles and the tails of wild asses, with knobs of gold on the ends of them instead of bunches of hair--pyrzqxgl!" he pronounced the magic word in the proper manner and at once his form changed to the one he had described. he spread his eagle's wings and finding they were strong enough to support his monkey body and lion head he flew swiftly to the tree where he had left ruggedo. the nome was also transformed and was climbing down the tree because the branches all around him were so thickly entwined that there was no room between them to fly. kiki quickly joined his comrade and it did not take them long to reach the ground. . the li-mon-eags make trouble there had been trouble in the forest of gugu that morning. chipo the wild boar had bitten the tail off arx the giraffe while the latter had his head among the leaves of a tree, eating his breakfast. arx kicked with his heels and struck tirrip, the great kangaroo, who had a new baby in her pouch. tirrip knew it was the wild boar's fault, so she knocked him over with one powerful blow and then ran away to escape chipo's sharp tusks. in the chase that followed a giant porcupine stuck fifty sharp quills into the boar and a chimpanzee in a tree threw a cocoanut at the porcupine that jammed its head into its body. all this was against the laws of the forest, and when the excitement was over, gugu the leopard king called his royal counselors together to decide how best to punish the offenders. the four lords of the forest were holding solemn council in a small clearing when they saw two strange beasts approaching them--beasts the like of which they had never seen before. not one of the four, however, relaxed his dignity or showed by a movement that he was startled. the great leopard crouched at full length upon a fallen tree-trunk. bru the bear sat on his haunches before the king; rango the gray ape stood with his muscular arms folded, and loo the unicorn reclined, much as a horse does, between his fellow-councillors. with one consent they remained silent, eyeing with steadfast looks the intruders, who were making their way into their forest domain. "well met, brothers!" said one of the strange beasts, coming to a halt beside the group, while his comrade with hesitation lagged behind. "we are not brothers," returned the gray ape, sternly. "who are you, and how came you in the forest of gugu?" "we are two li-mon-eags," said ruggedo, inventing the name. "our home is in sky island, and we have come to earth to warn the forest beasts that the people of oz are about to make war upon them and enslave them, so that they will become beasts of burden forever after and obey only the will of their two-legged masters." a low roar of anger arose from the council of beasts. "who's going to do that?" asked loo the unicorn, in a high, squeaky voice, at the same time rising to his feet. "the people of oz," said ruggedo. "but what will we be doing?" inquired the unicorn. "that's what i've come to talk to you about." "you needn't talk! we'll fight the oz people!" screamed the unicorn. "we'll smash 'em; we'll trample 'em; we'll gore 'em; we'll--" "silence!" growled gugu the king, and loo obeyed, although still trembling with wrath. the cold, steady gaze of the leopard wandered over the two strange beasts. "the people of oz," said he, "have not been our friends; they have not been our enemies. they have let us alone, and we have let them alone. there is no reason for war between us. they have no slaves. they could not use us as slaves if they should conquer us. i think you are telling us lies, you strange li-mon-eag--you mixed-up beast who are neither one thing nor another." "oh, on my word, it's the truth!" protested the nome in the beast's shape. "i wouldn't lie for the world; i--" "silence!" again growled gugu the king; and somehow, even ruggedo was abashed and obeyed the edict. "what do you say, bru?" asked the king, turning to the great bear, who had until now said nothing. "how does the mixed beast know that what he says is true?" asked the bear. "why, i can fly, you know, having the wings of an eagle," explained the nome. "i and my comrade yonder," turning to kiki, "flew to a grove in oz, and there we heard the people telling how they will make many ropes to snare you beasts, and then they will surround this forest, and all other forests, and make you prisoners. so we came here to warn you, for being beasts ourselves, although we live in the sky, we are your friends." the leopard's lip curled and showed his enormous teeth, sharp as needles. he turned to the gray ape. "what do you think, rango?" he asked. "send these mixed beasts away, your majesty," replied the gray ape. "they are mischief-makers." "don't do that--don't do that!" cried the unicorn, nervously. "the stranger said he would tell us what to do. let him tell us, then. are we fools, not to heed a warning?" gugu the king turned to ruggedo. "speak, stranger," he commanded. "well," said the nome, "it's this way: the land of oz is a fine country. the people of oz have many good things--houses with soft beds, all sorts of nice-tasting food, pretty clothes, lovely jewels, and many other things that beasts know nothing of. here in the dark forests the poor beasts have hard work to get enough to eat and to find a bed to rest in. but the beasts are better than the people, and why should they not have all the good things the people have? so i propose that before the oz people have the time to make all those ropes to snare you with, that all we beasts get together and march against the oz people and capture them. then the beasts will become the masters and the people their slaves." "what good would that do us?" asked bru the bear. "it would save you from slavery, for one thing, and you could enjoy all the fine things of oz people have." "beasts wouldn't know what to do with the things people use," said the gray ape. "but this is only part of my plan," insisted the nome. "listen to the rest of it. we two li-mon-eags are powerful magicians. when you have conquered the oz people we will transform them all into beasts, and send them to the forests to live, and we will transform all the beasts into people, so they can enjoy all the wonderful delights of the emerald city." for a moment no beast spoke. then the king said: "prove it." "prove what?" asked ruggedo. "prove that you can transform us. if you are a magician transform the unicorn into a man. then we will believe you. if you fail, we will destroy you." "all right," said the nome. "but i'm tired, so i'll let my comrade make the transformation." kiki aru had stood back from the circle, but he had heard all that was said. he now realized that he must make good ruggedo's boast, so he retreated to the edge of the clearing and whispered the magic word. instantly the unicorn became a fat, chubby little man, dressed in the purple gillikin costume, and it was hard to tell which was the more astonished, the king, the bear, the ape or the former unicorn. "it's true!" shorted the man-beast. "good gracious, look what i am! it's wonderful!" the king of beasts now addressed ruggedo in a more friendly tone. "we must believe your story, since you have given us proof of your power," said he. "but why, if you are so great a magician, cannot you conquer the oz people without our help, and so save us the trouble?" "alas!" replied the crafty old nome, "no magician is able to do everything. the transformations are easy to us because we are li-mon-eags, but we cannot fight, or conquer even such weak creatures as the oz people. but we will stay with you and advise and help you, and we will transform all the oz people into beasts, when the time comes, and all the beasts into people." gugu the king turned to his counselors. "how shall we answer this friendly stranger?" he asked. loo the former unicorn was dancing around and cutting capers like a clown. "on my word, your majesty," he said, "this being a man is more fun than being a unicorn." "you look like a fool," said the gray ape. "well, i feel fine!" declared the man-beast. "i think i prefer to be a bear," said big bru. "i was born a bear, and i know a bear's ways. so i am satisfied to live as a bear lives." "that," said the old nome, "is because you know nothing better. when we have conquered the oz people, and you become a man, you'll be glad of it." the immense leopard rested his chin on the log and seemed thoughtful. "the beasts of the forest must decide this matter for themselves," he said. "go you, rango the gray ape, and tell your monkey tribe to order all the forest beasts to assemble in the great clearing at sunrise to-morrow. when all are gathered together, this mixed-up beast who is a magician shall talk to them and tell them what he has told us. then, if they decide to fight the oz people, who have declared war on us, i will lead the beasts to battle." rango the gray ape turned at once and glided swiftly through the forest on his mission. the bear gave a grunt and walked away. gugu the king rose and stretched himself. then he said to ruggedo: "meet us at sunrise to-morrow," and with stately stride vanished among the trees. the man-unicorn, left alone with the strangers, suddenly stopped his foolish prancing. "you'd better make me a unicorn again," he said. "i like being a man, but the forest beasts won't know i'm their friend, loo, and they might tear me in pieces before morning." so kiki changed him back to his former shape, and the unicorn departed to join his people. ruggedo the nome was much pleased with his success. "to-morrow," he said to kiki aru, "we'll win over these beasts and set them to fight and conquer the oz people. then i will have my revenge on ozma and dorothy and all the rest of my enemies." "but i am doing all the work," said kiki. "never mind; you're going to be king of oz," promised ruggedo. "will the big leopard let me be king?" asked the boy anxiously. the nome came close to him and whispered: "if gugu the leopard opposes us, you will transform him into a tree, and then he will be helpless." "of course," agreed kiki, and he said to himself: "i shall also transform this deceitful nome into a tree, for he lies and i cannot trust him." . the isle of the magic flower the glass cat was a good guide and led trot and cap'n bill by straight and easy paths through all the settled part of the munchkin country, and then into the north section where there were few houses, and finally through a wild country where there were no houses or paths at all. but the walking was not difficult and at last they came to the edge of a forest and stopped there to make camp and sleep until morning. from branches of trees cap'n bill made a tiny house that was just big enough for the little girl to crawl into and lie down. but first they ate some of the food trot had carried in the basket. "don't you want some, too?" she asked the glass cat. "no," answered the creature. "i suppose you'll hunt around an' catch a mouse," remarked cap'n bill. "me? catch a mouse! why should i do that?" inquired the glass cat. "why, then you could eat it," said the sailor-man. "i beg to inform you," returned the crystal tabby, "that i do not eat mice. being transparent, so anyone can see through me, i'd look nice, wouldn't i, with a common mouse inside me? but the fact is that i haven't any stomach or other machinery that would permit me to eat things. the careless magician who made me didn't think i'd need to eat, i suppose." "don't you ever get hungry or thirsty?" asked trot. "never. i don't complain, you know, at the way i'm made, for i've never yet seen any living thing as beautiful as i am. i have the handsomest brains in the world. they're pink, and you can see 'em work." "i wonder," said trot thoughtfully, as she ate her bread and jam, "if my brains whirl around in the same way yours do." "no; not the same way, surely," returned the glass cat; "for, in that case, they'd be as good as my brains, except that they're hidden under a thick, boney skull." "brains," remarked cap'n bill, "is of all kinds and work different ways. but i've noticed that them as thinks that their brains is best is often mistook." trot was a little disturbed by sounds from the forest, that night, for many beasts seemed prowling among the trees, but she was confident cap'n bill would protect her from harm. and in fact, no beast ventured from the forest to attack them. at daybreak they were up again, and after a simple breakfast cap'n bill said to the glass cat: "up anchor, mate, and let's forge ahead. i don't suppose we're far from that magic flower, are we?" "not far," answered the transparent one, as it led the way into the forest, "but it may take you some time to get to it." before long they reached the bank of a river. it was not very wide, at this place, but as they followed the banks in a northerly direction it gradually broadened. suddenly the blue-green leaves of the trees changed to a purple hue, and trot noticed this and said: "i wonder what made the colors change like that?" "it's because we have left the munchkin country and entered the gillikin country," explained the glass cat. "also it's a sign our journey is nearly ended." the river made a sudden turn, and after the travelers had passed around the bend, they saw that the stream had now become as broad as a small lake, and in the center of the lake they beheld a little island, not more than fifty feet in extent, either way. something glittered in the middle of this tiny island, and the glass cat paused on the bank and said: "there is the gold flower-pot containing the magic flower, which is very curious and beautiful. if you can get to the island, your task is ended--except to carry the thing home with you." cap'n bill looked at the broad expanse of water and began to whistle a low, quavering tune. trot knew that the whistle meant that cap'n bill was thinking, and the old sailor didn't look at the island as much as he looked at the trees upon the bank where they stood. presently he took from the big pocket of his coat an axe-blade, wound in an old cloth to keep the sharp edge from cutting his clothing. then, with a large pocket knife, he cut a small limb from a tree and whittled it into a handle for his axe. "sit down, trot," he advised the girl, as he worked. "i've got quite a job ahead of me now, for i've got to build us a raft." "what do we need a raft for, cap'n?" "why, to take us to the island. we can't walk under water, in the river bed, as the glass cat did, so we must float atop the water." "can you make a raft, cap'n bill?" "o' course, trot, if you give me time." the little girl sat down on a log and gazed at the island of the magic flower. nothing else seemed to grow on the tiny isle. there was no tree, no shrub, no grass, even, as far as she could make out from that distance. but the gold pot glittered in the rays of the sun, and trot could catch glimpses of glowing colors above it, as the magic flower changed from one sort to another. "when i was here before," remarked the glass cat, lazily reclining at the girl's feet, "i saw two kalidahs on this very bank, where they had come to drink." "what are kalidahs?" asked the girl. "the most powerful and ferocious beasts in all oz. this forest is their especial home, and so there are few other beasts to be found except monkeys. the monkeys are spry enough to keep out of the way of the fierce kalidahs, which attack all other animals and often fight among themselves." "did they try to fight you when you saw 'em?" asked trot, getting very much excited. "yes. they sprang upon me in an instant; but i lay flat on the ground, so i wouldn't get my legs broken by the great weight of the beasts, and when they tried to bite me i laughed at them and jeered them until they were frantic with rage, for they nearly broke their teeth on my hard glass. so, after a time, they discovered they could not hurt me, and went away. it was great fun." "i hope they don't come here again to drink,--not while we're here, anyhow," returned the girl, "for i'm not made of glass, nor is cap'n bill, and if those bad beasts bit us, we'd get hurt." cap'n bill was cutting from the trees some long stakes, making them sharp at one end and leaving a crotch at the other end. these were to bind the logs of his raft together. he had fashioned several and was just finishing another when the glass cat cried: "look out! there's a kalidah coming toward us." trot jumped up, greatly frightened, and looked at the terrible animal as if fascinated by its fierce eyes, for the kalidah was looking at her, too, and its look wasn't at all friendly. but cap'n bill called to her: "wade into the river, trot, up to your knees--an' stay there!" and she obeyed him at once. the sailor-man hobbled forward, the stake in one hand and his axe in the other, and got between the girl and the beast, which sprang upon him with a growl of defiance. cap'n bill moved pretty slowly, sometimes, but now he was quick as could be. as the kalidah sprang toward him he stuck out his wooden leg and the point of it struck the beast between the eyes and sent it rolling upon the ground. before it could get upon its feet again the sailor pushed the sharp stake right through its body and then with the flat side of the axe he hammered the stake as far into the ground as it would go. by this means he captured the great beast and made it harmless, for try as it would, it could not get away from the stake that held it. cap'n bill knew he could not kill the kalidah, for no living thing in oz can be killed, so he stood back and watched the beast wriggle and growl and paw the earth with its sharp claws, and then, satisfied it could not escape, he told trot to come out of the water again and dry her wet shoes and stockings in the sun. "are you sure he can't get away?" she asked. "i'd bet a cookie on it," said cap'n bill, so trot came ashore and took off her shoes and stockings and laid them on the log to dry, while the sailor-man resumed his work on the raft. the kalidah, realizing after many struggles that it could not escape, now became quiet, but it said in a harsh, snarling voice: "i suppose you think you're clever, to pin me to the ground in this manner. but when my friends, the other kalidahs, come here, they'll tear you to pieces for treating me this way." "p'raps," remarked cap'n bill, coolly, as he chopped at the logs, "an' p'raps not. when are your folks comin' here?" "i don't know," admitted the kalidah. "but when they do come, you can't escape them." "if they hold off long enough, i'll have my raft ready," said cap'n bill. "what are you going to do with a raft?" inquired the beast. "we're goin' over to that island, to get the magic flower." the huge beast looked at him in surprise a moment, and then it began to laugh. the laugh was a good deal like a roar, and it had a cruel and derisive sound, but it was a laugh nevertheless. "good!" said the kalidah. "good! very good! i'm glad you're going to get the magic flower. but what will you do with it?" "we're going to take it to ozma, as a present on her birthday." the kalidah laughed again; then it became sober. "if you get to the land on your raft before my people can catch you," it said, "you will be safe from us. we can swim like ducks, so the girl couldn't have escaped me by getting into the water; but kalidahs don't go to that island over there." "why not?" asked trot. the beast was silent. "tell us the reason," urged cap'n bill. "well, it's the isle of the magic flower," answered the kalidah, "and we don't care much for magic. if you hadn't had a magic leg, instead of a meat one, you couldn't have knocked me over so easily and stuck this wooden pin through me." "i've been to the magic isle," said the glass cat, "and i've watched the magic flower bloom, and i'm sure it's too pretty to be left in that lonely place where only beasts prowl around it and no else sees it. so we're going to take it away to the emerald city." "i don't care," the beast replied in a surly tone. "we kalidahs would be just as contented if there wasn't a flower in our forest. what good are the things anyhow?" "don't you like pretty things?" asked trot. "no." "you ought to admire my pink brains, anyhow," declared the glass cat. "they're beautiful and you can see 'em work." the beast only growled in reply, and cap'n bill, having now cut all his logs to a proper size, began to roll them to the water's edge and fasten them together. . stuck fast the day was nearly gone when, at last, the raft was ready. "it ain't so very big," said the old sailor, "but i don't weigh much, an' you, trot, don't weigh half as much as i do, an' the glass pussy don't count." "but it's safe, isn't it?" inquired the girl. "yes; it's good enough to carry us to the island an' back again, an' that's about all we can expect of it." saying this, cap'n bill pushed the raft into the water, and when it was afloat, stepped upon it and held out his hand to trot, who quickly followed him. the glass cat boarded the raft last of all. the sailor had cut a long pole, and had also whittled a flat paddle, and with these he easily propelled the raft across the river. as they approached the island, the wonderful flower became more plainly visible, and they quickly decided that the glass cat had not praised it too highly. the colors of the flowers that bloomed in quick succession were strikingly bright and beautiful, and the shapes of the blossoms were varied and curious. indeed, they did not resemble ordinary flowers at all. so intently did trot and cap'n bill gaze upon the golden flower-pot that held the magic flower that they scarcely noticed the island itself until the raft beached upon its sands. but then the girl exclaimed: "how funny it is, cap'n bill, that nothing else grows here excep' the magic flower." then the sailor glanced at the island and saw that it was all bare ground, without a weed, a stone or a blade of grass. trot, eager to examine the flower closer, sprang from the raft and ran up the bank until she reached the golden flower-pot. then she stood beside it motionless and filled with wonder. cap'n bill joined her, coming more leisurely, and he, too, stood in silent admiration for a time. "ozma will like this," remarked the glass cat, sitting down to watch the shifting hues of the flowers. "i'm sure she won't have as fine a birthday present from anyone else." "do you 'spose it's very heavy, cap'n? and can we get it home without breaking it?" asked trot anxiously. "well, i've lifted many bigger things than that," he replied; "but let's see what it weighs." he tried to take a step forward, but could not lift his meat foot from the ground. his wooden leg seemed free enough, but the other would not budge. "i seem stuck, trot," he said, with a perplexed look at his foot. "it ain't mud, an' it ain't glue, but somethin's holdin' me down." the girl attempted to lift her own feet, to go nearer to her friend, but the ground held them as fast as it held cap'n bill's foot. she tried to slide them, or to twist them around, but it was no use; she could not move either foot a hair's breadth. "this is funny!" she exclaimed. "what do you 'spose has happened to us, cap'n bill?" "i'm tryin' to make out," he answered. "take off your shoes, trot. p'raps it's the leather soles that's stuck to the ground." she leaned down and unlaced her shoes, but found she could not pull her feet out of them. the glass cat, which was walking around as naturally as ever, now said: "your foot has got roots to it, cap'n, and i can see the roots going into the ground, where they spread out in all directions. it's the same way with trot. that's why you can't move. the roots hold you fast." cap'n bill was rather fat and couldn't see his own feet very well, but he squatted down and examined trot's feet and decided that the glass cat was right. "this is hard luck," he declared, in a voice that showed he was uneasy at the discovery. "we're pris'ners, trot, on this funny island, an' i'd like to know how we're ever goin' to get loose, so's we can get home again." "now i know why the kalidah laughed at us," said the girl, "and why he said none of the beasts ever came to this island. the horrid creature knew we'd be caught, and wouldn't warn us." in the meantime, the kalidah, although pinned fast to the earth by cap'n bill's stake, was facing the island, and now the ugly expression which passed over its face when it defied and sneered at cap'n bill and trot, had changed to one of amusement and curiosity. when it saw the adventurers had actually reached the island and were standing beside the magic flower, it heaved a breath of satisfaction--a long, deep breath that swelled its deep chest until the beast could feel the stake that held him move a little, as if withdrawing itself from the ground. "ah ha!" murmured the kalidah, "a little more of this will set me free and allow me to escape!" so he began breathing as hard as he could, puffing out his chest as much as possible with each indrawing breath, and by doing this he managed to raise the stake with each powerful breath, until at last the kalidah--using the muscles of his four legs as well as his deep breaths--found itself free of the sandy soil. the stake was sticking right through him, however, so he found a rock deeply set in the bank and pressed the sharp point of the stake upon the surface of this rock until he had driven it clear through his body. then, by getting the stake tangled among some thorny bushes, and wiggling his body, he managed to draw it out altogether. "there!" he exclaimed, "except for those two holes in me, i'm as good as ever; but i must admit that that old wooden-legged fellow saved both himself and the girl by making me a prisoner." now the kalidahs, although the most disagreeable creatures in the land of oz, were nevertheless magical inhabitants of a magical fairyland, and in their natures a certain amount of good was mingled with the evil. this one was not very revengeful, and now that his late foes were in danger of perishing, his anger against them faded away. "our own kalidah king," he reflected, "has certain magical powers of his own. perhaps he knows how to fill up these two holes in my body." so without paying any more attention to trot and cap'n bill than they were paying to him, he entered the forest and trotted along a secret path that led to the hidden lair of all the kalidahs. while the kalidah was making good its escape cap'n bill took his pipe from his pocket and filled it with tobacco and lighted it. then, as he puffed out the smoke, he tried to think what could be done. "the glass cat seems all right," he said, "an' my wooden leg didn't take roots and grow, either. so it's only flesh that gets caught." "it's magic that does it, cap'n!" "i know, trot, and that's what sticks me. we're livin' in a magic country, but neither of us knows any magic an' so we can't help ourselves." "couldn't the wizard of oz help us--or glinda the good?" asked the little girl. "ah, now we're beginnin' to reason," he answered. "i'd probably thought o' that, myself, in a minute more. by good luck the glass cat is free, an' so it can run back to the emerald city an' tell the wizard about our fix, an' ask him to come an' help us get loose." "will you go?" trot asked the cat, speaking very earnestly. "i'm no messenger, to be sent here and there," asserted the curious animal in a sulky tone of voice. "well," said cap'n bill, "you've got to go home, anyhow, 'cause you don't want to stay here, i take it. and, when you get home, it wouldn't worry you much to tell the wizard what's happened to us." "that's true," said the cat, sitting on its haunches and lazily washing its face with one glass paw. "i don't mind telling the wizard--when i get home." "won't you go now?" pleaded trot. "we don't want to stay here any longer than we can help, and everybody in oz will be interested in you, and call you a hero, and say nice things about you because you helped your friends out of trouble." that was the best way to manage the glass cat, which was so vain that it loved to be praised. "i'm going home right away," said the creature, "and i'll tell the wizard to come and help you." saying this, it walked down to the water and disappeared under the surface. not being able to manage the raft alone, the glass cat walked on the bottom of the river as it had done when it visited the island before, and soon they saw it appear on the farther bank and trot into the forest, where it was quickly lost to sight among the trees. then trot heaved a deep sigh. "cap'n," said she, "we're in a bad fix. there's nothing here to eat, and we can't even lie down to sleep. unless the glass cat hurries, and the wizard hurries, i don't know what's going to become of us!" . the beasts of the forest of gugu that was a wonderful gathering of wild animals in the forest of gugu next sunrise. rango, the gray ape, had even called his monkey sentinels away from the forest edge, and every beast, little and big, was in the great clearing where meetings were held on occasions of great importance. in the center of the clearing stood a great shelving rock, having a flat, inclined surface, and on this sat the stately leopard gugu, who was king of the forest. on the ground beneath him squatted bru the bear, loo the unicorn, and rango the gray ape, the king's three counselors, and in front of them stood the two strange beasts who had called themselves li-mon-eags, but were really the transformations of ruggedo the nome, and kiki aru the hyup. then came the beasts--rows and rows and rows of them! the smallest beasts were nearest the king's rock throne; then there were wolves and foxes, lynxes and hyenas, and the like; behind them were gathered the monkey tribes, who were hard to keep in order because they teased the other animals and were full of mischievous tricks. back of the monkeys were the pumas, jaguars, tigers and lions, and their kind; next the bears, all sizes and colors; after them bisons, wild asses, zebras and unicorns; farther on the rhinoceri and hippopotami, and at the far edge of the forest, close to the trees that shut in the clearing, was a row of thick-skinned elephants, still as statues but with eyes bright and intelligent. many other kinds of beasts, too numerous to mention, were there, and some were unlike any beasts we see in the menageries and zoos in our country. some were from the mountains west of the forest, and some from the plains at the east, and some from the river; but all present acknowledged the leadership of gugu, who for many years had ruled them wisely and forced all to obey the laws. when the beasts had taken their places in the clearing and the rising sun was shooting its first bright rays over the treetops, king gugu rose on his throne. the leopard's giant form, towering above all the others, caused a sudden hush to fall on the assemblage. "brothers," he said in his deep voice, "a stranger has come among us, a beast of curious form who is a great magician and is able to change the shapes of men or beasts at his will. this stranger has come to us, with another of his kind, from out of the sky, to warn us of a danger which threatens us all, and to offer us a way to escape from that danger. he says he is our friend, and he has proved to me and to my counselors his magic powers. will you listen to what he has to say to you--to the message he has brought from the sky?" "let him speak!" came in a great roar from the great company of assembled beasts. so ruggedo the nome sprang upon the flat rock beside gugu the king, and another roar, gentle this time, showed how astonished the beasts were at the sight of his curious form. his lion's face was surrounded by a mane of pure white hair; his eagle's wings were attached to the shoulders of his monkey body and were so long that they nearly touched the ground; he had powerful arms and legs in addition to the wings, and at the end of his long, strong tail was a golden ball. never had any beast beheld such a curious creature before, and so the very sight of the stranger, who was said to be a great magician, filled all present with awe and wonder. kiki stayed down below and, half hidden by the shelf of rock, was scarcely noticed. the boy realized that the old nome was helpless without his magic power, but he also realized that ruggedo was the best talker. so he was willing the nome should take the lead. "beasts of the forest of gugu," began ruggedo the nome, "my comrade and i are your friends. we are magicians, and from our home in the sky we can look down into the land of oz and see everything that is going on. also we can hear what the people below us are saying. that is how we heard ozma, who rules the land of oz, say to her people: 'the beasts in the forest of gugu are lazy and are of no use to us. let us go to their forest and make them all our prisoners. let us tie them with ropes, and beat them with sticks, until they work for us and become our willing slaves.' and when the people heard ozma of oz say this, they were glad and raised a great shout and said: 'we will do it! we will make the beasts of the forest of gugu our slaves!'" the wicked old nome could say no more, just then, for such a fierce roar of anger rose from the multitude of beasts that his voice was drowned by the clamor. finally the roar died away, like distant thunder, and ruggedo the nome went on with his speech. "having heard the oz people plot against your liberty, we watched to see what they would do, and saw them all begin making ropes--ropes long and short--with which to snare our friends the beasts. you are angry, but we also were angry, for when the oz people became the enemies of the beasts they also became our enemies; for we, too, are beasts, although we live in the sky. and my comrade and i said: 'we will save our friends and have revenge on the oz people,' and so we came here to tell you of your danger and of our plan to save you." "we can save ourselves," cried an old elephant. "we can fight." "the oz people are fairies, and you can't fight against magic unless you also have magic," answered the nome. "tell us your plan!" shouted the huge tiger, and the other beasts echoed his words, crying: "tell us your plan." "my plan is simple," replied ruggedo. "by our magic we will transform all you animals into men and women--like the oz people--and we will transform all the oz people into beasts. you can then live in the fine houses of the land of oz, and eat the fine food of the oz people, and wear their fine clothes, and sing and dance and be happy. and the oz people, having become beasts, will have to live here in the forest and hunt and fight for food, and often go hungry, as you now do, and have no place to sleep but a bed of leaves or a hole in the ground. having become men and women, you beasts will have all the comforts you desire, and having become beasts, the oz people will be very miserable. that is our plan, and if you agree to it, we will all march at once into the land of oz and quickly conquer our enemies." when the stranger ceased speaking, a great silence fell on the assemblage, for the beasts were thinking of what he had said. finally one of the walruses asked: "can you really transform beasts into men, and men into beasts?" "he can--he can!" cried loo the unicorn, prancing up and down in an excited manner. "he transformed me, only last evening, and he can transform us all." gugu the king now stepped forward. "you have heard the stranger speak," said he, "and now you must answer him. it is for you to decide. shall we agree to this plan, or not?" "yes!" shouted some of the animals. "no!" shouted others. and some were yet silent. gugu looked around the great circle. "take more time to think," he suggested. "your answer is very important. up to this time we have had no trouble with the oz people, but we are proud and free, and never will become slaves. think carefully, and when you are ready to answer, i will hear you." . kiki uses his magic then arose a great confusion of sounds as all the animals began talking to their fellows. the monkeys chattered and the bears growled and the voices of the jaguars and lions rumbled, and the wolves yelped and the elephants had to trumpet loudly to make their voices heard. such a hubbub had never been known in the forest before, and each beast argued with his neighbor until it seemed the noise would never cease. ruggedo the nome waved his arms and fluttered his wings to try to make them listen to him again, but the beasts paid no attention. some wanted to fight the oz people, some wanted to be transformed, and some wanted to do nothing at all. the growling and confusion had grown greater than ever when in a flash silence fell on all the beasts present, the arguments were hushed, and all gazed in astonishment at a strange sight. for into the circle strode a great lion--bigger and more powerful than any other lion there--and on his back rode a little girl who smiled fearlessly at the multitude of beasts. and behind the lion and the little girl came another beast--a monstrous tiger, who bore upon his back a funny little man carrying a black bag. right past the rows of wondering beasts the strange animals walked, advancing until they stood just before the rock throne of gugu. then the little girl and the funny little man dismounted, and the great lion demanded in a loud voice: "who is king in this forest?" "i am!" answered gugu, looking steadily at the other. "i am gugu the leopard, and i am king of this forest." "then i greet your majesty with great respect," said the lion. "perhaps you have heard of me, gugu. i am called the 'cowardly lion,' and i am king of all beasts, the world over." gugu's eyes flashed angrily. "yes," said he, "i have heard of you. you have long claimed to be king of beasts, but no beast who is a coward can be king over me." "he isn't a coward, your majesty," asserted the little girl, "he's just cowardly, that's all." gugu looked at her. all the other beasts were looking at her, too. "who are you?" asked the king. "me? oh, i'm just dorothy," she answered. "how dare you come here?" demanded the king. "why, i'm not afraid to go anywhere, if the cowardly lion is with me," she said. "i know him pretty well, and so i can trust him. he's always afraid, when we get into trouble, and that's why he's cowardly; but he's a terrible fighter, and that's why he isn't a coward. he doesn't like to fight, you know, but when he has to, there isn't any beast living that can conquer him." gugu the king looked at the big, powerful form of the cowardly lion, and knew she spoke the truth. also the other lions of the forest now came forward and bowed low before the strange lion. "we welcome your majesty," said one. "we have known you many years ago, before you went to live at the emerald city, and we have seen you fight the terrible kalidahs and conquer them, so we know you are the king of all beasts." "it is true," replied the cowardly lion; "but i did not come here to rule the beasts of this forest. gugu is king here, and i believe he is a good king and just and wise. i come, with my friends, to be the guest of gugu, and i hope we are welcome." that pleased the great leopard, who said very quickly: "yes; you, at least, are welcome to my forest. but who are these strangers with you?" "dorothy has introduced herself," replied the lion, "and you are sure to like her when you know her better. this man is the wizard of oz, a friend of mine who can do wonderful tricks of magic. and here is my true and tried friend, the hungry tiger, who lives with me in the emerald city." "is he always hungry?" asked loo the unicorn. "i am," replied the tiger, answering the question himself. "i am always hungry for fat babies." "can't you find any fat babies in oz to eat?" inquired loo, the unicorn. "there are plenty of them, of course," said the tiger, "but unfortunately i have such a tender conscience that it won't allow me to eat babies. so i'm always hungry for 'em and never can eat 'em, because my conscience won't let me." now of all the surprised beasts in that clearing, not one was so much surprised at the sudden appearance of these four strangers as ruggedo the nome. he was frightened, too, for he recognized them as his most powerful enemies; but he also realized that they could not know he was the former king of the nomes, because of the beast's form he wore, which disguised him so effectually. so he took courage and resolved that the wizard and dorothy should not defeat his plans. it was hard to tell, just yet, what the vast assemblage of beasts thought of the new arrivals. some glared angrily at them, but more of them seemed to be curious and wondering. all were interested, however, and they kept very quiet and listened carefully to all that was said. kiki aru, who had remained unnoticed in the shadow of the rock, was at first more alarmed by the coming of the strangers than even ruggedo was, and the boy told himself that unless he acted quickly and without waiting to ask the advice of the old nome, their conspiracy was likely to be discovered and all their plans to conquer and rule oz be defeated. kiki didn't like the way ruggedo acted either, for the former king of the nomes wanted to do everything his own way, and made the boy, who alone possessed the power of transformations, obey his orders as if he were a slave. another thing that disturbed kiki aru was the fact that a real wizard had arrived, who was said to possess many magical powers, and this wizard carried his tools in a black bag, and was the friend of the oz people, and so would probably try to prevent war between the beasts of the forest and the people of oz. all these things passed through the mind of the hyup boy while the cowardly lion and gugu the king were talking together, and that was why he now began to do several strange things. he had found a place, near to the point where he stood, where there was a deep hollow in the rock, so he put his face into this hollow and whispered softly, so he would not be heard: "i want the wizard of oz to become a fox--pyrzqxgl!" the wizard, who had stood smilingly beside his friends, suddenly felt his form change to that of a fox, and his black bag fell to the ground. kiki reached out an arm and seized the bag, and the fox cried as loud as it could: "treason! there's a traitor here with magic powers!" everyone was startled at this cry, and dorothy, seeing her old friend's plight, screamed and exclaimed: "mercy me!" but the next instant the little girl's form had changed to that of a lamb with fleecy white wool, and dorothy was too bewildered to do anything but look around her in wonder. the cowardly lion's eyes now flashed fire; he crouched low and lashed the ground with his tail and gazed around to discover who the treacherous magician might be. but kiki, who had kept his face in the hollow rock, again whispered the magic word, and the great lion disappeared and in his place stood a little boy dressed in munchkin costume. the little munchkin boy was as angry as the lion had been, but he was small and helpless. ruggedo the nome saw what was happening and was afraid kiki would spoil all his plans, so he leaned over the rock and shouted: "stop, kiki--stop!" kiki would not stop, however. instead, he transformed the nome into a goose, to ruggedo's horror and dismay. but the hungry tiger had witnessed all these transformations, and he was watching to see which of those present was to blame for them. when ruggedo spoke to kiki, the hungry tiger knew that he was the magician, so he made a sudden spring and hurled his great body full upon the form of the li-mon-eag crouching against the rock. kiki didn't see the tiger coming because his face was still in the hollow, and the heavy body of the tiger bore him to the earth just as he said "pyrzqxgl!" for the fifth time. so now the tiger which was crushing him changed to a rabbit, and relieved of its weight, kiki sprang up and, spreading his eagle's wings, flew into the branches of a tree, where no beast could easily reach him. he was not an instant too quick in doing this, for gugu the king had crouched on the rock's edge and was about to spring on the boy. from his tree kiki transformed gugu into a fat gillikin woman, and laughed aloud to see how the woman pranced with rage, and how astonished all the beasts were at their king's new shape. the beasts were frightened, too, fearing they would share the fate of gugu, so a stampede began when rango the gray ape sprang into the forest, and bru the bear and loo the unicorn followed as quickly as they could. the elephants backed into the forest, and all the other animals, big and little, rushed after them, scattering through the jungles until the clearing was far behind. the monkeys scrambled into the trees and swung themselves from limb to limb, to avoid being trampled upon by the bigger beasts, and they were so quick that they distanced all the rest. a panic of fear seemed to have overtaken the forest people and they got as far away from the terrible magician as they possibly could. but the transformed ones stayed in the clearing, being so astonished and bewildered by their new shapes that they could only look at one another in a dazed and helpless fashion, although each one was greatly annoyed at the trick that had been played on him. "who are you?" the munchkin boy asked the rabbit; and "who are you?" the fox asked the lamb; and "who are you?" the rabbit asked the fat gillikin woman. "i'm dorothy," said the woolly lamb. "i'm the wizard," said the fox. "i'm the cowardly lion," said the munchkin boy. "i'm the hungry tiger," said the rabbit. "i'm gugu the king," said the fat woman. but when they asked the goose who he was, ruggedo the nome would not tell them. "i'm just a goose," he replied, "and what i was before, i cannot remember." . the loss of the black bag kiki aru, in the form of the li-mon-eag, had scrambled into the high, thick branches of the tree, so no one could see him, and there he opened the wizard's black bag, which he had carried away in his flight. he was curious to see what the wizard's magic tools looked like, and hoped he could use some of them and so secure more power; but after he had taken the articles, one by one, from the bag, he had to admit they were puzzles to him. for, unless he understood their uses, they were of no value whatever. kiki aru, the hyup boy, was no wizard or magician at all, and could do nothing unusual except to use the magic word he had stolen from his father on mount munch. so he hung the wizard's black bag on a branch of the tree and then climbed down to the lower limbs that he might see what the victims of his transformations were doing. they were all on top of the flat rock, talking together in tones so low that kiki could not hear what they said. "this is certainly a misfortune," remarked the wizard in the fox's form, "but our transformations are a sort of enchantment which is very easy to break--when you know how and have the tools to do it with. the tools are in my black bag; but where is the bag?" no one knew that, for none had seen kiki aru fly away with it. "let's look and see if we can find it," suggested dorothy the lamb. so they left the rock, and all of them searched the clearing high and low without finding the bag of magic tools. the goose searched as earnestly as the others, for if he could discover it, he meant to hide it where the wizard could never find it, because if the wizard changed him back to his proper form, along with the others, he would then be recognized as ruggedo the nome, and they would send him out of the land of oz and so ruin all his hopes of conquest. ruggedo was not really sorry, now that he thought about it, that kiki had transformed all these oz folks. the forest beasts, it was true, had been so frightened that they would now never consent to be transformed into men, but kiki could transform them against their will, and once they were all in human forms, it would not be impossible to induce them to conquer the oz people. so all was not lost, thought the old nome, and the best thing for him to do was to rejoin the hyup boy who had the secret of the transformations. so, having made sure the wizard's black bag was not in the clearing, the goose wandered away through the trees when the others were not looking, and when out of their hearing, he began calling, "kiki aru! kiki aru! quack--quack! kiki aru!" the boy and the woman, the fox, the lamb, and the rabbit, not being able to find the bag, went back to the rock, all feeling exceedingly strange. "where's the goose?" asked the wizard. "he must have run away," replied dorothy. "i wonder who he was?" "i think," said gugu the king, who was the fat woman, "that the goose was the stranger who proposed that we make war upon the oz people. if so, his transformation was merely a trick to deceive us, and he has now gone to join his comrade, that wicked li-mon-eag who obeyed all his commands." "what shall we do now?" asked dorothy. "shall we go back to the emerald city, as we are, and then visit glinda the good and ask her to break the enchantments?" "i think so," replied the wizard fox. "and we can take gugu the king with us, and have glinda restore him to his natural shape. but i hate to leave my bag of magic tools behind me, for without it i shall lose much of my power as a wizard. also, if i go back to the emerald city in the shape of a fox, the oz people will think i'm a poor wizard and will lose their respect for me." "let us make still another search for your tools," suggested the cowardly lion, "and then, if we fail to find the black bag anywhere in this forest, we must go back home as we are." "why did you come here, anyway?" inquired gugu. "we wanted to borrow a dozen monkeys, to use on ozma's birthday," explained the wizard. "we were going to make them small, and train them to do tricks, and put them inside ozma's birthday cake." "well," said the forest king, "you would have to get the consent of rango the gray ape, to do that. he commands all the tribes of monkeys." "i'm afraid it's too late, now," said dorothy, regretfully. "it was a splendid plan, but we've got troubles of our own, and i don't like being a lamb at all." "you're nice and fuzzy," said the cowardly lion. "that's nothing," declared dorothy. "i've never been 'specially proud of myself, but i'd rather be the way i was born than anything else in the whole world." the glass cat, although it had some disagreeable ways and manners, nevertheless realized that trot and cap'n bill were its friends and so was quite disturbed at the fix it had gotten them into by leading them to the isle of the magic flower. the ruby heart of the glass cat was cold and hard, but still it was a heart, and to have a heart of any sort is to have some consideration for others. but the queer transparent creature didn't want trot and cap'n bill to know it was sorry for them, and therefore it moved very slowly until it had crossed the river and was out of sight among the trees of the forest. then it headed straight toward the emerald city, and trotted so fast that it was like a crystal streak crossing the valleys and plains. being glass, the cat was tireless, and with no reason to delay its journey, it reached ozma's palace in wonderfully quick time. "where's the wizard?" it asked the pink kitten, which was curled up in the sunshine on the lowest step of the palace entrance. "don't bother me," lazily answered the pink kitten, whose name was eureka. "i must find the wizard at once!" said the glass cat. "then find him," advised eureka, and went to sleep again. the glass cat darted up the stairway and came upon toto, dorothy's little black dog. "where's the wizard?" asked the cat. "gone on a journey with dorothy," replied toto. "when did they go, and where have they gone?" demanded the cat. "they went yesterday, and i heard them say they would go to the great forest in the munchkin country." "dear me," said the glass cat; "that is a long journey." "but they rode on the hungry tiger and the cowardly lion," explained toto, "and the wizard carried his black bag of magic tools." the glass cat knew the great forest of gugu well, for it had traveled through this forest many times in its journeys through the land of oz. and it reflected that the forest of gugu was nearer to the isle of the magic flower than the emerald city was, and so, if it could manage to find the wizard, it could lead him across the gillikin country to where trot and cap'n bill were prisoned. it was a wild country and little traveled, but the glass cat knew every path. so very little time need be lost, after all. without stopping to ask any more questions the cat darted out of the palace and away from the emerald city, taking the most direct route to the forest of gugu. again the creature flashed through the country like a streak of light, and it would surprise you to know how quickly it reached the edge of the great forest. there were no monkey guards among the trees to cry out a warning, and this was so unusual that it astonished the glass cat. going farther into the forest it presently came upon a wolf, which at first bounded away in terror. but then, seeing it was only a glass cat, the wolf stopped, and the cat could see it was trembling, as if from a terrible fright. "what's the matter?" asked the cat. "a dreadful magician has come among us!" exclaimed the wolf, "and he's changing the forms of all the beasts--quick as a wink--and making them all his slaves." the glass cat smiled and said: "why, that's only the wizard of oz. he may be having some fun with you forest people, but the wizard wouldn't hurt a beast for anything." "i don't mean the wizard," explained the wolf. "and if the wizard of oz is that funny little man who rode a great tiger into the clearing, he's been transformed himself by the terrible magician." "the wizard transformed? why, that's impossible," declared the glass cat. "no; it isn't. i saw him with my own eyes, changed into the form of a fox, and the girl who was with him was changed to a woolly lamb." the glass cat was indeed surprised. "when did that happen?" it asked. "just a little while ago in the clearing. all the animals had met there, but they ran away when the magician began his transformations, and i'm thankful i escaped with my natural shape. but i'm still afraid, and i'm going somewhere to hide." with this the wolf ran on, and the glass cat, which knew where the big clearing was, went toward it. but now it walked more slowly, and its pink brains rolled and tumbled around at a great rate because it was thinking over the amazing news the wolf had told it. when the glass cat reached the clearing, it saw a fox, a lamb, a rabbit, a munchkin boy and a fat gillikin woman, all wandering around in an aimless sort of way, for they were again searching for the black bag of magic tools. the cat watched them a moment and then it walked slowly into the open space. at once the lamb ran toward it, crying: "oh, wizard, here's the glass cat!" "where, dorothy?" asked the fox. "here!" the boy and the woman and the rabbit now joined the fox and the lamb, and they all stood before the glass cat and speaking together, almost like a chorus, asked: "have you seen the black bag?" "often," replied the glass cat, "but not lately." "it's lost," said the fox, "and we must find it." "are you the wizard?" asked the cat. "yes." "and who are these others?" "i'm dorothy," said the lamb. "i'm the cowardly lion," said the munchkin boy. "i'm the hungry tiger," said the rabbit. "i'm gugu, king of the forest," said the fat woman. the glass cat sat on its hind legs and began to laugh. "my, what a funny lot!" exclaimed the creature. "who played this joke on you?" "it's no joke at all," declared the wizard. "it was a cruel, wicked transformation, and the magician that did it has the head of a lion, the body of a monkey, the wings of an eagle and a round ball on the end of his tail." the glass cat laughed again. "that magician must look funnier than you do," it said. "where is he now?" "somewhere in the forest," said the cowardly lion. "he just jumped into that tall maple tree over there, for he can climb like a monkey and fly like an eagle, and then he disappeared in the forest." "and there was another magician, just like him, who was his friend," added dorothy, "but they probably quarreled, for the wickedest one changed his friend into the form of a goose." "what became of the goose?" asked the cat, looking around. "he must have gone away to find his friend," answered gugu the king. "but a goose can't travel very fast, so we could easily find him if we wanted to." "the worst thing of all," said the wizard, "is that my black bag is lost. it disappeared when i was transformed. if i could find it i could easily break these enchantments by means of my magic, and we would resume our own forms again. will you help us search for the black bag, friend cat?" "of course," replied the glass cat. "but i expect the strange magician carried it away with him. if he's a magician, he knows you need that bag, and perhaps he's afraid of your magic. so he's probably taken the bag with him, and you won't see it again unless you find the magician." "that sounds reasonable," remarked the lamb, which was dorothy. "those pink brains of yours seem to be working pretty well to-day." "if the glass cat is right," said the wizard in a solemn voice, "there's more trouble ahead of us. that magician is dangerous, and if we go near him he may transform us into shapes not as nice as these." "i don't see how we could be any worse off," growled gugu, who was indignant because he was forced to appear in the form of a fat woman. "anyway," said the cowardly lion, "our best plan is to find the magician and try to get the black bag from him. we may manage to steal it, or perhaps we can argue him into giving it to us." "why not find the goose, first?" asked dorothy. "the goose will be angry at the magician, and he may be able to help us." "that isn't a bad idea," returned the wizard. "come on, friends; let's find that goose. we will separate and search in different directions, and the first to find the goose must bring him here, where we will all meet again in an hour." . the wizard learns the magic word now, the goose was the transformation of old ruggedo, who was at one time king of the nomes, and he was even more angry at kiki aru than were the others who shapes had been changed. the nome detested anything in the way of a bird, because birds lay eggs and eggs are feared by all the nomes more than anything else in the world. a goose is a foolish bird, too, and ruggedo was dreadfully ashamed of the shape he was forced to wear. and it would make him shudder to reflect that the goose might lay an egg! so the nome was afraid of himself and afraid of everything around him. if an egg touched him he could then be destroyed, and almost any animal he met in the forest might easily conquer him. and that would be the end of old ruggedo the nome. aside from these fears, however, he was filled with anger against kiki, whom he had meant to trap by cleverly stealing from him the magic word. the boy must have been crazy to spoil everything the way he did, but ruggedo knew that the arrival of the wizard had scared kiki, and he was not sorry the boy had transformed the wizard and dorothy and made them helpless. it was his own transformation that annoyed him and made him indignant, so he ran about the forest hunting for kiki, so that he might get a better shape and coax the boy to follow his plans to conquer the land of oz. kiki aru hadn't gone very far away, for he had surprised himself as well as the others by the quick transformations and was puzzled as to what to do next. ruggedo the nome was overbearing and tricky, and kiki knew he was not to be depended on; but the nome could plan and plot, which the hyup boy was not wise enough to do, and so, when he looked down through the branches of a tree and saw a goose waddling along below and heard it cry out, "kiki aru! quack--quack! kiki aru!" the boy answered in a low voice, "here i am," and swung himself down to the lowest limb of the tree. the goose looked up and saw him. "you've bungled things in a dreadful way!" exclaimed the goose. "why did you do it?" "because i wanted to," answered kiki. "you acted as if i was your slave, and i wanted to show these forest people that i am more powerful than you." the goose hissed softly, but kiki did not hear that. old ruggedo quickly recovered his wits and muttered to himself: "this boy is the goose, although it is i who wear the goose's shape. i will be gentle with him now, and fierce with him when i have him in my power." then he said aloud to kiki: "well, hereafter i will be content to acknowledge you the master. you bungled things, as i said, but we can still conquer oz." "how?" asked the boy. "first give me back the shape of the li-mon-eag, and then we can talk together more conveniently," suggested the nome. "wait a moment, then," said kiki, and climbed higher up the tree. there he whispered the magic word and the goose became a li-mon-eag, as he had been before. "good!" said the nome, well pleased, as kiki joined him by dropping down from the tree. "now let us find a quiet place where we can talk without being overheard by the beasts." so the two started away and crossed the forest until they came to a place where the trees were not so tall nor so close together, and among these scattered trees was another clearing, not so large as the first one, where the meeting of the beasts had been held. standing on the edge of this clearing and looking across it, they saw the trees on the farther side full of monkeys, who were chattering together at a great rate of the sights they had witnessed at the meeting. the old nome whispered to kiki not to enter the clearing or allow the monkeys to see them. "why not?" asked the boy, drawing back. "because those monkeys are to be our army--the army which will conquer oz," said the nome. "sit down here with me, kiki, and keep quiet, and i will explain to you my plan." now, neither kiki aru nor ruggedo had noticed that a sly fox had followed them all the way from the tree where the goose had been transformed to the li-mon-eag. indeed, this fox, who was none other than the wizard of oz, had witnessed the transformation of the goose and now decided he would keep watch on the conspirators and see what they would do next. a fox can move through a forest very softly, without making any noise, and so the wizard's enemies did not suspect his presence. but when they sat down by the edge of the clearing, to talk, with their backs toward him, the wizard did not know whether to risk being seen, by creeping closer to hear what they said, or whether it would be better for him to hide himself until they moved on again. while he considered this question he discovered near him a great tree which had a hollow trunk, and there was a round hole in this tree, about three feet above the ground. the wizard fox decided it would be safer for him to hide inside the hollow tree, so he sprang into the hole and crouched down in the hollow, so that his eyes just came to the edge of the hole by which he had entered, and from here he watched the forms of the two li-mon-eags. "this is my plan," said the nome to kiki, speaking so low that the wizard could only hear the rumble of his voice. "since you can transform anything into any form you wish, we will transform these monkeys into an army, and with that army we will conquer the oz people." "the monkeys won't make much of an army," objected kiki. "we need a great army, but not a numerous one," responded the nome. "you will transform each monkey into a giant man, dressed in a fine uniform and armed with a sharp sword. there are fifty monkeys over there and fifty giants would make as big an army as we need." "what will they do with the swords?" asked kiki. "nothing can kill the oz people." "true," said ruggedo. "the oz people cannot be killed, but they can be cut into small pieces, and while every piece will still be alive, we can scatter the pieces around so that they will be quite helpless. therefore, the oz people will be afraid of the swords of our army, and we will conquer them with ease." "that seems like a good idea," replied the boy, approvingly. "and in such a case, we need not bother with the other beasts of the forest." "no; you have frightened the beasts, and they would no longer consent to assist us in conquering oz. but those monkeys are foolish creatures, and once they are transformed to giants, they will do just as we say and obey our commands. can you transform them all at once?" "no, i must take one at a time," said kiki. "but the fifty transformations can be made in an hour or so. stay here, ruggedo, and i will change the first monkey--that one at the left, on the end of the limb--into a giant with a sword." "where are you going?" asked the nome. "i must not speak the magic word in the presence of another person," declared kiki, who was determined not to allow his treacherous companion to learn his secret, "so i will go where you cannot hear me." ruggedo the nome was disappointed, but he hoped still to catch the boy unawares and surprise the magic word. so he merely nodded his lion head, and kiki got up and went back into the forest a short distance. here he spied a hollow tree, and by chance it was the same hollow tree in which the wizard of oz, now in the form of a fox, had hidden himself. as kiki ran up to the tree the fox ducked its head, so that it was out of sight in the dark hollow beneath the hole, and then kiki put his face into the hole and whispered: "i want that monkey on the branch at the left to become a giant man fifty feet tall, dressed in a uniform and with a sharp sword--pyrzqxgl!" then he ran back to ruggedo, but the wizard fox had heard quite plainly every word that he had said. the monkey was instantly transformed into the giant, and the giant was so big that as he stood on the ground his head was higher than the trees of the forest. the monkeys raised a great chatter but did not seem to understand that the giant was one of themselves. "good!" cried the nome. "hurry, kiki, and transform the others." so kiki rushed back to the tree and putting his face to the hollow, whispered: "i want the next monkey to be just like the first--pyrzqxgl!" again the wizard fox heard the magic word, and just how it was pronounced. but he sat still in the hollow and waited to hear it again, so it would be impressed on his mind and he would not forget it. kiki kept running to the edge of the forest and back to the hollow tree again until he had whispered the magic word six times and six monkeys had been changed to six great giants. then the wizard decided he would make an experiment and use the magic word himself. so, while kiki was running back to the nome, the fox stuck his head out of the hollow and said softly: "i want that creature who is running to become a hickory-nut--pyrzqxgl!" instantly the li-mon-eag form of kiki aru the hyup disappeared and a small hickory-nut rolled upon the ground a moment and then lay still. the wizard was delighted, and leaped from the hollow just as ruggedo looked around to see what had become of kiki. the nome saw the fox but no kiki, so he hastily rose to his feet. the wizard did not know how powerful the queer beast might be, so he resolved to take no chances. "i want this creature to become a walnut--pyrzqxgl!" he said aloud. but he did not pronounce the magic word in quite the right way, and ruggedo's form did not change. but the nome knew at once that "pyrzqxgl!" was the magic word, so he rushed at the fox and cried: "i want you to become a goose--pyrzqxgl!" but the nome did not pronounce the word aright, either, having never heard it spoken but once before, and then with a wrong accent. so the fox was not transformed, but it had to run away to escape being caught by the angry nome. ruggedo now began pronouncing the magic word in every way he could think of, hoping to hit the right one, and the fox, hiding in a bush, was somewhat troubled by the fear that he might succeed. however, the wizard, who was used to magic arts, remained calm and soon remembered exactly how kiki aru had pronounced the word. so he repeated the sentence he had before uttered and ruggedo the nome became an ordinary walnut. the wizard now crept out from the bush and said: "i want my own form again--pyrzqxgl!" instantly he was the wizard of oz, and after picking up the hickory-nut and the walnut, and carefully placing them in his pocket, he ran back to the big clearing. dorothy the lamb uttered a bleat of delight when she saw her old friend restored to his natural shape. the others were all there, not having found the goose. the fat gillikin woman, the munchkin boy, the rabbit and the glass cat crowded around the wizard and asked what had happened. before he explained anything of his adventure, he transformed them all--except, of course, the glass cat--into their natural shapes, and when their joy permitted them to quiet somewhat, he told how he had by chance surprised the magician's secret and been able to change the two li-mon-eags into shapes that could not speak, and therefore would be unable to help themselves. and the little wizard showed his astonished friends the hickory-nut and the walnut to prove that he had spoken the truth. "but--see here!"--exclaimed dorothy. "what has become of those giant soldiers who used to be monkeys?" "i forgot all about them!" admitted the wizard; "but i suppose they are still standing there in the forest." . the lonesome duck trot and cap'n bill stood before the magic flower, actually rooted to the spot. "aren't you hungry, cap'n?" asked the little girl, with a long sigh, for she had been standing there for hours and hours. "well," replied the sailor-man, "i ain't sayin' as i couldn't eat, trot--if a dinner was handy--but i guess old folks don't get as hungry as young folks do." "i'm not sure 'bout that, cap'n bill," she said thoughtfully. "age might make a diff'rence, but seems to me size would make a bigger diff'rence. seeing you're twice as big as me, you ought to be twice as hungry." "i hope i am," he rejoined, "for i can stand it a while longer. i do hope the glass cat will hurry, and i hope the wizard won't waste time a-comin' to us." trot sighed again and watched the wonderful magic flower, because there was nothing else to do. just now a lovely group of pink peonies budded and bloomed, but soon they faded away, and a mass of deep blue lilies took their place. then some yellow chrysanthemums blossomed on the plant, and when they had opened all their petals and reached perfection, they gave way to a lot of white floral balls spotted with crimson--a flower trot had never seen before. "but i get awful tired watchin' flowers an' flowers an' flowers," she said impatiently. "they're might pretty," observed cap'n bill. "i know; and if a person could come and look at the magic flower just when she felt like it, it would be a fine thing, but to have to stand and watch it, whether you want to or not, isn't so much fun. i wish, cap'n bill, the thing would grow fruit for a while instead of flowers." scarcely had she spoken when the white balls with crimson spots faded away and a lot of beautiful ripe peaches took their place. with a cry of mingled surprise and delight trot reached out and plucked a peach from the bush and began to eat it, finding it delicious. cap'n bill was somewhat dazed at the girl's wish being granted so quickly, so before he could pick a peach they had faded away and bananas took their place. "grab one, cap'n!" exclaimed trot, and even while eating the peach she seized a banana with her other hand and tore it from the bush. the old sailor was still bewildered. he put out a hand indeed, but he was too late, for now the bananas disappeared and lemons took their place. "pshaw!" cried trot. "you can't eat those things; but watch out, cap'n, for something else." cocoanuts next appeared, but cap'n bill shook his head. "ca'n't crack 'em," he remarked, "'cause we haven't anything handy to smash 'em with." "well, take one, anyhow," advised trot; but the cocoanuts were gone now, and a deep, purple, pear-shaped fruit which was unknown to them took their place. again cap'n bill hesitated, and trot said to him: "you ought to have captured a peach and a banana, as i did. if you're not careful, cap'n, you'll miss all your chances. here, i'll divide my banana with you." even as she spoke, the magic plant was covered with big red apples, growing on every branch, and cap'n bill hesitated no longer. he grabbed with both hands and picked two apples, while trot had only time to secure one before they were gone. "it's curious," remarked the sailor, munching his apple, "how these fruits keep good when you've picked 'em, but dis'pear inter thin air if they're left on the bush." "the whole thing is curious," declared the girl, "and it couldn't exist in any country but this, where magic is so common. those are limes. don't pick 'em, for they'd pucker up your mouth and--ooo! here come plums!" and she tucked her apple in her apron pocket and captured three plums--each one almost as big as an egg--before they disappeared. cap'n bill got some too, but both were too hungry to fast any longer, so they began eating their apples and plums and let the magic bush bear all sorts of fruits, one after another. the cap'n stopped once to pick a fine cantaloupe, which he held under his arm, and trot, having finished her plums, got a handful of cherries and an orange; but when almost every sort of fruit had appeared on the bush, the crop ceased and only flowers, as before, bloomed upon it. "i wonder why it changed back," mused trot, who was not worried because she had enough fruit to satisfy her hunger. "well, you only wished it would bear fruit 'for a while,'" said the sailor, "and it did. p'raps if you'd said 'forever,' trot, it would have always been fruit." "but why should my wish be obeyed?" asked the girl. "i'm not a fairy or a wizard or any kind of a magic-maker." "i guess," replied cap'n bill, "that this little island is a magic island, and any folks on it can tell the bush what to produce, an' it'll produce it." "do you think i could wish for anything else, cap'n and get it?" she inquired anxiously. "what are you thinkin' of, trot?" "i'm thinking of wishing that these roots on our feet would disappear, and let us free." "try it, trot." so she tried it, and the wish had no effect whatever. "try it yourself, cap'n," she suggested. then cap'n bill made the wish to be free, with no better result. "no," said he, "it's no use; the wishes only affect the magic plant; but i'm glad we can make it bear fruit, 'cause now we know we won't starve before the wizard gets to us." "but i'm gett'n' tired standing here so long," complained the girl. "if i could only lift one foot, and rest it, i'd feel better." "same with me, trot. i've noticed that if you've got to do a thing, and can't help yourself, it gets to be a hardship mighty quick." "folks that can raise their feet don't appreciate what a blessing it is," said trot thoughtfully. "i never knew before what fun it is to raise one foot, an' then another, any time you feel like it." "there's lots o' things folks don't 'preciate," replied the sailor-man. "if somethin' would 'most stop your breath, you'd think breathin' easy was the finest thing in life. when a person's well, he don't realize how jolly it is, but when he gets sick he 'members the time he was well, an' wishes that time would come back. most folks forget to thank god for givin' 'em two good legs, till they lose one o' 'em, like i did; and then it's too late, 'cept to praise god for leavin' one." "your wooden leg ain't so bad, cap'n," she remarked, looking at it critically. "anyhow, it don't take root on a magic island, like our meat legs do." "i ain't complainin'," said cap'n bill. "what's that swimmin' towards us, trot?" he added, looking over the magic flower and across the water. the girl looked, too, and then she replied. "it's a bird of some sort. it's like a duck, only i never saw a duck have so many colors." the bird swam swiftly and gracefully toward the magic isle, and as it drew nearer its gorgeously colored plumage astonished them. the feathers were of many hues of glistening greens and blues and purples, and it had a yellow head with a red plume, and pink, white and violet in its tail. when it reached the isle, it came ashore and approached them, waddling slowly and turning its head first to one side and then to the other, so as to see the girl and the sailor better. "you're strangers," said the bird, coming to a halt near them, "and you've been caught by the magic isle and made prisoners." "yes," returned trot, with a sigh; "we're rooted. but i hope we won't grow." "you'll grow small," said the bird. "you'll keep growing smaller every day, until bye and bye there'll be nothing left of you. that's the usual way, on this magic isle." "how do you know about it, and who are you, anyhow?" asked cap'n bill. "i'm the lonesome duck," replied the bird. "i suppose you've heard of me?" "no," said trot, "i can't say i have. what makes you lonesome?" "why, i haven't any family or any relations," returned the duck. "haven't you any friends?" "not a friend. and i've nothing to do. i've lived a long time, and i've got to live forever, because i belong in the land of oz, where no living thing dies. think of existing year after year, with no friends, no family, and nothing to do! can you wonder i'm lonesome?" "why don't you make a few friends, and find something to do?" inquired cap'n bill. "i can't make friends because everyone i meet--bird, beast, or person--is disagreeable to me. in a few minutes i shall be unable to bear your society longer, and then i'll go away and leave you," said the lonesome duck. "and, as for doing anything, there's no use in it. all i meet are doing something, so i have decided it's common and uninteresting and i prefer to remain lonesome." "don't you have to hunt for your food?" asked trot. "no. in my diamond palace, a little way up the river, food is magically supplied me; but i seldom eat, because it is so common." "you must be a magician duck," remarked cap'n bill. "why so?" "well, ordinary ducks don't have diamond palaces an' magic food, like you do." "true; and that's another reason why i'm lonesome. you must remember i'm the only duck in the land of oz, and i'm not like any other duck in the outside world." "seems to me you like bein' lonesome," observed cap'n bill. "i can't say i like it, exactly," replied the duck, "but since it seems to be my fate, i'm rather proud of it." "how do you s'pose a single, solitary duck happened to be in the land of oz?" asked trot, wonderingly. "i used to know the reason, many years ago, but i've quite forgotten it," declared the duck. "the reason for a thing is never so important as the thing itself, so there's no use remembering anything but the fact that i'm lonesome." "i guess you'd be happier if you tried to do something," asserted trot. "if you can't do anything for yourself, you can do things for others, and then you'd get lots of friends and stop being lonesome." "now you're getting disagreeable," said the lonesome duck, "and i shall have to go and leave you." "can't you help us any," pleaded the girl. "if there's anything magic about you, you might get us out of this scrape." "i haven't any magic strong enough to get you off the magic isle," replied the lonesome duck. "what magic i possess is very simple, but i find it enough for my own needs." "if we could only sit down a while, we could stand it better," said trot, "but we have nothing to sit on." "then you will have to stand it," said the lonesome duck. "p'raps you've enough magic to give us a couple of stools," suggested cap'n bill. "a duck isn't supposed to know what stools are," was the reply. "but you're diff'rent from all other ducks." "that is true." the strange creature seemed to reflect for a moment, looking at them sharply from its round black eyes. then it said: "sometimes, when the sun is hot, i grow a toadstool to shelter me from its rays. perhaps you could sit on toadstools." "well, if they were strong enough, they'd do," answered cap'n bill. "then, before i do i'll give you a couple," said the lonesome duck, and began waddling about in a small circle. it went around the circle to the right three times, and then it went around to the left three times. then it hopped backward three times and forward three times. "what are you doing?" asked trot. "don't interrupt. this is an incantation," replied the lonesome duck, but now it began making a succession of soft noises that sounded like quacks and seemed to mean nothing at all. and it kept up these sounds so long that trot finally exclaimed: "can't you hurry up and finish that 'cantation? if it takes all summer to make a couple of toadstools, you're not much of a magician." "i told you not to interrupt," said the lonesome duck, sternly. "if you get too disagreeable, you'll drive me away before i finish this incantation." trot kept quiet, after the rebuke, and the duck resumed the quacky muttering. cap'n bill chuckled a little to himself and remarked to trot in a whisper: "for a bird that ain't got anything to do, this lonesome duck is makin' consider'ble fuss. an' i ain't sure, after all, as toadstools would be worth sittin' on." even as he spoke, the sailor-man felt something touch him from behind and, turning his head, he found a big toadstool in just the right place and of just the right size to sit upon. there was one behind trot, too, and with a cry of pleasure the little girl sank back upon it and found it a very comfortable seat--solid, yet almost like a cushion. even cap'n bill's weight did not break his toadstool down, and when both were seated, they found that the lonesome duck had waddled away and was now at the water's edge. "thank you, ever so much!" cried trot, and the sailor called out: "much obliged!" but the lonesome duck paid no attention. without even looking in their direction again, the gaudy fowl entered the water and swam gracefully away. . the glass cat finds the black bag when the six monkeys were transformed by kiki aru into six giant soldiers fifty feet tall, their heads came above the top of the trees, which in this part of the forest were not so high as in some other parts; and, although the trees were somewhat scattered, the bodies of the giant soldiers were so big that they quite filled the spaces in which they stood and the branches pressed them on every side. of course, kiki was foolish to have made his soldiers so big, for now they could not get out of the forest. indeed, they could not stir a step, but were imprisoned by the trees. even had they been in the little clearing they could not have made their way out of it, but they were a little beyond the clearing. at first, the other monkeys who had not been enchanted were afraid of the soldiers, and hastily quitted the place; but soon finding that the great men stood stock still, although grunting indignantly at their transformation, the band of monkeys returned to the spot and looked at them curiously, not guessing that they were really monkeys and their own friends. the soldiers couldn't see them, their heads being above the trees; they could not even raise their arms or draw their sharp swords, so closely were they held by the leafy branches. so the monkeys, finding the giants helpless, began climbing up their bodies, and presently all the band were perched on the shoulders of the giants and peering into their faces. "i'm ebu, your father," cried one soldier to a monkey who had perched upon his left ear, "but some cruel person has enchanted me." "i'm your uncle peeker," said another soldier to another monkey. so, very soon all the monkeys knew the truth and were sorry for their friends and relations and angry at the person--whoever it was--who had transformed them. there was a great chattering among the tree-tops, and the noise attracted other monkeys, so that the clearing and all the trees around were full of them. rango the gray ape, who was the chief of all the monkey tribes of the forest, heard the uproar and came to see what was wrong with his people. and rango, being wiser and more experienced, at once knew that the strange magician who looked like a mixed-up beast was responsible for the transformations. he realized that the six giant soldiers were helpless prisoners, because of their size, and knew he was powerless to release them. so, although he feared to meet the terrible magician, he hurried away to the great clearing to tell gugu the king what had happened and to try to find the wizard of oz and get him to save his six enchanted subjects. rango darted into the great clearing just as the wizard had restored all the enchanted ones around him to their proper shapes, and the gray ape was glad to hear that the wicked magician-beast had been conquered. "but now, o mighty wizard, you must come with me to where six of my people are transformed into six great giant men," he said, "for if they are allowed to remain there, their happiness and their future lives will be ruined." the wizard did not reply at once, for he was thinking this a good opportunity to win rango's consent to his taking some monkeys to the emerald city for ozma's birthday cake. "it is a great thing you ask of me, o rango the gray ape," said he, "for the bigger the giants are the more powerful their enchantment, and the more difficult it will be to restore them to their natural forms. however, i will think it over." then the wizard went to another part of the clearing and sat on a log and appeared to be in deep thought. the glass cat had been greatly interested in the gray ape's story and was curious to see what the giant soldiers looked like. hearing that their heads extended above the tree-tops, the glass cat decided that if it climbed the tall avocado tree that stood at the side of the clearing, it might be able to see the giants' heads. so, without mentioning her errand, the crystal creature went to the tree and, by sticking her sharp glass claws in the bark, easily climbed the tree to its very top and, looking over the forest, saw the six giant heads, although they were now a long way off. it was, indeed, a remarkable sight, for the huge heads had immense soldier caps on them, with red and yellow plumes and looked very fierce and terrible, although the monkey hearts of the giants were at that moment filled with fear. having satisfied her curiosity, the glass cat began to climb down from the tree more slowly. suddenly she discerned the wizard's black bag hanging from a limb of the tree. she grasped the black bag in her glass teeth, and although it was rather heavy for so small an animal, managed to get it free and to carry it safely down to the ground. then she looked around for the wizard and seeing him seated upon the stump she hid the black bag among some leaves and then went over to where the wizard sat. "i forgot to tell you," said the glass cat, "that trot and cap'n bill are in trouble, and i came here to hunt you up and get you to go and rescue them." "good gracious, cat! why didn't you tell me before?" exclaimed the wizard. "for the reason that i found so much excitement here that i forgot trot and cap'n bill." "what's wrong with them?" asked the wizard. then the glass cat explained how they had gone to get the magic flower for ozma's birthday gift and had been trapped by the magic of the queer island. the wizard was really alarmed, but he shook his head and said sadly: "i'm afraid i can't help my dear friends, because i've lost my black bag." "if i find it, will you go to them?" asked the creature. "of course," replied the wizard. "but i do not think that a glass cat with nothing but pink brains can succeed when all the rest of us have failed." "don't you admire my pink brains?" demanded the cat. "they're pretty," admitted the wizard, "but they're not regular brains, you know, and so we don't expect them to amount to much." "but if i find your black bag--and find it inside of five minutes--will you admit my pink brains are better than your common human brains?" "well, i'll admit they're better hunters," said the wizard, reluctantly, "but you can't do it. we've searched everywhere, and the black bag isn't to be found." "that shows how much you know!" retorted the glass cat, scornfully. "watch my brains a minute, and see them whirl around." the wizard watched, for he was anxious to regain his black bag, and the pink brains really did whirl around in a remarkable manner. "now, come with me," commanded the glass cat, and led the wizard straight to the spot where it had covered the bag with leaves. "according to my brains," said the creature, "your black bag ought to be here." then it scratched at the leaves and uncovered the bag, which the wizard promptly seized with a cry of delight. now that he had regained his magic tools, he felt confident he could rescue trot and cap'n bill. rango the gray ape was getting impatient. he now approached the wizard and said: "well, what do you intend to do about those poor enchanted monkeys?" "i'll make a bargain with you, rango," replied the little man. "if you will let me take a dozen of your monkeys to the emerald city, and keep them until after ozma's birthday, i'll break the enchantment of the six giant soldiers and return them to their natural forms." but the gray ape shook his head. "i can't do it," he declared. "the monkeys would be very lonesome and unhappy in the emerald city and your people would tease them and throw stones at them, which would cause them to fight and bite." "the people won't see them till ozma's birthday dinner," promised the wizard. "i'll make them very small--about four inches high, and i'll keep them in a pretty cage in my own room, where they will be safe from harm. i'll feed them the nicest kind of food, train them to do some clever tricks, and on ozma's birthday i'll hide the twelve little monkeys inside a cake. when ozma cuts the cake the monkeys will jump out on to the table and do their tricks. the next day i will bring them back to the forest and make them big as ever, and they'll have some exciting stories to tell their friends. what do you say, rango?" "i say no!" answered the gray ape. "i won't have my monkeys enchanted and made to do tricks for the oz people." "very well," said the wizard calmly; "then i'll go. come, dorothy," he called to the little girl, "let's start on our journey." "aren't you going to save those six monkeys who are giant soldiers?" asked rango, anxiously. "why should i?" returned the wizard. "if you will not do me the favor i ask, you cannot expect me to favor you." "wait a minute," said the gray ape. "i've changed my mind. if you will treat the twelve monkeys nicely and bring them safely back to the forest, i'll let you take them." "thank you," replied the wizard, cheerfully. "we'll go at once and save those giant soldiers." so all the party left the clearing and proceeded to the place where the giants still stood among the trees. hundreds of monkeys, apes, baboons and orangoutangs had gathered round, and their wild chatter could be heard a mile away. but the gray ape soon hushed the babel of sounds, and the wizard lost no time in breaking the enchantments. first one and then another giant soldier disappeared and became an ordinary monkey again, and the six were shortly returned to their friends in their proper forms. this action made the wizard very popular with the great army of monkeys, and when the gray ape announced that the wizard wanted to borrow twelve monkeys to take to the emerald city for a couple of weeks, and asked for volunteers, nearly a hundred offered to go, so great was their confidence in the little man who had saved their comrades. the wizard selected a dozen that seemed intelligent and good-tempered, and then he opened his black bag and took out a queerly shaped dish that was silver on the outside and gold on the inside. into this dish he poured a powder and set fire to it. it made a thick smoke that quite enveloped the twelve monkeys, as well as the form of the wizard, but when the smoke cleared away the dish had been changed to a golden cage with silver bars, and the twelve monkeys had become about three inches high and were all seated comfortably inside the cage. the thousands of hairy animals who had witnessed this act of magic were much astonished and applauded the wizard by barking aloud and shaking the limbs of the trees in which they sat. dorothy said: "that was a fine trick, wizard!" and the gray ape remarked: "you are certainly the most wonderful magician in all the land of oz!" "oh, no," modestly replied the little man. "glinda's magic is better than mine, but mine seems good enough to use on ordinary occasions. and now, rango, we will say good-bye, and i promise to return your monkeys as happy and safe as they are now." the wizard rode on the back of the hungry tiger and carried the cage of monkeys very carefully, so as not to joggle them. dorothy rode on the back of the cowardly lion, and the glass cat trotted, as before, to show them the way. gugu the king crouched upon a log and watched them go, but as he bade them farewell, the enormous leopard said: "i know now that you are the friends of beasts and that the forest people may trust you. whenever the wizard of oz and princess dorothy enter the forest of gugu hereafter, they will be as welcome and as safe with us as ever they are in the emerald city." . a remarkable journey "you see," explained the glass cat, "that magic isle where trot and cap'n bill are stuck is also in this gillikin country--over at the east side of it, and it's no farther to go across-lots from here than it is from here to the emerald city. so we'll save time by cutting across the mountains." "are you sure you know the way?" asked dorothy. "i know all the land of oz better than any other living creature knows it," asserted the glass cat. "go ahead, then, and guide us," said the wizard. "we've left our poor friends helpless too long already, and the sooner we rescue them the happier they'll be." "are you sure you can get 'em out of their fix?" the little girl inquired. "i've no doubt of it," the wizard assured her. "but i can't tell what sort of magic i must use until i get to the place and discover just how they are enchanted." "i've heard of that magic isle where the wonderful flower grows," remarked the cowardly lion. "long ago, when i used to live in the forests, the beasts told stories about the isle and how the magic flower was placed there to entrap strangers--men or beasts." "is the flower really wonderful?" questioned dorothy. "i have heard it is the most beautiful plant in the world," answered the lion. "i have never seen it myself, but friendly beasts have told me that they have stood on the shore of the river and looked across at the plant in the gold flower-pot and seen hundreds of flowers, of all sorts and sizes, blossom upon it in quick succession. it is said that if one picks the flowers while they are in bloom they will remain perfect for a long time, but if they are not picked they soon disappear and are replaced by other flowers. that, in my opinion, make the magic plant the most wonderful in existence." "but these are only stories," said the girl. "has any of your friends ever picked a flower from the wonderful plant?" "no," admitted the cowardly lion, "for if any living thing ventures upon the magic isle, where the golden flower-pot stands, that man or beast takes root in the soil and cannot get away again." "what happens to them, then?" asked dorothy. "they grow smaller, hour by hour and day by day, and finally disappear entirely." "then," said the girl anxiously, "we must hurry up, or cap'n bill an' trot will get too small to be comf'table." they were proceeding at a rapid pace during this conversation, for the hungry tiger and the cowardly lion were obliged to move swiftly in order to keep pace with the glass cat. after leaving the forest of gugu they crossed a mountain range, and then a broad plain, after which they reached another forest, much smaller than that where gugu ruled. "the magic isle is in this forest," said the glass cat, "but the river is at the other side of the forest. there is no path through the trees, but if we keep going east, we will find the river, and then it will be easy to find the magic isle." "have you ever traveled this way before?" inquired the wizard. "not exactly," admitted the cat, "but i know we shall reach the river if we go east through the forest." "lead on, then," said the wizard. the glass cat started away, and at first it was easy to pass between the trees; but before long the underbrush and vines became thick and tangled, and after pushing their way through these obstacles for a time, our travelers came to a place where even the glass cat could not push through. "we'd better go back and find a path," suggested the hungry tiger. "i'm s'prised at you," said dorothy, eyeing the glass cat severely. "i'm surprised, myself," replied the cat. "but it's a long way around the forest to where the river enters it, and i thought we could save time by going straight through." "no one can blame you," said the wizard, "and i think, instead of turning back, i can make a path that will allow us to proceed." he opened his black bag and after searching among his magic tools drew out a small axe, made of some metal so highly polished that it glittered brightly even in the dark forest. the wizard laid the little axe on the ground and said in a commanding voice: "chop, little axe, chop clean and true; a path for our feet you must quickly hew. chop till this tangle of jungle is passed; chop to the east, little axe--chop fast!" then the little axe began to move and flashed its bright blade right and left, clearing a way through vine and brush and scattering the tangled barrier so quickly that the lion and the tiger, carrying dorothy and the wizard and the cage of monkeys on their backs, were able to stride through the forest at a fast walk. the brush seemed to melt away before them and the little axe chopped so fast that their eyes only saw a twinkling of the blade. then, suddenly, the forest was open again, and the little axe, having obeyed its orders, lay still upon the ground. the wizard picked up the magic axe and after carefully wiping it with his silk handkerchief put it away in his black bag. then they went on and in a short time reached the river. "let me see," said the glass cat, looking up and down the stream, "i think we are below the magic isle; so we must go up the stream until we come to it." so up the stream they traveled, walking comfortably on the river bank, and after a while the water broadened and a sharp bend appeared in the river, hiding all below from their view. they walked briskly along, however, and had nearly reached the bend when a voice cried warningly: "look out!" the travelers halted abruptly and the wizard said: "look out for what?" "you almost stepped on my diamond palace," replied the voice, and a duck with gorgeously colored feathers appeared before them. "beasts and men are terribly clumsy," continued the duck in an irritated tone, "and you've no business on this side of the river, anyway. what are you doing here?" "we've come to rescue some friends of ours who are stuck fast on the magic isle in this river," explained dorothy. "i know 'em," said the duck. "i've been to see 'em, and they're stuck fast, all right. you may as well go back home, for no power can save them." "this is the wonderful wizard of oz," said dorothy, pointing to the little man. "well, i'm the lonesome duck," was the reply, as the fowl strutted up and down to show its feathers to best advantage. "i'm the great forest magician, as any beast can tell you, but even i have no power to destroy the dreadful charm of the magic isle." "are you lonesome because you're a magician?" inquired dorothy. "no; i'm lonesome because i have no family and no friends. but i like to be lonesome, so please don't offer to be friendly with me. go away, and try not to step on my diamond palace." "where is it?" asked the girl. "behind this bush." dorothy hopped off the lion's back and ran around the bush to see the diamond palace of the lonesome duck, although the gaudy fowl protested in a series of low quacks. the girl found, indeed, a glistening dome formed of clearest diamonds, neatly cemented together, with a doorway at the side just big enough to admit the duck. "where did you find so many diamonds?" asked dorothy, wonderingly. "i know a place in the mountains where they are thick as pebbles," said the lonesome duck, "and i brought them here in my bill, one by one and put them in the river and let the water run over them until they were brightly polished. then i built this palace, and i'm positive it's the only diamond palace in all the world." "it's the only one i know of," said the little girl; "but if you live in it all alone, i don't see why it's any better than a wooden palace, or one of bricks or cobble-stones." "you're not supposed to understand that," retorted the lonesome duck. "but i might tell you, as a matter of education, that a home of any sort should be beautiful to those who live in it, and should not be intended to please strangers. the diamond palace is my home, and i like it. so i don't care a quack whether you like it or not." "oh, but i do!" exclaimed dorothy. "it's lovely on the outside, but--" then she stopped speaking, for the lonesome duck had entered his palace through the little door without even saying good-bye. so dorothy returned to her friends and they resumed their journey. "do you think, wizard, the duck was right in saying no magic can rescue trot and cap'n bill?" asked the girl in a worried tone of voice. "no, i don't think the lonesome duck was right in saying that," answered the wizard, gravely, "but it is possible that their enchantment will be harder to overcome than i expected. i'll do my best, of course, and no one can do more than his best." that didn't entirely relieve dorothy's anxiety, but she said nothing more, and soon, on turning the bend in the river, they came in sight of the magic isle. "there they are!" exclaimed dorothy eagerly. "yes, i see them," replied the wizard, nodding. "they are sitting on two big toadstools." "that's queer," remarked the glass cat. "there were no toadstools there when i left them." "what a lovely flower!" cried dorothy in rapture, as her gaze fell on the magic plant. "never mind the flower, just now," advised the wizard. "the most important thing is to rescue our friends." by this time they had arrived at a place just opposite the magic isle, and now both trot and cap'n bill saw the arrival of their friends and called to them for help. "how are you?" shouted the wizard, putting his hands to his mouth so they could hear him better across the water. "we're in hard luck," shouted cap'n bill, in reply. "we're anchored here and can't move till you find a way to cut the hawser." "what does he mean by that?" asked dorothy. "we can't move our feet a bit!" called trot, speaking as loud as she could. "why not?" inquired dorothy. "they've got roots on 'em," explained trot. it was hard to talk from so great a distance, so the wizard said to the glass cat: "go to the island and tell our friends to be patient, for we have come to save them. it may take a little time to release them, for the magic of the isle is new to me and i shall have to experiment. but tell them i'll hurry as fast as i can." so the glass cat walked across the river under the water to tell trot and cap'n bill not to worry, and the wizard at once opened his black bag and began to make his preparations. . the magic of the wizard he first set up a small silver tripod and placed a gold basin at the top of it. into this basin he put two powders--a pink one and a sky-blue one--and poured over them a yellow liquid from a crystal vial. then he mumbled some magic words, and the powders began to sizzle and burn and send out a cloud of violet smoke that floated across the river and completely enveloped both trot and cap'n bill, as well as the toadstools on which they sat, and even the magic plant in the gold flower-pot. then, after the smoke had disappeared into air, the wizard called out to the prisoners: "are you free?" both trot and cap'n bill tried to move their feet and failed. "no!" they shouted in answer. the wizard rubbed his bald head thoughtfully and then took some other magic tools from the bag. first he placed a little black ball in a silver pistol and shot it toward the magic isle. the ball exploded just over the head of trot and scattered a thousand sparks over the little girl. "oh!" said the wizard, "i guess that will set her free." but trot's feet were still rooted in the ground of the magic isle, and the disappointed wizard had to try something else. for almost an hour he worked hard, using almost every magic tool in his black bag, and still cap'n bill and trot were not rescued. "dear me!" exclaimed dorothy, "i'm 'fraid we'll have to go to glinda, after all." that made the little wizard blush, for it shamed him to think that his magic was not equal to that of the magic isle. "i won't give up yet, dorothy," he said, "for i know a lot of wizardry that i haven't yet tried. i don't know what magician enchanted this little island, or what his powers were, but i do know that i can break any enchantment known to the ordinary witches and magicians that used to inhabit the land of oz. it's like unlocking a door; all you need is to find the right key." "but 'spose you haven't the right key with you." suggested dorothy; "what then?" "then we'll have to make the key," he answered. the glass cat now came back to their side of the river, walking under the water, and said to the wizard: "they're getting frightened over there on the island because they're both growing smaller every minute. just now, when i left them, both trot and cap'n bill were only about half their natural sizes." "i think," said the wizard reflectively, "that i'd better go to the shore of the island, where i can talk to them and work to better advantage. how did trot and cap'n bill get to the island?" "on a raft," answered the glass cat. "it's over there now on the beach." "i suppose you're not strong enough to bring the raft to this side, are you?" "no; i couldn't move it an inch," said the cat. "i'll try to get it for you," volunteered the cowardly lion. "i'm dreadfully scared for fear the magic isle will capture me, too; but i'll try to get the raft and bring it to this side for you." "thank you, my friend," said the wizard. so the lion plunged into the river and swam with powerful strokes across to where the raft was beached upon the island. placing one paw on the raft, he turned and struck out with his other three legs and so strong was the great beast that he managed to drag the raft from off the beach and propel it slowly to where the wizard stood on the river bank. "good!" exclaimed the little man, well pleased. "may i go across with you?" asked dorothy. the wizard hesitated. "if you'll take care not to leave the raft or step foot on the island, you'll be quite safe," he decided. so the wizard told the hungry tiger and the cowardly lion to guard the cage of monkeys until he returned, and then he and dorothy got upon the raft. the paddle which cap'n bill had made was still there, so the little wizard paddled the clumsy raft across the water and ran it upon the beach of the magic isle as close to the place where cap'n bill and trot were rooted as he could. dorothy was shocked to see how small the prisoners had become, and trot said to her friends: "if you can't save us soon, there'll be nothing left of us." "be patient, my dear," counseled the wizard, and took the little axe from his black bag. "what are you going to do with that?" asked cap'n bill. "it's a magic axe," replied the wizard, "and when i tell it to chop, it will chop those roots from your feet and you can run to the raft before they grow again." "don't!" shouted the sailor in alarm. "don't do it! those roots are all flesh roots, and our bodies are feeding 'em while they're growing into the ground." "to cut off the roots," said trot, "would be like cutting off our fingers and toes." the wizard put the little axe back in the black bag and took out a pair of silver pincers. "grow--grow--grow!" he said to the pincers, and at once they grew and extended until they reached from the raft to the prisoners. "what are you going to do now?" demanded cap'n bill, fearfully eyeing the pincers. "this magic tool will pull you up, roots and all, and land you on this raft," declared the wizard. "don't do it!" pleaded the sailor, with a shudder. "it would hurt us awfully." "it would be just like pulling teeth to pull us up by the roots," explained trot. "grow small!" said the wizard to the pincers, and at once they became small and he threw them into the black bag. "i guess, friends, it's all up with us, this time," remarked cap'n bill, with a dismal sigh. "please tell ozma, dorothy," said trot, "that we got into trouble trying to get her a nice birthday present. then she'll forgive us. the magic flower is lovely and wonderful, but it's just a lure to catch folks on this dreadful island and then destroy them. you'll have a nice birthday party, without us, i'm sure; and i hope, dorothy, that none of you in the emerald city will forget me--or dear ol' cap'n bill." . dorothy and the bumble bees dorothy was greatly distressed and had hard work to keep the tears from her eyes. "is that all you can do, wizard?" she asked the little man. "it's all i can think of just now," he replied sadly. "but i intend to keep on thinking as long--as long--well, as long as thinking will do any good." they were all silent for a time, dorothy and the wizard sitting thoughtfully on the raft, and trot and cap'n bill sitting thoughtfully on the toadstools and growing gradually smaller and smaller in size. suddenly dorothy said: "wizard, i've thought of something!" "what have you thought of?" he asked, looking at the little girl with interest. "can you remember the magic word that transforms people?" she asked. "of course," said he. "then you can transform trot and cap'n bill into birds or bumblebees, and they can fly away to the other shore. when they're there, you can transform 'em into their reg'lar shapes again!" "can you do that, wizard?" asked cap'n bill, eagerly. "i think so." "roots an' all?" inquired trot. "why, the roots are now a part of you, and if you were transformed to a bumblebee the whole of you would be transformed, of course, and you'd be free of this awful island." "all right; do it!" cried the sailor-man. so the wizard said slowly and distinctly: "i want trot and cap'n bill to become bumblebees--pyrzqxgl!" fortunately, he pronounced the magic word in the right way, and instantly trot and cap'n bill vanished from view, and up from the places where they had been flew two bumblebees. "hooray!" shouted dorothy in delight; "they're saved!" "i guess they are," agreed the wizard, equally delighted. the bees hovered over the raft an instant and then flew across the river to where the lion and the tiger waited. the wizard picked up the paddle and paddled the raft across as fast as he could. when it reached the river bank, both dorothy and the wizard leaped ashore and the little man asked excitedly: "where are the bees?" "the bees?" inquired the lion, who was half asleep and did not know what had happened on the magic isle. "yes; there were two of them." "two bees?" said the hungry tiger, yawning. "why, i ate one of them and the cowardly lion ate the other." "goodness gracious!" cried dorothy horrified. "it was little enough for our lunch," remarked the tiger, "but the bees were the only things we could find." "how dreadful!" wailed dorothy, wringing her hands in despair. "you've eaten trot and cap'n bill." but just then she heard a buzzing overhead and two bees alighted on her shoulder. "here we are," said a small voice in her ear. "i'm trot, dorothy." "and i'm cap'n bill," said the other bee. dorothy almost fainted, with relief, and the wizard, who was close by and had heard the tiny voices, gave a laugh and said: "you are not the only two bees in the forest, it seems, but i advise you to keep away from the lion and the tiger until you regain your proper forms." "do it now, wizard!" advised dorothy. "they're so small that you never can tell what might happen to 'em." so the wizard gave the command and pronounced the magic word, and in the instant trot and cap'n bill stood beside them as natural as before they had met their fearful adventure. for they were no longer small in size, because the wizard had transformed them from bumblebees into the shapes and sizes that nature had formerly given them. the ugly roots on their feet had disappeared with the transformation. while dorothy was hugging trot, and trot was softly crying because she was so happy, the wizard shook hands with cap'n bill and congratulated him on his escape. the old sailor-man was so pleased that he also shook the lion's paw and took off his hat and bowed politely to the cage of monkeys. then cap'n bill did a curious thing. he went to a big tree and, taking out his knife, cut away a big, broad piece of thick bark. then he sat down on the ground and after taking a roll of stout cord from his pocket--which seemed to be full of all sorts of things--he proceeded to bind the flat piece of bark to the bottom of his good foot, over the leather sole. "what's that for?" inquired the wizard. "i hate to be stumped," replied the sailor-man; "so i'm goin' back to that island." "and get enchanted again?" exclaimed trot, with evident disapproval. "no; this time i'll dodge the magic of the island. i noticed that my wooden leg didn't get stuck, or take root, an' neither did the glass feet of the glass cat. it's only a thing that's made of meat--like man an' beasts--that the magic can hold an' root to the ground. our shoes are leather, an' leather comes from a beast's hide. our stockin's are wool, an' wool comes from a sheep's back. so, when we walked on the magic isle, our feet took root there an' held us fast. but not my wooden leg. so now i'll put a wooden bottom on my other foot an' the magic can't stop me." "but why do you wish to go back to the island?" asked dorothy. "didn't you see the magic flower in the gold flower-pot?" returned cap'n bill. "of course i saw it, and it's lovely and wonderful." "well, trot an' i set out to get the magic plant for a present to ozma on her birthday, and i mean to get it an' take it back with us to the emerald city." "that would be fine," cried trot eagerly, "if you think you can do it, and it would be safe to try!" "i'm pretty sure it is safe, the way i've fixed my foot," said the sailor, "an' if i should happen to get caught, i s'pose the wizard could save me again." "i suppose i could," agreed the wizard. "anyhow, if you wish to try it, cap'n bill, go ahead and we'll stand by and watch what happens." so the sailor-man got upon the raft again and paddled over to the magic isle, landing as close to the golden flower-pot as he could. they watched him walk across the land, put both arms around the flower-pot and lift it easily from its place. then he carried it to the raft and set it down very gently. the removal did not seem to affect the magic flower in any way, for it was growing daffodils when cap'n bill picked it up and on the way to the raft it grew tulips and gladioli. during the time the sailor was paddling across the river to where his friends awaited him, seven different varieties of flowers bloomed in succession on the plant. "i guess the magician who put it on the island never thought that any one would carry it off," said dorothy. "he figured that only men would want the plant, and any man who went upon the island to get it would be caught by the enchantment," added the wizard. "after this," remarked trot, "no one will care to go on the island, so it won't be a trap any more." "there," exclaimed cap'n bill, setting down the magic plant in triumph upon the river bank, "if ozma gets a better birthday present than that, i'd like to know what it can be!" "it'll s'prise her, all right," declared dorothy, standing in awed wonder before the gorgeous blossoms and watching them change from yellow roses to violets. "it'll s'prise ev'rybody in the em'rald city," trot asserted in glee, "and it'll be ozma's present from cap'n bill and me." "i think i ought to have a little credit," objected the glass cat. "i discovered the thing, and led you to it, and brought the wizard here to save you when you got caught." "that's true," admitted trot, "and i'll tell ozma the whole story, so she'll know how good you've been." . the monkeys have trouble "now," said the wizard, "we must start for home. but how are we going to carry that big gold flower-pot? cap'n bill can't lug it all the way, that's certain." "no," acknowledged the sailor-man; "it's pretty heavy. i could carry it for a little while, but i'd have to stop to rest every few minutes." "couldn't we put it on your back?" dorothy asked the cowardly lion, with a good-natured yawn. "i don't object to carrying it, if you can fasten it on," answered the lion. "if it falls off," said trot, "it might get smashed an' be ruined." "i'll fix it," promised cap'n bill. "i'll make a flat board out of one of these tree trunks, an' tie the board on the lion's back, an' set the flower-pot on the board." he set to work at once to do this, but as he only had his big knife for a tool his progress was slow. so the wizard took from his black bag a tiny saw that shone like silver and said to it: "saw, little saw, come show your power; make us a board for the magic flower." and at once the little saw began to move and it sawed the log so fast that those who watched it work were astonished. it seemed to understand, too, just what the board was to be used for, for when it was completed it was flat on top and hollowed beneath in such a manner that it exactly fitted the lion's back. "that beats whittlin'!" exclaimed cap'n bill, admiringly. "you don't happen to have two o' them saws; do you, wizard?" "no," replied the wizard, wiping the magic saw carefully with his silk handkerchief and putting it back in the black bag. "it's the only saw of its kind in the world; and if there were more like it, it wouldn't be so wonderful." they now tied the board on the lion's back, flat side up, and cap'n bill carefully placed the magic flower on the board. "for fear o' accidents," he said, "i'll walk beside the lion and hold onto the flower-pot." trot and dorothy could both ride on the back of the hungry tiger, and between them they carried the cage of monkeys. but this arrangement left the wizard, as well as the sailor, to make the journey on foot, and so the procession moved slowly and the glass cat grumbled because it would take so long to get to the emerald city. the cat was sour-tempered and grumpy, at first, but before they had journeyed far, the crystal creature had discovered a fine amusement. the long tails of the monkeys were constantly sticking through the bars of their cage, and when they did, the glass cat would slyly seize the tails in her paws and pull them. that made the monkeys scream, and their screams pleased the glass cat immensely. trot and dorothy tried to stop this naughty amusement, but when they were not looking the cat would pull the tails again, and the creature was so sly and quick that the monkeys could seldom escape. they scolded the cat angrily and shook the bars of their cage, but they could not get out and the cat only laughed at them. after the party had left the forest and were on the plains of the munchkin country, it grew dark, and they were obliged to make camp for the night, choosing a pretty place beside a brook. by means of his magic the wizard created three tents, pitched in a row on the grass and nicely fitted with all that was needful for the comfort of his comrades. the middle tent was for dorothy and trot, and had in it two cosy white beds and two chairs. another tent, also with beds and chairs, was for the wizard and cap'n bill, while the third tent was for the hungry tiger, the cowardly lion, the cage of monkeys and the glass cat. outside the tents the wizard made a fire and placed over it a magic kettle from which he presently drew all sorts of nice things for their supper, smoking hot. after they had eaten and talked together for a while under the twinkling stars, they all went to bed and the people were soon asleep. the lion and the tiger had almost fallen asleep, too, when they were roused by the screams of the monkeys, for the glass cat was pulling their tails again. annoyed by the uproar, the hungry tiger cried: "stop that racket!" and getting sight of the glass cat, he raised his big paw and struck at the creature. the cat was quick enough to dodge the blow, but the claws of the hungry tiger scraped the monkey's cage and bent two of the bars. then the tiger lay down again to sleep, but the monkeys soon discovered that the bending of the bars would allow them to squeeze through. they did not leave the cage, however, but after whispering together they let their tails stick out and all remained quiet. presently the glass cat stole near the cage again and gave a yank to one of the tails. instantly the monkeys leaped through the bars, one after another, and although they were so small the entire dozen of them surrounded the glass cat and clung to her claws and tail and ears and made her a prisoner. then they forced her out of the tent and down to the banks of the stream. the monkeys had noticed that these banks were covered with thick, slimy mud of a dark blue color, and when they had taken the cat to the stream, they smeared this mud all over the glass body of the cat, filling the creature's ears and eyes with it, so that she could neither see nor hear. she was no longer transparent and so thick was the mud upon her that no one could see her pink brains or her ruby heart. in this condition they led the pussy back to the tent and then got inside their cage again. by morning the mud had dried hard on the glass cat and it was a dull blue color throughout. dorothy and trot were horrified, but the wizard shook his head and said it served the glass cat right for teasing the monkeys. cap'n bill, with his strong hands, soon bent the golden wires of the monkeys' cage into the proper position and then he asked the wizard if he should wash the glass cat in the water of the brook. "not just yet," answered the wizard. "the cat deserves to be punished, so i think i'll leave that blue mud--which is as bad as paint--upon her body until she gets to the emerald city. the silly creature is so vain that she will be greatly shamed when the oz people see her in this condition, and perhaps she'll take the lesson to heart and leave the monkeys alone hereafter." however, the glass cat could not see or hear, and to avoid carrying her on the journey the wizard picked the mud out of her eyes and ears and dorothy dampened her handkerchief and washed both the eyes and ears clean. as soon as she could speak the glass cat asked indignantly: "aren't you going to punish those monkeys for playing such a trick on me?" "no," answered the wizard. "you played a trick on them by pulling their tails, so this is only tit-for-tat, and i'm glad the monkeys had their revenge." he wouldn't allow the glass cat to go near the water, to wash herself, but made her follow them when they resumed their journey toward the emerald city. "this is only part of your punishment," said the wizard, severely. "ozma will laugh at you, when we get to her palace, and so will the scarecrow, and the tin woodman, and tik-tok, and the shaggy man, and button-bright, and the patchwork girl, and--" "and the pink kitten," added dorothy. that suggestion hurt the glass cat more than anything else. the pink kitten always quarreled with the glass cat and insisted that flesh was superior to glass, while the glass cat would jeer at the pink kitten, because it had no pink brains. but the pink brains were all daubed with blue mud, just now, and if the pink kitten should see the glass cat in such a condition, it would be dreadfully humiliating. for several hours the glass cat walked along very meekly, but toward noon it seized an opportunity when no one was looking and darted away through the long grass. it remembered that there was a tiny lake of pure water near by, and to this lake the cat sped as fast as it could go. the others never missed her until they stopped for lunch, and then it was too late to hunt for her. "i s'pect she's gone somewhere to clean herself," said dorothy. "never mind," replied the wizard. "perhaps this glass creature has been punished enough, and we must not forget she saved both trot and cap'n bill." "after first leading 'em onto an enchanted island," added dorothy. "but i think, as you do, that the glass cat is punished enough, and p'raps she won't try to pull the monkeys' tails again." the glass cat did not rejoin the party of travelers. she was still resentful, and they moved too slowly to suit her, besides. when they arrived at the royal palace, one of the first things they saw was the glass cat curled up on a bench as bright and clean and transparent as ever. but she pretended not to notice them, and they passed her by without remark. . the college of athletic arts dorothy and her friends arrived at the royal palace at an opportune time, for ozma was holding high court in her throne room, where professor h. m. wogglebug, t.e., was appealing to her to punish some of the students of the royal athletic college, of which he was the principal. this college is located in the munchkin country, but not far from the emerald city. to enable the students to devote their entire time to athletic exercises, such as boating, foot-ball, and the like, professor wogglebug had invented an assortment of tablets of learning. one of these tablets, eaten by a scholar after breakfast, would instantly enable him to understand arithmetic or algebra or any other branch of mathematics. another tablet eaten after lunch gave a student a complete knowledge of geography. another tablet made it possible for the eater to spell the most difficult words, and still another enabled him to write a beautiful hand. there were tablets for history, mechanics, home cooking and agriculture, and it mattered not whether a boy or a girl was stupid or bright, for the tablets taught them everything in the twinkling of an eye. this method, which is patented in the land of oz by professor wogglebug, saves paper and books, as well as the tedious hours devoted to study in some of our less favored schools, and it also allows the students to devote all their time to racing, base-ball, tennis and other manly and womanly sports, which are greatly interfered with by study in those temples of learning where tablets of learning are unknown. but it so happened that professor wogglebug (who had invented so much that he had acquired the habit) carelessly invented a square-meal tablet, which was no bigger than your little finger-nail but contained, in condensed form, the equal of a bowl of soup, a portion of fried fish, a roast, a salad and a dessert, all of which gave the same nourishment as a square meal. the professor was so proud of these square-meal tablets that he began to feed them to the students at his college, instead of other food, but the boys and girls objected because they wanted food that they could enjoy the taste of. it was no fun at all to swallow a tablet, with a glass of water, and call it a dinner; so they refused to eat the square-meal tablets. professor wogglebug insisted, and the result was that the senior class seized the learned professor one day and threw him into the river--clothes and all. everyone knows that a wogglebug cannot swim, and so the inventor of the wonderful square-meal tablets lay helpless on the bottom of the river for three days before a fisherman caught one of his legs on a fishhook and dragged him out upon the bank. the learned professor was naturally indignant at such treatment, and so he brought the entire senior class to the emerald city and appealed to ozma of oz to punish them for their rebellion. i do not suppose the girl ruler was very severe with the rebellious boys and girls, because she had herself refused to eat the square-meal tablets in place of food, but while she was listening to the interesting case in her throne room, cap'n bill managed to carry the golden flower-pot containing the magic flower up to trot's room without it being seen by anyone except jellia jamb, ozma's chief maid of honor, and jellia promised not to tell. also the wizard was able to carry the cage of monkeys up to one of the top towers of the palace, where he had a room of his own, to which no one came unless invited. so trot and dorothy and cap'n bill and the wizard were all delighted at the successful end of their adventure. the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger went to the marble stables behind the royal palace, where they lived while at home, and they too kept the secret, even refusing to tell the wooden sawhorse, and hank the mule, and the yellow hen, and the pink kitten where they had been. trot watered the magic flower every day and allowed no one in her room to see the beautiful blossoms except her friends, betsy bobbin and dorothy. the wonderful plant did not seem to lose any of its magic by being removed from its island, and trot was sure that ozma would prize it as one of her most delightful treasures. up in his tower the little wizard of oz began training his twelve tiny monkeys, and the little creatures were so intelligent that they learned every trick the wizard tried to teach them. the wizard treated them with great kindness and gentleness and gave them the food that monkeys love best, so they promised to do their best on the great occasion of ozma's birthday. . ozma's birthday party it seems odd that a fairy should have a birthday, for fairies, they say, were born at the beginning of time and live forever. yet, on the other hand, it would be a shame to deprive a fairy, who has so many other good things, of the delights of a birthday. so we need not wonder that the fairies keep their birthdays just as other folks do, and consider them occasions for feasting and rejoicing. ozma, the beautiful girl ruler of the fairyland of oz, was a real fairy, and so sweet and gentle in caring for her people that she was greatly beloved by them all. she lived in the most magnificent palace in the most magnificent city in the world, but that did not prevent her from being the friend of the most humble person in her dominions. she would mount her wooden sawhorse, and ride out to a farm house and sit in the kitchen to talk with the good wife of the farmer while she did her family baking; or she would play with the children and give them rides on her famous wooden steed; or she would stop in a forest to speak to a charcoal burner and ask if he was happy or desired anything to make him more content; or she would teach young girls how to sew and plan pretty dresses, or enter the shops where the jewelers and craftsmen were busy and watch them at their work, giving to each and all a cheering word or sunny smile. and then ozma would sit in her jeweled throne, with her chosen courtiers all about her, and listen patiently to any complaint brought to her by her subjects, striving to accord equal justice to all. knowing she was fair in her decisions, the oz people never murmured at her judgments, but agreed, if ozma decided against them, she was right and they wrong. when dorothy and trot and betsy bobbin and ozma were together, one would think they were all about of an age, and the fairy ruler no older and no more "grown up" than the other three. she would laugh and romp with them in regular girlish fashion, yet there was an air of quiet dignity about ozma, even in her merriest moods, that, in a manner, distinguished her from the others. the three girls loved her devotedly, but they were never able to quite forget that ozma was the royal ruler of the wonderful fairyland of oz, and by birth belonged to a powerful race. ozma's palace stood in the center of a delightful and extensive garden, where splendid trees and flowering shrubs and statuary and fountains abounded. one could walk for hours in this fascinating park and see something interesting at every step. in one place was an aquarium, where strange and beautiful fish swam; at another spot all the birds of the air gathered daily to a great feast which ozma's servants provided for them, and were so fearless of harm that they would alight upon one's shoulders and eat from one's hand. there was also the fountain of the water of oblivion, but it was dangerous to drink of this water, because it made one forget everything he had ever before known, even to his own name, and therefore ozma had placed a sign of warning upon the fountain. but there were also fountains that were delightfully perfumed, and fountains of delicious nectar, cool and richly flavored, where all were welcome to refresh themselves. around the palace grounds was a great wall, thickly encrusted with glittering emeralds, but the gates stood open and no one was forbidden entrance. on holidays the people of the emerald city often took their children to see the wonders of ozma's gardens, and even entered the royal palace, if they felt so inclined, for they knew that they and their ruler were friends, and that ozma delighted to give them pleasure. when all this is considered, you will not be surprised that the people throughout the land of oz, as well as ozma's most intimate friends and her royal courtiers, were eager to celebrate her birthday, and made preparations for the festival weeks in advance. all the brass bands practiced their nicest tunes, for they were to march in the numerous processions to be made in the winkie country, the gillikin country, the munchkin country and the quadling country, as well as in the emerald city. not all the people could go to congratulate their ruler, but all could celebrate her birthday, in one way or another, however far distant from her palace they might be. every home and building throughout the land of oz was to be decorated with banners and bunting, and there were to be games, and plays, and a general good time for every one. it was ozma's custom on her birthday to give a grand feast at the palace, to which all her closest friends were invited. it was a queerly assorted company, indeed, for there are more quaint and unusual characters in oz than in all the rest of the world, and ozma was more interested in unusual people than in ordinary ones--just as you and i are. on this especial birthday of the lovely girl ruler, a long table was set in the royal banquet hall of the palace, at which were place-cards for the invited guests, and at one end of the great room was a smaller table, not so high, for ozma's animal friends, whom she never forgot, and at the other end was a big table where all of the birthday gifts were to be arranged. when the guests arrived, they placed their gifts on this table and then found their places at the banquet table. and, after the guests were all placed, the animals entered in a solemn procession and were placed at their table by jellia jamb. then, while an orchestra hidden by a bank of roses and ferns played a march composed for the occasion, the royal ozma entered the banquet hall, attended by her maids of honor, and took her seat at the head of the table. she was greeted by a cheer from all the assembled company, the animals adding their roars and growls and barks and mewing and cackling to swell the glad tumult, and then all seated themselves at their tables. at ozma's right sat the famous scarecrow of oz, whose straw-stuffed body was not beautiful, but whose happy nature and shrewd wit had made him a general favorite. on the left of the ruler was placed the tin woodman, whose metal body had been brightly polished for this event. the tin woodman was the emperor of the winkie country and one of the most important persons in oz. next to the scarecrow, dorothy was seated, and next to her was tik-tok, the clockwork man, who had been wound up as tightly as his clockwork would permit, so he wouldn't interrupt the festivities by running down. then came aunt em and uncle henry, dorothy's own relations, two kindly old people who had a cozy home in the emerald city and were very happy and contented there. then betsy bobbin was seated, and next to her the droll and delightful shaggy man, who was a favorite wherever he went. on the other side of the table, opposite the tin woodman was placed trot, and next to her, cap'n bill. then was seated button-bright and ojo the lucky, and dr. pipt and his good wife margalot, and the astonishing frogman, who had come from the yip country to be present at ozma's birthday feast. at the foot of the table, facing ozma, was seated the queenly glinda, the good sorceress of oz, for this was really the place of honor next to the head of the table where ozma herself sat. on glinda's right was the little wizard of oz, who owed to glinda all of the magical arts he knew. then came jinjur, a pretty girl farmer of whom ozma and dorothy were quite fond. the adjoining seat was occupied by the tin soldier, and next to him was professor h. m. wogglebug, t.e., of the royal athletic college. on glinda's left was placed the jolly patchwork girl, who was a little afraid of the sorceress and so was likely to behave herself pretty well. the shaggy man's brother was beside the patchwork girl, and then came that interesting personage, jack pumpkinhead, who had grown a splendid big pumpkin for a new head to be worn on ozma's birthday, and had carved a face on it that was even jollier in expression than the one he had last worn. new heads were not unusual with jack, for the pumpkins did not keep long, and when the seeds--which served him as brains--began to get soft and mushy, he realized his head would soon spoil, and so he procured a new one from his great field of pumpkins--grown by him so that he need never lack a head. you will have noticed that the company at ozma's banquet table was somewhat mixed, but every one invited was a tried and trusted friend of the girl ruler, and their presence made her quite happy. no sooner had ozma seated herself, with her back to the birthday table, than she noticed that all present were eyeing with curiosity and pleasure something behind her, for the gorgeous magic flower was blooming gloriously and the mammoth blossoms that quickly succeeded one another on the plant were beautiful to view and filled the entire room with their delicate fragrance. ozma wanted to look, too, to see what all were staring at, but she controlled her curiosity because it was not proper that she should yet view her birthday gifts. so the sweet and lovely ruler devoted herself to her guests, several of whom, such as the scarecrow, the tin woodman, the patchwork girl, tik-tok, jack pumpkinhead and the tin soldier, never ate anything but sat very politely in their places and tried to entertain those of the guests who did eat. and, at the animal table, there was another interesting group, consisting of the cowardly lion, the hungry tiger, toto--dorothy's little shaggy black dog--hank the mule, the pink kitten, the wooden sawhorse, the yellow hen, and the glass cat. all of these had good appetites except the sawhorse and the glass cat, and each was given a plentiful supply of the food it liked best. finally, when the banquet was nearly over and the ice-cream was to be served, four servants entered bearing a huge cake, all frosted and decorated with candy flowers. around the edge of the cake was a row of lighted candles, and in the center were raised candy letters that spelled the words: ozma's birthday cake from dorothy and the wizard "oh, how beautiful!" cried ozma, greatly delighted, and dorothy said eagerly: "now you must cut the cake, ozma, and each of us will eat a piece with our ice-cream." jellia jamb brought a large golden knife with a jeweled handle, and ozma stood up in her place and attempted to cut the cake. but as soon as the frosting in the center broke under the pressure of the knife there leaped from the cake a tiny monkey three inches high, and he was followed by another and another, until twelve monkeys stood on the tablecloth and bowed low to ozma. "congratulations to our gracious ruler!" they exclaimed in a chorus, and then they began a dance, so droll and amusing that all the company roared with laughter and even ozma joined in the merriment. but after the dance the monkeys performed some wonderful acrobatic feats, and then they ran to the hollow of the cake and took out some band instruments of burnished gold--cornets, horns, drums, and the like--and forming into a procession the monkeys marched up and down the table playing a jolly tune with the ease of skilled musicians. dorothy was delighted with the success of her "surprise cake," and after the monkeys had finished their performance, the banquet came to an end. now was the time for ozma to see her other presents, so glinda the good rose and, taking the girl ruler by her hand, led her to the table where all her gifts were placed in magnificent array. the magic flower of course attracted her attention first, and trot had to tell her the whole story of their adventures in getting it. the little girl did not forget to give due credit to the glass cat and the little wizard, but it was really cap'n bill who had bravely carried the golden flower-pot away from the enchanted isle. ozma thanked them all, and said she would place the magic flower in her boudoir where she might enjoy its beauty and fragrance continually. but now she discovered the marvelous gown woven by glinda and her maidens from strands drawn from pure emeralds, and being a girl who loved pretty clothes, ozma's ecstasy at being presented with this exquisite gown may well be imagined. she could hardly wait to put it on, but the table was loaded with other pretty gifts and the night was far spent before the happy girl ruler had examined all her presents and thanked those who had lovingly donated them. . the fountain of oblivion the morning after the birthday fete, as the wizard and dorothy were walking in the grounds of the palace, ozma came out and joined them, saying: "i want to hear more of your adventures in the forest of gugu, and how you were able to get those dear little monkeys to use in dorothy's surprise cake." so they sat down on a marble bench near to the fountain of the water of oblivion, and between them dorothy and the wizard related their adventures. "i was dreadfully fussy while i was a woolly lamb," said dorothy, "for it didn't feel good, a bit. and i wasn't quite sure, you know, that i'd ever get to be a girl again." "you might have been a woolly lamb yet, if i hadn't happened to have discovered that magic transformation word," declared the wizard. "but what became of the walnut and the hickory-nut into which you transformed those dreadful beast magicians?" inquired ozma. "why, i'd almost forgotten them," was the reply; "but i believe they are still here in my pocket." then he searched in his pockets and brought out the two nuts and showed them to her. ozma regarded them thoughtfully. "it isn't right to leave any living creatures in such helpless forms," said she. "i think, wizard, you ought to transform them into their natural shapes again." "but i don't know what their natural shapes are," he objected, "for of course the forms of mixed animals which they had assumed were not natural to them. and you must not forget, ozma, that their natures were cruel and mischievous, so if i bring them back to life they might cause us a great deal of trouble." "nevertheless," said the ruler of oz, "we must free them from their present enchantments. when you restore them to their natural forms we will discover who they really are, and surely we need not fear any two people, even though they prove to be magicians and our enemies." "i am not so sure of that," protested the wizard, with a shake of his bald head. "the one bit of magic i robbed them of--which was the word of transformation--is so simple, yet so powerful, that neither glinda nor i can equal it. it isn't all in the word, you know, it's the way the word is pronounced. so if the two strange magicians have other magic of the same sort, they might prove very dangerous to us, if we liberated them." "i've an idea!" exclaimed dorothy. "i'm no wizard, and no fairy, but if you do as i say, we needn't fear these people at all." "what is your thought, my dear?" asked ozma. "well," replied the girl, "here is this fountain of the water of oblivion, and that's what put the notion into my head. when the wizard speaks that ter'ble word that will change 'em back to their real forms, he can make 'em dreadful thirsty, too, and we'll put a cup right here by the fountain, so it'll be handy. then they'll drink the water and forget all the magic they ever knew--and everything else, too." "that's not a bad idea," said the wizard, looking at dorothy approvingly. "it's a very good idea," declared ozma. "run for a cup, dorothy." so dorothy ran to get a cup, and while she was gone the wizard said: "i don't know whether the real forms of these magicians are those of men or beasts. if they're beasts, they would not drink from a cup but might attack us at once and drink afterward. so it might be safer for us to have the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger here to protect us if necessary." ozma drew out a silver whistle which was attached to a slender gold chain and blew upon the whistle two shrill blasts. the sound, though not harsh, was very penetrating, and as soon as it reached the ears of the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger, the two huge beasts quickly came bounding toward them. ozma explained to them what the wizard was about to do, and told them to keep quiet unless danger threatened. so the two powerful guardians of the ruler of oz crouched beside the fountain and waited. dorothy returned and set the cup on the edge of the fountain. then the wizard placed the hickory-nut beside the fountain and said in a solemn voice: "i want you to resume your natural form, and to be very thirsty--pyrzqxgl!" in an instant there appeared, in the place of the hickory-nut, the form of kiki aru, the hyup boy. he seemed bewildered, at first, as if trying to remember what had happened to him and why he was in this strange place. but he was facing the fountain, and the bubbling water reminded him that he was thirsty. without noticing ozma, the wizard and dorothy, who were behind him, he picked up the cup, filled it with the water of oblivion, and drank it to the last drop. he was now no longer thirsty, but he felt more bewildered than ever, for now he could remember nothing at all--not even his name or where he came from. he looked around the beautiful garden with a pleased expression, and then, turning, he beheld ozma and the wizard and dorothy regarding him curiously and the two great beasts crouching behind them. kiki aru did not know who they were, but he thought ozma very lovely and dorothy very pleasant. so he smiled at them--the same innocent, happy smile that a baby might have indulged in, and that pleased dorothy, who seized his hand and led him to a seat beside her on the bench. "why, i thought you were a dreadful magician," she exclaimed, "and you're only a boy!" "what is a magician?" he asked, "and what is a boy?" "don't you know?" inquired the girl. kiki shook his head. then he laughed. "i do not seem to know anything," he replied. "it's very curious," remarked the wizard. "he wears the dress of the munchkins, so he must have lived at one time in the munchkin country. of course the boy can tell us nothing of his history or his family, for he has forgotten all that he ever knew." "he seems a nice boy, now that all the wickedness has gone from him," said ozma. "so we will keep him here with us and teach him our ways--to be true and considerate of others." "why, in that case, it's lucky for him he drank the water of oblivion," said dorothy. "it is indeed," agreed the wizard. "but the remarkable thing, to me, is how such a young boy ever learned the secret of the magic word of transformation. perhaps his companion, who is at present this walnut, was the real magician, although i seem to remember that it was this boy in the beast's form who whispered the magic word into the hollow tree, where i overheard it." "well, we will soon know who the other is," suggested ozma. "he may prove to be another munchkin boy." the wizard placed the walnut near the fountain and said, as slowly and solemnly as before: "i want you to resume your natural form, and to be very thirsty--pyrzqxgl!" then the walnut disappeared and ruggedo the nome stood in its place. he also was facing the fountain, and he reached for the cup, filled it, and was about to drink when dorothy exclaimed: "why, it's the old nome king!" ruggedo swung around and faced them, the cup still in his hand. "yes," he said in an angry voice, "it's the old nome king, and i'm going to conquer all oz and be revenged on you for kicking me out of my throne." he looked around a moment, and then continued: "there isn't an egg in sight, and i'm stronger than all of you people put together! i don't know how i came here, but i'm going to fight the fight of my life--and i'll win!" his long white hair and beard waved in the breeze; his eyes flashed hate and vengeance, and so astonished and shocked were they by the sudden appearance of this old enemy of the oz people that they could only stare at him in silence and shrink away from his wild glare. ruggedo laughed. he drank the water, threw the cup on the ground and said fiercely: "and now--and now--and--" his voice grew gentle. he rubbed his forehead with a puzzled air and stroked his long beard. "what was i going to say?" he asked, pleadingly. "don't you remember?" said the wizard. "no; i've forgotten." "who are you?" asked dorothy. he tried to think. "i--i'm sure i don't know," he stammered. "don't you know who we are, either?" questioned the girl. "i haven't the slightest idea," said the nome. "tell us who this munchkin boy is," suggested ozma. ruggedo looked at the boy and shook his head. "he's a stranger to me. you are all strangers. i--i'm a stranger to myself," he said. then he patted the lion's head and murmured, "good doggie!" and the lion growled indignantly. "what shall we do with him?" asked the wizard, perplexed. "once before the wicked old nome came here to conquer us, and then, as now, he drank of the water of oblivion and became harmless. but we sent him back to the nome kingdom, where he soon learned the old evil ways again. "for that reason," said ozma, "we must find a place for him in the land of oz, and keep him here. for here he can learn no evil and will always be as innocent of guile as our own people." and so the wandering ex-king of the nomes found a new home, a peaceful and happy home, where he was quite content and passed his days in innocent enjoyment. scanned images of public domain material from the internet archive. transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). [illustration: book cover] the oriel window [illustration: title page the oriel window by mrs. molesworth illvstrated by l. leslie brooke macmillan co. new york ] copyright, , by the macmillan company. to amy and arthur my much-esteemed opposite neighbours sumner place, s.w., june, . contents page chapter i a happy waking chapter ii the peacock's cry chapter iii a strange birthday chapter iv what the swallows thought of it chapter v jesse piggot chapter vi a fairy tale--and thoughts chapter vii an unexpected pig's head chapter viii welcome visitors chapter ix "my pupils" chapter x taking refuge chapter xi under the sofa chapter xii another birthday illustrations page off ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time "what is it, dear? did you call me?" took her back to court in her own chariot "i've done 'em before from one of the old squeakers up at the farm" watching the sweet summer sunset "we works in a shed there, in a field by the smithy ... and we're as jolly as sand-boys" "step downstairs, if you please, and then i'll hear what you've got to say" chapter i a happy waking i do not think you could anywhere have found a happier little boy than ferdy ross when he woke on the morning of his ninth birthday. he was always--at least almost always--happy, and he had good reason for being so. he had everything that children need to make life bright and joyous: kind parents, a dear sister, a pretty home, and, best of all, a loving, trusting, sunshiny nature, which made it easy for him to be very happy and loving, and made it easy too for others to love him in return and to feel pleasure in being with him. but to-day, his birthday, the fourteenth of may, he was very particularly, delightfully happy. what a very long time it seemed that he and chrissie had been looking forward to it! ever since christmas, or new year at least. that was how he and chrissie had settled to do about their lookings-forwards. chrissie's birthday was in september. she was a year and four months older than ferdy, so it fitted in very well. as soon as her birthday was over they began the christmas counting, and this in one way was the biggest of all the year, for their father's and mother's birthdays both came in christmas week, and it had been found very convenient to "keep" them and christmas day together. so christmas day at evercombe watch house, which was ferdy's home, was a very important day for more reasons than the great christmas reasons which we all join in. and then when christmas time was over and ferdy and christine began to feel a little dull and unsettled, as children are pretty sure to do after a great deal of pleasure and fun, there was ferdy's birthday to think of and prepare for; for it was not only just looking forward and counting the days, or rather the months first, and then the weeks and then the days to their "treat" times, that they divided the seasons into; there were separate and different things to do, according to which of the three parts of the year it was. for christmas, of course, there was the most to do--all the little things to get ready for the christmas tree as well as the presents for papa and mamma and lots of other people. and for ferdy's birthday chrissie had always to make something which had to be done in secret, so that he should not know what it was; and for chrissie's birthday it was ferdy's turn to prepare some delightful surprise for her. he was very clever at making things, even though he was a boy! he was what is called "neat-handed," and as this little story goes on, you will see what a good thing it was that he had got into the way of amusing himself and using part of his playtime in carrying out some of his inventions and ideas. "i don't know how i should bear it, ferdy," christine used to say sometimes, "if you were one of those tiresome boys that do nothing but fidget and tease their sisters when they want to sit still and work quietly for their dolls. just think of marcia payne now. these two _horrible_ boys, ted and eustace, think there is nothing so nice as to snatch away her work and throw it into the fire or out of the window, or to nearly _kill_ her poor dolls with their cruel tricks. i really don't know how poor marcia ever gets their clothes made, for it takes _all_ my time to keep my children tidy, even though you never worry me," and chrissie sighed, for she was a very anxious-minded doll-mother. ferdy's presents to his sister were very often for her dolls, rather than for herself, though, like most mothers, it pleased her much more, she used to say, for her dear pets to be kindly treated than any attention to their little mamma could do. she was very amusing about her dolls. she used to talk about them in such an "old-fashioned" way that if any grown-up person had overheard her, i think they would have laughed heartily. but chrissie took care to keep all private conversation about her four girls and two sons for herself and ferdy only. besides these _big_ dolls, she had a large party of tiny ones who lived in the doll house, and i think ferdy's prettiest presents were for this miniature family. these small people really were almost as much his as chrissie's, for he took the greatest interest in them, especially in their house and their carriages and horses and in all kinds of wonderful things he had made for them. several of the doll-house rooms were entirely furnished by him, and he was builder and paper-hanger and cabinet-maker and upholsterer for doll hall, all in one. but now i think i must return to the history of his ninth birthday. the fourteenth of may--just about the middle of the month which is the best loved, i almost think, of all the twelve. and oh it was such a lovely day! ferdy woke early--though not quite as early as he had meant to do, for when he bade his sister good-night he told her he would be _sure_ to knock at her door not later than five. but the sun was a good way up in the sky when he did wake--so far up indeed that ferdy got quite a fright that he had overslept himself altogether, and it was a relief to see by the old clock which stood on the landing just outside his door that it was only half-past six. "and after all," he said to himself, "now i come to think of it, i don't believe mamma would have liked me to wake chris so very early. i remember last year, on _her_ birthday, she had a headache and was quite tired by the afternoon with having got up so soon." he rubbed his eyes,--to tell the truth he was still rather sleepy himself, though it _was_ his birthday,--and downstairs he heard the servants moving about and brushing the carpets. the schoolroom would certainly not be in order just yet; it never took him very long to have his bath and dress, and he knew by experience that housemaids are not the most amiable of human beings when little boys get in their way in the middle of their cleanings and dustings. so on the whole ferdy decided that the best thing to do was to go back to bed again and not get up till flowers--flowers was chrissie's maid, and she looked after ferdy too, since nurse had left to be married--came to wake him at his usual time, for he could hear no sound of any kind in his sister's room, though he listened well, outside the door. it was very comfortable in bed, for may mornings, however lovely, are often chilly. and as ferdy lay there he could see out of the window, and enjoy the sight of the clear bright sunshine and the trees moving softly in the wind, their leaves glittering green and gold, and even silver, as the gentle breeze fluttered them about. the birds too, they were up and about of course; now and then there came quite a flight of them, and then one solitary soarer would cross the blue sky up at the very top of the window--he would see it for half a moment, and then it disappeared again. on the whole, he had more view of sky than of anything else from his bed, though when standing by the window he could see a good long way down the road, and, by craning his neck a little, some way across the fields past the church. for the watch house stood at the very end of the village, near the church, so that strangers often thought it must be the vicarage, and envied the vicar for having such a charming home, whereas the real vicarage was a pretty but small cottage-like house, quite at the other side of the church, and not nearly as old as it was, or as the watch house was. _it_, ferdy's home, was very, very old. and the story went that long ago some part of it had really been a kind of watch tower, though there was nothing remaining to show this except the name and the fact that you could, from the upper windows especially, see a very long way. the nicest window of all was one in mrs. ross's own sitting-room, or "boudoir," as it was sometimes called. this was a corner room on the floor just below the children's, and the beauty of it was this window,--an oriel window,--projecting beyond the wall, as such windows do, and so exactly at the corner that you could see, so to say, three ways at once when you were standing in it: right down the village street to begin with, and down the short cross-road which led to the church, and then over the fields between the two, to where farmer meare's duckpond jutted out into the lane--"the primrose lane"--as not only ferdy and christine but all the children of the neighbourhood had long ago named it. for here the first primroses were _always_ to be found, year after year; they never forgot to smile up punctually with their little bright pale faces before you could see them anywhere else. chrissie sometimes suspected that the fairies had a hand in it. everybody knows that the good people "favour" certain spots more than others, and perhaps chrissie's idea was right. any way this oriel window was a charming watch tower. ferdy always said that when he grew to be a man he would build a house with an oriel window at each corner. but again i am wandering from the morning of ferdy's birthday, when he lay in bed wide awake and gazed at as much as he could see of the outside world, that lovely may morning. it _was_ lovely, and everything alive seemed to be thinking so, as well as the little hero of the day--birds, trees, blossoms--even the insects that were beginning to find out that the warm days were coming, for a great fat blue-bottle was humming away with the loud summery hum which is the only nice thing about blue-bottles, i think. and not always nice either perhaps, to tell the truth. if one is busy learning some difficult lesson, or adding up long columns of figures, a blue-bottle's buzz is rather distracting. but this morning it was all right, seeming to give just the touch of summer _sound_ which was wanting to the perfection of ferdy's happiness as he lay there, rather lazily, i am afraid we must confess--a little sleepy still perhaps. what a nice beautiful place the world is, he thought to himself! how can people grumble at anything when the sun shines and everything seems so happy! in winter perhaps--well, yes, in winter, when it is very cold and grey, there _might_ be something to be said on the other side, even though winter to such as ferdy brings its own delights too. but in summer even the poor people should be happy; their cottages do look so pretty, almost prettier than big houses, with the nice little gardens in front, and roses and honeysuckle and traveller's joy climbing all over the walls and peeping in at the windows. ferdy did not think he would at all mind living in a cottage, for evercombe was a remarkably pretty village, and to all outside appearance the cottages were very neat and often picturesque, and the children had never been _inside_ any, except a few of the clean and nicely kept ones where their mother knew that the people were good and respectable. so they had little idea as yet of the discomfort and misery that may be found in some cottage homes even in the prettiest villages, though their father and mother knew this well, and meant that ferdy and christine should take their part before long in trying to help those in need of comfort or advice. "i suppose," ferdy went on thinking to himself--for once he got an idea in his head he had rather a trick of working it out--"i _suppose_ there are some people who are really unhappy--poor people, who live in ugly dirty towns perhaps," and then his memory strayed to a day last year when he had driven with his father through the grim-looking streets of a mining village some distance from evercombe. "that must be horrid. i wonder any one lives there! or very old people who can't run about or scarcely walk, and who are quite deaf and nearly blind. yes, they can't feel very happy. and yet they do sometimes. there's papa's old, old aunt; she seems as happy as anything, and yet i should _think_ she's nearly a hundred, for she's grandpapa's aunt. she's not blind though; her eyes are quite bright and smily, and she's not so very deaf. and then she's not poor. perhaps if she was very poor--" but no, another aged friend came into his mind--old barley, who lived with his already old daughter in the smallest and poorest cottage ferdy had ever been in. "and he's quite happy too," thought the little boy, "and so's poor betsey, though she can't scarcely walk, 'cos of her rheumatism. it is rather funny that they are happy. the worst of all would be to be lame, _i_ think--'cept p'r'aps being blind. oh dear! i _am_ glad i'm not old, or lame, or blind, or things like that. but i say, i do believe the clock's striking seven, and--oh, there's flowers! i might have run in to see chrissie just for a minute or two first if i hadn't got thinking. i--" but then came an interruption. an eager tap at the door,--not flowers's tap he knew at once,--and in reply to his as eager "come in" a rush of little bare feet across the floor, and chrissie's arms round his neck in a real birthday hug. "flowers is just coming. i meant to wake _so_ early. i've brought your present--mine's always the first, isn't it, darling?" and chrissie settled herself at the foot of the bed, curling up her cold toes, and drawing her pink flannel dressing-gown more closely round her that she might sit there in comfort and regale her eyes on her brother's delight as he carefully undid the many papers in which her present to him was enfolded. it was a very pretty present, and ferdy's natural good taste knew how to admire it, as his affectionate heart knew how to feel grateful to chrissie for the real labour she had bestowed upon it. "it" was a writing-case, embroidered in silks of many lovely shades, and with a twisted monogram of ferdy's initials--"f. w. r."--"ferdinand walter ross"--worked in gold threads in the centre of the cover. it was a very good piece of work indeed for a little girl of chrissie's age, and promised well for her skill and perseverance in days to come. ferdy's eyes sparkled with pleasure. "oh, chrissie," he said, "you've never made me anything quite as pretty as this! how clever you are getting, and how did you manage to work it all without my seeing?" "it _was_ rather difficult," said chrissie, with satisfaction in her tone. "ever so many times i had to bundle it away just as i heard you coming. and do you know, ferdy, it's a very ancient pattern--no, pattern isn't the word i mean." "design?" said ferdy. he knew some words of this kind better than chrissie, as he was so often planning and copying carved wood and brasswork and such things. "yes, that's what i mean--it's a very ancient design. miss lilly drew it for me from an old book-cover somebody lent her, and she helped me to arrange the colours. i _am_ so pleased you like it, ferdy, darling. i liked doing it because it was such pretty work, but if it hadn't been a present for you, i think i would have got tired of it--it _was_ rather fiddly sometimes. and after working ever, ever so long, i didn't seem to have done hardly any." "i know," said ferdy thoughtfully. "i think that's always the way with any really nice work. you can't scurry it up. and it wouldn't be worth anything if you could." but just then there came a tap at the door, and flowers's voice sounding rather reproachful. "miss chrissie," she said, "i couldn't think where you'd gone to. i do hope you've got your dressing-gown and slippers on, or you will be sure to catch cold." "all right, flowers," said chrissie, "i'm _quite_ warm;" and as the maid caught sight of the little pink-flannelled figure her face cleared, for, fortunately for her peace of mind, the pink _toes_ were discreetly curled up out of sight. who could expect a little girl to remember to put on her slippers on her brother's birthday morning, when she had been dreaming all night of the lovely present she had got for him? "many happy returns of the day, master ferdy, my dear," flowers went on, growing rather red, "and will you please accept a very trifling present from me?" she held out a little parcel as she spoke. it contained a _boy's_ "housewife," if you ever saw such a thing. it was neatly made of leather, and held needles of different sizes, strong sewing cotton and thread, various kinds of useful buttons, a sturdy little pair of scissors, pins, black and white, small and large, and several other things such as a school-boy might be glad to find handy now and then. "mother always gives one to my brothers when they leave home," said the maid, "and i thought as no doubt master ferdy will be going to school some day--" "it's capital, flowers," ferdy interrupted; "thank you ever so much; it's first-rate. i needn't wait till i go to school to use it. it's just the very thing i'm sure to want when i go yachting with papa next summer--this summer--in uncle's yacht. it's _capital_!" and flowers, who had not been very long at the watch house, and had felt rather uncertain as to how her gift would suit the young gentleman's taste, smiled all over with pleasure. master ferdy had certainly a very nice way with him, she thought to herself. "miss christine," she said aloud, "you really must come and get dressed, or instead of being ready earlier than usual, you'll be ever so much later." and chrissie jumped down from the bed and went off to her own quarters. chapter ii the peacock's cry half an hour or so later the children met again, and together made their way downstairs to the dining-room, ferdy carefully carrying his presents, which had been increased by that of a nice big home-made cake from cook, and a smart little riding-whip from two or three of the other servants. papa and mamma had not yet made their appearance; it was barely half-past eight. ferdy's eyes and chrissie's too wandered inquiringly round the room. neither knew or had any sort of idea what _the_ present of the day--their parents'--was to be. many wonderings had there been about it, for mrs. ross had smiled in a very mysterious way once or twice lately, when something had been said about ferdy's birthday, and the children had half expected to see some veiled package on the sideboard or in a corner of the room, ready for the right moment. but everything looked much as usual, except that there was a lovely bouquet of flowers--hot-house flowers, the gardener's best--beside ferdy's plate. "oh, i say!" he exclaimed, as he took it up and sniffed it approvingly, "what a good humour ferguson must be in to have given me these very best flowers. why, he doesn't even like mamma herself to cut these big begonias. they _are_ splendiferous, aren't they, chris? i shall take one out for a button-hole, and wear it all day. but oh, chrissie, i _do_ wonder what papa's and mamma's present is going to be--don't you?" "i should just think i did," his sister replied. "i haven't the very least inch of an idea this time, and generally, before, i have had _some_. it isn't in this room, any way." "no, i expect it's some little thing, something mamma has kept safe in a drawer, a pair of gold sleeve-links, or, or--no, not a writing-case, for she'd know about yours. p'r'aps a pocket microscope or some book." "would you like any of those?" asked chrissie. "i'd like anything, i think. at least i mean papa and mamma'd be sure to give me something nice. of course, _the_ present of presents would be--" "we fixed not to speak about it, don't you remember?" said his sister quickly. "it's a bad habit to get into, that of fancying too much about impossible things you'd like to have." "but this wouldn't be quite an impossible thing," said ferdy. "i may get it some day, and one reason i want it so is that it would be just as nice for you as for me, you see, chris." "i know," said christine. "well no, it's not a couldn't-possibly-ever-be thing, like the magic carpet we planned so about once, or the table with lovely things to eat on it, that there's the fairy story about, though i always think that's rather a greedy sort of story--don't you?" "not if you were awfully hungry, and the boy in that story was, you know," said ferdy. "but i didn't mean quite impossible in a fairy magic way. i mean that papa and mamma _might_ do it some day, and it's rather been put into my head this morning by this," and he touched the riding-whip. "it's far too good for jerry, or for any donkey, isn't it? i shall put it away till i have a--" chrissie placed her hand on his mouth. "don't say it," she said. "it's much better not, after we fixed we wouldn't." "very well," said ferdy resignedly. "i won't if you'd rather i didn't. now let us think over what it really _will_ be, most likely. a--" but no other guess was to be put in words, for just then came the well-known voices. "ferdy, my boy"--"dear little man," as his father and mother came in. "many, many happy returns of your birthday," they both said together, stooping to kiss him. "and see what chrissie has given me, and flowers, and cook, and the others!" exclaimed the boy, holding out his gifts for admiration. mr. and mrs. ross looked at each other and smiled. neither of them had anything in the shape of a parcel big or little. ferdy and christine felt more and more puzzled. "they are charming presents, dear," said mrs. ross, "and ours--papa's and mine--is quite ready. how are you going to do about it, walter?" "we had better have prayers first," ferdy's father replied. "and--yes, breakfast too, i think, and then--" in their own minds both ferdy and christine thought they would not be able to eat much breakfast while on the tenter-hooks of curiosity. but kind as their father was, he had a way of meaning what he said, and they had learned not to make objections. and, after all, they did manage to get through a very respectable meal, partly perhaps because the breakfast was particularly tempting that morning, and mamma was particularly anxious that the children should do justice to it. nice as it was, however, it came to an end in due time, and then, though they said nothing, the children's faces showed what was in their minds, chrissie looking nearly as eager as her brother. "now," said mr. ross, taking out his watch, "i have just half an hour before i must start. leila,"--"leila" was mamma's "girl name" as chrissie called it,--"leila, you keep these two young people quietly in here for five minutes by the clock. then all three of you come round to the porch, but ferdy must shut his eyes--tight, do you hear, young man? mother and chrissie will lead you, and i will meet you at the front door." did ever five minutes pass so slowly? more than once the children thought that the clock must really have stopped, or that something extraordinary had happened to its hands, in spite of the ticking going on all right. but at last-- "we may go now," said mamma. "shut your eyes, my boy. now, chris, you take one hand and i'll take the other. you won't open your eyes till papa tells you, will you, ferdy?" "no, no, i promise," said ferdy. but his mother looked at him a little anxiously. his little face was pale with excitement and his breath came fast. yet he was not at all a delicate child, and he had never been ill in his life. "dear ferdy," she said gently, "don't work yourself up so." ferdy smiled. "no, mamma," he replied, though his voice trembled a little. "it is only--something we've tried not to think about, haven't we, chrissie? oh," he went on, turning to his sister, and speaking almost in a whisper, "_do_ you think it can be--you know what?" christine squeezed the hand she held; that was all she could reply. though her face had got pink instead of pale like ferdy's, she was almost as "worked up" as he was. there was not long to wait, however. another moment and they were all three standing in the porch, and though ferdy's eyes were still most tightly and honourably shut, there scarcely needed papa's "now," or the "_oh!_" which in spite of herself escaped his sister, to reveal the delightful secret. for his ears had caught certain tell-tale sounds: a sort of "champing," and a rustle or scraping of the gravel on the drive which fitted in wonderfully with the idea which his brain was full of, though he had honestly tried to follow his sister's advice and not "think about it." what was the "it"? a pony--the most beautiful pony, or so he seemed to ferdy and christine at any rate--that ever was seen. there he stood, his bright brown coat gleaming in the may sunshine, his eager but kindly eyes looking as if they took it all in as he rubbed his nose on mr. ross's coat-sleeve and twisted about a little, as if impatient to be introduced to his new master. "papa, mamma!" gasped ferdy, with a sort of choke in his throat, and for a moment--what with the delight, and the sudden opening of his eyes in the strong clear sunshine--he felt half dazed. "papa, mamma, a pony of my very own! and chrissie can ride him too. he is a pony a girl can ride too, isn't he?" with a touch of anxiety. "he is very gentle, and he has no vices at all," said his father. "i am quite sure chrissie will be able to ride him too. but you must get to know him well in the first place." ferdy was out on the drive by this time, his face rosy with delight, as he stood by his father patting and petting the pretty creature. the pony was all saddled and bridled, ready for ferdy to mount and ride "over the hills and far away." the boy glanced up at mr. ross, an unspoken request trembling on his lips. "yes," said his father, seeing it there and smiling. "yes, you may mount him and ride up and down a little. he'll be all right," he added, turning to the coachman, who had been standing by and enjoying the whole as much as any of them. "oh yes, sir. he's a bit eager, but as gentle as a lamb," the man replied. "and this afternoon," ferdy's father continued, "if i can get home between four and five, i'll take you a good long ride--round by durnham and past by mellway sight, where you have so often wanted to go." "oh, papa," was all ferdy could get out. merton meanwhile had been examining the stirrup straps. "they're about the right length for you, i think, sir," he said, and then in a moment ferdy was mounted. pony pranced about a little, just a very little,--he would not have seemed a real live pony if he had not,--but nothing to mind. indeed, ferdy, to tell the truth, would have enjoyed a little more. the coachman led him a short way along the drive, but then let go, and ferdy trotted to the gates in grand style and back again. "isn't he _perfect_, chris?" he exclaimed as he came up to the group in front of the porch. "mayn't i gallop him, papa, this afternoon when we go out? round by mellway there's beautiful grass, you know." "all right," mr. ross replied. "we shall see how you get on outside on the road. i don't know that he has any tricks, but every pony has _some_ fad, so for a few days we must just be a little cautious. now trot back to the gates once more, and then i think you had better dismount for the present. you may go round to the stable with him. it's always a good thing for your horse to know you in the stable as well as outside." [illustration: off ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time.] off ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time, his spirits rising higher and higher. then he turned to come back to the house, and his mother was just stepping indoors, her face still lighted up with pleasure, when there came a sudden cry,--a curious hoarse cry,--but for a moment she was not startled. "it is the peacocks," she thought, for there were a couple of beautiful peacocks at the watch house. "i hope they won't frighten the pony." for the peacocks were allowed to stalk all about the grounds, and they were well-behaved on the whole; though, as is always the case with these birds, their harsh cry was not pleasant, and even startling to those not accustomed to it. was it the cry, or was it the sudden sight of them as they came all at once into view on a side-path which met the drive just where ferdy was passing? nobody ever knew,--probably pony himself could not have told which it was,--but as mrs. ross instinctively stopped a moment on her way into the house, another sound seemed to mingle with the peacock's scream, or rather to grow out from it--a sort of stifled shriek of terror and rushing alarm. then came voices, trampling feet, a kind of wail from chrissie, and in an instant--an instant that seemed a lifetime--ferdy's mother saw what it was. he had been thrown, and one foot had caught in the stirrup, and the startled pony was dragging him along. a moment or two of sickening horror, then a sort of silence. one of the men was holding the pony, mr. ross and the coachman were stooping over something that lay on the ground a little way up the drive--something--what was it? it did not move. was it only a heap of clothes that had dropped there somehow? it couldn't, oh no, it _couldn't_ be ferdy! _ferdy_ was alive and well. he had just been laughing and shouting in his exceeding happiness. where had he run to? "ferdy, ferdy!" his mother exclaimed, scarcely knowing that she spoke; "ferdy dear, come quick, come, ferdy." but chrissie caught her, and buried her own terror-stricken face in her mother's skirts. "mamma, mamma," she moaned, "don't look like that. mamma, don't you see? ferdy's _killed_. that's ferdy where papa is. don't go, oh don't go, mamma! mamma, i can't bear it. hide me, hide my eyes." and at this frantic appeal from the poor little half-maddened sister, mrs. ross's strength and sense came back to her as if by magic. she unclasped chrissie's clutching hands gently but firmly. "run upstairs and call flowers. tell her to lay a mattress on the floor of the oriel room at once; it is such a little way upstairs; and tell burt to bring some brandy at once--brandy and water. tell burt first." chrissie was gone in an instant. ferdy couldn't be dead, she thought, if mamma wanted brandy for him. but when the mother, nerved by love, flew along the drive to the spot where her husband and the coachman were still bending over what still was, or had been, her ferdy, she could scarcely keep back a scream of anguish. for a moment she was sure that chrissie's first words were true--he was killed. "walter, walter, tell me quick," she gasped. "is he--is he alive?" mr. ross looked up, his own face so deadly pale, his lips so drawn and quivering, that a rush of pity for _him_ came over her. "i--i don't know. i can't tell. what do you--think, merton?" he said, in a strange dazed voice. "he has not moved, but we thought he was breathing at first." the coachman lifted his usually ruddy face; it seemed all streaked, red and white in patches. "i can feel his heart, sir; i feel fairly sure i can feel his heart. if we could get a drop or two of brandy down his throat, and--yes, i think i can slip my arm under his head. there's burt coming with some water." "and brandy," said mrs. ross. "here, give it me--a spoon--yes, that's right. and, walter, have you sent for the doctor?" mr. ross passed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to collect himself. "i will send larkins now," he said, "on the pony--that will be the quickest," though a sort of shudder passed over him as he spoke of the innocent cause of this misery. "larkins, go at once for mr. stern; you know the shortest way," for there was no doctor within a mile or two of evercombe village, and mr. ross raised himself to give exact directions to the young groom. when he turned again they had succeeded in getting a spoonful of brandy and water between ferdy's closed lips--then another; then poor old merton looked up with a gleam of hope in his eyes. "he's coming to, sir--ma'am--i do believe," he said. he was right. a quiver ran through the little frame, then came the sound of a deep sigh, and ferdy's eyes opened slowly. they opened and--it was like ferdy--the first sign he gave of returning consciousness was a smile--a very sweet smile. "papa, mamma," he whispered, "is it time to get up? is it--my birthday?" that was too much for his mother. the tears she had been keeping back rushed to her eyes, but they were partly tears of joy. her boy was alive; at worst he was not killed, and perhaps, oh _perhaps_, he was not badly hurt. ferdy caught sight of her tears, though she had turned her face away in hopes of hiding them. a pained, puzzled look came over him. he tried to raise his head, which was resting on merton's arm, but it sank down again weakly; then he glanced at his left arm and hand, which were covered with blood from a cut on his forehead. "what is the--mamma, why are you crying?" he said. "have i hurt myself? oh dear, did i fall off my beautiful pony? i am so, _so_ sorry." "my darling," said his mother, "it was an accident. i hope you will soon be better. have you any pain anywhere?" "i don't think so," said he, "only i wish i was in bed, mamma. what is it that is bleeding?" "nothing very bad, sir," said merton cheerfully; "only a cut on your forehead. but that'll soon heal. your handkerchief, please, ma'am, dipped in cold water." "yes," said mr. ross, "that is the best thing for the moment," and he folded the handkerchief up into a little pad, which he soaked in the fresh cold water, and laid it on the place. "i think we must move him," he went on. "ferdy, my boy, will you let us try?" ferdy stretched out his right arm and put it round his father's neck. but the movement hurt somehow and somewhere, for he grew terribly white again. "my back," he whispered. a thrill of new anguish went through his parents at the words. "don't do anything yourself," said mr. ross; "lie quite still and trust to me." ferdy closed his eyes without speaking, and skilfully, though with infinite pains, his father raised him in his arms, ferdy making no sound--perhaps he half fainted again; there he lay quite helpless, like a little baby, as with slow, careful tread mr. ross made his way to the house, from which, not a quarter of an hour ago, the boy had flown out in perfect health and joy. at the door they met chrissie. she started violently, then covered her face with her hands. "oh, papa," she began, but her mother was close behind and caught her in her arms. "hush, dear," she said. "no, no," in answer to the little girl's unuttered question. "ferdy has opened his eyes and spoken to us; he knew us--papa and me." chrissie's terrors at once made place for hope. her white face flushed all over. "he's spoken to you, mamma? what did he say? oh, then he can't be so _very_ badly hurt. oh, _mamma_, how glad i am!" "be very, very quiet, dear. we can do nothing, and be sure of nothing, till the doctor comes, but--oh yes, thank god, we may hope." but by the time they had laid him on the mattress in the oriel room ferdy looked again so ghastly pale that the poor mother's heart went down. there was little they could do; they scarcely dared to undress him till the surgeon came. it was a terrible hour or two's waiting, for mr. stern was out, and larkins had to ride some considerable way before he caught him up on his morning rounds. chapter iii a strange birthday late on the afternoon of that sad day the doctor, coming out of the oriel room, was met by little christine. she had been watching for him on the stairs. it was his second visit since the morning, and his face was very grave; but its expression altered at once when he caught sight of chrissie. though stern by name, he was very far from stern by nature, and he was very fond of the ross children, whom he had known nearly all their lives. besides, it is a doctor's business to cheer up people as much as possible, and he was touched by poor chrissie's white face. never had the little girl spent such a miserable day, and thankful though she had been that her darling ferdy's life had been spared, she was beginning to doubt if after all he _was_ going to get better. her mother had scarcely left him for an instant; she had been busy arranging the room for him, or rather she had been sitting beside him holding his hand while she gave directions to the servants. by the doctor's advice ferdy's own little bed had been brought into the room, and he himself moved on to it, lifted upon the mattress as he lay; and it had, of course, been necessary to carry out some of the other furniture and rearrange things a little. this would not disturb ferdy, mr. stern said, but ferdy's head was now aching from the cut on his forehead, though it was not a very bad one, and he was tired and yet restless, and could not bear his mother to move away. so there she sat, and mr. ross had gone off to whittingham by a mid-day train, and no one had given much thought to poor christine. "my dear child," said the doctor, "how ill you look! have you been wandering about by yourself all day?" "yes," said chrissie simply, her lip quivering as she spoke. "there was nothing i could do to help, and they were all busy." "where is miss lilly?" asked mr. stern. "she wasn't coming to-day. we were to have a holiday. it--it is ferdy's birthday, you know, and we were going to be so happy. _oh_," she cried, as if she could keep back the misery no longer, "to think it is ferdy's birthday!" and she burst again into deep though not loud sobbing. mr. stern was very, very sorry for her. "dear chrissie," he said, "you must not make yourself ill. in a day or two you will be wanted very much indeed, and you must be ready for it. your brother will want you nearly all day long." chrissie's sobs stopped as if by magic, though they still caught her breath a little, and her face grew all pink and rosy. "will he, _will_ he?" she exclaimed. "do you mean that he is really going to get better? i thought--i thought--mamma kept shut up in the room, and nobody would tell me--do you really think he is going to get better soon?" mr. stern took her hand and led her downstairs, and then into the library. there was no one there, but he closed the door. "my dear child," he said, "i will tell you all i can," for he knew that christine was a sensible little girl, and he knew that anything was better than to have her working herself up more and more with miserable fears. "i think ferdy will be _better_ in a day or two, but we cannot say anything yet about his getting _well_. your father has gone to whittingham to see one of the best doctors, and ask him to come down here to-night or to-morrow to examine your brother, and after that we shall know more. but i am afraid it is very likely that he will have to stay in bed a long time, and if so, you know how much you can do to make the days pass pleasantly for him." chrissie's eyes sparkled through the tears still there. "i don't mind that," she began. "of course i know it will be very dull and tiresome for him, but _nothing_ seems very bad compared with if he was going to--" she stopped short, and again she grew very white. "oh, you are _sure_ he isn't going to get worse?" she exclaimed. "i do get so frightened every now and then when i think of how his face looked, and it was bleeding too." mr. stern patted her hand. "you have not seen him since this morning?" he said. chrissie shook her head. "not since papa carried him in," she replied. "would you like to see him very much?" "oh, _may_ i? i'll be very, very quiet and good. i'll bathe my eyes, so that he won't find out i've been crying, and i'll only stay a minute." "run upstairs then and make yourself look as much as usual as you can. i will go back for a moment and tell mrs. ross i have given you leave to come in." two minutes or so later chrissie was tapping very softly at the door of the oriel room. "come in," said mr. stern. he was not looking at all grave now, but very "smily" and cheerful, which chrissie was glad of, as it reminded her that she herself must not cry or seem unhappy. but how strange it all was! she would scarcely have known the pretty little sitting-room: ferdy's bed with a screen round it standing out at one side of the curiously shaped window, her mother's writing-table and other little things gone. chrissie could not help staring round in surprise, and perhaps because she had a nervous dread of looking at ferdy. he saw her, however, at once. "chrissie," said a weak, rather hoarse little voice, "chrissie, come here." chrissie choked down the lump in her throat that was beginning to make itself felt again. "kiss me," he said when she was close beside him. he did not look so unlike himself now, though there was a bandage round his forehead and he was very pale. "kiss me," he said again, and as she stooped down to do so, without speaking, "chrissie," he whispered, "i don't want mamma to hear--chrissie, just to think it's my birthday and that it's all through our great wish coming true. oh, chrissie!" the little girl felt, though she could not see him, that mr. stern was watching her, so she made a great effort. "i know," she whispered back again, and even into her whisper she managed to put a cheerful sound. "i know, ferdy darling. but you're going to get better. and you haven't any very bad pains, have you?" "not very bad," he replied. "my head's sore, but i daresay it'll be better to-morrow. but that won't make it right, you see, chrissie. it's it being my birthday i mind." christine did not know what to say. her eyes were filling with tears, and she was afraid of ferdy seeing them. she turned away a little, and as she did so her glance fell on the window, one side of which looked to the west. she and ferdy had often watched the sunset from there. it was too early yet for that, but signs of its coming near were beginning; already the lovely mingling of colours was gleaming faintly as if behind a gauzy curtain. "ferdy," said chrissie suddenly, "i think there's going to be a beautiful sunset, and you can see it lovelily the way you're lying. aren't you awfully glad you're in here? it wouldn't be half so nice in your own room for seeing out, would it?" "no, it wouldn't," said ferdy, more brightly than he had yet spoken. "i can't move my head, only the least bit, but i can see out. yes, chrissie, i can see the people on the road--i mean i could if the curtain was a little more pulled back." "of course you could," said mr. stern, coming forward. "but you must wait till to-morrow to try how much you can see." "shall i have to stay in bed all to-morrow?" said ferdy. "we must hear what the big doctor says," mr. stern replied, for he had already told ferdy that another surgeon was coming to see him, so that the sudden sight of a stranger should not startle the little fellow. "now, chrissie, my dear, i think you must say good-night; you shall see much more of ferdy to-morrow, i hope." they kissed each other again, and chrissie whispered, "don't mind about its being your birthday, darling. think how much worse you might have been hurt." "i know. i _might_ have been killed," said ferdy in a very solemn tone. "and do watch the sunset. i think it's going to be extra pretty," chrissie went on cheerfully. "if you _have_ to stay in bed, ferdy, it will be nice to have this lovely window." and ferdy's face grew decidedly brighter. "good little woman," said the doctor in a low voice as she passed him, and by the way mamma kissed her chrissie knew that she too was pleased with her. so the little sister was not altogether miserable as she fell asleep that night, and she was so tired out that she slept soundly--more heavily indeed than usual. she did not hear the sound of wheels driving up to the house soon after she had gone to bed, and this was a good thing, for she would have guessed they were those of the carriage bringing her father and the doctor he had gone to fetch, from the station, and her anxiety would very likely have sent away her sleepiness. nor did she hear the carriage drive away again an hour or two later. by that time she was very deeply engaged, for she was having a curious and very interesting dream. she had forgotten it when she woke in the morning, but it came back to her memory afterwards, as you will hear. ferdy did not much like the strange doctor, though he meant to be very kind, no doubt. he spoke to him too much as if he were a baby, and the boy was beginning at last to feel less restless and more comfortably sleepy when this new visitor came. and then the library lamp was brought up, and it blinked into his eyes, and he hated being turned round and having his backbone poked at, as he told chrissie, though he couldn't exactly say that it hurt him. and, worst of all, when he asked if he might get up "to-morrow" the strange doctor "put him off" in what ferdy thought a silly sort of way. he would much rather have been told right out, "no, certainly not to-morrow," and then he could have begun settling up things in his mind and planning what he would do, as chrissie and he always did if they knew a day in bed was before them; for they had never been very ill--never ill enough to make no plans and feel as if they cared for nothing in bed or out of it. no, ferdy was quite sure he liked mr. stern much better than dr. bigge, for, curiously enough, that was the great doctor's name, though by rights, as he was a very clever surgeon and not a physician, i suppose he should not be called "doctor" at all. when at last he had gone, mr. stern came back for a moment to tell ferdy's mother and flowers how it would be best to settle him for the night. they put the pillows in rather a funny way, he thought, but still he was pretty comfortable, and he began to feel a little sleepy again; and just as he was going to ask his mother what they were doing with the sofa, everything went out of his head, and he was off into the peaceful country of sleep, where his troubles were all forgotten, hushed into quiet by the soft waving wings of the white angel, whose presence is never so welcome as to the weary and suffering. when he woke next there was a faint light in the room. for a moment or two he thought that it was the daylight beginning to come, and he looked towards where the window was in his own little room; but even the tiny motion of his head on the pillow sent a sort of ache through him, and that made him remember. no, he was not in his own room, and the glimmer was not that of the dawn. it was from a shaded night-light in one corner, and as his eyes grew used to it he saw that there was some one lying on the sofa--some one with bright brown hair, bright even in the faint light, and dressed in a pale pink dressing-gown. it was mamma. poor mamma, how uncomfortable for her not to be properly in bed! why was she lying there? he hoped she was asleep, and yet--he almost hoped she wasn't, or at least that she would awake just for a minute, for he was thirsty and hot, and the fidgety feeling that he _couldn't_ keep still was beginning again. he did not know that he sighed or made any sound, but he must have done so, for in another moment the pink dressing-gown started up from the sofa, and then mamma's pretty face, her blue eyes still looking rather "dusty," as the children called it, with sleep, was anxiously bending over him. [illustration: "what is it, dear? did you call me?"] "what is it, dear? did you call me?" "no, mamma. but why aren't you in bed, and why is there a light in the room? aren't you going to bed?" "yes, in an hour or two flowers will come and take my place. you see we thought you might be thirsty in the night, and the doctor said you mustn't move." "i _am_ thirsty," said ferdy. "i'd like a drink of water." "better than lemonade? there is some nice fresh lemonade here." ferdy's eyes brightened. "oh, i _would_ like that best, but i didn't know there was any." mamma poured some out into such a funny cup--it had a pipe, so ferdy called it, at one side. he didn't need to sit up, or even to lift his head, to drink quite comfortably. "and i think," mrs. ross went on, "i think i will give you another spoonful of the medicine. it is not disagreeable to take, and it will help you to go to sleep again." yes, it did; very, very soon he was asleep again. this time he dreamt something, though when he awoke he could not clearly remember what. he only knew that it was something about birds. he lay with his eyes shut thinking about it for a few minutes, till a sound close to him made him open them and look round. it was morning, quite morning and daylight, and from the window came the gentle twittering of some swallows, who had evidently taken up their summer quarters in some corner hard by. "that must have been what made me dream about birds," said ferdy to himself, though he spoke aloud without knowing it. "i must have heard them in my sleep." "you have had a nice sleep," said a voice from the other side of his bed, and, looking towards her, ferdy saw flowers, already dressed and with a pleasant smile on her face. "are you feeling better, master ferdy, dear?" the little boy waited a moment or two before he replied. "my head isn't so sore, and i'm not so tired, but i don't think i want to get up even if i might. i want chrissie to come and sit beside me. what o'clock is it, flowers?" "just six o'clock, sir. you will have to wait a little before miss christine can come. i daresay she's tired, poor dear, and she may sleep late this morning; perhaps you will be able to sleep a little more yourself, master ferdy. would you like a drink of milk?" "yes," said ferdy, "i would like some milk, but i can't go to sleep again; i've too much on my mind," with a deep sigh. he spoke in such an "old-fashioned" way that, sorry as the maid was for him, she could scarcely help smiling a little. she gave him the milk and lifted him very, very gently a little farther on to the pillows. "does it hurt you, master ferdy?" she asked anxiously. "n--no, i don't think so," he replied; "but i feel all queer. i believe all my bones have got put wrong, and p'r'aps they'll never grow right again." "never's a long word, my dear," said flowers cheerfully. the truth was she scarcely knew what to say, and she was glad to turn away and busy herself with some little tidying up at the other side of the room. ferdy lay still, almost forgetting he was not alone in the room, for flowers was very quiet. his eyes strayed to the window, where another lovely sunshiny morning was gilding again the world of trees, and grass, and blossom with renewed beauty. it was all so very like yesterday morning, all "except me," thought ferdy, so terribly like his birthday morning, when he had been so happy, oh! so happy, that it had been difficult to believe in unhappiness anywhere. and yet even then he had thought of unhappiness. it was queer that he had. what had put it into his head? he remembered it all--wondering how very poor, or very old, or very suffering people, cripples, for instance, could be happy. and yet he had seen some that really seemed so. "cripples"--that word had never come into his mind in the same way before. he had never thought what it really meant. supposing _he_ were to be a cripple? was it for fear of that that the doctor would not let him get up? ferdy moved his legs about a very little; they did not hurt him, only they felt weak and heavy, and he had a kind of shrinking from the idea of standing, or even of sitting up in bed. was that how cripples felt? he wished somebody would tell him, but it was no use asking flowers--most likely she did not know. and he didn't think he would like to ask his mother; she looked so pale and tired, and it might make her cry if he spoke about being a cripple. he thought he might ask chrissie, perhaps. she was only a little girl, but she was very sensible, and he could speak to her without being so afraid of making her cry as if it was mamma--or rather, if she did cry, he wouldn't mind quite so much. he wished chrissie would come. only six o'clock flowers had said, not so very long ago. it couldn't be more than half-past six yet. what a pity it was that people, boys and girls any way, can't get up like the birds, just when it gets nice and light! what a chatter and twitter those birds outside were making--he had never noticed them so much before. but then, to be sure, he had never slept in the oriel room before. he wondered if they were the same swallows that were there last year, and every year. "if they are," thought ferdy, "i should think they must have got to know us. i wish they could talk to us and tell us stories of all the places they see when they are travelling. what fun it would be! i'll ask chrissie if she's ever thought about it. i wonder if we couldn't ever get to--under--stand--" but here the thread of his wonderings was suddenly snapped. ferdy had fallen asleep again. a minute or two after, flowers stepped softly across the room and stood beside the bed looking down at him. "poor dear," she said to herself, "he does look sweet lying there asleep. and to see him as he is now, no one would think there was anything the matter with him. oh dear, i do hope it won't turn out so bad as the doctors fear." chapter iv what the swallows thought of it thanks to the extra sleep which had come to ferdy after all, he had not long to wait for chrissie once he had wakened up "for good." she was not allowed to see him till he had had his breakfast, for it was very important to keep up his strength with nourishing food, and "if you begin talking together, you know," said mamma, "ferdy would get interested and excited, and very likely not feel inclined to eat anything. that is even the way sometimes when you are both quite well." she was speaking to chrissie about how careful she must be, if she were to be trusted to be with her brother, not to seem sad or dull, and yet to be very quiet--"quietly cheerful, dear," she went on, "and if ferdy is at all cross or peevish, you must just not mind." chrissie looked up in surprise. ferdy cross or peevish seemed impossible. "he never is, mamma dear," she said. "if ever we have little quarrels, it is almost always more my fault than his," which was quite true. "yes," her mother replied, "but you don't know, chrissie, how illness changes people. ferdy never has been seriously ill in his life, and--and this sad accident is sure to tell on his nerves." she had been doing her best to speak cheerfully, but now her voice broke, and the tears came into her eyes, already worn and tired-looking with the long hours of anxiety. chrissie stroked her hand gently. then she said, though hesitating a little, "mamma darling, won't you tell me more about ferdy--about what the doctors think, i mean. i promise you i will not let him find out anything you don't want him to know. i will be very brave and--and cheerful, but i would so like to know. it isn't that he's not going to get better--that he's going to get _worse_?" "no, dear, not that," said mrs. ross, drying her eyes as she spoke. "he is a strong child, and his general health is good, but his back is injured badly. that is the reason we are so anxious. he may get _better_. the doctors think that in a few weeks he will be able to be up and dressed and to lie on a couch, but they cannot say if he will ever be _quite_ right again. i am afraid they do not think he ever will." "oh, mamma," said chrissie. mrs. ross looked at her anxiously; she wondered if she had done wrong in telling her so much. and the little girl guessed what she was thinking. "i would much rather know, mamma," she said, "much rather. it will make me more careful when i am with dear ferdy, and if he ever is the least cross, i won't mind. i will try to amuse him nicely. are you going to tell miss lilly, mamma?" "oh yes, i am hoping that she will be a great help. i will see her this morning as soon as she comes." "are we to do any lessons to-day?" asked chrissie. "is ferdy to do lessons in bed?" "in a few days perhaps he may," said mrs. ross. "he will seem better in a few days, for he has had a great shock besides the hurt to his back, and he must have time to get over it; but i think you had better do _some_ lessons, chrissie--those that you have separately from ferdy. flowers or i will sit beside him a good part of the day, and i hope he will sleep a good deal. if he does not seem much better in a day or two we shall have to get a nurse." "oh, i hope not," said chrissie. "ferdy wouldn't like a stranger." "well, we shall see," said mrs. ross. "now you may go to ferdy, dear." and chrissie ran off. she was startled, but still not _very_ sad. she was so delighted to be with her brother again after a whole day's separation, and proud too of being trusted to take care of him. but it was going to be more difficult for her than she knew, for, as you will remember, ferdy had made up his mind to ask christine if she could tell him what the doctors really thought of him. he looked so much better than the day before that she could scarcely believe there was much the matter, and he looked still better when he caught sight of her--his whole face lighted up with smiles. "oh, chrissie," he called out, "how glad i am you've come! it seems such a long time since i saw you. you do look so nice this morning." so she did--she was a very pretty little girl, especially when her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright, as they were just now. "_you_ look much better too, ferdy," she said, "quite different from yesterday. have you had a good night?" "_pretty_ good," said ferdy in rather a melancholy tone. "i am getting tired of staying in bed." chrissie's heart sank--"tired of staying in bed," and this scarcely the second day of it! what would he do if it went on for weeks--perhaps months? she felt glad, however, that she knew the truth; it would make her be very careful in what she said. "i wouldn't mind so much," he went on, "if i knew how long it'd be. and i don't like to ask mamma for fear of making her sad, _in case_ it was to be for a long while. chrissie," and here he fixed his blue eyes--so like his mother's--on his sister's face, "_do_ you think it'll be a very long while? do you think," and his voice grew still more solemn, "that p'r'aps i'll never be able to stand or walk again?" chrissie's heart was beating fast. she was so glad to be able with truth to answer cheerfully. "oh no, ferdy dear. i really do think you'll be able to get up and be dressed before very long. but i should think the quieter you keep just now the quicker you'll get better. and it's so nice in this room, and you can see so nicely out of the window. you don't want to get up just yet, do you--not till you feel stronger? mamma says you'll feel much stronger in a few days." "does she?" said ferdy, brightening; "then the doctors must have told her. i'm so glad. no, i don't really want to get up--at least i don't feel as if i _could_--that's what bothers me. i am not sorry in my body to stay in bed, but in my mind i'm all in a fidget. i keep fancying things," and he hesitated. "what sort of things?" asked chrissie. she had a feeling that it was better for him to tell her all that was on his mind. he tried to do so. he told her how the day before, when he was quite well and so very happy, his thoughts had somehow wandered to people whose lives were very different from his, and how this morning these thoughts had come back again, the same yet different. "chrissie," he said, "i don't think i could bear it if i was never to get well again." it was very hard for the little sister to keep her self-control. if mrs. ross had known how ferdy was going to talk to chrissie, very probably she would not have told her all she had done. but chrissie seemed to have grown years older in a few hours. "and yet there must be lots of people who do bear it--just what you were saying yourself," said chrissie thoughtfully. "i suppose they get accustomed to it." "i think it must be more than getting accustomed to make them really seem happy," said ferdy. "p'r'aps it's something to do with not being selfish." "yes," said chrissie, "i'm sure it has. you see they'd know that if they always seemed unhappy it would make their friends unhappy too. and then--" "what?" said ferdy. "i was only thinking that mamma says people can always do _something_ for other people. and that makes you happier yourself than anything, you know, ferdy." ferdy lay still, thinking. "that was partly what was in my mind," he said at last. "such lots of thinkings have come since yesterday, chrissie--you'd hardly believe. i was thinking that _supposing_ i could never run about, or do things like other boys, what a trouble i'd be to everybody, and no good." "i don't think you need think of things that way," said his sister. "papa and mamma love you too much ever to think you a trouble, and i'm sure you _could_ be of good somehow. but i don't think you should begin puzzling about things when you're really not better yet; you'll make your head ache, and then they might think it was my fault. oh, ferdy," suddenly, "i had such a funny dream last night." "i dreamt something too," said ferdy, "but i couldn't remember what it was. it was something about--" "mine was about birds," interrupted christine, "about the swallows who have a nest just over the oriel window. i thought--" "how _very_ funny!" exclaimed ferdy, interrupting in his turn, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "i do believe mine was too. i knew it was about birds, but i couldn't get hold of the rest of it. and now i seem to remember more, and i know i was thinking about those swallows when i fell asleep. i was wishing i could understand what they mean when they twitter and chirp. tell me your dream, chris; perhaps it'll make me remember mine." christine was delighted to see that ferdy's thoughts were turned from melancholy things--only--there was something about him in her dream. she hoped it wouldn't make him sad again. "i dreamt i was walking in the garden," she said, "down there on the path just below this window. i was alone, and somehow even in my dream i knew there was something the matter. it seemed to be either late in the evening or very early in the morning, i'm not sure which, but it wasn't quite light, and there was a funny, dreamy sort of look in the sky--" "what colour?" asked ferdy. "all shaded," said chrissie, "something like mother-of-pearl. i've seen it in a picture, but never _quite_ like that in the real sky, though the real sky is so very beautiful." "that's just because it was a dream," said ferdy sagely. "you never see things _really_ the same as you do in dreams. that's what makes dreams so nice, i suppose,--nice dreams i mean,--but i've sometimes felt more unhappy in dreams than ever i did awake." "so have i," said chrissie. "well, go on," said ferdy, "it sounds rather nice. you were walking along and the sky was so wonderful?" "yes," continued chrissie, "i was looking up at it, and not thinking a bit about you being ill, and then all of a sudden i heard something rustling up over my head, and then a twittering and chirping, and i knew it was the swallows come back, and then i got the feeling still more that there was something the matter, and i began wondering if the swallows knew and were talking about it--their chirping got to sound so like talking. and at last, standing quite still and almost holding my breath to listen, i began to make out what they were saying. the first thing i heard was, 'it's rather sad to have come back to this,' and then another voice said, 'i don't like peacocks; vain, silly birds; they have no hearts; not like us; everybody knows how much we mind what happens to our friends.' and when i heard that, ferdy, it made me think of the poetry we were learning last week, about the swallows coming back, you know, and the changes they found." "i daresay it was that made you dream it," said ferdy. christine looked rather disappointed. "no, we won't think that, then," said he, correcting himself as he noticed his sister's face, "it's really very interesting--'specially as i know i dreamt something like it that i've forgotten. what more did the swallows say?" "the other voice said something i couldn't hear. it sounded as if one was inside the nest, and the other outside. and then the first one said, 'well, we'll do our best to cheer him up. he needn't be dull if he uses his eyes; it's a cheerful corner.' and by this time, ferdy, i had remembered all about you being hurt, and it came into my mind how nice it would be if the swallows would tell us stories of all the things they see at the other side of the world when they go away for the winter." "i don't think it's quite the other side of the world," said ferdy doubtfully, "not as far as that." "well, never mind," said chrissie, with a little impatience, "you know what i mean. if you keep interrupting me so, i can't tell it rightly." "i won't, then," said ferdy. "there isn't much more to tell," continued chrissie. "i looked up, thinking i might see the swallows or martins, whichever they are, and i called out, 'oh, won't you come down and speak to me? it would be so nice for you to tell ferdy stories about your adventures, now that i can understand what you say.' and i felt _so_ pleased. but i couldn't see them, and all i heard was twittering again,--twittering and chirping,--and then somehow i awoke, and there really _was_ twittering and chirping to be heard, for my window was a little open. it was a funny dream, ferdy, wasn't it?" "yes, very," said ferdy. "i wish you'd go on with it to-night and make them tell you stories." chrissie shook her head. "i don't think any one could dream regular stories like that," she said. "but it is rather nice to fancy that the swallows know about us, and that it's the same ones who come back every year. it makes them seem like friends." "yes," said ferdy, "it is nice. i wonder," he went on, "what sort of things they meant me to look at out of the window. it did rather sound, chrissie, as if they thought i'd have to stay a long time here in bed, didn't it?" chrissie laughed, though a little nervously. "how funny you are, ferdy," she said. "how could the _swallows_ know, even if it had been real and not a dream? still, we may a little fancy it is true. we could almost make a story of the window--of all the things to be seen, and all the people passing. when you are able to be on the sofa, ferdy, it might stand so that you would see all ways--it would really be like a watch tower." ferdy raised himself a _very_ little on one elbow. "yes," he said eagerly, "i see how you mean. i do hope i may soon be on the sofa. i think i would make a plan of looking out of one side part of the day, and then out of the other side. i don't think it would be so bad to be ill if you could make plans. it's the lying all day just the same that must get so dreadfully dull." "well, you need never do that," said his sister, "not even now. when miss lilly comes i'm to do a little lessons first, and then i daresay she'll come in here and read aloud to us, and when i go a walk mamma will sit with you. things will soon get into plans." "if i could do some of my work," said ferdy, "cutting out or painting things for my scrapbook." "i daresay you soon can," said chrissie hopefully. she was pleased that he had not questioned her more closely as to what the doctors had said, for fortunately her cheerful talking had made him partly forget that he had made up his mind the night before to find out exactly everything she could tell him. suddenly chrissie, who was standing in the window, gave a little cry. "there is miss lilly," she exclaimed. "i am so glad. now she has stopped to talk to somebody. who can it be? oh, i see, it's that naughty jesse piggot! i wonder why he isn't at school? she seems talking to him quite nicely. now she's coming on again and jesse is touching his cap. he _can_ be very polite when he likes. shall i run and meet miss lilly, and bring her straight up here? no, i can't, for there's mamma going down the drive towards her. she must have seen her coming from the drawing-room window." "go on," said ferdy. "tell me what they are doing. are they shaking hands and talking to each other? i daresay they're talking about _me_. does miss lilly look sorry? p'r'aps mamma is explaining that i can't have any lessons to-day." "n--no," said chrissie, "she's talking quite--like always, but--she's holding mamma's hand." "oh," said ferdy with satisfaction, "that does mean she's sorry, i'm sure. it would be nice, chrissie, if i was lying more in the window. i could see all those int'resting things myself. i could see a good deal now if i was sitting up more," and for a moment he startled his sister by moving as if he were going to try to raise himself in bed. "oh, ferdy, you mustn't," she cried, darting towards him. but poor ferdy was already quite flat on his pillow again. "i _can't_," he said with a sigh, "i can't sit up the least little bit," and tears came into his eyes. "well, don't look so unhappy," said chrissie, returning to her post at the window, "for they are coming in now, and mamma won't be pleased if she thinks i've let you get dull. there now, i hear them coming upstairs." "all right," said ferdy manfully, "i'm not going to look unhappy." and it was quite a cheerful little face which met his mother's anxious glance as she opened the door to usher in miss lilly. chapter v jesse piggot miss lilly's face was cheerful too. at least so it seemed to ferdy, for she was smiling, and immediately began speaking in a bright, quick way. but chrissie looked at her once or twice and "understood." she saw faint traces of tears having been very lately in her governess's kind eyes, and she heard a little tremble in the voice below the cheeriness. "my dear ferdy," miss lilly was saying, "see what comes of holidays! much better have lessons than accidents, but it's an ill wind that blows no good. we shall have famous time now for your _favourite_ lessons--sums and--" "now, miss lilly, you're joking--you know you are," said ferdy, looking up in her face with his sweet blue eyes--eyes that to the young girl's fancy looked very wistful that morning. he had stretched out his arms, and was clasping them round her neck. ferdy was very fond of miss lilly. "_aren't_ you joking?" he wasn't quite, quite sure if she was, for sums were one of the few crooks in ferdy's lot, and rather a sore subject. something in the tone of his voice made miss lilly kiss him again as she replied, "of course i'm joking, my dear little matter-of-fact. no, your mamma says you are only to do your _really_ favourite lessons for a week or two, and not those if they tire you. we are all going to spoil you, i'm afraid, my boy." "i don't want to be spoilt," said ferdy. "chrissie and i have been talking. i want to make plans and be--be useful or some good to somebody, even if i have to stay in bed a good bit. what i most want to get out of bed for is to lie on the sofa and have the end of it pulled into the window, so that i can see along the roads all ways. oh, chrissie, you must tell miss lilly about the swallows, and--and--what was it i wanted to ask you?" he looked round, as if he were rather puzzled. "are you not talking too much?" said miss lilly, for the little fellow's eyes were very bright--too bright, she feared. "chrissie dear, perhaps you can remember what ferdy wanted to ask me about." "oh, i know," said ferdy; "it was about jesse piggot. chrissie, you ask." "we saw you talking to him--at least i did--out of the window, and we wondered what it was about. they all say he's a very naughty boy, miss lilly." "i know," miss lilly replied. "he's a draymoor boy"--draymoor was the name of the mining village that ferdy had been thinking about on his birthday morning--"or rather he used to be, till his uncle there died." "and now he lives at farmer meare's, where he works, but he's still naughty," said chrissie, as if it was rather surprising that the having left off living at the black village had not made jesse good at once. miss lilly smiled. "i don't think everybody at draymoor is naughty," she said. "i think jesse would have been a difficult boy to manage anywhere, though draymoor isn't a place with much in the way of good example certainly. but i hope it's getting a little better. if one could get hold of the children." she sat silent for a moment or two, her eyes looking as if they saw scenes not there. "i know several of the miners' families who live nearer us than draymoor--at bollins, and there are some such nice children among them." bollins was a small hamlet on the draymoor road, and the little house where miss lilly lived with her grandfather, an elderly man who had once been a doctor, was just at the evercombe side of bollins. "but you haven't told us what you were saying to jesse," said chrissie. "oh no," said miss lilly. "poor boy, it was nice of him. he was asking how master ferdy was." ferdy looked pleased. "did you tell him i was better?" he asked. "i said i hoped so, but that i had not seen you yet. and then he asked if he might send you his 'respexs' and 'was there any birds' eggs you'd a fancy for?'" "poor jesse," said ferdy. "but birds' eggs are one of the things he's been so naughty about--taking them all and selling them to somebody at freston. papa's almost sure--at least ferguson is--that he took some thrushes' eggs out of our garden. fancy, miss lilly!" "and then for him to offer to get ferdy any," said chrissie. "he knows i c'lect them," said ferdy; "but papa told me long ago, when i was quite little, never to take all the eggs, and _i've_ never taken more than one. if you see jesse again will you tell him he must never take more than one, miss lilly?" "i think in this case," she replied, "it is better to tell him not to take any at all--the temptation would be too great if he knows he can always sell them. i told him i would give you his message, but that i did not think you wanted any eggs that he could get you, and i advised him to leave bird's-nesting alone, as it had already got him into trouble." "what did he say?" asked christine. "he looked rather foolish and said he 'had nought to do of an evening, that was what got him into mischief; it wasn't as if he had a home of his own,' though as far as that goes, i see plenty of boys who _have_ homes of their own idling about in the evenings. it doesn't matter in the summer, but in the winter grandfather and i often feel sorry for them, and wish we could do something to amuse them. but now, chrissie dear, we had better go to the schoolroom; your mamma is coming to sit with ferdy for an hour or so." "good-bye, darling," said chrissie, as she stooped to kiss ferdy's pale little face--it had grown very pale again since the excitement of seeing miss lilly had faded away. "we shall be back soon--won't we, miss lilly?" she went on, turning to her governess as they left the room together. "it depends on how he is," was the reply. "mrs. ross hopes that he will have a little sleep now, but if he is awake and not too tired when you have finished your lessons, i will read aloud to you both in his room." "miss lilly," began chrissie again, looking up very sadly when they were seated at the schoolroom table, "i don't want to be silly, but i really don't feel as if i could do any lessons. it is so--so dreadful to be without ferdy, when you think that only the day before yesterday we were both here together and so happy, looking forward to his birthday," and the child put her head down on her arms and broke into deep though quiet sobs. in an instant miss lilly had left her place and was kneeling on the floor beside her. "my poor little chrissie, my dear little chrissie," she said, "i am so sorry for you," and the tone of her voice showed that it was difficult for her to keep back her own tears,--"so very sorry; but remember, dear, that we can do much better for ferdy by controlling our grief than by giving way to it. a great deal depends on keeping him cheerful and happily employed and interested. when i got your mother's note yesterday afternoon--oh dear, what a shock it was to me!--i spoke to my grandfather about ferdy a great deal, and he said in such cases much depends on not letting the nervous system give way. do you understand at all what i mean?" "yes, i think so," said chrissie, drying her eyes and listening eagerly. "you mean if poor ferdy was to lie there all day alone, like some poor children have to do, i daresay, he'd get to feel as if he would never get well again." "just so," said miss lilly, pleased to see how sensible chrissie was. "of course, he must not be tired or allowed to excite himself, and for a few days he is sure to be restless and fidgety from weakness; but as he gradually gets stronger again in himself, we must do all we can not only to amuse him, but to keep up his interest in things and people outside himself." "i know," said chrissie, "if he can feel he's of any good to anybody, that would make him happier than anything. ferdy has never been selfish, has he, miss lilly?" "no, he certainly has never seemed so, and i do not think suffering and trial such as he may have to bear will make him so." chrissie's face fell again at the two sad words. miss lilly saw it, and went on speaking quietly. "i don't mean anything very dreadful, dear, but he may have to stay in bed or on a couch for a long time, and of course that cannot but be a great trial to an active boy. let us get on with your lessons now, chrissie, in case ferdy is awake when they are over." he was not awake. he slept a good part of the morning, which mrs. ross, sitting beside him, was very glad of; and when at last he opened his eyes and looked about him, it was not long before a smile came to his face, and he cheered his mother by saying he felt "so nicely rested." "may chris and miss lilly come back now?" he asked. "miss lilly said she would read aloud." yes, chris and miss lilly would be only too happy to come, but first ferdy must be "good" and drink some beef-tea, which was standing all ready. it was rather an effort to do so. ferdy did not like beef-tea, and he was not at all hungry, and he just wanted to lie still and not be bothered. but "to please me" from his mother was enough, and when she kissed him and said he _was_ "a good boy," he told her, laughing, that he felt as if he were a little baby again. chrissie's face brightened when she heard the sound of her brother's laugh. "are you feeling better, ferdy dear?" she said. "i _am_ so glad, and miss lilly has brought a story-book of her own that we have never read." "oh, how nice!" said ferdy. "do tell me the name of the book, miss lilly." "it is short stories," she replied. "i will read you the names of some of them, and you shall choose which you would like best." the titles were all very tempting, but ferdy made a good hit, and fixed upon one of the most interesting in the book, so said miss lilly. it was about a family of children in iceland, and though it was rather long, they wished there was more of it when it came to an end. then miss lilly looked at her watch. "there is still a quarter of an hour," she said, as she turned over the leaves. "yes, here is a short story, which will just about fill up the time." ferdy and chrissie looked very pleased, but they did not say anything. they were so afraid of losing any of the precious fifteen minutes. chapter vi a fairy tale--and thoughts "the name of the story," said miss lilly, "is 'a fairy house,'" and then she went on to read it. "once upon a time there was a fairy who had done something wrong, and for this reason had to be punished. i do not know exactly what it was that she had done, perhaps only something that we should scarcely think wrong at all, such as jumping on a mushroom before it was full grown, or drinking too much dew out of a lily-cup, and thereby leaving the poor flower thirsty through the hot noontide. most likely it was nothing worse than something of this kind, but still it was a fault that had to be corrected; so the little culprit was banished to a desert part of fairyland, a bleak and barren spot, which you would scarcely have thought could be found in the magic country which we always think of as so bright and beautiful. "there she stayed with nothing to do for some time, which is about the worst punishment a fairy can have to endure. so she felt very pleased when one morning there came a messenger direct from the queen, charged to tell the little exile that she should be forgiven and released from her banishment as soon as she should have fulfilled a task which was to be set her. this task was to build a house, which to us may sound almost impossible without masons and carpenters and all manner of workmen. but fairy houses are not like ours, as you will hear. "the messenger led the fairy to a spot on the moor where there was a heap of stones. "'these are what you are to build with,' he said. 'as soon as the house is completed you may send a butterfly to tell the queen, and she will then come to test it. if it is quite perfect, you shall return at once with her to the court,' and so saying he fled away. "the fairy set to work in good spirits. she had no need of mortar, or scaffolding, or tools, or anything, indeed, but her own little hands and the stones. nor were the stones cut evenly and regularly, as you might have expected. they were of all sizes and shapes, but each only required a touch from the fairy's fingers at once to fit itself into the place which she saw it was intended for. so for some time the work went on merrily. it was not till the house was very nearly completed that the fairy began to fear something was wrong. it lopped a little--a _very_ little--to one side. but there was nothing to be done that she could see. so she finished it in hopes that the queen would not notice the tiny imperfection, and despatched the butterfly to announce her readiness for her royal lady's visit. "the queen arrived promptly,--fairy queens are never unpunctual,--and at first sight she smiled amiably. "'you have worked hard,' she said to the poor fairy, who stood there half hopeful and half trembling. then her majesty stepped out of her chariot, patting her winged steeds as she passed them, and entered the new building, followed by the little architect. "all seemed right till they got to the second floor, when the queen stopped and looked round her sharply. "'something is wrong here,' she said. 'the left-hand wall is out of level. i suspected it downstairs, but waited to see.' "the fairy builder looked very distressed. "'did you know there was anything wrong?' said the queen, more coldly than she had yet spoken. "'i--i was afraid it was a little crooked,' the little fairy replied, 'but i hoped perhaps your majesty would not mind it.' "'my messenger told you that the building must be _perfect_,' replied the queen. 'you had all the stones, every one ready for its place. if you have left one out, even the smallest, the building cannot be perfect. ah, well, you must try again,' and so saying she left the house, followed by the builder. as soon as she stepped outside she waved her wand, and in an instant the walls had fallen apart, and there was nothing to be seen but the heap of stones as before. "the poor little fairy sat down and cried as she saw the queen's chariot disappear in the air. "'i don't know what to do,' she thought. 'it would be just the same thing if i set to work to build it up again. i am sure i used every stone, down to some quite tiny ones; but still it is no good crying about it,' and she started up, determined to try afresh. "as she did so, a very slight sound caught her ears. out of her pocket had rolled a very small stone, a tiny, insignificant pebble, probably smaller than any she had used in the building. "'that's the very pebble i found in my shoe the other day,' she exclaimed. 'i must have picked it up with my handkerchief,' and she was just about to fling it away when a new idea struck her. was it possible that this little atom of a stone--or rather its absence--was what had spoilt the whole piece of work? it might be so, for had not the queen said that the slightest little scrap of material wanting would spoil the perfection of the building. "and, full of fresh hope, she carefully placed the little stone on the top of the heap and began again. all went well. deep down in the foundations, unseen but far from unneeded, the tiny pebble found its own place, and before the sun set, the magic edifice stood perfect, gleaming white and fair in the radiance of the evening sky. [illustration: took her back to court in her own chariot.] "it was without fear or misgiving this time that the fairy sent off her butterfly messenger the next morning; and her joy was complete when the queen not only took her back to court in her own chariot, but as a proof of her perfect restoration to favour, transported the pretty white house by a wave of her wand to the centre of a lovely garden near her own palace, and gave it to the fairy as her home." miss lilly stopped reading. the children looked up, pleased but a little puzzled. "what a funny story," said ferdy; "it's nice, but isn't it more what you call a--i forget the word." "allegory, do you mean?" said miss lilly. "well yes, perhaps. many fairy stories have a kind of meaning behind them, but i don't think this one is difficult to guess." "it means, i suppose," said chrissie, "that everything is of use, if you can find the right place for it." "a little more than that," said miss lilly. "we might put it this way--that _everybody_, even the smallest and weakest, has his or her own place in the house of--" and she hesitated. "in the house of the world?" said ferdy. "in the house of life," said miss lilly after thinking a little. "that says it better." then, seeing that ferdy was looking rather tired, she told chrissie to run off and get dressed for going a walk. "i will send flowers to sit with you," she said, as she stooped to kiss the little invalid, "and in the afternoon chrissie and i will come back again for an hour or so if you are not asleep." "i won't be asleep," said ferdy; "i have slept quite enough to last me all day. miss lilly--" "what, dear?" for the boy's eyes looked as if he wanted to ask her something. "would you like us to bring you in some flowers?--not garden ones, but wild ones. there are still primroses--and violets, of course--in the woods." "yes," ferdy replied, "i should like them _very_ much. and could you get some moss, miss lilly? i would like to arrange them with moss, in that sort of birds'-nesty-looking way." "i know how you mean," the young lady said. "yes, we will bring you some moss. and, by the bye, ferdy, if i had some wire i could show you how to make moss baskets that last for ever so long to put flowers in. you put a little tin or cup to hold water in the middle of the basket--the moss quite hides it,--and then you can always freshen up the moss by sousing it in water." "what a nice word 'sousing' is," said ferdy, in his quaint old-fashioned way. "it makes you think of bathing in the sea. miss lilly, do you think i'll ever be able to bathe in the sea again? i do so love it. and then there's skating and cricket, and when i go to school there'll be football. papa was so good at football when he was at school. i wonder--" he stopped short. "i wonder," he went on again, "if i'll ever be able for any of those things. boys who are all right, _well_ boys, don't think of the difference being like me makes." "no, they don't," his governess agreed. "but there is still a good long while before you would be going to school, ferdy dear." "i know," he said, though he could not keep back a little sigh. "i've only been two days in bed, but i have thought such a lot. miss lilly, there was something i wanted to ask you. it's about that boy, jesse piggot. i was thinking about him when i was awake in the night. if you meet him, please thank him for asking if i was better, and do you think mamma would let him come in one day to see me? it's partly that story, too." miss lilly did not at first understand. "the 'nallegory," said ferdy, "about all the stones being some good." miss lilly's face cleared; she looked pleased and interested. "oh yes," she said. "i haven't got it straight in my head yet," said ferdy. "i want to think a lot more. it's partly about me myself, and partly about jesse and boys like him. oh, i do wish i could be on the sofa in the window," he added suddenly. "i'd like to see the children going to school and coming back." "i hope you will be on the sofa in a very few days, dear," said miss lilly. "but i must go--chrissie will be waiting for me. i hope we shall get some nice flowers and moss, and to-morrow i will bring some wire and green thread that i have at home on purpose for such things." when she had gone flowers made her appearance. she sat down with her work, and ferdy lay so still, that she thought he must have fallen asleep again. but no, ferdy was not asleep, only thinking; and to judge by the look on his face, his thoughts were interesting. the moss baskets proved a great success as well as a great amusement. ferdy's nimble fingers seemed to have grown even more nimble and delicate in touch now that he was forced to lie still. they twisted the wire into all sorts of new shapes, some quaint, some graceful, that miss lilly had never even thought of, and when some little old cups without handles or tiny jelly pots or tins were found to fit in, so that the flowers could have plenty of water to keep them fresh, you cannot think how pretty the moss baskets looked. the children's mother was quite delighted with one that was presented to her, and she smiled more cheerfully than she had yet done since ferdy's accident, to see him so busy and happy. and time went on. it is very curious how quickly we get accustomed to things--even to great overwhelming changes, which seem at first as if they must utterly upset and make an end of everything. it is a great blessing that we _do_ get used to what _is_. when i was a little girl i remember reading a story about the old proverb which in those days was to be found as one of the model lines in a copy-book. this one stood for the letter "c," and it was, "custom commonly makes things easy." somehow the words fixed themselves in my memory. you don't know how often and in what very far differing circumstances i have said them over to myself; sometimes in hopefulness, sometimes when i had to face sorrows that made me feel as if i _could_ not face them, "custom commonly" seemed to be whispered into my ear, as if by a gentle little fairy voice. and i found it came true, thank god! it is one of the ways in which he helps us to bear our sorrows and master our difficulties, above all, _real_ sorrows and _real_ difficulties. fanciful ones, or foolish ones that we make for ourselves, are often in the end the hardest to bear and to overcome. it was so with little ferdy and his friends. one month after that sad birthday that had begun so brightly, no stranger suddenly visiting the watch house would have guessed from the faces and voices of its inmates how lately and how terribly the blow had fallen upon them. all seemed bright and cheerful, and even the boy's own countenance, though pale and thin, had a happy and peaceful expression. more than that indeed. he was often so merry that you could hear his laugh ringing through the house if you were only passing up or down stairs, or standing in the hall below. by this time things had settled themselves down into a regular plan. the oriel room was now ferdy's "drawing-room"--or drawing-room and dining-room in one, as he said himself. it was his day room, and every night and morning his father or thomas, the footman, carried him most carefully and gently from and to the invalid couch in his favourite window to bed, or _from_ bed in his own little room. this was a delightful change. ferdy declared he felt "almost quite well again" when the day came on which he was allowed "to go to bed properly," and be attired nicely the next morning in a little dressing-gown made to look as like a sailor suit as possible. his general health was good, thanks to the excellent care that was taken of him, and thanks too to his own cheerful character. there were times, of course, when he _did_ find it difficult to be bright--lovely summer afternoons when a sharp pang pierced his little heart at the sight of the school children racing home in their careless healthfulness, or fresh sweet mornings when he longed with a sort of thirstiness to be able to go for a walk in the woods with christine and miss lilly. but these sad feelings did not last long, though the days went on, and still the doctor shook his head at the idea even of his being carried down to the lawn and laid there, as ferdy had begun to hope might be allowed. the oriel window was his greatest comfort. it really was a delightful window. on one side or other there was sure to be _something_ to look at, and ferdy was quick to find interest in everything. he loved to see the school children, some of whom were already known to him, some whom he learnt to know by sight from watching them pass. but one boyish figure he missed. all this time jesse piggot had never been seen. miss lilly had looked out for him, as ferdy had asked her to do, but in vain. and it was not till within a day or two of a month since the accident that she heard from some of the draymoor people that the boy had been taken off "on a job" by one of his rough cousins at the colliery village. "and no good will it do him neither," added the woman. "that's a lad as needs putting up to no manner o' mischief, as my master says." "wasn't it a pity to take him away from farmer meare's?" miss lilly added. "they hadn't really room for him there," said the woman. "but farmer meare is a good man. he says he'll take the poor lad back again after a bit when there'll be more work that he can do." miss lilly told this over to the children the next day. ferdy looked up with interest in his eyes. "i hope he will come back again soon," he said. "you know, miss lilly, i never finished talking about him to you. i was thinking of him again a lot yesterday; it was the birds, they _were_ chattering so when i was alone in the afternoon. i was half asleep, i think, and hearing them reminded me in a dreamy way of birds' nests and eggs, and then, through that, of jesse piggot and what the fairy story put in my head about him." "what was it?" asked miss lilly. "it's rather difficult to explain," ferdy replied. "i was thinking, you see, that if i never get well and strong again i wouldn't seem any use to anybody. it _does_ seem as if some people were no use. and jesse piggot seems always in everybody's way, as if there was no place for him, though quite different from me, of course, for everybody's so kind to me. and then i thought of the stones, and how they all fitted in, and i wondered what i could get to do, and i thought perhaps i might help jesse some way." miss lilly looked at ferdy. there was a very kind light in her eyes. "yes, ferdy dear," she said. "i think i understand. when jesse comes back we must talk more about it, and perhaps we shall find out some way of fitting him into his place. stop dear, i think i had better look at your knitting; you are getting it a little too tight on the needles." ferdy handed it to her with a little sigh. he did not care very much for knitting, and he had also a feeling that it was girls' work. but it had been very difficult to find any occupation for him, as he could not go on making moss baskets always, and knitting seemed the best thing for the moment. he was now making a sofa blanket for his mother, in stripes of different colours, and miss lilly and christine were helping him with it, as it would otherwise have been too long a piece of work. "i'm rather tired of knitting," he said, "now that i know how to do it. i liked it better at first, but there's no planning about it now." "we must think of a change of work for you before long," said miss lilly, as she quickly finished a row so as to get the stitches rather looser again. "don't do any more this morning, ferdy. lie still and talk. tell me about the birds chattering." "they are so sweet and funny," said ferdy. "sometimes i fancy i'm getting to know their different voices. and there's one that stands just at the corner of the window-sill outside, that i really think i could draw. i know the look of him so well. or i'll tell you what," he went on. "i could _figure_ him, i'm sure i could, better than draw him." "_figure_ him! what do you mean?" said chrissie. "what funny words you say, ferdy." "do you mean modelling it?" asked miss lilly. "have you ever seen any modelling?" "no," said ferdy, "i don't understand." "i mean using some soft stuff, like clay or wax, and shaping it, partly with your fingers and partly with tools," replied miss lilly. "i don't know much about it, but i remember one of my brothers doing something of the kind." ferdy reflected. "it does sound rather fun," he said, "but i didn't mean that. i meant cutting--with a nice sharp knife and soft wood. i am sure i could figure things that way. i know what made me think of it. it was a story about the village boys in switzerland, who cut out things in the winter evenings." "you mean carving," said christine; "you shouldn't call it cutting. yes, i've always thought it must be lovely work, but you would need to be awfully clever to do it." "i'd like to try," said the boy. "when my sofa's put up a little higher at the back, the way mr. stern lets it be now, i can use my hands quite well. you needn't be afraid i'd cut myself. oh, it _would_ be jolly to cut out birds, and stags' heads, and things like that!" "stags' heads would be awfully difficult," said christine, "because of the sticking-out horns--they're just like branches with lots of twigs on them. what is it you call them, miss lilly?" "antlers, isn't that what you mean?" miss lilly replied. "yes, they would be very difficult. you would have to begin with something much simpler, ferdy." "i suppose i thought of stags because the swiss boys in the story cut out stags' heads," said ferdy. "i think i'd try a swallow's head. when i shut my eyes i can see one quite plain. miss lilly, don't you think i might try to _draw_ one? if i had a piece of paper and a nice pencil--" just then the door opened and his mother came in. her face brightened up as soon as she caught sight of ferdy's cheerful expression and heard his eager tone--it was always so now. since the accident mrs. ross seemed a kind of mirror of her boy; if he was happy and comfortable her anxious face grew smooth and peaceful; if he had had a bad night, or was tired, or in pain, she looked ten years older. and miss lilly, who, though still quite young herself, was very thoughtful and sensible, saw this with anxiety. "it will never do for things to go on like this," she said to herself, "the strain will break down poor mrs. ross. and if ferdy is never to be quite well again, or even if it takes a long time for him to recover, it will get worse and worse. we must try to find something for him to do that will take him out of himself, as people say,--something that will make him feel himself of use, poor dear, as he would like to be. i wonder if my grandfather could speak to mrs. ross and make her see that she should try not to be always so terribly anxious." for old dr. lilly was a very wise man. in his long life he had acquired a great deal of knowledge besides "book-learning"; he had learnt to read human beings too. but just now miss lilly's thoughtful face brightened up also as ferdy's mother came in. "we are talking about wood-carving," she said. "i am going to ask my grandfather about it. and ferdy would like to prepare for it by drawing a little again--he was getting on nicely just before he was ill." "i'd like a slate," said ferdy, "because i could rub out so easily; only drawings on a slate never look pretty--white on black isn't right." "_i_ know what," exclaimed christine. "mamma, do let us get ferdy one of those beautiful white china slates--a big one, the same as your little one that lies on the hall table for messages." ferdy's eyes sparkled with pleasure. "that would do lovelily," he said. so it was arranged that christine should drive with her mother that afternoon to the nearest town--not whittingham, but a smaller town in another direction, called freston, in quest of a good-sized white china slate. chapter vii an unexpected pig's head miss lilly and ferdy spent a quiet hour or two together after christine and her mother had set off. then, as it was really a half-holiday, and miss lilly usually went home immediately after luncheon on half-holidays, she said good-bye to ferdy, after seeing him comfortably settled and flowers within hail, and started on her own way home. she was anxious to have a talk with her grandfather and ask his advice as to the best way of helping the little boy and his mother, and keeping off the dangers to both which she saw in the future. it was a lovely day--quite a summer day now--for it was some way on in june, and this year the weather had been remarkably beautiful--never before quite so beautiful since she had come to live in the neighbourhood, thought the young girl to herself, and she sighed a little as she pictured in her own mind what happy days she and her two little pupils might have had in the woods and fields round about evercombe. "poor ferdy," she thought, "i wonder if he really ever will get well again. that is, in a way, the hardest part of it all--the not knowing. it makes it so difficult to judge how to treat him in so many little ways." she was not very far from her own home by this time, and looking up along the sunny road, she saw coming towards her a familiar figure. "i do believe it is jesse piggot," she said to herself. "how curious, just when i'd been thinking about him the last day or two!" jesse stopped as he came up to her, and it seemed to miss lilly that his face grew a little red, though bashfulness was certainly not one of jesse's weak points. "why, jesse!" she exclaimed, "so you've got back again. how did you get on while you were away?" jesse's answer to this question was rather indistinct. he murmured something that sounded like "all right, thank you, miss," but added almost immediately in a brighter tone, "how is master ferdy, please?" "pretty well," miss lilly replied; "that is to say, he doesn't suffer now, and we do all we can to cheer him up." jesse's face grew concerned and half puzzled. "ain't he all right again by this time?" he asked. "i thought he'd have been running about same as before, and a-riding on his new pony." miss lilly shook her head rather sadly. "oh no," she said, "there's no chance of anything like that for a long time"--"if ever," she added to herself. "the kind of accident that happened to master ferdy," she went on, "is almost the worst of any to cure--worse than a broken leg, or a broken head even." jesse said nothing for a moment or two, but something in his manner showed the young lady that his silence did not come from indifference. he had something in his hand, a stick of some kind, and as miss lilly's eyes fell on it, she saw that he had been whittling it with a rough pocket-knife. "what is that, jesse?" she said. "are you making something?" the boy's face grew distinctly redder now. [illustration: "i've done 'em before from one of the old squeakers up at the farm."] "'tis nothing, miss," he said, looking very ashamed, "only a bit o' nonsense as i thought'd make master ferdy laugh. i've done 'em before from one of the old squeakers up at the farm." and he half-reluctantly allowed miss lilly to take out of his hand a small stick, the top of which he had chipped into a rough, but unmistakable likeness to a pig's head. miss lilly almost started. it seemed such a curious coincidence that just as she was going to consult her grandfather about some new interest and occupation for ferdy, and just, too, as the idea of her little pupil's being of use to this poor waif and stray of a boy had been put into her mind by ferdy himself, jesse should turn up again, and in the new character of a possible art! for though not an artist of any kind herself, she had quick perceptions and a good eye, and in the queer, grotesque carving that the boy held in his hand she felt almost sure that she detected signs of something--well, of _talent_, however uncultivated, to say the least. jesse did not understand her start of surprise and the moment's silence that followed it. he thought she was shocked, and he grew still redder as he hastily tried to hide the poor piggy in his hand. "i didn't think as any one 'ud see it till i met master ferdy hisself some time; he's partial to pigs, is master ferdy, though no one can say as they're pretty. but i thought it'd make him laugh." "my dear boy," exclaimed the young girl eagerly, "don't hide away the stick. you don't understand. i am very pleased with your pig--very pleased indeed. have you done other things like it? i should like to--" but then she stopped for a moment. she must not say anything to put it into jesse's scatter-brained head that he was a genius, and might make his fortune by wood-carving. of all things, as she knew by what she had heard of him, it was important that he should learn to stick to his work and work hard. so she went on quietly, "i am sure master ferdy will like the pig very much, and he will think it very kind of you to have thought of pleasing him. let me look at it again," and she took it out of jesse's rather unwilling hands. "it is not quite finished yet, i see," she said, "but i think it is going to be a very nice, comical pig." and, indeed, the grotesque expression of the ears and snout--of the whole, indeed--was excellent. you could scarcely help smiling when you looked at it. jesse's red face grew brighter. "oh no, miss," he said, "it bain't finished. i'm going to black the eyes a bit--just a touch, you know, with a pencil. and there's a lot more to do to the jowl. i'm going to have a good look at old jerry--that's the oldest porker at the farm--when he's havin' his supper to-night; you can see his side face beautiful then," and jesse's eyes twinkled with fun. "oh, then you are back at the farm--at mr. meare's?" said miss lilly. "i am glad of that." "i'm not to say reg'lar there," said jesse, "only half on--for odd jobs so to say. i've been a message to the smithy at bollins just now," and certainly, to judge by the leisurely way in which he had been sauntering along when ferdy's governess first caught sight of him, his "odd jobs" did not seem to be of a very pressing description. "that's a pity," said the lady. "farmer says as he'll take me on reg'lar after a bit," added jesse. "and where are you living, then?" inquired miss lilly. "they let me sleep in the barn," said jesse. "and sundays i goes to my folk at draymoor, though i'd just as lief stop away. cousin tom and i don't hit it off, and it's worser when he's sober. lord, miss, he did hide me when he was away on that navvy job!" and jesse gave a queer sort of grin. miss lilly shuddered. "and what do you do in the evenings?" she asked. jesse looked uncomfortable. "loaf about a bit," he said vaguely. "that isn't a very good way of spending time," she said. jesse screwed up his lips as if he were going to whistle, but a sudden remembrance of the respect due to the young lady stopped him. "what's i to do else, miss?" he said. "well, you've something to do to-night, any way," she replied. "if you can finish the pig's head, i am sure master ferdy will be delighted to have it. i won't tell him about it," as she detected a slight look of disappointment on jesse's face, "oh no, it must be a surprise. but if you call at the watch house the first time you are passing after it is ready, i will see if i can get leave for you to see him yourself for a few minutes. the afternoon would be the best time, i think." the boy's face beamed. "thank you, miss; thank you kindly," he said. "i'll see if i can't get it done to-night." and then the two parted with a friendly farewell on each side. miss lilly had a good deal to think of as she finished her walk home. she felt quite excited at the discovery she had made, and eager to tell her grandfather about it. and she was all the more pleased to see him standing at the gate watching for her as she came within sight, for dr. lilly had something to tell her on his part, too. "you are late, my dear," he said, "late, that is to say, for a wednesday." "yes, gran," she replied, "i had to stay an hour or so with poor ferdy, as mrs. ross and christine were going out early." "then there is nothing wrong with him," said the old doctor. "i get quite nervous about the poor little chap myself. but that was not why i was coming to meet you, eva; it was to tell you of an invitation i have from my old friend, mr. linham, to spend two or three weeks with him travelling in cornwall. i should much like to go, i don't deny, except for leaving you alone, and i must decide at once, as he wants to know." "_of course_ you must go, dear gran," replied the girl. "i don't mind being alone in the least. i daresay mrs. ross would be glad to have me more with them, especially if--oh grandfather, i have a lot to talk to you about!" and then she told him all she had been thinking about ferdy, and the curious coincidence of meeting jesse piggot, and the discovery of his unsuspected talent for wood-carving. dr. lilly listened with great interest. he was pleased with eva's good sense in not praising the old porker's head too much, and he quite agreed with her that it would be well worth while to encourage little ferdy's wish to try his own skill in the same direction. "i believe i know the very man to give him a little help to start with," he said. "he is a young fellow who carves for ball and guild at whittingham. i attended him once in a bad illness. now he is getting on well, though he is not a genius. but he would be able to help with the technical part of the work--the right wood to use, the proper tools, and so on. if mr. ross approves, i will write to this man--brock is his name--and ask him to come over to talk about it. the only difficulty is that i fear he is never free except in the evenings." "i don't think that would matter," said miss lilly,--"not in summer time. ferdy does not go to bed till half-past eight or nine. and if he gets on well with his carving, grandfather,--and i do believe he will; you know i have always thought there was something uncommon about ferdy,--_he_ will be able to help jesse. who knows what may come of it? it may be the saving of jesse." her pleasant face grew quite rosy with excitement. it might be such a good thing in so many ways--something to take the little invalid's thoughts off himself and to convince his too anxious mother that feeling himself able to be of use to others would be by far the surest way of securing ferdy's own happiness in the uncertain and perhaps very trying life before him. and her grandfather quite sympathised in all she felt. so that evening two letters were sent off from the pretty cottage at bollins, one to mr. linham, accepting his invitation to cornwall, and one to mr. ross, asking him to stop a moment on his drive past the old doctor's house the next morning to have a little talk about ferdy. "he is sure to do so, and sure too to be pleased with anything _you_ think would be good for ferdy," said eva to her grandfather. and this was quite true, for though dr. lilly no longer looked after ill people, his opinion was most highly thought of, and by no one more than by mr. ross, who had known him as long as he could remember knowing any one. after miss lilly left him that afternoon, ferdy, contrary to his custom, fell asleep and had a good long nap, only awaking when the carriage bringing his mother and chrissie back from their expedition drove up to the door. mrs. ross's anxious face grew brighter when she saw how fresh and well the boy was looking. she had been afraid lest the increasing heat of the weather would try ferdy's strength too much, especially as the doctors would not yet allow him to be carried out of doors. but here again the oriel window proved of the greatest use: it could always be open at one side or the other, according to the time of day, so that it was easy to catch whatever breeze was going for ferdy's benefit, and yet to shade him from the sun. he certainly did not look at all fagged or exhausted this afternoon, though it had been rather a hot day for june. christine followed her mother into the room, her arms filled with parcels, her eyes bright with pleasure. "we've got such a beautiful slate for you, ferdy," she said, "and a book of animal pictures--outlines--that will be quite easy to copy on a slate, and the man at the shop said it was a very good thing to study them for any one who wanted to try wood-carving." "oh, how nice!" said ferdy eagerly. "do let me see, chrissie! and what are those other parcels you've got?" "two are from the german confectioner's at freston--cakes for tea--that nice kind, you know--the fancy curly shape, like the ones in the 'struwelpeter' pictures." ferdy's face expressed great satisfaction. "we must have a regular good tea," he said; "those cakes are meant to be eaten while they're quite fresh. and what's the other parcel, chrissie?" "oh, it's two little ducky cushions," his sister replied, "quite little tiny ones of eider-down. they are to put under your elbows when you're sitting up, or at the back of your neck, or into any little odd corner where the big ones don't fit in. you know you've often wished for a little cushion, and when you go out into the garden or for a drive you'll need them still more, mamma says." all the time she had been talking, christine had been undoing her parcels, mrs. ross helping her to lay out their contents. "thank you so very much, mamma," said ferdy, "everything's beautiful. which way did you drive to freston?" "we went one way and came back the other," said mrs. ross,--"by the road that passes near draymoor, you know. dear me, even on a fine summer's day that place looks grim and wretched! and there seems always to be idle boys about, even early in the afternoon." "miss lilly says there's often a lot that can't get work to do," said ferdy. "it's this way--sometimes they're very, _very_ busy, and sometimes there's not enough to do, and that's how they get into mischief, i suppose," he added, with the air of a small solomon. "it seems a pity that no one can take a real interest in the place," said his mother; "but here comes tea, ferdy. i am sure we shall all be glad of it. chrissie, you can arrange the cakes while i pour out tea." they seemed a happy little party that afternoon--happier than ferdy's mother, at least, would have believed it possible they could be, had she, three months or so before, foreseen the sad trouble that was to befall her darling. "i wonder how soon i shall be able to go for a drive," said ferdy. "will you ask the big doctor the next time he comes, mamma? i should like to see draymoor again. i've never forgotten that day i went there with papa. and now i understand about it so much better. miss lilly says it isn't that the people are very poor--they earn a lot of money when they are at work, but then they spend it all instead of spreading it over the times they haven't work. isn't it a pity they can't be taught something else to do for the idle times, to keep them from quarrelling with each other and being unkind to their wives and children?" mrs. ross looked at ferdy with surprise and some misgiving. it was doubtless miss lilly who had talked to him about the draymoor people. was it quite wise of her to do so? ferdy was so sensitive already, and his illness seemed to have made him even more "old-fashioned." to hear him talk as he was doing just now, one could easily have believed him twice his real age. but a second glance at his face made her feel easy again. he was speaking in a tone of quiet interest, but not in any nervous or excited way. "yes," she replied, "there is plenty to be done to improve draymoor, and at present no one seems to take any special charge of it. if your father was less busy and richer, i know he would like to try to do something for the people there." "miss lilly says if there was any one to look after the boys it would be such a good thing," said ferdy. "i hope jesse piggot won't go back there to live." then they went on to talk of other things. ferdy greatly approved of the german cakes, and his mother's spirits rose higher as she saw him eating them with a good appetite and making little jokes with his sister. the rest of the evening passed happily. ferdy amused himself for some time by "trying" his new slate. he drew two or three animals without any model, and was delighted to find that chrissie recognised them all, and that they did not compare very badly with the outlines she had brought him. "i am tired now," he said as he put down his pencil with a little sigh, but a sigh of contentment as much as of weariness, "but i know what i'll do to-morrow, chrissie. i'll _study_ one animal's head, or perhaps a bird. if those old swallows would but settle for a bit on the window-sill, or even on one of the branches close by, i'm sure i could do them. what a pity it is they can't understand what we want, for i always feel as if they knew all about us." "that's because of my dream," said christine importantly. "but i must go now, ferdy dear; flowers has called me two or three times to change my frock." [illustration: watching the sweet summer sunset.] so ferdy lay on his couch, one end of which was drawn into the window, watching the sweet summer sunset and the gentle "good-night" stealing over the world. there were not many passers-by at that hour. the school children had long ago gone home; the little toddlers among them must already be in bed and asleep. now and then a late labourer came slowly along with lagging steps, or one of the village dogs, in search of a stray cat perhaps, pricked up his ears when ferdy tapped on the window-pane. but gradually all grew very still, even the birds ceasing to twitter and cheep as they settled themselves for the night. and ferdy himself felt ready to follow the general example, when suddenly his attention was caught by a figure that came down the lane from the farm and stood for a moment or two at the end of the drive where the gate had been left open. ferdy almost jumped as he saw it. "flowers," he exclaimed, as at that moment the maid came into the room followed by thomas to carry him up to bed. "flowers--thomas, do look! isn't that jesse piggot standing at the gate? he must have come back again." "i don't know, i'm sure, master ferdy," said flowers, who did not feel any particular interest in jesse piggot. but thomas was more good-natured. he peered out into the dusk. "it looks like him, master ferdy," he said, "but i don't know that he'll get much of a welcome even if he _has_ come back. such a lad for mischief never was," for thomas had had some experience of jesse once or twice when the boy had been called into the watch house for an odd job. "never mind about that," said ferdy, "_i_ shall be glad to see him again. be sure you find out in the morning, thomas, if it is him." chapter viii welcome visitors but ferdy did not need to wait till thomas had made his inquiries, which most likely would have taken some time, as he was not a young man who cared to be hurried. miss lilly in her quiet way was quite excited when she came the next morning. "whom do you think i met yesterday afternoon on my way home, ferdy?" she said as soon as she and chrissie came into the oriel room for the part of the morning they now regularly passed there with the little invalid. "i can guess," said ferdy eagerly. "i believe it was jesse piggot," and then he told miss lilly about having seen a boy's figure standing at the end of the drive looking in. "poor fellow," said miss lilly, "i daresay he was watching in the hopes of seeing some one who could--" but then she stopped short. ferdy looked up with curiosity. "'who could' what, miss lilly?" he asked. his governess smiled. "i think i mustn't tell you," she said. "it might disappoint the boy, if he is wanting to give you a little surprise. and i scarcely think he would have sent in a message by any one but me," she went on, speaking more to herself than to ferdy, "after what i promised him last night." "what did you promise him, miss lilly?" the little boy asked. his curiosity was greatly excited. "only that if possible i would get leave for him to come in and see you for a few minutes," the young lady replied. "i must ask mrs. ross." "oh, i'm sure mamma wouldn't mind," said ferdy. "i do so wonder what the surprise is." "you'd better not think about it," said chrissie sagely. "that's what _i_ do. i put things quite out of my mind if i know i can't find out about them. don't you, miss lilly?" miss lilly smiled. "i try to," she said, "but i own i find it very far from easy sometimes. i think the best way to put something out of your mind is to put something else in. so supposing we go on with our lessons, ferdy." "oh, but first," said ferdy eagerly, "first i must show you the beautiful things mamma and chris brought me yesterday. see here, miss lilly." and eva examined his new possessions with great interest, even greater interest than ferdy knew, for her head was full of her new ideas about jesse, and the talent she believed he had shown in his carving. she turned over the leaves of the little book of animal outlines till she came to one of a pig, and she sat looking at it in silence for so long that christine peeped over her shoulder to see what it could be that had so taken her fancy. "it's a pig, ferdy," she called out, laughing. "miss lilly, i didn't know you were so fond of pigs. i'm sure there are much prettier animals in the book than pigs." "i daresay there are," said her governess good-naturedly. "but i _am_ very interested in pigs, especially their heads. i wish you would draw me one, ferdy, after lessons. i would like to see how you can do it." ferdy was quite pleased at the idea. but in the meantime miss lilly reminded both children that they must give their attention to the english history which was that morning's principal lesson. jesse piggot did not make his appearance. it was a busy day at the farm, and for once there was plenty for him to do. he had finished carving the stick, and if he had dared he would have run off with it to the watch house. but what he had gone through lately had been of use to the boy. he was becoming really anxious to get a good regular place at farmer meare's, for he had no wish to go off again on "odd jobs" under the tender mercies of his rough draymoor cousins. and, on the whole, miss lilly settled in her own mind that she was not sorry he had not come that day, for she hoped that mr. ross had seen her grandfather that morning and heard from him about the lessons in wood-carving which the old doctor thought might be so good for ferdy; and more than that, she hoped that perhaps mr. ross's interest in poor jesse might be increased by what dr. lilly would tell about him. it all turned out very nicely, as you will hear. late that afternoon, just as lessons were over and chrissie had got her mother's leave to walk a little bit of her way home with miss lilly, thomas appeared in the oriel room with a message from mrs. ross. "would miss lilly stay to have tea with miss christine and master ferdy? mrs. ross would come up presently, but there was a gentleman in the drawing-room with her just now." "what a bother!" exclaimed chrissie. "now it will be too late for me to go with you, miss lilly. i wish horrid, stupid gentlemen wouldn't come to call and interrupt mamma when it's her time for coming up to see ferdy. and it's not really tea-time yet." but tea appeared all the same. there was plainly some reason for miss lilly's staying later than usual. and when the reason was explained in the shape of dr. lilly, who put his kind old face in at the door half an hour or so later, no one welcomed him more heartily than chrissie, though she got very red when ferdy mischievously whispered to her to ask if she counted _him_ "a horrid, stupid gentleman." dr. lilly was a great favourite with the children. and never had ferdy been more pleased to see him than to-day. "i am so glad you've come," he said, stretching out his little hand, thinner and whiter than his old friend would have liked to see it. "miss lilly says you know a lot about wood-carving, and i do so want to learn to do it." dr. lilly smiled. "i am afraid my granddaughter has made you think me much cleverer than i am, my dear boy," he replied. "i can't say i know much about it myself, but i have a young friend who does, and if you really want to learn, i daresay he might be of use to you." ferdy's eyes sparkled, and so did miss lilly's, for she knew her grandfather too well to think that he would have spoken in this way to ferdy unless he had good reason for it. "grandfather must have seen mr. ross and got his consent for the lessons," she thought. and she looked as pleased as ferdy himself, who was chattering away like a little magpie to dr. lilly about all the lovely things he would make if he really learnt to carve--or "cut out," as he kept calling it--very nicely. "what i'd like best of all to do is swallows," he said. "you see i've got to know the swallows over this window so well. i do believe i know each one of them sep'rately. and sometimes in the morning early--i can hear them out of my bedroom window too--i really can almost tell what they're talking about." "swallows are charming," said dr. lilly, "but to see them at their best they should be on the wing. they are rather awkward-looking birds when not flying." "they've got _very_ nice faces," said ferdy, who did not like to allow that his friends were short of beauty in any way. "their foreheads and necks are such a pretty browny colour, and then their top feathers are a soft sort of blue, greyey blue, which looks so nice over the white underneath. i think they're awfully pretty altogether." "you have watched them pretty closely, i see," said dr. lilly, pleased at ferdy's careful noticing of his feathered neighbours. "i love swallows as much as you do, but it takes a master hand to carve _movement_. you may begin with something easier, and who knows what you may come to do in time." ferdy did not answer. he lay still, his blue eyes gazing up into the sky, from which at that moment they almost seemed to have borrowed their colour. visions passed before his fancy of lovely things which he would have found it difficult to describe, carvings such as none but a fairy hand could fashion, of birds and flowers of beauty only to be seen in dreams--it was a delight just to think of them. and one stood out from the rest, a window like his own oriel window, but entwined with wonderful foliage, and in one corner a nest, with a bird still almost on the wing, poised on a branch hard by. "oh," and he all but spoke his fancy aloud, "i feel as if i could make it _so_ lovely." but just then, glancing downwards, though still out of doors, he gave a little start. "it _is_ him," he exclaimed. "miss lilly, dear, do look. isn't that jesse, standing at the gate?" yes, jesse it was. not peeping in shyly, as some boys would have done. that was not mr. jesse's way. no, there he stood, in the middle of the open gateway, quite at his ease, one hand in his pocket, in the fellow of which the other would have been, no doubt, if it had not been holding an inconvenient shape of parcel--a long narrow parcel done up in a bit of newspaper, which had seen better days; not the sort of parcel you could possibly hide in a pocket. it was tea-time at the farm, and jesse had slipped down to the watch house in hopes of catching sight of miss lilly, for she had spoken of the afternoon as the best time for seeing ferdy. "of course it is jesse," said the young lady. "look, grandfather, don't you think i may run down and ask mrs. ross to let me bring him in for a few minutes?" and off she went. a minute or two later ferdy and chrissie, still looking out of the window in great anxiety lest jesse should get tired of waiting and go away before miss lilly could stop him, saw their governess hurry up the drive. and jesse, as he caught sight of her, came forward, a little shy and bashful now, as he tugged at his cap by way of a polite greeting. ferdy's face grew rosy with pleasure. "they're coming in," he said to dr. lilly. "yes," said the old gentleman. "i will go over to the other side of the room with the newspaper, so that the poor lad won't feel confused by seeing so many people." but all the same from behind the shelter of his newspaper the old gentleman kept a look-out on the little scene passing before him. miss lilly came in quickly, but jesse hung back for a moment or two at the door. he was almost dazzled at first by the bright prettiness before him. for he had never seen such a charming room before, and though he would not have understood it if it had been said to him, underneath his rough outside jesse had one of those natures that are much and quickly alive to beauty of all kinds. and everything that love and good taste could do to make the oriel room a pleasant prison for the little invalid boy, had been done. it was a very prettily shaped room to begin with, and the creeping plants trained round the window outside were now almost in their full summer richness. roses peeped in with their soft blushing faces; honeysuckle seemed climbing up by the help of its pink and scarlet fingers; clematis, the dear old "traveller's joy," was there too, though kept in proper restraint. the oriel window looked a perfect bower, for inside, on the little table by ferdy's couch, were flowers too--one of his own moss-baskets, filled with wild hyacinth, and a beautiful large petalled begonia, one of old ferguson's special pets, which he had been proud to send in to adorn master ferdy's room, and two lovely fairy-like maiden-hair ferns. and the little group in the window seemed in keeping with the flowers and plants. there was the delicate face of the little invalid, and pretty christine with her fluffy golden hair, and miss lilly, slight and dark-eyed, stooping over them, as she explained to ferdy that jesse was longing to see him. altogether the poor boy, rude and rough as he was, felt as if he were gazing at some beautiful picture; he would have liked to stand there longer--the feelings that came over him were so new and so fascinating. he did not see old dr. lilly behind his newspaper in the farther corner of the room--he felt as if in a dream, and he quite started when miss lilly, glancing round, spoke to him by name. "come in, jesse," she said, "i do want master ferdy to see--you know what." jesse was clutching the little walking-stick tightly. he had almost forgotten about it. but he moved it from his right arm to his left, as he caught sight of the small white hand stretched out to clasp his own big brown one--though, after all, as hands go, the boy's were neither thick nor clumsy. "i'm so glad you've come back, jesse," said ferdy in his clear, rather weak tones. "you didn't care for being away, did you? at least, not much?" "no, master ferdy, 'twas terrible rough," said the boy. "i'm glad to be back again, though i'd be still gladder if mr. meare'd take me on reg'lar like." "i hope he will soon," said ferdy. "i daresay papa wouldn't mind saying something to him about it, if it would be any good. i'll ask him. but what's that you've got wrapped up so tight, jesse?" jesse reddened. "then the young lady didn't tell you?" he said, half turning to miss lilly. "of course not," she replied. "don't you remember, jesse, i said you should give it to master ferdy yourself?" jesse fumbled away at the strips of newspaper he had wound round his stick, till ferdy's eyes, watching with keen interest, caught sight of the ears and the eyes and then the snout of the grotesque but unmistakable pig's head--"old jerry--the biggest porker at the farm." "oh, jesse," cried ferdy, his face radiant with delight, "_how_ lovely!" and though the word was not quite exactly what one would have chosen, it sounded quite perfect to jesse--it showed him that master ferdy "were right down pleased." "'tis only a bit o' nonsense," he murmured as he stuffed the stick into the little invalid's hands. "i thought it'd make you laugh, master ferdy. i took it off old jerry--you know old jerry--the fat old fellow as grunts so loud for his dinner." "of course i remember him," said ferdy. "don't you, christine? we've often laughed at him when we've run in to look at the pigs. isn't it _capital_? do you really mean that you cut it out yourself, jesse? why, i'd _never_ be able to cut out like that! he really looks as if he was just going to open his mouth to gobble up his dinner, doesn't he, miss lilly?" "he's very good--very good indeed," she replied. and then raising her voice a little, "grandfather," she said, "would you mind coming over here to look at jesse's carving?" dr. lilly crossed the room willingly. truth to tell, the newspaper had not been getting very much of his attention during the last few minutes. in his own mind he had been prepared for some little kindly exaggeration on eva's part of jesse's skill, so that he was really surprised when he took the stick in his own hands and examined it critically, to see the undoubted talent--to say the least--the work showed. rough and unfinished and entirely "untaught" work of course it was. but that is exactly the sort of thing to judge by. it was the _spirit_ of it that was so good, though i daresay you will think that a curious word to apply to the rude carving of so very "unspiritual" a subject as an old pig's head, by a peasant boy! all the same i think i am right in using the expression. "life-like and certainly original," murmured dr. lilly. "grotesque, of course--that is all right, that is always how they begin. but we must be careful--very careful," he went on to himself in a still lower tone of voice. and aloud he only said, as he looked up with a smile, "very good, my boy, very good. you could not have a better amusement for your idle hours than trying to copy what you see in the world about you. it is the _seeing_ that matters. you must have watched this old fellow pretty closely to understand his look, have you not?" jesse, half pleased, half shy, answered rather gruffly. "he do be a queer chap, to be sure. master ferdy, and missie too, has often laughed at him when they've been up at the farm. and that's how i come to think of doing him on a stick. and many a time," he went on, as if half ashamed of the childishness of the occupation, "there's naught else i can do to make the time pass, so to say." "you could not have done better," said the old doctor kindly. "don't think it is waste of time to try your hand at this sort of thing after your other work is done. i hope you may learn to carve much better. a little teaching would help you on a good deal, and proper tools and knowledge of the different kinds of wood." jesse's face expressed great interest, but then it clouded over a little. "yes, sir," he agreed, "but i dunnot see how i could get the teaching. there's nothing like that about here--not like in big towns, where they say there's teaching for nothing, or next to nothing--evenings at the institutes." "ah well, help comes to those who help themselves. master ferdy may be able to give you some hints if he learns carving himself. and he can tell you some stories of the poor country boys in switzerland and some parts of germany--how they work away all by themselves till they learn to make all sorts of beautiful things. have you any other bits of carving by you that you could show me?" again jesse's brown face lighted up, and ferdy listened eagerly. "oh lor, yes, sir, all manner of nonsense--whistles, sir, though there's some sense in whistles, to be sure," with a twinkle of fun. "then bring me a pocketful of nonsense this evening--no, to-morrow evening will be better--to my house at bollins. you know it, of course? and we'll have a look over them together. perhaps i may have a friend with me, who knows more about carving than i do." "and after dr. lilly has seen them, please bring some of them for me to see too, jesse," said ferdy. "when can he come again, do you think, miss lilly?" miss lilly considered. "on friday afternoon. can you get off for half an hour on friday about this time, jesse?" "oh yes, miss, no fear but i can," the boy replied. "and thank you ever so many times--a great, great many times, for old jerry," said ferdy as he stretched out his little hand in farewell. jesse beamed with pleasure. "i'll see if i can't do something better for you, master ferdy," he said. and to himself he added, "it's a deal sensibler, after all, than knocking up after mischief all the evening--a-shamming to smoke and a-settin' trees on fire." for this had been one of his worst misdeeds in the village not many months before, when he and some other boys had hidden their so-called "cigars" of rolled-up leaves, still smouldering, in the hollow of an old oak, and frightened everybody out of their wits in the night by the conflagration which ended the days of the poor tree and threatened to spread farther. still more pleased would he have been could he have overheard ferdy's words after he had gone. "isn't it really capital, dr. lilly? i don't believe i could _ever_ do anything so like _real_ as this old jerry." chapter ix "my pupils" that summer was a very, very lovely one. it scarcely rained, and when it did, it was generally in the night. if it is "an ill wind that brings nobody any good," on the other hand i suppose that few winds are so good that they bring nobody any harm, so possibly in some parts of the country people _may_ have suffered that year for want of water; but this was not the case at evercombe, where there were plenty of most well-behaved springs, which--or some of which at least--had never been known to run dry. so the little brooks danced along their way as happily as ever, enjoying the sunshine, and with no murmurs from the little fishes to sadden their pretty songs, no fears for themselves of their full bright life running short. every living thing seemed bubbling over with content; the flowers and blossoms were as fresh in july as in may; never had the birds been quite so busy and merry; and as for the butterflies, there was no counting their number or variety. some new kinds _must_ have come this year from butterflyland, ferdy said to christine one afternoon when he was lying out on his new couch on the lawn. christine laughed, and so did miss lilly, and asked him to tell them where that country was, and ferdy looked very wise and said it lay on the edge of fairyland, the fairies looked after it, that much he _did_ know, and some day perhaps he would find out more. and then he went on to tell them, in his half-joking, half-serious way, that he really thought the swallows were considering whether it was worth while to go away over the sea again next autumn. he had heard them having _such_ a talk early that morning, and as far as he could make out, that was what they were saying. "the spring came so early this year, and the summer looks as if it were going to last for always," he said. "i don't wonder at the swallows. do you, miss lilly?" eva smiled, but shook her head. "it is very nice of them to be considering about it," she replied, "for, no doubt, they will be sorry to leave you and the oriel window, ferdy--sorrier than ever before." for she understood the little boy so well, that she knew it did him no harm to join him in his harmless fancies sometimes. "but they are wiser than we are in certain ways. they can feel the first faint whiff of jack frost's breath long before we have begun to think of cold at all." "like the fairy fine-ear," said ferdy, "who could hear the grass growing. i always like to think of that--there's something so--so _neat_ about it." "what a funny word to use about a fairy thing," said christine, laughing. "ah, well, any way we needn't think about jack frost or cold or winter just yet, and a day like this makes one feel, as ferdy says, as if the summer must last for always." it had been a great, an unspeakable comfort to the family at the watch house, all thinking so constantly about their dear little man, to have this lovely weather for him. it had made it possible for him to enjoy much that would otherwise have been out of the question--above all, the being several hours of the day out of doors. the big doctor had come again, not long after the day i told you of--the day of miss lilly's grandfather's visit, and of the presentation of the "old jerry stick," as it came to be called. and he gave leave at last for ferdy to be carried out of doors and to spend some hours on the lawn, provided they waited till a special kind of couch, or "garden-bed" in ferdy's words, was ordered and sent from london. it was a very clever sort of couch, as it could be lifted off its stand, so to say, and used for carrying the little fellow up and down stairs without the slightest jar or jerk. and ferdy did not feel as if he were deserting his dear oriel window, for the nicest spot in the whole garden for the daily camping-out was on the lawn just below the swallows' home. and watching their quaint doings, their flyings out and in, their "conversations," and now and then even a tiny-bird quarrel among the youngsters, came to be a favourite amusement at the times, which must come in every such life as ferdy had to lead, when he felt too tired to read or to be read to, too tired for his dearly loved "cutting-out" even, clever as he was getting to be at it. miss lilly's hopes were fulfilled. ferdy was having real lessons in carving two or three times a week. dr. lilly had arranged all about it, with the young man he had thought of, before he went away. his going away had turned into a much longer absence than was at first expected, but out of this came one very pleasant thing--miss lilly was living altogether at the watch house. this was a most happy plan for ferdy, and for everybody, especially so far as the carving lessons were concerned, for mr. brock could only come in the evening, and but for miss lilly's presence there might have been difficulties in the way, mrs. ross was so terribly afraid of overtiring ferdy, and nervous about his straining himself or doing too much in any way. but she knew she could trust eva, who really seemed to have, as her grandfather said, "an old head on young shoulders." she was the first to see if ferdy was getting too eager over his work, or tiring himself, and then too, though she had not actual artist talent herself, she had a very quick and correct eye. she understood mr. brock's directions sometimes even better than ferdy himself, and was often able to help him out of a difficulty or give him a hint to set him in a right way when he was working by himself in the day-time. and another person was much the gainer by miss lilly's stay at the watch house. i feel sure, dear children, you will quickly guess who that was. jesse piggot? yes, poor jesse. but for eva i doubt if he would have been allowed to share ferdy's lessons. mrs. ross had grown nervous since that sad birthday morning, though at the time she seemed so calm and strong. but she was now too anxious, and i am afraid flowers was a little to blame for her mistress's fears that jesse would in some way or other harm little ferdy. flowers did not like jesse. indeed, a good many people besides the watch house servants had no love for the boy. it was partly jesse's own fault, partly a case of giving a dog a bad name. "he came of such a rough lot," they would say. "those draymoor folk were all a bad lot, and piggot's set about the worst. jesse was idle, and 'mischeevious,' and impudent," and besides all these opinions of him, which flowers repeated to ferdy's mother, there was always "some illness about at draymoor--at least there was bound to be--scarlet fever or measles or something, in a place where there were such swarms of rough, ill-kept children." this was really not the case, for draymoor was an extraordinarily healthy place, and when mrs. ross spoke to dr. lilly before he left of her fears of infection being brought to her boy, he was able to set her mind more at rest on this point, and eva took care to remind her from time to time of what "grandfather had said." and jesse's luck seemed to have turned. to begin with, he was now regularly employed at the farm, and a week or two after mrs. ross had consented to his sharing ferdy's lessons, the draymoor difficulty came to an end, for farmer meare gave him a little room over the cow-houses, and told him he might spend his sundays there too if he liked, so that there was really no need for him to go backwards and forwards to the neighbourhood ferdy's mother dreaded so, at all. he was not overworked, for he was a very strong boy, but he had plenty to do, and there might have been some excuse for him if he had said he felt too tired "of an evening" to do anything but loiter about or go to bed before the sun did. no fear of anything of the kind, however. jesse was a good example of the saying that it is the busiest people who have the most time. the busier he was in the day, the more eager he seemed that nothing should keep him from making his appearance at the door of the oriel room a few minutes before the time at which the wood-carver from whittingham was due. and he was sure to be heartily welcomed by ferdy and his governess, and christine too, if she happened to be there. the first time or two miss lilly had found it necessary to give him a little hint. "have you washed your hands, jesse?" she said, and as jesse looked at his long brown fingers rather doubtfully, she opened the door again and called to good-natured thomas, who had just brought the boy upstairs. "jesse must wash his hands, please," she said. and from that evening the brown hands were always quite clean. then another hint or two got his curly black hair cropped and his boots brushed, so that it was quite a tidy-looking jesse who sat at the table on mr. brock's other side, listening with all his ears and watching with all his eyes. and he learnt with wonderful quickness. the teacher had been interested in him from the first. old jerry's head had shown him almost at once that the boy had unusual talent, and the next few weeks made him more and more sure of this. "we must not let it drop," he said to eva one day when he was able to speak to her out of hearing of the boys. "when dr. lilly returns i must tell him about jesse. he must not go on working as a farm-labourer much longer. his touch is improving every day, and he will soon be able to group things better than i can do myself--much better than i could do at his age," with a little sigh, for poor mr. brock was not at all conceited. he was clever enough to know pretty exactly what he could do and what he could not, and he felt that he could never rise very much higher in his art. miss lilly listened with great pleasure to his opinion of jesse, but, of course, she said any change in the boy's life was a serious matter, and must wait to be talked over by her grandfather and mr. ross when dr. lilly came home. and in her own heart she did not feel sure that they would wish him to give up his regular work, not at any rate for a good while to come, and till it was more certain that he could make his livelihood in a different way; for what dr. lilly cared most about was to give pleasant and interesting employment for leisure hours--to bring some idea of beauty and gracefulness into dull home lives. she said something of this kind one evening after jesse had gone, and she saw by the bright look in ferdy's face that he understood what she meant, better even than mr. brock himself did perhaps. "it sounds all very nice, miss," said the wood-carver, "but i doubt if there's any good to be done in that sort of way unless when there's real talent such as i feel sure this piggot lad has. the run of those rough folk have no idea beyond loafing about in their idle hours; and, after all, if they're pretty sober--and some few are that--what can one expect? the taste isn't in them, and if it's not there, you can't put it." eva hesitated. "are you so sure of that?" she said doubtfully. "well, miss, it looks like it. with jesse now, there was no encouragement--it came out because it was there." "yes, but i think jesse is an exception. he _has_ unusual talent, and in a case like his i daresay it will come to his choosing a line of his own altogether. but even for those who have no talent, and to begin with, even no taste, i do think _something_ might be done," she said. "thomas has taken to making whistles," said ferdy, "ever since he saw jesse's. he can't carve a bit--not prettily, i mean--but he cuts out letters rather nicely, and he's been giving everybody presents of whistles with their--'relitions' on." "_initials_ you mean, dear," said miss lilly. "_initials_," repeated ferdy, getting rather pink. "ah," said the wood-carver with a smile, "you can't quite take thomas as an example, my boy. why, compared to many of the even well-to-do people about, his whole life is 'a thing of beauty.' look at the rooms he lives in, the gardens, the ladies he sees. and as for those draymoor folk, they'd rather have the bar of an inn than the finest picture gallery in the world. no, miss, with all respect, you 'can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.'" ferdy laughed. he had never heard the quaint old saying before, and as it was time for mr. brock to go, no more was said. but both miss lilly and ferdy had their own thoughts and kept their own opinion. ferdy's own work made him very happy, and of its kind it was very nice. his little mind was full of sweet and pretty fancies, but these, of course, for such a mere child as he was, and especially as he could not sit up to do his carving, it was very difficult to put into actual shape. but his happy cheeriness kept him from being discouraged. "i shall never be as clever as jesse," he told miss lilly and christine, "but i don't mind. p'r'aps when we're big i'll _think_ of things for jesse to _do_." "you can't tell yet what you may be able to do when you're big," said his governess. "i think it is wonderful to see all you can do already. those animals for the poor little children at the hospital are beautiful, ferdy." "they're _toys_," said ferdy with some contempt, "only," more cheerfully, "i'm very glad if they'll please the poor little children. but oh, miss lilly dear, if i could make you see the beautiful things i _think_! the prettiest of all always comes something like the oriel window--like an oriel window in fairyland." "was there a window like that in the house the little fairy had to build, do you think, miss lilly?" asked christine. "no, of course not," said ferdy, before his governess had time to answer. "my thinked window isn't built, it's cut out; it's all beautiful flowers and leaves, like the real window in summer, only far, far prettier. and there are birds' nests, with them _almost_ flying, they are so light and feathery looking, and--" he stopped, and lay back with his eyes closed and a dreamy smile on his face. "when you are older," said miss lilly, "i hope you will travel a good deal and go to see some of the wonderful carvings there are in italy and germany, and indeed in england too. not only wood-carving, but sculpture. fancy, _stone_ worked so as to look as if a breath of air would make it quiver!" she spoke perhaps a little thoughtlessly, and in an instant she felt that she had done so, for ferdy opened his big blue eyes and gazed up at her with a strange wistful expression. "miss lilly dear," he said, "you mustn't count on my doing anything like that--travelling, i mean, or things well people can do. p'r'aps, you know, i'll be all my life like this." eva turned her head aside. she did not want either ferdy or his sister to see that his quaint words made her feel very sad--that, indeed, they brought the tears very near her eyes. and in a minute or two ferdy seemed to have forgotten his own sad warning. he was laughing with christine at the comical expression of a pigling which he had mounted on the back of a rather eccentric-looking donkey--it was his first donkey, and he had found it more difficult than old jerrys. that evening a pleasant and very unexpected thing happened. it was a lesson evening, but a few minutes before the time a message was brought to the oriel room by good-natured thomas. it was from jesse to ask if he might come up, though he knew it was too early, as he wanted "pertickler" to see master ferdy before "the gentleman came." "he may, mayn't he, miss lilly?" asked the little invalid. "oh yes," eva replied. she was careful to please mrs. ross by not letting jesse ever forget to be quite polite and respectful, and never, as he would have called it himself, "to take freedoms," and there was a sort of natural quickness about the boy which made it easy to do this. and somehow, even the few hours he spent at the watch house--perhaps too the refining effect of his pretty work--had already made a great change in him. the old half-defiant, half-good-natured, reckless look had left him; he was quite as bright and merry as before, but no one now, not even flowers, could accuse him of being "impudent." he came in now with an eager light in his eyes, his brown face ruddier than usual; but he did not forget to stop an instant at the door while he made his usual bow or scrape--or a mixture of both. "good evening, jesse," said ferdy, holding out his hand. "why, what have you got there?" as he caught sight of some odd-shaped packages of various sizes, done up in newspaper, which jesse was carrying. "please, master ferdy, i've brought 'em to show you. it's my pupils as has done them. they're nothing much, i know, but still i'm a bit proud of 'em, and i wanted to show them to you and miss here, first of all." he hastened, with fingers almost trembling with eagerness, to unpack the queer-looking parcels, miss lilly, at a glance from ferdy, coming forward to help him. ferdy's own cheeks flushed as the first contents came to light. "oh," he exclaimed, "i _wish_ i could sit up!" but in another moment he had forgotten his little cry of complaint, so interested was he in the curious sight before him. all sorts and shapes of wooden objects came to view. there were pigs' heads, evidently modelled on old jerry, dogs, and horses, and cows, some not to be mistaken, some which would, it must be confessed, have been the better for a label with "this is a--," whatever animal it was meant to be, written upon it; there were round plates with scalloped edges, some with a very simple wreath of leaves; boxes with neat little stiff designs on the lids--in fact, the funniest mixture of things you ever saw, but all with _attempt_ in them--attempt, and good-will, and patience, and here and there a touch of something more--of real talent, however untrained--in them all, or almost all, signs of love of the work. there came a moment or two of absolute silence--silence more pleasing to jesse than any words, for as his quick eyes glanced from one to another of his three friends, he saw that it was the silence of delight and surprise. at last said ferdy, his words tumbling over each other in his eagerness, "miss lilly, chrissie, isn't it wonderful? do you hear what jesse says? it's his _pupils_. he's been teaching what he's been learning. tell us all about it, jesse." "do, do," added eva. "yes, ferdy, you're quite right--it's wonderful. who are they all, jesse?" [illustration: "we works in a shed there, in a field by the smithy ... and we're as jolly as sand-boys."] "there's about a dozen, altogether," began jesse, with, for the first time, a sort of shyness. "it began with one or two at the farm; seein' me so busy of an evening, they thought it'd be better fun nor throwin' sticks into the water for the dogs to catch, or smokin' them rubbishin' sham cigars. we sat in the barn, and then one day i met barney--barney coles, cousin's son to uncle bill at draymoor. barney's not a bad chap, and he's been ill and can't go in the mines. and we talked a bit, and he axed how it was i never come their way, and i said how busy i was, and he might see for hisself. so he comed, and he's got on one of the fastest--with plain work like," and jesse picked out one or two neat little boxes and plates, with stiff unfanciful patterns, carefully done. "he's lots of time just now, you see, and he's got a good eye for measuring. and then he brought one or two more, but i was afraid master wouldn't be best pleased at such a lot of us, so now i go two evenings a week to bollins, close by your place, miss," with a nod, not in the least intended to be disrespectful, in miss lilly's direction, "and we works in a shed there, in a field by the smithy. we got leave first, that's all right, and we fixed up a plank table and some benches, and we're as jolly as sand-boys. i've often had it in my mind to tell you, but i thought i'd better wait a bit till i had somethin' to show." "you will tell mr. brock about it?" said miss lilly. "he will be _nearly_ as pleased as we are--he can't be _quite_. i don't think i have ever been more pleased in my life, jesse." it was "wonderful," as ferdy had said. jesse piggot, the ringleader in every sort of mischief, the "cheeky young rascal" out of one scrape into another, to have started a class for "art work" among the rough colliery boys of draymoor! "oh, i do wish grandfather were back again," eva went on. "_he_ will help you, jesse, in every way he possibly can, i know." "we should be proud if the old doctor'd look at what we're doing," said jesse. "and there's several things i'd like to ask about. some of the boys don't take to the carving, but they're that quick at drawin' things to do, or fancy-like patterns that couldn't be done in wood, but'd make beautiful soft things--couldn't they be taught better? and barney says he's heard tell of brass work. i've never seen it, but he says it's done at some of the institutes, whittingham way, and he'd like that better than wood work." he stopped, half out of breath with the rush of ideas that were taking shape in his mind. "i know what you mean," said miss lilly. "i have seen it. i think it is an ancient art revived again. yes, i don't see why it would not be possible to get teaching in it. and then there's basket work, that is another thing that can be quite done at home, and very pretty things can be made in it. it might suit some of the lads who are not much good at carving." "them moss baskets of master ferdy's are right-down pretty," said jesse. "and you can twist withies about, beautiful." his eyes sparkled--his ideas came much quicker than his power of putting them into words. "there's no want of pretty things to copy," he said after a little silence. "no indeed," said miss lilly. but at that moment the door opened to admit mr. brock. a start of surprise came over the wood-carver as he caught sight of the table covered with jesse's exhibition. and then it had all to be explained to him, in his turn. he was interested and pleased, but scarcely in the same way as eva and ferdy. "we must look them all over," he said, "and carefully separate any work that gives signs of taste or talent. it is no use encouraging lads who have neither." jesse's face fell. he had somehow known that mr. brock would not feel quite as his other friends did about his "pupils." "yes," said miss lilly, "it will no doubt be a good thing to classify the work to some extent. but i would not discourage _any_, mr. brock. taste may grow, if not talent; and if there are only one or two boys with skill enough to do real work, surely the pleasure and interest of making _something_ in their idle hours must be good for all?" the wood-carver smiled indulgently. he thought the young lady rather fanciful, but still he could go along with her to a certain extent. "well, yes," he agreed. "at worst it is harmless. when the doctor returns, miss lilly, we must talk it all over with him; i am anxious to consult him about--" he glanced in jesse's direction meaningly, without the boy's noticing it. for jesse and ferdy were eagerly picking out for their teacher's approval some of the bits of carving which their own instinct had already told them showed promise of better things. chapter x taking refuge it was a saturday afternoon. ferdy, as he lay on his couch in the oriel window, looked out half sadly. the lawn and garden-paths below were thickly strewn with fallen leaves, for the summer was gone--the long beautiful summer which had seemed as if it were going to stay "for always." and the autumn was already old enough to make one feel that winter had started on its journey southwards from the icy lands which are its real home. there were no swallow voices to be heard. oh no; the last of the little tenants of the nests overhead had said good-bye several weeks ago now. ferdy's fancy had often followed them in their strange mysterious journey across the sea. "i wonder," he thought, "if they really _were_ rather sorry to go this year--sorrier than usual, because of me." he took up a bit of carving that he had been working at; it was meant to be a small frame for a photograph of chrissie, and he hoped to get it finished in time for his mother's birthday. it was very pretty, for he had made great progress in the last few months. in and out round the frame twined the foliage he had copied from the real leaves surrounding his dear window, and up in one corner was his pet idea--a swallow's head, "face," ferdy called it, peeping out from an imaginary nest behind. this head was as yet far from completed, and he almost dreaded to work at it, so afraid was he of spoiling it. to-day he had given it a few touches which pleased him, and he took it up, half meaning to do a little more to it, but he was feeling tired, and laid it down again and went back to his own thoughts, as his blue eyes gazed up dreamily into the grey, somewhat stormy-looking autumn sky. some changes had come in the last few months. dr. lilly was at home again, so ferdy and christine no longer had entire possession of their dear governess, though they still saw her every day except sunday, and sometimes even then too. ferdy was, on the whole, a little stronger, though less well than when able to be out for several hours together in the open air. what the doctors now thought as to the chances of his ever getting quite well, he did not know; he had left off asking. children live much in the present, or if not quite that, in a future which is made by their own thoughts and feelings in the present. and he had grown accustomed to his life, and to putting far before him, mistily, the picture of the day when he _would_ be "all right again." he had not really given up the hope of it, though his mother sometimes thought he had. the truth was that as yet the doctors did not know and could not say. but the present had many interests and much happiness in it for ferdy, little as he would have been able to believe this, had he foreseen all he was to be deprived of in a moment that sad may morning. his friendship for jesse was one of the things he got a great deal from. nothing as yet was settled about the boy's future, eager though mr. brock was to see him launched in another kind of life. for both mr. ross and dr. lilly felt that any great step of the sort must first be well thought over, especially as jesse was now working steadily at farmer meare's and earning regular wages, and seemingly quite contented. though he had had his troubles too. some of his old wild companions were very jealous of him and very spiteful; and bit by bit a sort of league had been started against him among the worst and roughest of the draymoor lads, several of whom were angry at not being allowed to join the class in the shed at bollins, some still more angry at having been sent away from the class, for jesse and his friend barney who acted as a sort of second in command were very particular as to whom they took as pupils. or rather as to whom they _kept_; they did not mind letting a boy come two or three times to see "what it was like," but if he turned out idle or disturbing to the others, and with no real interest in the work, he was told in very plain terms that he need not come back. they were patient with some rather dull and stupid lads, however. barney especially so. for he was very "quick" himself. and some of these dull ones really were the most satisfactory. they were so _very_ proud of finding that they could, with patience and perseverance, "make" something, useful at any rate, if not highly ornamental. no one who has not been tried in this way knows the immense pleasure of the first feeling of the power to "make." these things ferdy was thinking of, among others, as he lay there quietly this afternoon. he was alone, except for an occasional "look in" from thomas or flowers, as mr. ross had taken his wife and christine for a drive. ferdy had grown much older in the last few months in some ways. he had had so much time for thinking. and though he did not, as i have said, trouble himself much about his own future, he thought a good deal about jesse's. there was no doubt that jesse was _very_ clever at carving. ferdy knew it, and saw it for himself, and miss lilly thought so, and the old doctor thought so; and most of them all, mr. brock thought so. but for some weeks past mr. brock's lessons had stopped. he had been sent away by the firm at whittingham who employed him, to see to the restoration of an old house in the country, where the wood carving, though much out of repair, was very fine, and required a careful and skilful workman to superintend its repair. so there seemed to be no one at hand quite as eager about jesse as ferdy himself. "the winter is coming fast," thought the little invalid, "and they can't go on working in the shed. and jesse may get into idle ways again--he's not learning anything new now. it fidgets me so. i'd like him to be sent to some place where he'd get on fast. i don't believe he cares about it himself half as much as i care about it for him. and he's so taken up with his 'pupils.' i wonder what could be done about getting some one to teach them. barney isn't clever enough. oh, if only mamma wouldn't be so afraid of my tiring myself, and would let me have a class for them up here in the winter evenings! or i might have two classes,--there are only ten or twelve of them altogether,--and once a week or so mr. brock might come to help me, or not even as often as that. if he came once a fortnight or even once a month he could see how they were getting on,--_extra_ coming, i mean, besides his teaching me, for of course the more i learn the better i can teach them. and another evening we might have a class for something else--baskets or something not so hard as carving. miss lilly's learning baskets, i know. and then jesse wouldn't mind leaving his pupils. oh, i do wish it could be settled. i wish i could talk about it again to dr. lilly. i don't think jesse's quite am--i can't remember the word--caring enough about getting on to be something great." poor jesse, it was not exactly want of ambition with him. it was simply that the idea of becoming anything more than a farm-labourer had never yet entered his brain. he thought himself very lucky indeed to be where he now was, and to have the chance of improving in his dearly loved "carving" without being mocked at or interfered with, neither of which so far had actually been the case, though there had been some unpleasant threatenings in the air of late. his efforts to interest and improve the boys of the neighbourhood had been looked upon with suspicion--with more suspicion than he had known till quite lately, when he and barney had been trying to get some one to lend them a barn or an empty room of any kind for the winter. "what was he after now? some mischief, you might be sure, or he wouldn't be jesse piggot." so much easier is it to gain "a bad name," than to live one down. "oh," thought little ferdy, "i do _wish_ something could be settled about jesse." he was growing restless--restless and nervous, which did not often happen. was it the gloomy afternoon, or the being so long alone, or what? the clouds overhead were growing steely-blue, rather than grey. could it be going to thunder? surely it was too cold for that. perhaps there was a storm of some other kind coming on--heavy rain or wind, perhaps. and mamma and chrissie would get _so_ wet! if only they would come in! ferdy began to feel what he very rarely did--rather sorry for himself. it was nervousness, one of the troubles which are the hardest to bear in a life such as ferdy's had become and might continue. but this he was too young to understand; he thought he was cross and discontented, and this self-reproach only made him the more uncomfortable. these feelings, however, were not allowed to go very far that afternoon. a sound reached ferdy's quick ears which made him look up sharply and glance out of the window. some one was running rapidly along the drive towards the house. it was jesse. but fast as he came, his way of moving told of fatigue. he had run far, and seemed nearly spent. ferdy's heart began to beat quickly, something must be the matter. could it be an accident? oh! if anything had happened to his father and mother and chrissie, and jesse had been sent for help! but in that case he would have gone straight to the stable-yard, and as this thought struck him, ferdy breathed more freely again. perhaps, after all, it was only some message and nothing wrong, and jesse had been running fast just for his own amusement. the little boy lay still and listened. in a minute or two he heard footsteps coming upstairs. then a slight tap at the door--thomas's tap--and almost without waiting for an answer, the footman came in. "it's jesse, master ferdy," he began. "jesse piggot. he's run all the way from bollins, and he's pretty well done. he's begging to see you. he's in some trouble, but he won't tell me what. i'm afraid your mamma won't be best pleased if i let him up, but i don't know what to do, he seems in such a state." ferdy raised himself a little on his couch. there must be something very much the matter for jesse, merry, light-hearted jesse, to be in a "state" at all. "let him come up at once, thomas, i'll put it all right with mamma," he began, but before thomas had time for any more hesitation the matter was taken out of his hands by jesse's short-cropped, dark head appearing in the doorway. "oh, master ferdy!" he exclaimed, in a choking voice, "mayn't i come in?" "of course," said ferdy quickly. "it's all right, thomas," with a touch of impatience, "i'll call you if i want you," and thomas discreetly withdrew, closing the door behind him. "they're after me, master ferdy," were jesse's first words, "at least i'm afraid they are, though i tried my best to dodge them." "who?" exclaimed ferdy. "the p'lice and bill turner's father, and a lot of them, and oh, master ferdy, some one called out he was killed!" "who?" said ferdy again, though his own cheeks grew white at jesse's words. "and what is it that's happened, and what do you want me to do. you must tell me properly, jesse." it said a good deal for ferdy's self-control that he was able to speak so quietly and sensibly, for he was feeling terribly startled. jesse choked down his gasping breath, which was very nearly turning into sobs. "i didn't want to frighten you, master ferdy. i didn't ought to, i know, but i couldn't think what else to do. it's that bill turner, master ferdy," and at the name he gave a little shudder. "he was in the class once, but it was only out of mischief. he did no good and tried to upset the others. so barney and i wouldn't keep him at no price, and he's gone on getting nastier and nastier, and the other day he 'called' me--he did--so that i couldn't stand it, and i went for him. it didn't hurt him, but it made him madder than ever, and he said he'd pay me out. and this afternoon when barney and me were sorting the carvings at the shed--we've a box we keep them all in, there--bill comes down upon us, him and some others. they got hold of 'em all and smashed 'em up and kicked them to pieces--all to pieces, master ferdy"--with a sort of wail, almost of despair, in his voice. "all the things we've been at for so long! we were going to make a show of them at christmas; and i couldn't stand it, i went at him like a wild beast--it was for the other lads i minded so--though he's much bigger nor me, and i got him down, and he lay there without moving, and some one called out he was dead, and then the p'lice came, and one of 'em caught hold of me, but i got loose and i started running--i scarce knew what i was doing. i just thought i'd get here, and you'd tell me what to do. he can't be dead, master ferdy," he went on, dropping his voice--"you don't think he can be? i didn't seem to know what it meant till i got here and began to think." "i don't know," said ferdy, again growing very pale, while poor jesse's face was all blotched in great patches of red and white, and smeared with the tears he had tried to rub off. "oh, i do wish papa and mamma would come in! i don't know what to do. do you think they saw you running this way, jesse?" "i--i don't know, master ferdy. i hope not, but there was a lot of the boys about--draymoor boys, i mean--bill's lot, and they may have tracked me. of course none of _my_ boys," he added, lifting his head proudly, "would peach on me, whatever the p'lice did." but even as he spoke, there came, faintly and confusedly, the sound of approaching steps along the road just beyond the hedge, and a murmur of several voices all talking together. it might not have caught ferdy's attention at any other time, but just now both his ears and jesse's were sharpened by anxiety. "they're a coming, master ferdy," exclaimed the poor boy, growing still whiter. "never mind," said ferdy, trying hard to be brave, "thomas is all right, he won't let them come up here." "oh, but maybe he can't stop them," said jesse. "the p'lice can force their way anywheres. i wouldn't mind so much if it _had_ to be--like if your papa was here and said i must go to prison. but if they take me off now with no one to speak up for me, seems to me as if i'd never get out again." poor ferdy was even more ignorant than jesse of everything to do with law and prisons and the like; he looked about him almost wildly. "jesse," he said in a whisper. "i know what to do. creep under my couch and lie there quite still. thomas is all right, and nobody else saw you come up, did they?" "no one else saw me at all," jesse replied, dropping his voice, and going down on his hands and knees, "better luck. i'll keep still, no fear, master ferdy," his boyish spirits already rising again at the idea of "doing the p'lice," "and they'd never dare look under your sofa." he scrambled in, but put his head out again for a moment to whisper in an awestruck tone, "but oh, master ferdy, if they do come up here, please try to find out if bill turner's so badly hurt as they said. i know it _can't_ be true that i did as bad as _that_." all the same he was terribly frightened and remorseful. ferdy scarcely dared to reply, for by this time a group of men and boys was coming up the drive, and a constable in front marched along as if he meant business, for as ferdy watched them, he turned round and waved back the eight or ten stragglers who were following him, though he still held by the arm a thin, pale-faced little fellow whom he had brought with him all the way. this was barney, poor jesse's first lieutenant. another minute or two passed. then hurrying steps on the stairs again, and thomas reappeared, looking very excited. "master ferdy," he exclaimed, but stopped short on seeing that his little master was alone. "bless me!" he ejaculated under his breath, "he's gone! and i never saw him leave the house." "what is it, thomas?" said ferdy, trying to speak and look as usual. "i saw the constable come in--you must tell him papa's out." "i have told him so, sir, and i'm very sorry, but he will have it he must see you. some one's been and told that jesse ran this way." "let him come up then," said ferdy, with dignity, "though i'm sure papa will be very angry, and i don't believe he's any right to force his way in! but i'm not afraid of him!" proudly. "master _will_ be angry for certain," said thomas, "very angry, and i've told the constable so. but he's in a temper, and a very nasty one, and won't listen to reason. he says them draymoor boys are getting past bearing. i only hope," he went on, speaking more to himself, as he turned to leave the room again, "i only hope he won't get me into a scrape too for letting him up to frighten master ferdy--not that he _is_ frightened all the same!" chapter xi under the sofa two minutes later the burly form of constable brownrigg appeared at the door. he was already, to tell the truth, cooling down a little and beginning to feel rather ashamed of himself; and when his eyes lighted on the tiny figure in the window--looking even smaller and more fragile than ferdy really was--the clumsy but far from bad-hearted man could at first find nothing to say for himself. then-- "i beg pardon, sir, i hope i haven't upset you, but dooty's dooty!" ferdy raised his head a little, and looked the constable straight in the face, without condescending to notice the half apology. "what is it you want of me?" he said coldly. "it's all along of that there jesse piggot," replied brownrigg, "as bad a lot as ever were!" "what's he been doing?" said ferdy again in the same tone, rather turning the tables upon the constable, as if he--brownrigg--and not ferdy himself, was the one to be cross-questioned. the man glanced round him half suspiciously. "he was seen coming here, sir." "well, suppose he _had_ come here, you can't take him up for that?" said the boy. "i'm asking you what harm he'd done." "he got up a row at bollins this afternoon, and half killed a poor lad--bill turner by name--threw him down and half stunned him." "half stunned him," repeated ferdy, "that's not quite the same as half killing him. have you sent him to the hospital?" "well no, sir," said the constable, "he come to again--them boys has nine lives more than cats. i don't suppose he's really much the worse. but these draymoor fights must be put a stop to, they're getting worse and worse; i've had orders to that effect," drawing himself up. "and has jesse piggot been mixed up with them lately?" said ferdy severely. again the constable looked rather small. "well no, sir," he repeated, "but what does that matter, if he's been the offender to-day." this was true enough. "but what do you want _me_ to do?" asked ferdy. "to detain the lad if he comes here and give him up to the lawful authorities," said brownrigg more fluently. "everybody knows you've been very kind to him, but it's no true kindness to screen him from the punishment he deserves." a new idea struck ferdy. "did he begin the fight then?" he said. "there's such a thing as--as defending oneself, quite rightly. supposing the other boy started it?" "that will be all gone into in the proper time and place," said brownrigg pompously. "an example must be made, and--" before he had time to finish his sentence ferdy interrupted him joyfully. he had just caught sight of the pony-carriage driving in rapidly. for some garbled account of what had happened had been given to mr. ross by the group of men and boys still hanging about the gates, and he hurried in, afraid of finding his boy startled and upset. nor did the sight of the stout constable reassure him. on the contrary it made mr. ross very indignant. he scarcely noticed brownrigg's half-apologetic greeting. "what's all this?" he said sharply. "who gave you leave to come up here and disturb an invalid?" brownrigg grew very red, and murmured something about his "dooty." [illustration: "step downstairs, if you please, and then i'll hear what you've got to say."] "you've exceeded it in this case, i think you'll find," the master of the house replied severely. "step downstairs if you please, and then i'll hear what you've got to say," and to ferdy's inexpressible relief, for the consciousness of jesse's near presence was beginning to make him terribly nervous. mr. ross held the door wide open and the constable shamefacedly left the room. scarcely had he done so when there came a subterranean whisper, "master ferdy," it said, "shall i come out?" "no, no," ferdy replied quickly. "stay where you are, jesse, unless you're choking. mamma will be coming in most likely. wait till papa comes back again, and i can tell him all about it." rather to ferdy's surprise, the answer was a sort of giggle. "i'm all right, thank you, master ferdy--as jolly as a sand-boy. and you did speak up to the old bobby, master ferdy; you did set him down. but i'm right down glad bill turner's none the worse, i am. it give me a turn when they called out i'd done for him." and ferdy understood then that the giggle came in part from relief of mind. "hush now, jesse," he said. "i want to watch for brownrigg's going. and till he's clear away, you'd best not come out, nor speak." there was not very long to wait. for though mr. ross spoke out his mind very plainly to the constable, he made short work of it, and within ten minutes of the man leaving the oriel room, ferdy had the pleasure, as he announced to jesse in a sort of stage whisper, of seeing the worthy mr. brownrigg walking down the drive, some degrees less pompously than on his arrival. nor was he now accompanied by poor little barney, whom mr. ross had kept back, struck by pity for the lad's white, frightened face, as the constable could not say that there was any "charge" against _him_, except that he had been an eye-witness of the "row." "it's all right now, jesse," ferdy added in a minute or two. "he's quite gone--old brownrigg, i mean--so you'd better come out." jesse emerged from his hiding-place, a good deal redder in the face than when he went in, though he was still trembling inwardly at the idea of meeting ferdy's father. "you don't think, master ferdy--" he was beginning, when the door opened and both mr. and mrs. ross came in. "ferdy, darling," exclaimed his mother, "you've not been really frightened, i hope--" but she stopped short, startled by an exclamation from her husband. "jesse!" he said. "you here after all! upon my word!" and for a moment he looked as if he were really angry. then the absurd side of the matter struck him, and it was with some difficulty that he suppressed a smile. "my dear boy," he went on, glancing at the tiny, but determined-looking figure on the couch, "you'll be having your poor old father pulled up for conniving at felony." "i don't know what that is, papa," said ferdy. "but if it means hiding jesse under the sofa--yes, i _did_ do it, and i'd do it again. it wasn't jesse thought of it, only he was afraid that if brownrigg took him away he'd be put in prison and have nobody to speak up for him, and perhaps have been kept there for ever and ever so long." "your opinion of the law of the land is not a very high one apparently, jesse," said mr. ross, eying the boy gravely. jesse shuffled and grew very red. "i'll do whatever you think right, sir," he said stoutly. "if i must give myself up to brownrigg, i'll run after him now. i don't want to get master ferdy nor you into any bother about me, after--after all you've done for me," and for the first time the boy broke down, turning his face away to hide the tears which he tried to rub off with the cuff of his sleeve. "oh, papa," said ferdy pleadingly, his own eyes growing suspiciously dewy, "mamma, mamma, look at him." up to that moment, to tell the truth, mrs. ross's feelings towards jesse had not been very cordial. the sight of him had startled her and made her almost as indignant with him as with the constable. but now her kind heart was touched. she glanced at her husband, but what she saw already in his face set her mind at rest. "come, come," said mr. ross, "don't put yourself out about it, ferdy. tell me the whole story quietly, or let jesse do so," and after swallowing one or two sobs, jesse found voice to do as he was desired. he told his tale simply and without exaggeration, though his voice shook and quivered when he came to the sad part of the destruction of the many weeks' labour of himself and his "pupils," and mrs. ross could not keep back a little cry of indignation. "it is certainly not _jesse_ who deserves punishment," she said eagerly, turning to her husband. "if he could have controlled himself," said mr. ross, "to the point of _not_ knocking down that bully, turner, his case would have been a still stronger one. do you see that, my boy?" he went on, turning to jesse, who murmured something indistinctly in reply. "i'm glad he did knock him down all the same, papa," said ferdy. "you don't now think jesse need give himself up to the p'lice?" he added anxiously. "certainly not," said mr. ross, "but it will be best for me to see brownrigg and tell him all i now know--except--no i don't think i will tell him of the hiding-place under your sofa, ferdy." then turning again to jesse, "to-morrow is sunday," he said; "do you generally go to see your friends at draymoor on a sunday?" "sometimes," said jesse; "not always, sir." "then they won't think anything of it if they don't see you to-morrow?" "oh lor, no," jesse replied. "they'd think nothing of it if they never saw me again. it's only barney that cares for me or me for him of all that lot." "oh yes, by the bye--barney!" said mr. ross, starting up. "i left him downstairs, poor little fellow. he is in my study--you know where that is, jesse, run and fetch him," and jesse, delighted at this proof of confidence, started off quite cheerfully on his errand. when he was out of hearing, mr. ross said thoughtfully, "it won't do for that lad to remain in this neighbourhood, i see. i must have a talk about him again with dr. lilly, and probably with brock. something must be decided as to his future, and if he really has talent above the average he must be put in the right way towards making it of use." ferdy's eyes sparkled; sorry as he would be to be parted from jesse, this was what he, as well as miss lilly, had long been hoping for. before he had time to say anything, a tap at the door told that the two boys were outside. "come in," said mr. ross, and then jesse reappeared, half leading, half pushing his small cousin before him. mrs. ross was touched by barney's white face and general air of delicacy. "don't look so scared," she heard jesse whisper to him. "you must be tired, barney," she said kindly. "jesse and you must have some tea before you go back to draymoor." "jesse's not to go back to draymoor, mamma," said ferdy, looking up quickly. "no," said mr. ross, "that is what i wish to speak to barney about. will you tell your father, barney--is it to your father's house that jesse goes on sundays generally?" "no, sir, please, sir, i haven't a father--mother and me's alone. it's my uncle's." "well, then, tell your uncle from me," continued mr. ross, "that i think it best to keep jesse here at present, and that he was not to blame for the affair this afternoon. i shall see the constable again about it myself." barney's face expressed mingled relief and disappointment. "yes, sir," he said obediently. "there'll be no more classes then, i suppose?" he added sadly. "is jesse not even to come as far as bollins?" "not at present," replied mr. ross, and then, feeling sorry for the little fellow, he added: "if your mother can spare you, you may come over here to-morrow and have your sunday dinner with your cousin in the servants' hall." both boys' faces shone with pleasure. "and will you tell the lads, barney," said jesse, "how it's all been. and what i minded most was their things being spoilt." barney's face grew melancholy again. "don't look so downhearted," said mr. ross. "we won't forget you and the other boys. your work has already done you great credit." ferdy's lips opened as if he were about to speak, but the little fellow had learnt great thoughtfulness of late, and he wisely decided that what he had to say had better be kept till he was alone with his parents. just then christine made her appearance, very eager to know more about the constable's visit and the exciting events of the afternoon. so mrs. ross left her with her brother while she herself took the two boys downstairs to put them into the housekeeper's charge for tea, of which both struck her as decidedly in need. "papa," said ferdy, when he had finished going over the whole story again for his sister's benefit, "don't you think if jesse has to go away that _i_ might take on the class, one or two evenings a week any way? mr. brock might come sometimes--extra, you know--just to see how they were getting on. and they would be quite safe here, and nobody would dare to spoil their things." "and miss lilly and i would help," said christine eagerly. "there are some of them, jesse has told us, that want to learn other things--not only wood-carving--that _we_ could help them with. miss lilly's been having lessons herself in basket-making." "dr. lilly has reason to be proud of his granddaughter," said mr. ross warmly. "we must talk it all over. it would certainly seem a terrible pity for the poor fellows to lose what they have gained, not merely in skill, but the good habit of putting to use some of their leisure hours--miners have so much idle time." "there's the big empty room downstairs near the servants' hall," said ferdy. "could not i be carried down there, papa?" mr. ross hesitated. he felt doubtful, but anxious not to disappoint the boy, for as his eyes rested on the fragile little figure and he realised what ferdy's future life might be, he could not but think to himself how happy and healthy a thing it was that his child should be so ready to interest himself in others, instead of becoming self-engrossed and discontented. "we must see what mr. stern says," he replied, "and--yes, it will soon be time for the other doctor's visit. it would be a long walk from draymoor for the lads." "_they_ wouldn't mind," said ferdy decisively. "and now and then," said christine, "we might give them tea for a treat--once a month or so. oh! it would be lovely!" chapter xii another birthday again a spring morning, only two or three years ago. evercombe and the watch house look much as they did when we first saw them; one could fancy that but a few months instead of ten years had passed since then. the swallows are there, established in their summer quarters above the oriel window, the same and yet not the same, though their chirping voices may, for all we know, be telling of the little boy who for so long lay on his couch below, and loved them so well. he is not there now, nor is his couch in its old place. instead of the small white face and eager blue eyes, there stands at the post of observation a tall young girl, a very pretty girl, with a bright flush of happy expectancy on her fair face. "mamma, mamma," she exclaims to some one farther in the shade of the room. "i think i hear wheels. surely it will be they this time! if it isn't i really shan't have patience to stand here any longer." but "this time" her hopes were fulfilled. another moment and a carriage, which christine, for christine of course it was, quickly recognised as their own, turned in at the lodge gates. and before those inside had time to look up at the window, chrissie had flown downstairs followed by her mother. "ferdy, ferdy," she exclaimed, as the carriage-door opened, and her brother, his face flushed with pleasure equal to her own, got out, slowly, and with a little help from his father, for the young man was slightly lame, though his face told of health and fair strength. he was sunburnt and manly looking, full of life and happy eagerness. "isn't he looking well, mamma?" said chrissie, when the first loving greetings had sobered down a little. "and haven't i grown?" added ferdy, drawing himself up for approval. "and isn't it delightful that i managed to get back on my birthday after all?" "yes, indeed, my darling," said mrs. ross; while his father gently placed his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, repeated her words--"yes, indeed! when we think of this day--how many years ago! ten?--yes, it must be ten--you were nine then, ferdy, how very, unutterably thankful we should be to have you as you are." "and to judge by my looks you don't know the best of me," said ferdy. "i can walk ever so far without knocking up. but oh! what heaps of things we have to talk about!" "come in to breakfast first," said his mother. "it is ten o'clock, and after travelling all night you must be a little tired." "i am really not, only very hungry," said ferdy, as he followed her into the dining-room, where the happy party seated themselves round the table. ferdy had been away, abroad, for nearly two years, both for study and for health's sake, and the result was more than satisfactory. school-life had been impossible for him, for the effect of his accident had been but very slowly outgrown. slowly but surely, however, for now at nineteen, except for his slight lameness, he was perfectly well, and able to look forward to a busy and useful life, though the exact profession he was now to prepare himself for, was not yet quite decided upon. a busy and useful and happy life it promised to be, with abundance of interests for his leisure hours. he was no genius, but the tastes which he had had special opportunity for cultivating through his boyhood, were not likely to fail him as he grew up. and in many a dull and sunless home would they help him to bring something to cheer the dreary sameness of hard-working lives. they had done so already, more than he as yet knew. breakfast over and his old haunts revisited, mrs. ross at last persuaded him and his sister to join her on the lawn, where she had established herself with her work for the rest of the morning. "this is to be a real holiday, ferdy," she said. "chrissie and i have been looking forward to it for so long. we have nothing to do but to talk and listen." "i have heaps to tell," said ferdy, "but even more to ask. my life in switzerland was really awfully jolly in every way, but i'll tell you all about it by degrees; besides, i did write long letters, didn't i?" "yes, you did," said his mother and chrissie together; "you have been very good about letters all the time." "of course," began ferdy, after a moment or two's silence, "the thing i want to hear most about is how the classes have all been getting on. you kept me pretty well posted up about them, but in your last letters there was some allusion i didn't quite understand--something that the mayhews have been trying to arrange." christine glanced at her mother. "i may tell him, mayn't i, mamma? now that it is all settled? it is not only the mayhews' doing, but jesse piggot's too." and as ferdy's face lightened up at the mention of his friend's name--"he hasn't told you about it himself, surely?" in a tone of some disappointment. "i know that he wrote you long letters regularly, but i thought he understood that we wanted to keep this new thing as a surprise for you when you came back." ferdy looked puzzled. "he hasn't told me anything special except about himself. the last big piece of news, since of course it was all settled about his getting that capital berth at whittingham, that brock was so delighted about--the last big piece of news was his getting the order for the carved reredos at cowlingsbury abbey. but that was some time ago!" "oh yes," said christine, "we have got over the excitement about that. though when you think of it," she went on thoughtfully, "it is wonderful to realise how jesse has got on." "and is going to get on," added mrs. ross. "and without flattery, ferdy dear, we may say that it is greatly, very greatly owing to you." ferdy's face grew red with pleasure. "i can't quite see that," he said. "genius must make its own way. but do tell me the _new_ news, chrissie." "it is that mr. mayhew has got ground and money and everything for a sort of,--we don't know what to call it yet--'institute' is such an ugly word, we must think of something prettier,--a sort of art college at draymoor for the afternoon and evening classes. it won't be on a large scale. it would spoil it if it were, and a great part of their work can still be done at home, which is of course the real idea of it all. but this little college will really be for teaching what, up to now, has had to be done in odd rooms here and there." "oh!" ferdy exclaimed, "that is splendid!" "for you see," chrissie continued, counting up on her pretty fingers as she spoke, "what a lot of different kinds of work we've got to now. wood-carving to begin with--we must always count it first!" "no," said ferdy, laughing, "strictly speaking, moss baskets came first." "wood-carving," repeated chrissie, not condescending to notice the interruption. "then the modelling, and pottery classes, basket work, brass hammering, and the iron work, not to speak of the girls' embroidery and lace work. yes," with a deep sigh of satisfaction, "it _is_ time for a little college of our own." "a great, great deal of it," said ferdy, "is owing to miss lilly--i always forget to call her mrs. mayhew. if only she hadn't gone and got married we might have called it the 'lily college,' after her." "if she hadn't gone and got married, as you elegantly express it, mr. mayhew would never, probably, have been the vicar of draymoor," said chrissie. "for it was through his being such a great friend of dr. lilly's that he got to know the old squire, who gave him the living. and just think of all he has done--mr. mayhew i mean--for draymoor." ferdy did not at once reply. he gazed up into the blue sky and listened to the sweet bird-chatter overhead, with a look of great content on his face. "yes," he said, "things do turn out so--quite rightly sometimes. just when you'd have thought they'd go wrong! there was that row of jesse's to begin with, when he thought all he had tried to do was spoilt, and then there were all the difficulties about the evening classes, while i was still ill, and it almost seemed as if we would have to give them up. and then--and then--why! when it was fixed for me to go away two years ago, i could scarcely believe they'd go on, even though mr. mayhew had come by that time. yes, it's rather wonderful! i say, chrissie," with a sudden change of tone, "doesn't it really sound as if the swallows were rather excited about my coming home!" christine looked up at the oriel window with a smile. "i wonder," she said, "if _possibly_ any of them can be the same ones, or if they are telling over the story that has been handed down from their great-grandparents--the story of the little white boy that used to lie on the couch in the window?" * * * * * this is not a completed story, dear children, as you will have seen. it is only the story of the beginning of a life, and of the beginning of a work, which in many and many a place, besides gloomy draymoor, started in the humblest and smallest way. if ever, or wherever any of you come across this endeavour to brighten and refine dull, ungraceful, and ungracious homes, you will do your best to help it on, i feel sure, will you not? the end a new uniform edition of mrs. molesworth's stories for children with illustrations by walter crane and leslie brooke. * * * * * in ten volumes. mo. cloth. one dollar a volume. * * * * * tell me a story, and herr baby. "carrots," and a christmas child. grandmother dear, and two little waifs. the cuckoo clock, and the tapestry room. christmas-tree land, and a christmas posy. the children of the castle, and four winds farm. little miss peggy, and nurse heatherdale's story. "us," and the rectory children. rosy, and the girls and i. mary. sheila's mystery. carved lions. * * * * * the set, twelve volumes, in box, $ . . * * * * * "it seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to draw a lifelike man or woman: shakespeare and webster were the only two men of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy and success; at least, if there was another who could, i must crave pardon of his happy memory for my forgetfulness or ignorance of his name. our own age is more fortunate, on this single score at least, having a larger and far nobler proportion of female writers; among whom, since the death of george eliot, there is none left whose touch is so exquisite and masterly, whose love is so thoroughly according to knowledge, whose bright and sweet invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so delightful as mrs. molesworth's. any chapter of _the cuckoo clock_ or the enchanting _adventures of herr baby_ is worth a shoal of the very best novels dealing with the characters and fortunes of mere adults."--mrs. a. c. swinburne, in _the nineteenth century_. mrs. molesworth's stories for children. * * * * * "there is hardly a better author to put into the hands of children than mrs. molesworth. i cannot easily speak too highly of her work. it is a curious art she has, not wholly english in its spirit, but a cross of the old english with the italian. indeed, i should say mrs. molesworth had also been a close student of the german and russian, and had some way, catching and holding the spirit of all, created a method and tone quite her own.... her characters are admirable and real."--_st. louis globe democrat._ "mrs. molesworth has a rare gift for composing stories for children. with a light, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet natural and strong, characters."--_congregationalist._ "mrs. molesworth always has in her books those charming touches of nature that are sure to charm small people. her stories are so likely to have been true that men 'grown up' do not disdain them."--_home journal._ "no english writer of childish stories has a better reputation than mrs. molesworth, and none with whose stories we are familiar deserves it better. she has a motherly knowledge of the child nature, a clear sense of character, the power of inventing simple incidents that interest, and the ease which comes of continuous practice."--_mail and express._ "christmas would hardly be christmas without one of mrs. molesworth's stories. no one has quite the same power of throwing a charm and an interest about the most commonplace every-day doings as she has, and no one has ever blended fairyland and reality with the same skill."--_educational times._ "mrs. molesworth is justly a great favorite with children; her stories for them are always charmingly interesting and healthful in tone."--_boston home journal._ "mrs. molesworth's books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well adapted to refined life. it is safe to add that mrs. molesworth is the best english prose writer for children.... a new volume from mrs. molesworth is always a treat."--_the beacon._ "no holiday season would be complete for a host of young readers without a volume from the hand of mrs. molesworth.... it is one of the peculiarities of mrs. molesworth's stories that older readers can no more escape their charm than younger ones."--_christian union._ "mrs. molesworth ranks with george macdonald and mrs. ewing as a writer of children's stories that possess real literary merit."--_milwaukee sentinel._ * * * * * the set, eleven volumes, in box, $ . . * * * * * tell me a story, and herr baby. "so delightful that we are inclined to join in the petition, and we hope she may soon tell us more stories."--_athenæum._ * * * * * "carrots"; just a little boy. "one of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our good fortune to meet with for some time. carrots and his sister are delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to become very fond of."--_examiner._ * * * * * a christmas child; a sketch of a boy's life. "a very sweet and tenderly drawn sketch, with life and reality manifest throughout."--_pall mall gazette._ "this is a capital story, well illustrated. mrs. molesworth is one of those sunny, genial writers who has genius for writing acceptably for the young. she has the happy faculty of blending enough real with romance to make her stories very practical for good without robbing them of any of their exciting interest."--_chicago inter-ocean._ "mrs. molesworth's _a christmas child_ is a story of a boy-life. the book is a small one, but none the less attractive. it is one of the best of this year's juveniles."--_chicago tribune._ "mrs. molesworth is one of the few writers of tales for children whose sentiment though of the sweetest kind is never sickly; whose religious feeling is never concealed yet never obtruded; whose books are always good but never 'goody.' little ted with his soft heart, clever head, and brave spirit is no morbid presentment of the angelic child 'too good to live,' and who is certainly a nuisance on earth, but a charming creature, if not a portrait, whom it is a privilege to meet even in fiction."--_the academy._ * * * * * the cuckoo clock. "a beautiful little story.... it will be read with delight by every child into whose hands it is placed."--_pall mall gazette._ * * * * * grandmother dear. "the author's concern is with the development of character, and seldom does one meet with the wisdom, tact, and good breeding which pervades this little book."--_nation._ * * * * * two little waifs. "mrs. molesworth's delightful story of _two little waifs_ will charm all the small people who find it in their stockings. it relates the adventures of two lovable english children lost in paris, and is just wonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youthful heart."--_new york tribune._ "it is, in its way, indeed, a little classic, of which the real beauty and pathos can hardly be appreciated by young people.... it is not too much to say of the story that it is perfect of its kind."--_critic and good literature._ "mrs. molesworth is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are always acceptable to all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record of the adventures of the little waifs is as entertaining and enjoyable as we might expect."--_boston courier._ "_two little waifs_ by mrs. molesworth is a pretty little fancy, relating the adventures of a pair of lost children, in a style full of simple charm. it is among the very daintiest of juvenile books that the season has yet called forth; and its pathos and humor are equally delightful. the refined tone and the tender sympathy with the feelings and sentiments of childhood, lend it a special and an abiding charm."--_boston saturday evening gazette._ "this is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of mrs. molesworth, detailing the various adventures of a couple of motherless children in searching for their father, whom they had missed in paris where they had gone to meet him."--_montreal star._ "mrs. molesworth is a popular name, not only with a host of english, but with a considerable army of young american readers, who have been charmed by her delicate fancy and won by the interest of her style. _two little waifs_, illustrated by walter crane, is a delightful story, which comes, as all children's stories ought to do, to a delightful end."--_christian union._ * * * * * the tapestry room. "mrs. molesworth is the queen of children's fairyland. she knows how to make use of the vague, fresh, wondering instincts of childhood, and to invest familiar things with fairy glamour."--_athenæum._ "the story told is a charming one of what may be called the neo-fairy sort.... there has been nothing better of its kind done anywhere for children, whether we consider its capacity to awake interest or its wholesomeness."--_evening post._ "among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique than _the tapestry room_. like all of mrs. molesworth's stories it will please young readers by the very attractive and charming style in which it is written."--_presbyterian journal._ "mrs. molesworth will be remembered as a writer of very pleasing stories for children. a new book from her pen will be sure of a welcome from all the young people. the new story bears the name of _the tapestry room_ and is a child's romance.... the child who comes into possession of the story will count himself fortunate. it is a bright, wholesome story, in which the interest is maintained to the end. the author has the faculty of adapting herself to the tastes and ideas of her readers in an unusual way."--_new haven paladium._ * * * * * christmas-tree land. "it is conceived after a happy fancy, as it relates the supposititious journey of a party of little ones through that part of fairyland where christmas-trees are supposed to most abound. there is just enough of the old-fashioned fancy about fairies mingled with the 'modern improvements' to incite and stimulate the youthful imagination to healthful action. the pictures by walter crane are, of course, not only well executed in themselves, but in charming consonance with the spirit of the tale."--_troy times._ "_christmas-tree land_, by mrs. molesworth, is a book to make younger readers open their eyes wide with delight. a little boy and a little girl domiciled in a great white castle, wander on their holidays through the surrounding fir-forests, and meet with the most delightful pleasures. there is a fascinating, mysterious character in their adventures and enough of the fairy-like and wonderful to puzzle and enchant all the little ones."--_boston home journal._ * * * * * a christmas posy. "this is a collection of eight of those inimitable stories for children which none could write better than mrs. molesworth. her books are prime favorites with children of all ages and they are as good and wholesome as they are interesting and popular. this makes a very handsome book, and its illustrations are excellent."--_christian at work._ "_a christmas posy_ is one of those charming stories for girls which mrs molesworth excels in writing."--_philadelphia press._ "here is a group of bright, wholesome stories, such as are dear to children, and nicely tuned to the harmonies of christmas-tide. mr. crane has found good situations for his spirited sketches."--_churchman._ "_a christmas posy_, by mrs. molesworth, is lovely and fragrant. mrs. molesworth succeeds by right to the place occupied with so much honor by the late mrs. ewing, as a writer of charming stories for children. the present volume is a cluster of delightful short stories. mr. crane's illustrations are in harmony with the text."--_christian intelligencer._ * * * * * the children of the castle. "_the children of the castle_, by mrs. molesworth, is another of those delightful juvenile stories of which this author has written so many. it is a fascinating little book, with a charming plot, a sweet, pure atmosphere, and teaches a wholesome moral in the most winning manner."--_b. s. e. gazette._ "mrs. molesworth has given a charming story for children.... it is a wholesome book, one which the little ones will read with interest."--_living church._ "_the children of the castle_ are delightful creations, actual little girls, living in an actual castle, but often led by their fancies into a shadowy fairyland. there is a charming refinement of style and spirit about the story from beginning to end; an imaginative child will find endless pleasure in it, and the lesson of gentleness and unselfishness so artistically managed that it does not seem like a lesson, but only a part of the story."--_milwaukee sentinel._ "mrs. molesworth's stories for children are always ingenious, entertaining, and thoroughly wholesome. her resources are apparently inexhaustible, and each new book from her pen seems to surpass its predecessors in attractiveness. in _the children of the castle_ the best elements of a good story for children are very happily combined."--_the week._ * * * * * four winds farm. "mrs. molesworth's books are always delightful, but of all none is more charming than the volume with which she greets the holidays this season. _four winds farm_ is one of the most delicate and pleasing books for a child that has seen the light this many a day. it is full of fancy and of that instinctive sympathy with childhood which makes this author's books so attractive and so individual."--_boston courier._ "like all the books she has written this one is very charming, and is worth more in the hands of a child than a score of other stories of a more sensational character."--_christian at work._ "still more delicately fanciful is mrs. molesworth's lovely little tale of the _four winds farm_. it is neither a dream nor a fairy story, but concerns the fortune of a real little boy, named gratian; yet the dream and the fairy tale seem to enter into his life, and make part of it. the farm-house in which the child lives is set exactly at the meeting-place of the four winds, and they, from the moment of his birth, have acted as his self-elected godmothers.... all the winds love the boy, and, held in the balance of their influence, he grows up as a boy should, simply and truly, with a tender heart and firm mind. the idea of this little book is essentially poetical."--_literary world._ "this book is for the children. we grudge it to them. there are few children in this generation good enough for such a gift. mrs. molesworth is the only woman now who can write such a book.... the delicate welding of the farm life about the child and the spiritual life within him, and the realization of the four immortals into a delightful sort of half-femininity shows a finer literary quality than anything we have seen for a long time. the light that never was on sea or land is in this little red and gold volume."--_philadelphia press._ * * * * * nurse heatherdale's story. "_nurse heatherdale's story_ is all about a small boy, who was good enough, yet was always getting into some trouble through complications in which he was not to blame. the same sort of things happens to men and women. he is an orphan, though he is cared for in a way by relations, who are not so very rich, yet are looked on as well fixed. after many youthful trials and disappointments he falls into a big stroke of good luck, which lifts him and goes to make others happy. those who want a child's book will find nothing to harm and something to interest in this simple story."--_commercial advertiser._ * * * * * "us." "mrs. molesworth's _us, an old-fashioned story_, is very charming. a dear little six-year-old 'bruvver' and sister constitute the 'us,' whose adventures with gypsies form the theme of the story. mrs. molesworth's style is graceful, and she pictures the little ones with brightness and tenderness."--_evening post._ "a pretty and wholesome story."--_literary world._ "_us, an old-fashioned story_, is a sweet and quaint story of two little children who lived long ago, in an old-fashioned way, with their grandparents. the story is delightfully told."--_philadelphia news._ "_us_ is one of mrs. molesworth's charming little stories for young children. the narrative ... is full of interest for its real grace and delicacy, and the exquisiteness and purity of the english in which it is written."--_boston advertiser._ "mrs. molesworth's last story, _us_, will please the readers of that lady's works by its pleasant domestic atmosphere and healthful moral tone. the narrative moves forward with sufficient interest to hold the reader's attention; and there are useful lessons for young people to be drawn from it."--_independent._ "... mrs. molesworth's story ... is very simple, refined, bright, and full of the real flavor of childhood."--_literary world._ * * * * * the rectory children. "it is a book written for children in just the way that is best adapted to please them."--_morning post._ "in _the rectory children_ mrs. molesworth has written one of those delightful volumes which we always look for at christmas time."--_athenæum._ "a delightful christmas book for children; a racy, charming home story, full of good impulses and bright suggestions."--_boston traveller._ "quiet, sunny, interesting, and thoroughly winning and wholesome."--_boston journal._ "there is no writer of children's books more worthy of their admiration and love than mrs. molesworth. her bright and sweet invention is so truthful, her characters so faithfully drawn, and the teaching of her stories so tender and noble, that while they please and charm they insensibly distil into the youthful mind the most valuable lessons. in _the rectory children_ we have a fresh, bright story, that will be sure to please all her young admirers."--_christian at work._ "_the rectory children_, by mrs. molesworth, is a very pretty story of english life. mrs. molesworth is one of the most popular and charming of english story-writers for children. her child characters are true to life, always natural and attractive, and her stories are wholesome and interesting."--_indianapolis journal._ * * * * * rosy. "_rosy_, like all the rest of her stories, is bright and pure and utterly free from cant,--a book that children will read with pleasure and lasting profit."--_boston traveller._ "there is no one who has a genius better adapted for entertaining children than mrs. molesworth, and her latest story, _rosy_, is one of her best. it is illustrated with eight woodcuts from designs by walter crane."--_philadelphia press._ "an english story for children of the every-day life of a bright little girl, which will please those who like 'natural' books."--_new york world._ "... mrs. molesworth's clever _rosy_, a story showing in a charming way how one little girl's jealousy and bad temper were conquered; one of the best, most suggestive and improving of the christmas juveniles."--_new york tribune._ "_rosy_ is an exceedingly graceful and interesting story by mrs. molesworth, one of the best and most popular writers of juvenile fiction. this little story is full of tenderness, is fragrant in sentiment, and points with great delicacy and genuine feeling a charming moral."--_boston gazette._ * * * * * the girls and i. "perhaps the most striking feature of this pleasant story is the natural manner in which it is written. it is just like the conversation of a bright boy--consistently like it from beginning to end. it is a boy who is the hero of the tale, and he tells the adventures of himself and those nearest him. he is, by the way, in many respects an example for most young persons. it is a story characterized by sweetness and purity--a desirable one to put into the hands of youthful readers."--_gettysburg monthly._ "jack himself tells the story of _the girls and i_, assisted of course by mrs. molesworth, whose name will recall to the juveniles pleasant memories of interesting reading, full of just the things that children want to know, and of that which will excite their ready sympathies. jack, while telling the story of the girls, takes the readers into his own confidence, and we like the little fellow rather better than the girls. the interest is maintained by the story of a lost jewel, the ultimate finding of which, in the most unexpected place, closes the story in a very pleasant manner. jack, otherwise mrs. molesworth, tells the tale in a lively style, and the book will attract attention."--_the globe._ "... a delightful and purposeful story which no one can read without being benefited."--_new york observer._ * * * * * mary. "mrs. molesworth's reputation as a writer of story-books is so well established that any new book of hers scarce needs a word of introduction."--_home journal._ * * * * * the macmillan company, fifth avenue, new york. the macmillan company's _catalogue_ of books for the young. * * * * * _messrs. macmillan & co. are the agents in the united states for the publications of the oxford and cambridge university presses, and for messrs. george bell & sons, london. complete catalogues of all books sold by them will be sent, free by mail, to any address on application._ * * * * * =adventure series, the.= large mo. fully illustrated. $ . each volume. =adventures of a younger son.= by john edward trelawny. with an introduction by edward garnett. =madagascar; or, robert drury's journal= during fifteen years' captivity on that island, and a further description of madagascar by the abbé alexis rochon. edited, with an introduction and notes, by captain s. pasfield oliver, f.s.a., author of "madagascar." =memoirs of the extraordinary military career of john shipp,= late lieutenant in his majesty's th regiment. written by himself. with an introduction by major h. m. chichester. =the adventures of thomas pellow,= of penryn, mariner, twenty-three years in captivity among the moors. written by himself; and edited, with an introduction and notes, by dr. robert brown. illustrated from contemporaneous prints. =the buccaneers and marooners of america.= being an account of the famous adventures and daring deeds of certain notorious freebooters of the spanish main. edited and illustrated by howard pyle. =the log of a jack tar; or, the life of james choyce, master mariner.= now first published, with o'brien's captivity in france. edited by commander v. lovett cameron, r.n., c.b., d.c.l. with introduction and notes. =the story of the filibusters.= by james jeffrey roche. to which is added "the life of colonel david crockett." with illustrations. "mr. roche has faithfully compared and sifted the statements of those who took part in the various expeditions, and he has also made effectual use of periodicals and official documents. the result is what may safely be regarded as the first complete and authentic account of the deeds of the modern vikings, who continue to be wonderfully romantic figures even after the gaudy trappings of myth, prejudice, and fiction have been stripped away."--_boston beacon._ =the voyages and adventures of ferdinand mendez pinto, the portuguese.= done into english by henry cogan, with an introduction by arminius vamb�ry. "it is decidedly reading of the most attractive kind, brimful of adventure piquantly related, and of rare interest in its recital of the experiences of the author, who 'five times suffered shipwreck, was sixteen times sold, and thirteen times made a slave.'"--_boston saturday evening gazette._ =a master mariner.= being the life and adventures of captain robert william eastwick. edited by herbert compton. with illustrations. =hard life in the colonies, and other adventures by sea and land.= now first printed. compiled from private letters by c. caslyon jenkyns. with illustrations. large mo. $ . . =�sop's fables.= illustrated. cents. =andersen= (hans christian). =fairy tales and sketches.= translated by c. c. peachy, h. ward, a. plesner, etc. with numerous illustrations by otto speckter and others. seventh thousand. handsomely bound. mo. $ . . "the translation most happily hits the delicate quaintness of andersen--most happily transposes into simple english words the tender precision of the famous story-teller; in a keen examination of the book we scarcely recall a single phrase or turn that obviously could have been bettered."--_daily telegraph._ =tales for children.= with full-page illustrations by wehnert, and small engravings on wood by w. thomas. thirteenth thousand. handsomely bound. mo. $ . . this volume contains several tales that are in no other edition published in this country, and with the preceding volume it forms the most complete english edition. =ariosto. paladin and saracen.= stories from ariosto. by w. c. hollway-calthrop. with illustrations. $ . . =atkinson. the last of the giant killers.= by the rev. j. c. atkinson, author of "a moorland parish." _shortly._ =awdry= (f.). =the story of a fellow soldier.= a life of bishop patteson for the young. mo. $ . . =baker. wild beasts and their ways.= reminiscences in asia, africa, and america. by sir samuel w. baker, f.r.s., etc., author of "albert nyanza," etc. with numerous illustrations. large mo. cloth extra. gilt. $ . . "a book which is destined not only to serve as a chart and compass for every hunter of big game, but which is likewise a valuable study of natural history, placed before the public in a practical and interesting form."--_new york tribune._ =beesly= (mrs.). =stories from the history of rome.= mo. cents. "of all the stories we remember from history none have struck us as so genuinely good--with the right ring--as those of mrs. beesly."--_educational times._ =bertz= (e.). =the french prisoners:= a story for boys. $ . . "written throughout in a wise and gentle spirit, and omits no opportunity to deprecate war as a barbaric survival, wholly unnecessary in a civilized age."--_independent._ "the story is an extremely interesting one, full of incident, told in a quiet, healthful way, and with a great deal of pleasantly interfused information about german and french boys."--_christian union._ =bunce= (j. t.). =fairy tales: their origin and meaning.= mo. cents. =carpenter. truth in tale.= addresses chiefly to children. by w. boyd carpenter, d.d., bishop of ripon. $ . . "these ingenious and interesting tales by bishop carpenter are full of poetic beauty and of religious truth.... we would like to see a copy in every sunday-school library."--_sunday school banner._ =carroll.= works by lewis carroll. =alice's adventures in wonderland.= with illustrations by tenniel. mo. $ . . a german translation. mo. $ . . a french translation. mo. $ . . an italian translation. mo. $ . . "an excellent piece of nonsense."--_times._ "that most delightful of children's stories."--_saturday review._ "elegant and delicious nonsense."--_guardian._ =through the looking-glass and what alice found there.= illustrations by tenniel. mo. $ . . "will fairly rank with the tale of her previous experience."--_daily telegraph._ "many of mr. tenniel's designs are masterpieces of wise absurdity."--_athenæum._ "whether as regarding author or illustrator, this book is a jewel rarely to be found nowadays."--_echo._ =alice's adventures in wonderland and through the looking glass.= in vol. with tenniel's illustrations. mo. $ . . =rhyme? and reason?= with illustrations by arthur b. frost, and nine by henry holiday. mo. $ . . this book is a reprint, with additions, of the comic portions of "phantasmagoria, and other poems," and of the "hunting of the snark." =a tangled tale.= reprinted from the "monthly packet." with illustrations. mo. $ . . =alice's adventures under ground.= being a fac-simile of the original ms. book afterward developed into "alice's adventures in wonderland." with illustrations. mo. $ . . =the hunting of the snark: an agony in eight fits.= by lewis carroll. with nine illustrations by henry holiday. new edition. mo. $ . . =sylvie and bruno.= with illustrations by harry furniss. mo. $ . . "alice was a delightful little girl, but hardly more pleasing than are the hero and heroine of this latest book from a writer in whose nonsense there is far more sense than in the serious works of many contemporary authors."--_morning post._ "mr. furniss's illustrations, which are numerous, are at once graceful and full of humor. we pay him a high compliment when we say he proves himself a worthy successor to mr. tenniel in illustrating mr. lewis carroll's books."--_st. james' gazette._ =the nursery "alice."= containing coloured enlargements from tenniel's illustrations to "alice's adventures in wonderland," with text adapted to nursery readers, by lewis carroll. to. $ . . "let the little people rejoice! the most charming book in the world has appeared for them. 'the nursery alice,' with its wealth of colored illustrations from tenniel's pictures, is certainly the most artistic juvenile that has been seen for many and many a day."--_boston budget._ =church.= works by the rev. a. j. church. =the story of the iliad.= with coloured illustrations. mo. $ . . =the story of the odyssey.= with coloured illustrations. mo. $ . . =stories from the bible.= with illustrations after julius schnorr. mo. $ . . "of all the books of this kind, this is the best we have seen."--_examiner._ "the book will be of infinite value to the student or teacher of the scriptures, and the stories are well arranged for interesting reading for children."--_boston traveller._ =stories from bible.= illustrated. second series. _shortly._ =the greek gulliver.= stories from lucian. with illustrations by c. o. murray. new edition. mo. paper. cents. "a curious example of ancient humor."--_chicago standard._ =the burning of rome.= a story of the times of nero. with illustrations. mo. $ . . =clifford= (mrs. w. k.). =anyhow stories, moral and otherwise.= with illustrations. $ . . =craik.= works by mrs. craik, author of "john halifax, gentleman." =sermons out of church.= new edition. mo. $ . . =children's poetry.= globe vo. $ . . =the little lame prince and his travelling cloak.= a parable for young and old. with illustrations. mo. $ . . =little sunshine's holiday.= globe vo. $ . . =adventures of a brownie.= with illustrations. mo. $ . . =alice learmont.= a fairy tale. with illustrations. mo. $ . . =our year: a child's book.= illustrated. mo. $ . . =the fairy book.= the best popular fairy stories. selected and rendered anew. _golden treasury series._ mo. $ . . =defoe. the adventures of robinson crusoe.= edited from the original edition by henry kingsley. _globe edition._ $ . . _golden treasury series._ mo. $ . . =de morgan. the necklace of princess florimonde, and other stories.= by mary de morgan. illustrated by walter crane. new and cheaper edition, cloth extra. $ . . "the stories display considerable originality, and mr. walter crane's characteristic illustrations combine with miss de morgan's pretty fancies in forming a charming gift-book."--_graphic._ "a real gem."--_punch._ =english men of action series.= mo. cloth, limp, cents; cloth, uncut edges, cents. "an admirable set of brief biographies.... the volumes are small, attractive, and inexpensive."--_dial._ "the 'english men of action' promises to be a notable series of short biographies. the subjects are well chosen, and the authors almost as well."--_epoch._ =gordon.= by col. sir w. butler. =henry the fifth.= by the rev. a. j. church. =livingstone.= by thomas hughes. =lord lawrence.= by sir r. temple. =wellington.= by george hooper. =dampier.= by w. clark russell. =monk.= by julian corbett. =strafford.= by h. d. traill. =warren hastings.= by sir alfred lyall, k.c.b. =peterborough.= by william stebbing. =captain cook.= by walter besant. =havelock.= by archibald forbes. =clive.= by col. sir charles wilson. =drake.= by julian corbett. =warwick, the king maker.= by c. w. oman. =napier.= by col. sir william butler. =rodney.= by d. g. hannay. =montrose.= by mowbray morris. _shortly._ =ewing= (j. h.). =we and the world.= a story for boys. by the late juliana horatio ewing. with seven illustrations by w. l. jones, and a pictorial design on the cover. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "a very good book it is, full of adventure graphically told. the style is just what it should be; simple but not bold, full of pleasant humor, and with some pretty touches of feeling. like all mrs. ewing's tales, it is sound, sensible, and wholesome."--_times._ =a flat iron for a farthing;= or, some passages in the life of an only son. with illustrations by h. allingham, and pictorial design on the cover. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "let every parent and guardian who wishes to be amused, and at the same time to please a child, purchase 'a flat iron for a farthing; or, some passages in the life of an only son,' by j. h. ewing. we will answer for the delight with which they will read it themselves, and we do not doubt that the young and fortunate recipients will also like it. the story is quaint, original, and altogether delightful."--_athenæum._ =mrs. overtheway's remembrances.= illustrated with nine fine full-page engravings by pasquier, and frontispiece by wolf, and pictorial design on the cover. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "it is not often nowadays the privilege of a critic to grow enthusiastic over a new work; and the rarity of the occasion that calls forth the delight is apt to lead one into the sin of hyperbole. and yet we think we shall not be accused of extravagance when we say that, without exception, 'mrs. overtheway's remembrances' is the most delightful work avowedly written for children that we have ever read."--_leader._ =six to sixteen.= a story for girls. with illustrations by mrs. allingham. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "it is scarcely necessary to say that mrs. ewing's book is one of the best of the year."--_saturday review._ =a great emergency.= (a very ill-tempered family; our field; madame liberality.) with four illustrations. d edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "never has mrs. ewing published a more charming volume of stories, and that is saying a very great deal. from the first to the last the book overflows with the strange knowledge of child-nature which so rarely survives childhood; and, moreover, with inexhaustible quiet humor, which is never anything but innocent and well-bred, never priggish, and never clumsy."--_academy._ =jan of the windmill.= a story of the plains. with illustrations by mrs. allingham and design on the cover. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "the life and its surroundings, the incidents of jan's childhood, are described with mrs. ewing's accustomed skill; the village schoolmaster, the miller's wife, and the other children, are extremely well done." =melchior's dream.= (the blackbird's nest; friedrich's ballad; a bit of green; monsieur the viscount's friend; the yew lane ghosts; a bad habit; a happy family.) with eight illustrations by gordon browne. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper wrapper, cents. "'melchior's dream' is an exquisite little story, charming by original humor, buoyant spirits, and tender pathos."--_athenæum._ =lob-lie-by-the-fire; or, the luck of lingborough, and other tales.= with three illustrations by george cruikshank. th edition. mo. $ . . "mrs. ewing has written as good a story as her 'brownies,' and that is saying a great deal. 'lob-lie-by-the-fire' has humor and pathos, and teaches what is right without making children think they are reading a sermon."--_saturday review._ =the brownies.= (the land of lost toys; three christmas trees; an idyl of the wood; christmas crackers; amelia and the dwarfs; timothy's shoes; benjy in beastland.) illustrated by george cruikshank. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. fcap. to. in paper wrapper, cents. "if a child once begins 'the brownies,' it will get so deeply interested in it that when bedtime comes it will altogether forget the moral, and will weary its parents with importunities for just a few minutes more to see how everything ends."--_saturday review._ =freiligrath-kroeker.= =alice,= and other fairy plays for children, including a dramatised version (under sanction) of lewis carroll's "alice in wonderland," and three other plays. by mrs. freiligrath-kroeker, with eight original full-page plates. cloth, extra gilt. gilt edges. d edition. mo. $ . . "they have stood a practical ordeal, and stood it triumphantly."--_times._ =gaskoin= (mrs. h.). =children's treasury of bible stories.= edited by the rev. g. f. maclear, d.d. mo. each, cents. part i. old testament. ii. new testament. iii. three apostles: st. james, st. paul, st. john. =gatty= (mrs.). =parables from nature.= with illustrations by burne-jones, holman hunt, tenniel, wolf, and others. two series. each, cents. =golden treasury series.= uniformly printed in mo, with vignette titles by j. e. millais, sir noel paton, t. woolner, w. holman hunt, arthur hughes, etc. engraved on steel. mo. cloth. each, $ . . also bound in half morocco, $ . . half calf, $ . . padded calf, $ . . or beautifully bound in full morocco, padded, solid gilt edges, in boxes, $ . . =the children's garland from the best poets.= selected and arranged by coventry patmore, with a vignette by t. woolner. "mr. patmore deserves our gratitude for having searched through the wide field of english poetry for these flowers which youth and age can equally enjoy, and woven them into 'the children's garland.'"--_london review._ =the pilgrim's progress, from this world to that which is to come.= by john bunyan, with a vignette by w. holman hunt. "a beautiful and scholarly reprint."--_spectator._ =the fairy book.= the best popular fairy tales. selected and rendered anew by the author of "john halifax, gentleman," with a vignette by sir noel paton. "miss mulock has the true instinct into the secret of a perfect fairy tale ... delightful selection in a delightful external form."--_spectator._ =the adventures of robinson crusoe.= edited by j. w. clark, m.a., with a vignette by sir j. e. millais. "this cheap and pretty copy, rigidly exact to the original, will be a prize to many book buyers."--_examiner._ =the sunday book of poetry for the young.= selected and arranged by c. f. alexander. =a book of golden deeds= of all times and all countries. gathered and narrated anew. by the author of "the heir of redclyffe." =children's treasury of english song.= edited by f. t palgrave. =tom brown's school days.= by an old boy. =lamb's tales from shakespeare.= edited by the rev. a. ainger. =goldsmith. the vicar of wakefield.= by oliver goldsmith. with illustrations by hugh thomson, and a preface by austin dobson. uniform with the randolph caldecott edition of washington irving's "bracebridge hall" and "old christmas." mo. cloth extra $ . . "mr. thomson hits the exact line of humor which lies in goldsmith's creations. his work is refined, much of it graceful and dignified, but the humor of the situation never escapes him. the work is english line work, very beautiful, delicate, and effective, with a very perceptible touch of old-time quality, life, and costume in it. the volume itself is such as lovers of good books delight to hold in their hands."--_independent._ "a more bewitching bit of book work has not reached us for many a day."--_new york tribune._ =greenwood. the moon maiden, and other stories.= by jessy e. greenwood. mo. $ . . "a collection of brightly written and distinctly original stories in which fairy lore and moral allegory are deftly and pleasantly mingled."--_christian union._ =grimm's fairy tales.= the household stories. translated by lucy crane, and done into pictures by walter crane. mo. $ . . =hallward= (r. f.). =flowers of paradise.= music--verse--design--illustration. printed in colors by edmund evans. royal to. $ . . "to our mind one of the prettiest--if not the prettiest--of this year's picture books. the pages are very blake-like in effect, the drawings harmoniously blending with the music and words, and some of the larger pictures are quite beautiful in thought and feeling as well as in coloring. we ought soon to hear of mr. hallward again; he shows much promise."--_pall mall gazette._ =hughes.= works by thomas hughes. =tom brown's school days.= new illustrated edition. mo. cloth. gilt. $ . pocket edition, cents. english edition, $ . . "the most famous boy's book in the language."--_daily news._ _golden treasury edition._ mo. $ . . cheap edition. with illustrations by arthur hughes and s. p. hall. vo. paper. cents. =tom brown at oxford.= new illustrated edition. mo. cloth. gilt. $ . . english edition. mo. $ . . "in no other work that we can call to mind are the finer qualities of the english gentleman more happily portrayed."--_daily news._ "a book of great power and truth."--_national review._ =hullah= (m. a.). =hannah tarne.= a story for girls. with illustrations. mo. $ . . =keary.= works by a. and e. keary. =the heroes of asgard.= tales from scandinavian mythology. illustrated. mo. $ . . =the magic valley; or, patient antoine.= with illustrations. mo. $ . . =kingsley.= works by charles kingsley. =madam how and lady why: first lessons in earth lore for children.= $ . . english edition, $ . . =the heroes; or, greek fairy tales for my children.= with illustrations. $ . . english edition. mo. $ . . 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" ii. for youth. " iii. for adults. lectures on these topics, _in press_. mrs. leslie's sabbath school books. tim, the scissors grinder. sequel to "tim, the scissors grinder." prairie flower. the bound boy. the bound girl. virginia. the two homes; or, earning and spending. the organ-grinder, _in press_. question books. the catechism tested by the bible. vol. i. for children. " ii. for adults. the dermott family; or, stories illustrating the catechism. vol. i. doctrines respecting god and mankind. " ii. doctrines of grace. " iii. commandments of the first table. " iv. commandments of the second table. " v. conditions of eternal life. mrs. leslie's home life. vol. i. cora and the doctor. " ii. courtesies of wedded life. " iii. the household angel. mrs. leslie's juvenile series. vol. i. the motherless children. " ii. play and study. " iii. howard and his teacher. " iv. trying to be useful. " v. jack, the chimney sweeper. " vi. the young housekeeper. " vii. little agnes. the robin redbreast series. the robins' nest. little robins in the nest. little robins learning to fly. little robins in trouble. little robins' friends. little robins' love one to another. the little frankie series. little frankie and his mother. little frankie at his plays. little frankie and his cousin. little frankie and his father. little frankie on a journey. little frankie at school. [illustration: frankie's birth-day present.] little frankie on a journey. by mrs. madeline leslie, author of "the home life series;" "mrs. leslie's juvenile series," etc. boston: crosby and nichols. washington street. entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by a. r. baker, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts. electrotyped at the boston stereotype foundry. little frankie on a journey. chapter i. frankie's birthday. "frankie," said mamma one evening, just as he was going to bed, "to-morrow you will be six years old; how should you like to have a party of your young friends?" "i should like it very much indeed," replied the boy, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. "you have been trying to improve lately, my dear, and have almost conquered your hasty temper. your father and i have been so much pleased with your conduct that we wish to reward you; so if you would like to have a party, i shall invite as many of your young friends as you please." "o, what a kind mamma!" exclaimed frankie, clasping his arms around his mother's neck. "i mean to try to be just as good as i can." the little boy then knelt by his low bed, and said his evening prayer. perhaps you would like to hear it. "o god! thou art very good. thou hast given me a kind father and mother, and food to eat, clothes to wear, and many other favors. wilt thou forgive all my sins, and make me a good boy, so that when i die, i can go to heaven to live with thee, for my dear saviour's sake. amen." this little prayer frankie had learned when he was four years old, and he had repeated it every night since that time. beside this he said the pretty verse beginning "now i lay me down to sleep," and then added a short prayer of his own, asking god to bless papa and mamma, willie, nelly, and margie; to keep the house from being burned while they were asleep; and to make the heathen good, for jesus christ's sake. when frankie was nearly five years old, a large house in the neighborhood had been burned to the ground. he was aroused from his sleep by the loud ringing of the bells, and the cry of fire, and sat for a long time gazing from his mother's window at the bright, red flame. ever since that time he had always prayed god to keep the house from being burned while they were asleep. in the morning, frankie said the lord's prayer, and this pretty little hymn, which perhaps you will like to learn:-- "fled away are the shadows of night; the morning is smiling and clear; the sun has arisen all bright, and the birds fly aloft in the air. "the sweet robins sing on the tree, the little lambs skip on the hill, and loud hum the bees as they work, their houses with honey to fill. "'tis time for the children to wake: come, little ones, open your eyes; and your thanks and your praises return to the being who governs the skies. "he has guarded you, all the long night, from sickness, and danger, and pain, and brought you, in safety and peace, to a beautiful morning again. "whatever your parents command, be ready and willing to do; for that, my dear child, is the way to be happy, and prosperous too. "but if (as is sometimes the case) you should happen to do a thing wrong, just own it, and let not a lie, in any case, come from your tongue. "for the child who is gentle and kind, and obliges as far as he can, may be sure to be loved while a boy, and respected when grown to a man." the next morning, when frankie went down to breakfast, willie sprang out from behind the door, and gave him six loud kisses. then he took from his pocket a beautiful new humming top, and said, "here is your birthday present." frankie had hardly time to say, "o, how pretty! i thank you very much," when nelly came in smiling, and looking very happy, with something hidden behind her. "let me give you some birthday kisses," she said, reaching forward and putting up her pretty red lips--one, two, three, four, five, six. "now guess what i've got for you;" and she began to laugh merrily. frankie looked very grave, because he was trying to guess. he would have said a new hoop, only he thought if it was that, he should see it sticking out from behind her dress. "you can't tell, i know," shouted nelly. "will you give up?" "yes," said frankie. "there!" exclaimed the little girl, with a quick motion bringing from behind her a large tin tip cart, with two red oxen waiting to draw it along. "isn't it pretty? i bought it with my own spending money, and i've been saving it for your birthday ever so long." "o, i do thank you!" exclaimed the delighted boy; and he kissed his cousin more than six times, and then began to roll the cart on the floor. "come to breakfast now," said mamma; "and then you shall play with your new toys." after the children had been to prayers with their parents, they ran up to the play room. sally was turning the mattress in her mistress's room; but as soon as she heard their voices, she presented little frankie a small handkerchief with two pretty pictures printed upon it. one was of two little girls taking a walk, and meeting a poor, lame beggar man; the other of a good boy standing at the door; calling his sister to take a ride. perhaps, some time, i will repeat to you the pretty hymns which were printed underneath; but now it is time for me to close this chapter. chapter ii. frankie's party. perhaps you will wonder whether papa and mamma gave frankie a present. yes, they did; but he did not see it until the evening when his little friends came to his party. jane, too, and even little margie, remembered it was his birthday, and had a present ready for him. jane, with the consent of her mistress, had made a large frosted cake for his company; and margie gave him a beautiful white kitten, with not one black hair on it. as it was a holiday, there were no lessons to be learned. mamma took a walk to the store; and she allowed nelly and frankie to go with her and carry the basket in which she intended to bring back the nuts for the party. but first she showed them a small basket full of notes which she had written, inviting the little boys and girls to come and pass the evening with frankie, and help him to keep his birthday. willie and margie were to carry them, as there was no school. ponto was very lively that morning. he seemed to understand that his young master was unusually happy; and he kept jumping up on him, wagging his tail, and trying to lick his hands and face. willie had taught him to carry a basket in his teeth; and as soon as they started on their walk he began to whine, and put his nose into the basket until they gave it to him. then he trotted along quite contentedly after them. it was a very hot day, and after dinner mamma tried to persuade the little folks to lie down and get a nap, so as to be bright and fresh for the evening. nelly at last lay down on the lounge in her aunt's bed room; and then frankie brought his pillow, and lay on the floor by her. they were so happy, they wanted to talk about the party. mamma was lying on the lounge, too. she was very tired after her long walk in the morning, and wanted to go to sleep. but the children's tongues ran so fast, that she could not. she laughed, at last, at the very idea of sleeping there, and took her pillow into nelly's room, where it was dark and cool; and presently had forgotten all her fatigue. about seven o'clock the little folks began to arrive. in august, you know, the days are very long, so that it was still light, and as the sun was down, it was the pleasantest part of the day. mr. and mrs. gray sat on the large iron chairs belonging to the portico, and shook hands with the little girls and boys coming up the avenue; then joining the company on the lawn, where willie and two of the larger girls were planning some games for them. after they had enjoyed themselves in this way for an hour, mrs. gray called margie from the lawn, and told her to invite the children to come in. then she introduced them into the parlor, where on the table they saw a large pile of cards, nearly half a yard in length, with beautiful pictures on them, representing animals and birds; some of them as large as life. these, which came in a long box, with a brass handle on the top, were frankie's birthday present from papa and mamma. at first the little fellow was so surprised, that he could not speak a word; but then he ran, first to his mother and then to his father, put his arms around their necks, and thanked them over and over again. his father went to the table and distributed the cards round among the excited, happy group, and for half an hour there was one continued shout of delight in examining them. "o, see this great elephant!" said one little boy; "he is winding his nose around that baby, and is going to kill him." "no, indeed!" said mamma, "that baby is the child of his keeper, the man who takes care of him, and feeds him. see, the soldiers are coming up, and the good elephant is afraid they will hurt his little charge; so he takes it very gently in his trunk, or proboscis, and puts it over behind him into a safer place." "i like that elephant," said frankie; "but i shouldn't think the baby's mamma would leave him to take care of it. i should think she herself would keep it in her arms." "what is this lion doing?" asked a pretty, blue-eyed girl, named rosa. "see, it is holding out its paw." "it is learning to shake hands, i should think," said willie, laughing aloud. "there is a very pretty story connected with that," said his father. "there was once a slave who ran away from his master, and hid in a cave. after he had been there a short time he heard a noise, and looking around he saw he was in a lion's den. his heart began to beat faster than ever, for he thought, 'i have run away only to be killed by this lion.' he fixed his eyes upon the beast, expecting every minute that he would jump upon him and tear him to pieces. "presently the great lion came slowly up to him, and held out his paw, as you see in the picture. the slave then saw that there was a large thorn sticking in his foot. he pitied the poor creature, though he expected every minute to be killed by him. he took the paw gently in his hands, got firm hold of the thorn, and pulled it out. "the lion was very much obliged to him, though he could not say so in words. he lay down at the slave's feet, to show him that he would not injure him. "a few days after, some men were hunting in the forest; and they caught the great lion, and carried him away with them; and they also caught the poor slave, and took him back to his master, who was the king. the king was very angry with him for running away, and ordered that he should be thrown into a den with a hungry lion, who would eat him up. "this was a dreadfully cruel punishment; but as the king had ordered it, a great many people gathered together to see it inflicted. the den was opened, and a great, fierce lion came bounding in, leaping and roaring for his food. presently another door was opened, and the poor slave was seen crouching back against the wall to escape from his terrible enemy. "as soon as the lion saw him, he gave one tremendous roar, and sprang several yards toward the slave. "then all the people gave a great shout, for they thought that, almost before they could look again, the slave would be dead. but to their great surprise, the fierce, hungry lion, that had had no food for two days, was on his knees before the slave, who had his arms around the animal's neck, embracing him as if he were his dearest friend. "the king was so astonished at this sight, that he cried out, 'pardon! pardon!' so they took the slave from the den, and threw in another criminal, who was instantly torn to pieces." i have spent so much time telling you about these beautiful pictures, that i can only say the children were invited into the dining hall, where they were feasted on nuts, cake, fruit, and lemonade; and went home, after thanking mrs. gray for inviting them to so pleasant a party. frankie, when he kissed his mamma good night, said, "i wish i could have a birthday every week, i like them so much." chapter iii. frankie's journey. a few weeks after this birthday, frankie went a journey with papa, and mamma, and willie, and nelly. nelly's father and mother had been home two or three months; but they found their little girl improving so fast under her aunt's care and teaching, that they did not like to take her away. nelly was very well contented to remain with her kind friends; and when she found frankie alone in a room by himself, crying because he thought her mother had come to carry her home, she promised she would live with him always. mr. gray hired a carriage and a span of handsome horses, and one fine morning in september they started off; papa and willie on the front seat, and mamma with frankie and nelly on the back. sometimes, though, they wanted to change, and the two little ones rode in front with papa, while willie took their place behind. then once in a while, when they were tired, papa would stop the horses, and let them all get out and walk up a long hill; and o, how fast the little feet would fly, trying to see who would reach the top first! it made this good papa and mamma happy to see their children enjoy themselves so well. they travelled on for several days; and one night they came to a small town, where mr. gray said he would put up. they drove to the tavern, and soon were shown to a room up stairs. while they were waiting for supper, frankie asked, "what is the name of this town, papa?" "it is canaan, my dear," replied his father. the little boy now gazed around with great interest; went to the window and looked out, and presently said, "it don't seem very pleasant, papa; but i suppose the israelites were glad to get here." frankie thought this canaan was the pleasant land which god promised to his chosen people. if you don't know about it, ask your mamma to tell you how the israelites wandered in the wilderness for forty years, eating manna for bread, and quails for meat, all the time longing to reach canaan, where there was an abundance of milk and honey, and you will know why frankie thought they would be glad to get there. papa and mamma laughed heartily when he said this, and papa told him that canaan was a great way off from this place. it was the name of a whole country, while this was only a small town. when frankie heard this, he walked away from the window, and sat quietly by mamma until they were called to tea. the next morning the road led through a large forest of pine trees. the wind was blowing quite a breeze, and frankie was glad to get under his mother's shawl on the back seat of the carriage. he lay so still that she thought he was asleep; but at last he asked, "are these mulberry trees, mamma?" "no, dear, they are pine." "well, mamma," said the little fellow, "they sound like mulberry trees." "where did you ever hear any, my dear?" asked his mother. "why, you know," said he, "that you read me in the bible about 'the sound of the going in the tops of the mulberry trees,' and i think it was just like this." before they started from home, mrs. gray had partly promised her sister-in-law that she would stop there with nelly and frankie on their return, and make a visit; but on the last day of their journey, it was quite cold and rainy. mr. nelson, her brother, lived in a town several miles out of their way; and so she concluded to go directly home, and start again when it was pleasant. after riding ten or twelve miles, frankie and his little cousin became very tired. the rain prevented their getting out of the carriage for a run, neither could they sit on the front seat and watch the horses. "i wish i had a watch," said frankie; "i don't like to trouble you, mamma, to take yours out so often; but i do want to know what time it is." "i mean to ask father to buy me a watch," said nelly, "just as soon as i go home." "how much farther have we to go, papa?" asked frankie. the rain was pattering so fast on the top of the carriage, that he did not hear at first; but when willie repeated his brother's question, papa said, "we have ten miles to go before dinner; and then twenty-two afterwards. how many does that make?" frankie thought for a minute, and then answered, "thirty-two, papa." "if you're so tired," said willie, "why don't you play school? i'll be the first class." "so will i," said papa, laughing. "o, that will be splendid!" said nelly, clapping her hands. "will you be the teacher, mamma?" asked frankie, quite forgetting his fatigue. "no, dear, willie may turn his back to the horses, and be the teacher first. you can take turns." "why didn't i think of this way before?" said willie; "it's real nice. the rain came pouring right in my face. now i can put this shawl up, and keep it all off." "you crowd my knees dreadfully," said frankie. "don't be impatient, dear," said his mother. "we must all try to be accommodating when we are out in the rain. your brother has been sitting very patiently with the rain beating in his face, and you will be glad, i'm sure, to have him with us behind." "i can't move my feet at all," said frankie, in an impatient tone. "move a little this way, then; i am sure we can make room for all. perhaps," she said softly, "there is somebody in your corner who ought to be driven out." the little boy turned quickly round before he thought that his mother meant satan; and this made them all laugh. frankie was still rather fretful, but willie began blowing with all his might. willie and nelly both looked so merry that he put away his naughty feelings, began to laugh, and soon found plenty of room on the seat. [illustration] chapter iv. playing school. "now i'll give you a word to spell," said willie; "i bet none of you can spell it right." "don't say _bet_, my dear," said his mother. "it is not a good word to use. beside, you are a teacher now, you know." "the boys at school all say _bet_, mother," answered willie. "i don't see any hurt in it." "but do they really bet?" asked his father. "o, no, indeed, sir! it is only a habit they have of saying so." "it is a low expression," said his mother. "i wish you wouldn't use it." "well, i won't, mother, when i can think of it. but i'll give you the word. it is constantinople." "it is a long word," said mamma. "but i will try it;" and the lady's eyes twinkled as she began, "c-o-n, con; s-t-a-n, constan!" "stop! please stop, mother!" shouted willie, laughing heartily. "you know it; let me try father?" "no, try me," said nelly; "try me once!" "well, i will. spell con." "c-o-n, con," repeated nelly slowly, looking steadily in her cousin's face. "that is right; stan." "s-t-a-n," said nelly. "yes; now spell ti," added willie. "t-i, ti." "no," said the boy, shaking his head solemnly. "t-y," again tried the little girl. "no," said willie still more seriously. "t-i-e," shouted frankie. "no," again repeated willie. "n-o, no," said his father. nelly and her cousin looked astonished. "o father! that wasn't fair," cried willie. "they wouldn't have spelt it at all." "when i went to school," said his father, laughing, "any body in the class had a right to spell the word if the others missed it." when the travellers stopped for dinner, it rained so hard, that mr. gray said he didn't know as they would be able to go on. they were in a small, poorly-furnished tavern; and it did not look as if they would have a very good time if they staid. "we are quite comfortable behind," said the lady; "but it must be very bad for you." "the boot comes up so high that it keeps the rain out, except from my face," said mr. gray. "perhaps i can manage in some way to carry an umbrella." "that would be too hard," replied the lady. "if you think it best, i am willing to stay." after waiting at the tavern about two hours for the horses to rest, mr. gray told the children to make haste and put on their clothes, as the carriage was coming to the door. they did not know, until then, whether they were to go or stay. "do you think it best to go?" asked the lady. "it is raining so hard, i am afraid you will be very wet." "o, look at the carriage, papa!" shouted frankie, as it drove past the window. "i found a nice leather curtain in the box," said the gentleman, "which will shield me entirely." "what a pity you did not find it this morning!" said willie. when they were seated in the carriage, they rode for nearly a mile before there was much said by the children. the new curtain proved a good screen from the rain, so that mr. gray was able to enjoy the ride as well as the rest of the party. frankie had been watching the drops as they fell from the lower edge of the curtain upon the leather boot; at last he said, "it seems as if we were in the ark." "why?" asked his mother, with a smile. "because--because it seems as if we were out in the rain, with waters all around us; but we are safe in here, and nothing can harm us." "what shall we do now?" asked willie. "play school again? i call it real good fun." "let us sing," said nelly. "so we will; so we will!" and they began the sweet hymn commencing,-- "jesus, thou heavenly stranger, who dwelt in mortal clay! thy cradle was a manger, thy softest bed was hay." "o, mamma!" cried frankie, when they had finished the tune, "can i read the pretty verses on my handkerchief?" "yes, dear, i should like to hear them," said mamma. this was sally's birthday present, which he had kept nicely folded in his coat pocket. i have already described to you the picture, which was of a little boy calling his sister to take a ride. frankie could read now quite well, though he was obliged to pronounce the words slowly, once in a while stopping to spell one to himself. he began,-- "the coach is ready, sister; run, and put your gloves and bonnet on; it is about a week ago our parents promised us, you know, if we were good, that we, to-day, should have the coach and ride away. our cousins, too, are all at home; how glad they'll be to see us come! and they, such lovely girls and boys, will have so many pretty toys! and we shall have the sweetest ride, through trees along the river side! come, sister; come, make no delay! 'tis time for us to start away. what ails you, mary? ar'n't you well? what makes you cry so? sister, tell!" "harry, i can't; don't ask me why; and yet i must--_i've told a lie_! and here shut up i'm doomed to stay, and mourn and weep the livelong day. i shall not dare my face to show, nor join the children's plays, you know; they'll see my tears, and then inquire what i have done--and call me _liar_. and, harry, i'm afraid that you and harriet will hate me too. but what is worst of all, mamma don't speak to me, nor does papa; not once upon me have they smiled, since i was such a wicked child. o, it will break my heart, i'm sure! i never told a lie before, and never, _never_ will again, if i their pardon can obtain. go--it is time that you were gone, and leave me here to cry alone." nelly sighed two or three times while her little cousin was reading; and when he had finished, she said, "i'm glad i don't tell lies now. i didn't use to know how wicked it was." mrs. gray bent down and kissed her little niece, and then said, "i am sure, my dear, god will forgive the past, if you ask him, for the sake of his dear son." "i wonder whether her mother let her go to ride," said frankie, fixing his eyes on the picture. "i should think she would, when the little girl was so sorry." as no one replied to his remark, he said, presently, "here is another pretty piece; may i read this too, mamma?" "perhaps nelly would like to read," said the lady. "o, yes, aunty," said the little girl; "may i, frankie?" he passed her the handkerchief, though he did not do it very cheerfully. "thank you," said nelly. "you can look over with me, if you want to." then she began to read the verses that were underneath the picture of the little girls and the poor beggar:-- "look, sister, see how rich i be! six cents mamma has given me, because it is a holiday; and now i'm going off to play. but let me think: what shall i buy? a cake--or else some pretty toy! i've wanted long a jumping jack. well, that i'll buy, and not a cake. but stop, dear sister; who is this? a poor old man!--how lame he is! how lean he looks, and ragged too!-- give him some dinner, sister, do. now he will have to go away, and beg his dinner every day. i wish i had a dollar now; six cents will buy some dinner, though; and as he travels on the road, some biscuits would taste very good; and he shall have them--so i'll play without a jumping jack to-day." chapter v. nelly's present. when mrs. gray reached home, she found a letter there for her from her brother. she read it through, looking very much pleased; and then she told nelly that her father and mother sent their love to her, and hoped she would come home very soon. it was now more than a year since she came to live with her aunt; and she was delighted with the idea of the visit. "but i shall come right back again with you, shan't i?" and she gazed earnestly in her aunt's face. "we will see about that," said the lady, "when we get there." and then she added, "i couldn't spare you at all, my little girl. i hope to have you with me for a good many years yet." nelly was so much pleased at this, that she jumped up and kissed her aunt, and exclaimed, "i love you dearly, dearly!" two days later, when they were a little rested from their journey, the same carriage and horses came to the door, and they drove away toward nelly's old home. it was only twelve miles, and the horses trotted over the road very quickly, so that in less than two hours they came in sight of the pleasant orchards and gardens surrounding mr. nelson's house. then mrs. gray, after a smiling glance at her husband, said, "nelly, your mamma has a pretty present for you at home." "what is it, aunty? i can't think of any thing that i want." "it is the best present you ever had, my dear," said the lady, smiling. "o, i guess it's a watch," cried frankie, in an animated tone. "no, it's a little brother," said aunty; "a darling baby brother." nelly opened wide her bright blue eyes, and then gave a scream of joy. it was well they were just riding up the avenue to the house, or they might not have been able to keep the excited child in the carriage. "where's my baby? where's my brother?" she called out, running up the steps and into the front door. fortunately her father was in the library. he came quickly to the door to welcome nelly and his friends. she could scarcely stop to give him a kiss, before she said, "i want to see my baby, papa--where is it?" "run very softly up in the nursery," said the gentleman, laughing at her impatience. "you will find it there with maria." nelly darted up the stairs, and was presently kneeling on the floor by the cradle which held the tiny form of the baby. when her aunt gently followed her into the room, she saw her, with flushed cheeks and wondering eyes, still gazing at the sleeping babe. presently she turned away with an air of disappointment. "it isn't as large as my great dolly," she said. maria, who had charge of the infant, now returned from the next room, and began to welcome nelly home again. she courtesied to mrs. gray, though the lady could see that she had never forgiven her for not allowing her to remain with the little girl. "how is mrs. nelson?" asked mrs. gray. "very poorly as yet, ma'am. she is in the next room." "why, mamma, are you sick?" inquired nelly, running into the chamber, and climbing on the side of the bed. "take care, nelly," cried her aunt. "don't jar the bed so; your mamma has been very ill." "i'm sorry," said the little girl, affectionately, and she kissed her mother's pale hand. "may i show frankie my baby now?" she asked, turning to her aunt. "if you will go very softly, dear. remember, noise will make your mamma worse." then mrs. gray went into the next room, and took off her bonnet and shawl. after this, she returned to the nursery, where the baby was still sleeping. nelly and her cousin were just going out, each walking on tip-toe, so as not to hurt mamma. "i never saw a child so much changed," said the old lady who took care of mrs. nelson. "i was here two years ago to nurse her mother; and she was the torment of the house." "she is very easily managed, now," answered mrs. gray. "she obeys my slightest look." "we've a little mite of a fellow in there," said the good nurse; "he only weighed three pounds and a quarter with his clothes on. i never thought he would live till this time." "is he quiet?" asked the aunt. "he has turns of screaming dreadfully," answered the nurse. "that is what has kept his mother so ill." at this moment they heard mr. gray and mr. nelson coming up the stairs, and the nurse opened the door and beckoned them into the nursery, as the sick lady was trying to get some sleep while the baby was quiet. maria had been sitting in the room with her work; but now she arose and said, "baby will be likely to sleep a spell now, and i'll go down to the kitchen and do my ironing." "i will take care of him till you return," said mrs. gray. her husband and willie were to ride home in the afternoon, and so her brother had invited them up to see his little son. he seemed very anxious about the baby, and asked his sister whether she thought it would live. before she answered, the lady bent gently over the cradle, and put her ear down to its chest. it was in such a deep sleep that it almost seemed as if it were already dead. "i cannot tell," she said, seriously, "until i have seen it when awake." after dinner, before her husband returned home, she called him into the parlor, and told him she was afraid maria gave the baby something to make it sleep so heavily, and she was determined to stay and watch her, and try to save the dear child. chapter vi. the wicked nurse. for two days mrs. gray scarcely left the nursery for a moment. the poor little babe would lie and sleep for hours together, and when he was awake he would scream and throw his head back as if he was going into a fit. the lady would take him from maria, and hold him on her breast, and carry him about the room trying to soothe him, until at last he would fall asleep again. all this time she had never been able to see that maria gave him any thing but his food. this was cream and boiling water, made pretty sweet with loaf sugar, and she fed him with a spoon. one day the lady came in just as she was going to feed him, and asked to taste of it. maria held up the cup without speaking. "it is very nice," said the lady. "i can't see why it distresses him so." she then turned to leave the room, but as she did so, she saw a strange kind of smile come over maria's face; and it brought all the old suspicions to her mind. when she reached the entry, she came suddenly back again, and saw maria pouring some dark-colored drops from a small vial into the cup. then she took the spoon and began to feed the baby again, laying the vial close behind her on the chair. mrs. gray sprang forward before maria knew she was in the room, caught it, and held it up to the light. the word laudanum was printed on the label. for one moment, her heart beat so fast that she could not speak; then she snatched the poor baby from maria's arms, threw a large cradle blanket around him, and ran down stairs to the library, where her brother was writing. "here, edward," she exclaimed,--"here is the food maria feeds your little son upon;" and she held out the bottle toward him. "i have suspected her all along; but to-day i saw her pouring some into the cup." "where is the wretch?" asked the poor father, his cheeks growing very white. "how dared she do this?" when they returned to the nursery, maria had run away to the chamber in the attic, where she kept her trunk; but she had forgotten to take care of the cup into which she had poured the laudanum. while they were tasting and examining it, the doctor came in, and said that he wondered, with such feeding, that the baby had not died long before. "we have all been to blame," said the doctor; "and if it had not been for your sister, mr. nelson, i think the child could not have lived many days." mrs. gray pressed the poor suffering baby to her heart, and resolved that she would watch over it until a good, faithful nurse could be provided. she then rang the bell for some fresh cream and water, while her brother went to the attic to send maria from the house. he found her busy packing her trunks, for she had sense enough to know that she would not be allowed to stay longer. he told her she must leave immediately, and that her trunks should be sent after her. he took out his pocket book, and paid her the week's wages that were her due, saying he would not have such a wicked creature in the house another minute. maria cried, and begged on her knees to be allowed to take her trunks with her, until her master began to think she had some things in them which did not belong to her. he stepped back into the entry, and told nelly, who was in the lower hall, to tell the cook to come up to him. this was a good woman, who had lived with him ever since he was married. when she came, he told her to examine maria's trunks, and see whether there was any silver in them, or other articles belonging to the house. maria cried, and wrung her hands, and said it was cruel to treat her so; but her master stood by the door, his countenance growing every moment more stern, while the cook drew out from the bottom of the trunk three small jars of jelly, four silver teaspoons, one silver fork, a gold thimble, and three richly-worked collars, all of which the gentleman recognized as belonging to his wife. in spite of the tears and groans of the wicked woman, mr. nelson sent for an officer to arrest her, for he felt sure, if she would steal and lie, and more than all, if she would give a child that which she knew would destroy its life, she ought to be punished for her crimes. mrs. gray did not return home for nearly two weeks, and then she left the little baby, who had been named eddy, in the care of a good woman, who gave him nourishing milk from her own breast. the little fellow now began to thrive and grow, though the doctor said he would be a long time in recovering from maria's cruel treatment. mr. nelson was so much delighted with the improvement in his little girl, that he consented to her returning with her aunty, though it was a great trial to have her remain from home. nelly and frankie had taken almost the whole care of themselves during the three weeks of their stay, improving the pleasant autumn weather by running all over the garden and grounds. back of the house, there was a beautiful grove of chestnut trees, from two of which was suspended a swing. here the children passed many happy hours. sometimes they sat under the delightful shade with their books in their hands, reading aloud by turns as they did when at home. sometimes they would sing their pretty songs, or repeat favorite verses. then, when they were tired of these quiet amusements, they would skip through the walks with arms interlaced, or jump the rope, or play at hide and seek. at the lower end of the garden, the smooth gravelled walks were lined with high lattices upon which were trained peach trees, in the shape of fans. these afforded fine places to hide, which were eagerly improved by the children. mrs. gray often found herself joining the merry shout which echoed through the garden when either nelly or her cousin was successful in the search. "o, how i wish ponto were here!" exclaimed frankie one day, sinking on the grass and panting for breath. "he would have found you out long before i did. that was a real funny place to hide. i kept hearing you call, 'coop, coop,' but never thought of looking in there." "yes, indeed!" cried nelly, laughing and shaking back her curls. "at first i was afraid i couldn't creep in, the bushes grew so close to the ground. i could peep through the leaves and see you looking every where. when you were near, i kept as still as i could; but when you ran away to look in another place i'd call 'coop' again. o, it's splendid fun!" "well, master frankie," said nelly's papa on the morning when they were leaving for home, "i am much obliged to you for taking such good care of my little girl. your mamma has promised to leave you and nelly here while she goes a journey in the autumn." "we have had a real good visit, uncle," replied frankie, his eye sparkling with joy, "and i shall be very glad to come again." "now," said nelly, as they drove away from the door, "we are ready to begin school again." transcriber's note: spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained as they appear in the original publication except as follows: page gently in his trunk, or probosis _changed to_ gently in his trunk, or proboscis