san mundo revio x ws our little italian cousin mary hazelton blanchard wade, claire giannini hoffman harvard college library the gift of ralph barton perry professor of philosophy c i > - i r . the , little cousiit series (tradb mark) i each volume illustrated with six or rrfcre full-page plates in tint. cloth, i mo, with decorative cover, per volume, cents list of titles by mary hazelton wade (unless otherwise indicated) our little african cousin our little alaskan cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little arabian cousin by blanche mcmanus our little armenian cousin our little australian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little brazilian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little brown cousin our little canadian cousin by elizabeth r. macdonald our little chinese cousin by isaac taylor headland our little cuban cousin our little dutch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little egyptian cousin by blanche mcmanus our little english cousin by blanche mcmanus our little eskimo cousin our little french cousin by blanche mcmanus our little german cousin our little greek cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet l. c. page new england building, our'little hawaiian cousin our little hindu cousin i by blanche mcmanus our little hungarian cousin iy mary f. nixon-roulet |ttle indian cousin :le irish cousin le italian cousin le japanese cousin jewish cousin ttle korean cousin h. lee m. pike our little mexican cousin by edward c. butler our ljttle norwegian cousin our little panama cousin by h. le m. pike our little persian cou«in by e. fvshedd our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little russian cousin our little scotch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little siamese cousin our little spanish cousin f by mary f. nixon-roulet our little swedish cousin by claire m. coburn • little swiss cousin ■ little turkish cousin icompany boston. nitss, >' ■ . tessa i i . * i i tessa i our little italian cousin . * * * by * * mary hazelton wade *f * * ^ illustrated by & . * ^ l. j. bridgman ^ i t * * t boston <jfr l. c. page & company ^ publishers x *y* * * *t* * * * * * * * * * * *t* *y* * * y hasvard ebe ubsmw (•if; r? copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved the little cousin series (.trade mark) published, july, fifth impression, june, sixth impression, november, seventh impression, august, \ in [any people fcbm other lands\have crossed ocean to m$/e a new home fo» themselves love its freedom. they tule. they re happy hjfe und^jts^kindly suffer less than in t cou ntry want and hunger their birthplace. hudren afe blessed with the privilege ng fine schools and wit . the right to ut this wjonflfrful work , side by sjde v sons and daughters th: i alt s& th eirl successful and wisest /people. mot g these newer-comers to tht italians, mam yf whom wil af our most mc america are never again own country, of which: they are still so ijusrlyl p^ofiom fthey will tel you itj is a land of wbnderful beauty; that it has sunsets that both artists and i ana poet v i vi "tkem^forus[ again and again; that its is that ^of a strong ancf mighty people who once held rule over all thq civilized world; \ \ that thousands on travellers /ery year to look jes, for it/may| treasure-house of tl you/meet i their big bro\ whether it be in sci i vill feel you tui dme, ang wise columbus its pointings and ly be called the tj :ali n fo ittle n atte ; ^f the ft it that wesw your own loved try, your great, jgran/l, free a its art treet, pe »g while tve and ht find contents page i. tessa ii. rome * iii. the story of jenkas . . . . iv. christmas v. saint peter's vi. the christening vii. the twins viii. the carnival ix. the buried city io our little italian cousin he had carried a load of nuts and vegetables to rome in the morning. but when he had to bring beppo back again, he felt a little bit sulky. so it was no wonder that he stood quite still every few minutes and did not seem to hear his little master scold. "get up, pietro, get up. we shall be late to supper," beppo would say, but the donkey would not move till beppo's father used the whip. he did not strike hard enough to hurt the poor creature, though. oh no, the kind man would not do that, he was too gentle. but he must make the donkey know the whip was there, or they would never get home. when they had crossed the wide plain and reached the foot of the hill, beppo got down and walked. it was too hard on pietro to make him carry even a little boy now. they came up the narrow road slowly till they reached the village. and just as the sunset spread over the sky, and gave a glory our little ttle italian cousin \ a picture. babbo said you also had long hair, and that we look much alike. "only think, tessa! he vill pay babbo for letting him paint us. and mother shall have a new dress, and you shall have some red ribbons. we will all have a feast. say, tessa, is there a nice chestnut cake (waiting for our supper? i am so hungry." the boy's great black eyes sparklfed as he told the story. his mong hair hung down over his shoulders, undek the odd pointed hat. he was a beautiful child). it was no wonder the american artist wished to put him \ in a picture. but tessa was beautiful! too. the artist would not be disappointed when he saw her. her skin was clear, but likeithe colour of the olives which grew on the old! tree behind her house. and now there was a! faint pink blush in her cheeks as she listened t|> beppo's story. they were very happy children, but oh, so tessa poor, you would think if you should visit them in the old house where they have always lived. it is no wonder they like best to be outdoors. j the floor is chilly fin- the house is all of stone, a made of bricks. it seems darkl|ni side after leaving the glorious plaster is blackened with smoke some places it lis broken away fr< and is falling d^>wn but there id a picture of t^e jthris hanging over the rough table, a£id me ch do not think of the dingy wall^. jit is h< where a loving father and mdthe^r watch ' jthem from h is spread alith the are the cakes cm them and guard see! the tabl there! supper. which beppo from tessa's imp\ fror chestnut flour mixed with olive /oil, and of the stone fountain in the so for pdt goat. i bet here is milk o runs over to ofj the village our little italian cousin and fills a copper dish with fresh water, and the jittle family sit down to their evening the mother hears the good news, and claps her hands in delight. but what shall tessa wear? it troubles the good soul, for tessa has no shoes, and both of her dresses are old and worn. "never mind, never mind," says her hus- band, "don't trouble yourself about that. the artist says he does not care about the clothes. he was much pleased with beppo's cloak, however. he says it will be fine in the picture. let tessa wear her wide straw hat and her old clothes; that is all he asks." "but how will she manage to travel so far? the child has never before gone such a dis- tance from home," continued her mother. "she is not heavy. she can sit on pietro's back between the panniers. i will not load tessa them heavily to-morrow, and then pietro will not complain. and when we come home at night, beppo can walk, i am sure. he may be tired, but he is a stout lad, my beppo is. what do you say, my boy?" | beppo was sure he could get along. he was only too glad to have tessa's company. "but think, babbo," he exclaimed, "it is not for one day that the artist wishes us. it is many, many, before the picture will be fin- ished. we can manage somehow, i am sure. i am nearly twelve years old now, and i am getting very strong." "but what will mother do with me away all day long?" said tessa. "who will take care of the baby while she works in the garden? and who will help her pull the weeds?" "bruno shall watch francesca. he will let no harm come to her, you may be sure. be- sides, she can walk alone so well now, she is little care. as for the garden, there is not tessa thank the good lord for bringing bruno to us." the mother looked up to the picture of jesus and made the sign of the cross on her breast. an hour later the whole family were sound asleep on their hard beds. "beppo walked by her side" rome artist. beppo had told her of their blue eyes and golden hair. he called them little angels. ah! she would like to be fair like them, she thought, as she looked in her tiny mirror. she did not dream how they would admire her own sweet dark face and soft voice. now it was six o'clock and time to start. tessa seated herself on pietro's back with her legs hidden by the bags of fruit. beppo walked by her side, while her father went ahead leading pietro by a rope. — although it was so early, everybody in the village seemed to be up and doing. as she passed along, tessa nodded good morning to the old women knitting or braiding straw on the door-steps. "pietro, do be careful," she cried, as the donkey picked his way among babies tumbling over each other in the narrow street while the older children played about them. our little party passed the fountain where our little italian cousin a group of women were doing the family wash- ing. every one had a good word for tessa, and wished her well, for the good news of last night had travelled from house to house. the narrow streets were paved with blocks of black lava which had once flowed red-hot from the volcano, vesuvius.^ high stone buildings that were hundreds of years old stood on each side. perhaps in far-away times they had been forts or castles, but now the simple peasants lived in them with no thought of the grand old days of their country. for this was italy, the land of sunny skies and the treasure-house of the world. look in your geography at the map of europe and find the oddly shaped peninsula that stretches downward between two seas. it looks some- thing like a man's boot, don't you think so? tessa doesn't know anything about the shape of her country, however. she has never studied geography. in fact, she can't even our little italian cousin one of beppo's boy friends went with them as far as the pasture-land below the village. he was driving a flock of goats which he must tend during the day. it was an easy life, but very tedious, and the boy wished he could go to the city, too. he had been there once, to the carnival. it was the grand time of his life, and he loved to tell the story over and over to his young friends. .—* at first the donkey trotted along quite merrily. his feet were so sure that tessa had no fear of his stumbling, though the way at first was steep and stony. "good pietro," said his little rider as she patted his head. perhaps the praise was too much for him, for pietro turned his head to one side and came to a standstill. an idea seemed to have come to him. it was time for rest and a lunch. look at those nice tufts of grass by the roadside. they must not be left behind. our little italian cousin "tessa, look at that stone water-way run- ning through the plain," said beppo. "they have told me in the city that a great ruler built it thousands of years ago. think of that, tessa. thousands! it cost vast sums of money, and was made to bring the water to the city from the distant mountains. in those days great quantities of water were used in immense bath-houses. but see, we are pass- ing an inn. i wish we were rich enough to go in and have some lunch." his father heard beppo's words. "don't wish for what you cannot have, my boy," he said. "look at that poor old man tending his flock of sheep, and be glad you are young and gay. that is best of all." the italians dread old age, and many of the peasants fear death. beppo saw the shadow pass across his father's face, and, like a good son, tried to make it look as cheerful as usual. "you shall not grow old and bent like that, rome babbo. tessa and i will soon be able to let you take your ease. what do you say, sister?" tessa laughed, and answered, "oh, yes, babbo, your work is nearly done now, for we are fast growing up." tessa was only nine years old, but coming to the city to be a model made her feel as though she were a young woman already.x they now entered the wonderful city filled with treasures. it disappointed tessa at first. the streets were narrow and crooked, like those of her own little village. the high stone houses looked dark and gloomy. and there were beggars here! they looked poorer and more ragged than any people at home. here was an old blind woman holding out a plate in which the passers-by were asked to put a piece of money. tessa wished she could help her, but she was too poor herself, and the party passed on. our little italian cousin "you can't tell about these places by the outside," beppo whispered. "many of them are palaces, tessa. just wait till we come to our artist's house. it is grand inside, and there is a court in the middle of the building with fountains and statues and beautiful plants. and back of the house — but i won't tell you any more. you must wait till you get there. it is very lovely." at last the donkey came to a standstill in front of a tall building. it was seven stories high and was all of marble. "you knew when to stop, little beastie," said his master. "you never make mistakes of that kind, if you do like to nibble the grass at the wrong time. get down, tessa, this is where mr. gray lives. "the artist has his studio far up at the top of the building. you are to go there this morning, but his family live on the fourth piano. good-bye, little ones. be good chil- rome dren." the father kissed them lovingly and went away with pietro to sell his fruit. piano, as applied to a building, means floor in italian. it is very common in italy to find very different kinds of people living on the several floors, or pianos, of one building. in this old palace, which tessa and beppo entered for the first time, very poor and dirty families were huddled together on the first floor with their dogs and other pets. yes, even the horse of one of the families shared their home in this fine building. but overhead, on the second floor, there lived a prince, a real live prince, with a dozen servants to wait on him. it did not trouble him that poor and dirty people were below him, because the walls were high and thick, and the floors were of marble. he did not seem to know even that there were such people in the world. beppo and tessa climbed twenty - seven our little italian cousin marble steps before they came to the second piano; and still they must keep going up, up, up, until they reached the very top. "stop, stop," tessa had to say more than once. "i am quite out of breath, and then, too, i am scared just a little bit. beppo, do i look all right? do you think the artist will take me?" then beppo would put his arm around his sister and comfort her with loving words. but at last the studio was reached, and the children, flushed and excited, knocked at the door. "my father came with us to the city to-day. he said you wished to see us," beppo grew bold enough to say when a pleasant-faced gentleman opened the door. "he will call for us again to-night." "come in, little ones," the gentleman an- swered in italian. "i am glad you are here. this is beppo, i believe. i have seen you rome before. and here is the little sister. how do you do, my child? make yourselves quite at home in these easy chairs." while he was speaking to the children he was thinking, "how beautiful the little girl is! she will do finely. the two will make a great picture. my own children must see them." then he went on talking with tessa. he showed her some curiosities and she soon forgot her bashful ness. but it was a long day. to be sure, the children had a delicious lunch which a servant brought up to the studio. the kind artist insisted they should not touch the food they had brought with them from home. but after all, it was very tiresome to sit quite still for half an hour at a time. and all the while the strange gentleman's eyes were fixed on them while his hand was busy with the brush. rome herself when she saw the golden curls of lucy and the fair, sweet faces of her brother and her- self. but she could not tell what they said, for they spoke in a strange tongue. "it is not soft like our own dear italian," she whispered to beppo. "it is hard, this american language." "they call it english, and not american," her brother answered. "i am going to learn it sometime, myself." the artist turned from them to his own children. he spoke in italian. "lucy and arthur are just beginning to speak your tongue, tessa, but they learn fast. they wish to know you and beppo. i told them you were coming. they would like to play with you, but as yet they cannot talk much italian. it is an hour yet before your father will come for you. would you like to go down into the garden and walk among the flowers for a little while?" our little italian cousin tessa's eyes sparkled with delight, and her heart beat quite fast when lucy stretched out her white hand and held fast her own brown one. "come, tessa and beppo," said arthur, who now spoke to his young visitors for the first time. "come, and i will show you the garden." the four children left the studio and ran down the great staircase. they did not stop until they found themselves on the ground floor. then they passed out through a wide doorway into the courtyard. tessa held her breath with delight. "beppo, beppo, look at that fountain," she cried. "and see the lovely cherub with its wings spread." lucy understood the words and she was pleased. "the prince owns this court," she said, "but he has told father that we may come in the palace harden rome here and bring our friends when we like. let us go into the gardens beyond." the little italians had hardly time to notice the statues and the beautiful plants before they were led into the great garden. here were orange-trees loaded with the yel- low fruit. there were beds of flowers in bloom, although it was late in november. beyond, were stone walls over which delicate vines were creeping, and marble statues were half hidden in the niches. "there is a lizard," cried arthur. "don't you see him creeping along that stone wall? he's a little fellow, but, oh, my, he's quick in his motions." "listen!" said beppo, who had forgotten his shyness now. "i will charm him. but you must all keep still." he gave a long, low whistle. the lizard, which had crept into a hole, raised his head and looked toward the children in delight, as our little italian cousin he drew himself to the top of the wall and lay quite still. again beppo whistled in the same way, and the lizard crept nearer. and now he stretched himself at length upon the walk at beppo's feet. "i could keep him charmed like that all day long," said the boy. "it is queer, isn't it? did you ever notice a lizard's feet?" "what do you mean? the odd way the toes swell out on the edges?" arthur asked. "yes. that is why the creature can walk across the ceiling like a fly. but it isn't the only reason, for a sticky substance oozes out, and that helps his feet to fasten themselves. i've seen them do it many times." "i wonder how they make that queer noise," said lucy. "they smack their tongues back in their mouths, somehow," answered beppo. "they are ugly little things, aren't they? but our little italian cousin beppo nodded his head. oh, yes, and he believed it to be very great, still. "and rome was the leading city in the whole wide world," arthur went on. "great deeds were done by her people; great battles were fought; great books were written; great palaces were built. well, in the olden times, whenever a person had done some truly great thing, he was crowned with a wreath of laurels. father told me this, so i know it must be true. "but come, i am afraid your father will be waiting for you. i didn't notice how fast the time was going." they hurried back to the house. there, to be sure, were pietro and his master. it had been a fine day. the fruit was all sold for a good price, and their father was eager to hear how the time had passed with his children. "oh, babbo, babbo, they were so kind, those good a said tessa over the nd i ar said this sc iide to ] while they were on the way he "the little girl (her name is lucy, babbc did not seem to notice my bare feet and darn* frock. she held my hand a long time, anc know i shall love her." /a. it \ the story of .xeneas vegetables. perhaps they don't miss the meat as long as they are not used to eating it as we are." "how did you know about their food?" asked lucy's mother, who happened to hear what she said. "it came about this way, mamma. we were in the kitchen the other day. i wanted to watch the maid cooking over the charcoal flames in that queer stone stove. and tessa said then she had seen such a big piece of meat roasting for dinner only two or three times in her life. then we went on talking and she spoke of what she usually had at home. her mother uses olive oil in almost everything, just as our cook does. i should think it would be better than the lard we have in america, isn't it?" "yes, indeed, for it is much more whole- some. it is obtained from olives, you know, instead of the fat of pigs. people would use our little italian cousin more of it in america if it did not cost so much by the time it has travelled across the ocean. but i hear your father's footsteps. let us go and meet him." the artist was not alone, for tessa was with him. she was looking much pleased. "it is raining hard," said mr. gray, "and i have just seen tessa's father and asked him to let her spend the night with us. it is too great a storm for her to go out in. the little girl has done finely for me to-day, and she sat so well that i got along on my picture quite rapidly. so she will dine with us to-night and i will tell you stories in italian. after that, we will have games." lucy ran and put her arms around tessa's neck. "what a good time we shall have," she cried. "father tells lovely stories. oh, tessa, i wish you were my own sistei *' tessa turned her big dark eyes to the floor the story of yeneas there were tears in them, but they were tears of gladness. she had never had a cross word spoken to her in her whole life. she had never been punished for any little fault. but her loving little heart had not expected this: that the american child who was always dressed so beautifully, whose parents seemed so rich in her eyes, should wish a sister like her, a peasant girl. she could scarcely believe it. the dinner seemed a very grand one to tessa. one surprise was brought in after another. there were four separate courses! last, came a delicious ice and frosted cakes. it seemed to the little italian like a feast of the fairies. after the dinner was over, the family went into the great drawing - room. rugs were stretched here and there over the marble floor. there were soft couches and odd, spider- legged tables and chairs. our little italian cousin "we don't own the furniture," lucy told her visitor. "it belongs here in the palace and is the same kind as the prince uses. he lives below us. it is beautiful, father thinks, but he does wish we could be warmer on these cold, windy days. you have very queer stoves in your country, tessa. you should feel the heat that comes from ours in america." and lucy held her hands over the jar filled with burning charcoal. it certainly gave the room little extra warmth. "you look cold," tessa answered, with her voice full of sympathy. "i do not feel so, though. i suppose it is because i have lived out-of-doors most of my life. but think, we do not have much weather like this, and it will soon be spring." yes, it was true. christmas would be here in a few days, and then, then, the lovely spring would open with its violets, its daisies, and its strawberries. the story of jeneas "are you ready with your story, father?" asked lucy, as she perched herself on the arm of his chair. arthur stretched himself on a rug at his father's feet, and at the same time drew tessa on her low stool to his side. "i shall have to be ready, at any rate, i think," her father answered, laughing. "so prepare to listen closely, for i must speak in italian, that tessa may understand. "i wish you to imagine a time of long ago," he went on. "it was before any history was written about this country. there were many different tribes of people who lived along the shores of the rivers and built temples to strange gods. those people believed in a god of the forest, and others of the ocean, the fruits, and the grains. festivals were held in their honour. "after many years, the country became great and powerful. this city was built and ships were sent from it to all parts of the known our little italian cousin world. it was at this time also that art and poetry flourished. sculptors modelled beauti- ful statues that we count among our greatest treasures to-day. and men wrote great books that you, lucy and arthur, will study, by and by. "one of these writers was virgil. he wrote in latin, the language spoken by these people. the soft italian words in use now are pleasant to the ear, but not as strong and grand as the old latin tongue." "doesn't any one speak in latin now, father?" asked lucy. "no, my dear. but it is studied, and the books written in latin are read by scholars. our own english language would be very poor if it had not received a great deal of help from the latin. in fact, the same thing can be said of nearly every language used in the western world to-day. but i am afraid you are getting tired. i will go back to my story. the story of alneas "it was written by the poet virgil, and tells of the wonderful things that happened to a prince called ieneas. he lived in troy and was always called the pious mneas. this was because he was so good to his old father, and honoured the gods in whom he believed." "did he really live, father, or is this only a legend?" asked arthur. "we think now it is a legend, but the story is written as if every word were true, and be- longed to the real history of italy. but let me go on with my story. "mneas and his people had been conquered in a great battle, and their city was given up to their enemies. the young prince fled in the darkness, carrying his father on his back, and leading his little boy by the hand. his wife followed behind them. the old man carefully held some little images. they must not be left behind or lost, for they represented the story of ^eneas from home. what you would think of as a short voyage would have seemed a very long one to the people then. "many wonderful things happened to ieneas after he left troy. after a while his provisions gave out, and he landed on the shore of an island to get some food. he found wild goats grazing there, and his men killed some of them. while they were feast- ing on the flesh of these creatures, the harpies appeared. they had the bodies of birds, but the faces of ugly old women." tessa shuddered. "are there any real harpies?" she asked, eagerly. "no, no, tessa. remember that this is only a legend. "these horrible bird-hags flew down into the midst of the trojans and destroyed their dinner. the men shot at them, but the arrows glanced off of the feathers, and not one of the harpies was harmed. although most of them our little italian cousin flew far away, they were very angry. one of them stayed long enough to cry in a harsh voice: "' you trojans shall be punished for troub- ling us. you shall be tossed about on the ocean until you reach italy, and you shall not build a city for yourselves until you are so hungry that you will be willing to eat the trenchers containing the food.' "this was what people called a prophecy, and, as jeneas and his men believed in such things, it made them feel far from cheerful. "he sailed away, however, and came at length to another place, where he found old friends. his cousin, helenus, who had also been driven away from troy, was ruling there, and he had built a new city for himself and his comrades. "helenus was a prophet, as it seemed, and he told jeneas that after he reached italy he would find an old white sow with thirty little the story of yeneas pigs around her. he must build a city for himself wherever he should find her. "ieneas had many other adventures after leaving helenus. among other things, he met a horrible giant who had lost the sight of his one eye, but was still terrible. after this, the old father of jeneas died, and the son's sad loss was followed by a fearful storm in which the men nearly gave up hope of seeing land again. the ships were driven far to the south. "after the wind had died down and the waves had grown calmer, the homeless wan- derers came to a quiet bay. they landed and found a lovely queen who treated ieneas so kindly that he almost forgot the city he had planned to build in italy. but after awhile the god mercury appeared to him and re- minded him of his duty. "he set sail once more, leaving the beau- tiful queen so unhappy that she killed herself our little italian cousin with a sword her visitor had left behind. there were many other adventures, but, at last, ieneas came to the shores of italy, where he rested in a grove. he and his followers sat around on the grass to eat. they used large, round cakes for plates on which to place the meat. after it was gone, they began to eat the cakes. then .flineas's little son said: "' we are eating our trenchers.' "when he heard these words ieneas thought of the harpy's prophecy. he knew at once that his home was to be here." "was it where rome stands now?" asked lucy. "no, the place was called cumae. there is another story about the building of rome which you may like to hear some other even- ing. let us play games for awhile, and then, little ones, for bed and pleasant dreams." every one joined in a game of blind man's chapter iv. christmas mother," said lucy, one day late in december, "tessa says she never gets pres- ents on christmas day. those always come \on twelfth night in italy. what a queer idea! but she says there are processions in the churches, and all sorts of beautiful sights. jwill father take us to saint peter's then, do you think?" >' lucy had only been in italy six months and there were many interesting things she had / not seen yet. \ \ "certainly," answered her mother. "your father and i have been thinking of asking hoth tessa and beppo to spend christmas week with us. you will enjoy the sights all \ ■ v christmas the more if you have them with you. what do you think?" lucy was so pleased she jumped up and down in delight. "you good, kind mother," she cried. "of course, it will be lovely." that very night tessa's father was asked if he would be willing his children should visit the artist's family. the good man's face beamed with pride. oh, yes, he was only too glad they should have such an honour and pleasure. he knew his wife would also rejoice. there was to be no trouble about the clothes. a new suit was already waiting for beppo, while the artist's wife had herself made two pretty dresses for tessa. "you are too kind," cried the peasant. his hands seemed to say this as well as his voice. what would an italian do without hands to help him in talking? sometimes they seem to express more than his voice. our little italian cousin in this way it came to pass that tessa and beppo bade good-bye to the little village on the hillside for nearly two weeks. they must be home at twelfth night, however, to bring presents to mother and francesca. oh, yes, there was no doubt of that. but in the meantime it was to be a holiday. the children were not to sit as models for one minute. the artist would let his brushes rest and go about the city with his family and their young visitors. christmas eve came at last, although the hours before it arrived seemed like weeks to the excited children. a carriage drove up to the palace door. they were all to drive to a beautiful church called santa maria maggiore, where the pope himself would be that night. "why is he such a great man, and why do the people give him such reverence?" asked arthur. our little italian cousin any one who wished, might look upon it at christmas time. the peasant children believed it could do great wonders. why, if they were sick, and even dying, it might save their lives if they were allowed to touch it. tessa whispered this to lucy £s they mixed with the people entering the church. they passed along between two rows of beautiful marble columns. they were obliged to move slowly because the crowd was so great. but lucy's father soon led them to the doorway of a small chapel, where they could stand while the procession passed up to the altar. the sacred cradle was carried first, and behind it followed the pope with the cardinals and other high officers of the church. the pope was carried in a chair above the heads of the people and, as he passed along, he held out his hands to bless them as they knelt before him. our little italian cousin beautiful christmas tree, — not of pine or balsam, such as lucy and arthur would have in america. it was of laurel. "oh! oh! oh!" exclaimed beppo. he had never seen anything like it before, for his people are not used to this custom of having christmas trees. and tessa's eyes sparkled, too, as she drew one long sigh of happiness. what beauty met her eyes! was it indeed fairy-land, — these tiny lights shining on every twig of the tree; gilded oranges hanging from the branches; and toys, so many she was sure she could not count them. could it be true that this lovely wax doll was her very own? lucy's father had said so, but she was afraid she might rub her eyes and wake, and find it all a dream. as for beppo, he was equally delighted to find himself the owner of a jack-knife with four blades, a fine ball with which he could teach the american children his favour- christmas ite game of pallone, in which he was very skilful. there were neither skates nor sleds. they would be of no use in italy, the land of sunny skies, where snow is unknown except on the high mountain-tops. the evening was a merry one, but it came to an end at last. "to bed, to bed, children," lucy's mother cried at length. "to-morrow there will be more sights, and you must not get sick over your good time." christmas morning dawned bright and clear. the children waked early and did not seem any the worse for sitting up so late the night before. soon after breakfast, an open carriage appeared at the door of the palace and they all rode off to visit the greatest church in the world. "at last we are on our way to saint peter's," said arthur. "tessa, you may well be proud christmas on, turning toward tessa, "that those brave men saved the city. they kept the enemy from entering until the bridge was cut down. the last one stood on guard until he felt the supports give way. then he cried out to the river: it i o tiber, father tiber, to whom the romans pray, a roman's life, a roman's arms take thou in charge this day.' "an instant afterward he jumped into the rushing stream and swam with all his might back to his people and the city he had saved." "did he escape?" beppo asked. "i should think his enemies would have killed him before he was able to get out of the reach of their weapons." "they admired his bravery so much they had mercy on him and did not try to hit him after he jumped into the water. then they turned away, for they could not reach rome now that the bridge was destroyed." our little italian cousin as lucy finished the story she could not help saying to herself, " i do hope tessa and beppo will be able to go to school and study about this grand country of theirs. they love it as dearly as i love america, but they do not know as much of the history of its great men as i do now." her father was thinking at the same time, "what a pity it is there are so many poor and ignorant people in italy. how i wish the children of to-day could grow up and make the country what it was once." the sun was shining so brightly by this time that the girls had to raise their parasols to shade their eyes as they looked along the crowded street. it was filled with carriages all going in the same direction as themselves. the sidewalks, too, were packed closely. there were all kinds of people; lords and ladies, priests in their shovel hats, cardinals in their elegant robes. all would soon enter the christmas great church. their faces looked happy and full of joy. "shall we not be crowded worse than we were last night?" asked mrs. gray. she looked a little bit worried. "o no, you need have no fear about that/' her husband replied. "forty thousand people can easily gather in saint peter's and then it will not be full, by any means." the carriage stopped in front of a long cov- ered archway built of marble. they stepped down and, entering it, soon found themselves in the court in front of the church. the church itself is built in the shape of an immense cross, and where the four lines of the cross meet, there is a huge dome overhead. "i can see the dome of saint peter's from my home on the mountain," tessa said to lucy. "if i were far away in another part of the world, i am sure i should picture it in my mind whenever i thought of rome." chapter v. saint peter's the children now entered the great build- ing. what a glory of colour was around them. there was a blaze of gold and purple and crimson. the windows were set with glass of all the beautiful tints of the rainbow. the floors were laid in small pieces of marble in exquisite patterns. "oh, lucy, lucy," whispered tessa, "look at the walls and pillars! gems such as your mother wears are shining there. and how beautifully they are carved." lucy's only answer was, " look overhead, tessa, and see the paintings. there are the figures of the apostles. they appear as large as life, although we are so far below them." in st. peter's saint peter's just then her father told her to notice the pen in st. luke's hand. "i have been told that it is seven feet in length," he said, " yet it is so far away it seems only as long as the one you use at home, lucy." soft music was now heard pealing from the organ, and they moved slowly along to the seats mr. gray had engaged for them. "look, look, lucy!" whispered tessa, a few minutes after. "he is coming, and we can see him to-day, i am sure." it was the pope, of course. two enormous fans could be seen waving at the other end of the great building. the procession of priests and cardinals, in their purple robes, moved slowly and grandly along. the pope was behind them in a chair carried on poles by twelve bearers. the fans were kept waving on each side of the great man. as he passed onward between the rows of our little italian cousin soldiers in their gorgeous uniforms, they knelt before him. "he holds out only two fingers of his hand over the bent heads of the people. that is all there is of the blessing, i suppose," said arthur. "but he smiles pleasantly, and has a kind face." at last the procession reached the altar. the pope stood up before the people, and they could see he was robed in white. he chanted the service, after which a choir of beautiful voices began to sing. the balcony where the singers stood was richly gilded. when the service was ended, mr. gray told the children to wait quietly where they were. "when most of the people have passed out," he said, "we will walk about and ex- amine this beautiful cathedral more carefully. there is a great deal you have not seen yet." in a few minutes the building was nearly saint peter's empty, and mr. gray led the way from one part of it to another. he opened the door into one of the chapels at the side. "look within," he said. "this chapel is as large as an ordinary church. yet there are a number just like it which lead from the main part of the cathedral. they seem tiny beside it, though." tessa and beppo loved to stop at the differ- ent shrines where the figures of jesus and his mother, mary, were always found. they were beautifully carved and sparkled with rich jewels. "now let us visit the statue of st. peter himself," said mr. gray. "some say it was never meant for that good man, but is really the likeness of a heathen emperor. but nearly every one who worships here does not wish to believe that. and so many visitors have come here to give him honour that one toe of the statue is a good deal worn off." our little italian cousin "why, what do you mean, father?" asked lucy. "just what i said, my dear. it is thought to be quite proper to kiss the toe of the statue of st. peter. i don't know how the fashion started, but, at any rate, i believe thousands upon thousands of people have knelt before the statue and done that very thing. you can see the marks of it for yourself." after st. peter had been duly examined, mr. gray proposed that a visit should be made to the wonderful dome. "but there are a good many stairs to climb. do you think, wife, that you will be able to mount them?" "if the little girls can do it, i am sure that i can," replied mrs. gray, as she turned to tessa and lucy. it was quite easy to see by their smiles and nods that they were eager to try it. "then let us start at once," said her saint peter's husband, beckoning to a guide to show the way. they passed through a door in the side of the church, and entered a passage which wound round and round, yet up and still up, till they reached a balcony around the foot of the dome. the stairway by which they had come was so broad and rose so gradually that one could easily mount it on horseback. "many a person has ridden to the top on a donkey," the guide told the children, which amused them very much. as they looked down from the balcony, the people in the body of the church seemed like tiny dolls, they were so far below. "but this is not all," said mr. gray. "as soon as you stop panting, we will go higher yet." "all ready, father," said lucy, after a five minutes' rest. "i'm sure we are equal to another climb now." our little italian cousin the next flight of stairs was very narrow. it led to another balcony around the top of the dome. "do not think this is all," said mr. gray. "we can go higher yet, for we have not reached the lantern." after much puffing and gasping for breath, and the climbing of more narrow stairs, they found themselves in a large room inside the lantern. as they looked out of the windows in that lofty place, a wonderful view was spread before their eyes. below was the square, and leading out from it were many archways with curved tops, like the one through which the children first entered the church. the palace of the pope was at hand, with its wonderful library and art treasures. beyond, across the tiber, lay the great city, with its palaces, fountains, temples, and the ruins of the greatest and finest buildings in the world; some of them two thousand years old. saint peter's "i can look far out upon the sea that co- lumbus first sailed," exclaimed arthur. "in- deed, it seems as if i could almost see spain, where he went to get help. you know the story of columbus, don't you, beppo?" the italian lad shook his head. no, but he wished to hear it. would arthur tell him the story some day? arthur said he would be glad to do so, for, although columbus was an italian, he felt that he belonged to america. where would he be now, if columbus had not discovered the new world? who should say? "look straight down at the roof of the church below us," cried lucy. "did you ever hear of anything so odd? there is a little cottage! the idea of a house built on the roof of a church! what can be the reason for its being there?" "it is only a room made for the work- men," said the guide. "they are busy all our little italian cousin the time repairing the church in one part or another." "now let us go home and have the christ- mas dinner," said mr. gray, after they had rested a few moments longer. an hour afterward the children were gath- ered around the great dining-table. but there was no christmas turkey in the middle. there was a dish of larks instead! "poor little birds," said lucy. "it is too bad to kill tiny things like you, that we may have something nice to eat." "what is the bird of your country, beppo?" asked arthur. "i don't know, but i think it ought to be the nightingale," the little italian answered. "ah! i love to hear him, he sings so sweetly." the boy's face lighted up as he said this. "and what is the bird of america, arthur?" he asked. "the eagle has been chosen, but i think it saint peter's ought to be the turkey, for my country gave that glorious fowl to the world." mr. and mrs. gray laughed at arthur's words, but a moment after his father said: "i quite agree with you, my boy. the turkey truly belongs to us, while the eagle is not only found in many other lands, but it has been the national emblem of several countries." the christmas holidays passed only too quickly, and the day before twelfth night soon arrived. the shops were full of things suitable for presents, and a great fair was held in the city, around which crowds of italians were busy buying their gifts. beppo and tessa wandered up and down with their american friends. they were perplexed as to what they should get for their dear ones at home. there were many things from which to choose. they felt as though they had quite a little fortune to spend, for mr. gray had given each of our little italian cousin them what would be equal to a dollar in our money. they had never had so much money before, and they turned from one thing to another before they finally decided upon a dress and a big gilt brooch for their mother, a new hat for their father, and little red kid shoes for fran- cesca. "she never had any shoes in her life," tessa told lucy. "i never had any either, till your mother gave me these." when the peasant called at the palace to take the children home, he brought great news. "we have a new baby," he said. "it is a beautiful boy just a day old. and now we must have a christening as soon as twelfth night is over. we will ask the kind artist and his wife, as well as our own friends, to come." chapter vi. the christening tessa and beppo were so eager to see the precious baby, they could hardly wait to get home. they were even a little cross with pietro when he stopped to nibble choice bits of grass by the roadside. but what could a poor stupid donkey be expected to care about a baby only a day old? home was reached at last, however, and the children bounded into the dark room where their mother lay watching for them. a small basket cradle stood beside the curtained bed; in it was the sweetest, tiniest baby. "he is sound asleep, mamma," said tessa, after kissing her mother at least a dozen times. "how i wish he would wake." our little italian cousin "i do believe he looks like me, the darling little boy," she exclaimed, when the baby's eyes opened at last. the kind neighbour who had come in to look after the family for a few days lifted the baby tenderly and placed him in tessa's arms. he was so swaddled in clothes and blankets it didn't seem as though he could be hurt, even if the little girl should drop the precious bundle. but there was no fear of that. she was used to babies, and had taken almost all the care of francesca since that little girl was a month old. but where was francesca now? the little tot was holding fast to her sister's dress. she wanted to be as near as possible to this won- derful new brother. when he began to cry, she said: "baby wants the candle; baby wants the candle." she thought he had already begun to notice things about the room, and was the christening longing for the lighted candle. everybody laughed. i; he is hungry; that is all, you foolish francesca. you are only a baby yourself," said beppo. after the baby had been put back in the cradle, tessa went to the bedside of her mother and told her of her lovely visit to the grand home of the americans. "to-morrow, when you are not so tired, i will tell you more about it. but after all, home is tne best place in the world. now that i can look at you, i don't care if i can't see the procession to-morrow. just think! babbo says that an image of the holv child is carried up and down the aisles of one of the churches. it is richly dressed in silks and jewels. after awhile it is placed on a stage with wax figures of the virgin and joseph and the three wise men. here is even a manger there, and a big cow or ox. it must be very beautiful." our little italian cousin "when you are older, we will go together," said the mother, softly. "i went to rome on twelfth day several times when i was younger. but many things have happened to prevent it lately." she sighed as she thought of the sickness and the hard work of the last few years. all the next day francesca was so happy with the bright red shoes that she did not need to be watched. every one, except the dear mother lying quietly behind the snowy bed-curtains, was busy preparing for the christening. a bright fire was kept burning, and the odour of onions and garlic filled the kit- chen. there must be all sorts of nice dishes at the morrow's feast, and the good neighbour was cooking from morning till night. among other things, she prepared some wonderful cakes. tessa thought they were so our little italian cousin what was his name now, you ask? it was angelo, after his proud father, who handed him around among his friends as soon as the baptism was over. every one must have a chance to kiss him. as he was passed from one to another, a piece of money was tucked away in his clothes by each one. no matter how poor the person was, some little bit was given with a right good will. it was but a symbol of the love and friendship of these simple peasants for each other. when mr. gray's turn came, he hid in the baby's dress a piece of money so big as to make his mother's eyes open with delight when it was shown her afterward. she had never before seen a gold coin worth ten dollars in her life. the christening party now turned back to the house, where the mother lay waiting for them. the feast was all spread and the visitors gathered around the table with good the christening appetites. lucy and arthur and their parents stayed, for tessa's father looked quite hurt when they spoke of going home. "not stop to share our feast!" he cried. "ah! that is sad! sad!" and so they remained and took part in the merrymaking. some of the villagers played on their bagpipes. tessa performed a very pretty dance, and beppo sang two songs with his rich, soft voice. "we have had a lovely time," said lucy, as the beautiful colours began to light the sun- set sky, and her father bade her get ready to leave. "but we wish tessa and beppo to come home and stay with us another week. don't we, father?" mr. gray answered, "yes, we should like it very much. after my holiday, i must paint quite steadily, and i wish to finish the picture of tessa and beppo at once. it would not be easy for you to bring the children to me our little italian cousin every day now that your wife is sick. so please let them go back with us." this was how tessa and beppo came to go back to rome with the family of the artist. the carriage was a little crowded, but no one cared. all were so busy laughing and talking that it seemed only a few minutes before they drew near the city gates. " believe it was not far from here that agrippa told the people the fable so often repeated since that time." the painter was looking out of the carriage over the campagna. "i wish i knew the exact spot," he said, half to himself. "tell us about it; do, please, father," said lucy. "what was the fable, and who was agrippa, and why did he come out on this dreary place to tell a story?" "it was a long time ago; even long before the birth of jesus," mr. gray replied. "it the christening was when rome was a powerful city. there were two great classes of the people, — the patricians, who were rich and owned most of the land, and the plebeians, who had little power and were mostly poor. "the patricians ruled the city to suit them- selves and did not treat the plebeians justly. at last, when they could not stand this unfair treatment any longer, they came together and marched out of the city. "' we will claim our rights,' they said, and made ready to attack the patricians, who remained in rome. "it was a time of danger for the city, since there was a greater number of the poor than of the rich. what should be done? a very wise man named agrippa was chosen to go out on the campagna and reason with the plebeians. when he drew near to them, he said: "' have a fable which i wish to tell you. it is this: our little italian cousin "c once upon a time all the limbs of a man's body became provoked because they had to work for the stomach. the legs and feet were obliged to carry it about; the hands had to get food for it; the mouth ate for it; the throat swallowed for it; the head thought for it; and so on. they said it was a shame they had to work so hard for that one organ. what use was it, indeed! "' they agreed to do nothing more for it at all. they stopped their work, but, strange to say, they began to grow weak and helpless. at last they said to each other, " we shall all starve and die unless we go back to our old work. the stomach has seemed useless to us before, but now we see that we were mistaken."' "after he had ended his story, agrippa went on to say that all classes of people depended on each other, and that all would perish unless they worked together. "both the poor and the rich seemed to think that this was good advice. the ple- beians marched back into the city and took up their old work, while the patricians promised to be fairer in their dealings. . - "thus peace was made and rome was saved." as mr. gray finished the story the carriage drew up in front of their home. "what a short ride it seemed," said tessa. "it must have been because of the story you told us, mr. gray. i shall never forget it" chapter vii. the twins "tessa and beppo are two of the best models i ever had," said mr. gray. "they were perfectly quiet and did just what i wished. my picture is finished and you must all come up and look at it." it was a sunny afternoon nearly a week after the christening of tessa's baby brother. lucy and arthur were in the drawing-room with their mother when mr. gray opened the door with these words. there was a great scampering over the stairs as the two children tried to see who could reach the studio first. "oh, how lovely, how lovely!" cried lucy, who was the winner of the race. she was standing in front of the canvas. the twins and what do you think she saw? a little flower-girl out on the campagna. she sat on the back of a donkey that certainly looked much like pietro. the girl's bare feet were almost hidden by two great bags of fruit hang- ing from the donkey's sides. in her lap was a basket of flowers that she would sell in the city to-day. a boy who was the very image of beppo held the donkey's bridle. "how beautiful you have made tessa's curls," said lucy. "but they are not a bit lovelier than hers really are. look at the feather in beppo's pointed hat, arthur, and the gaiters buttoned up to the knees. and see the brown cloak thrown over his shoulders. it's the very way he wears it." "but you haven't noticed the herd of oxen in the distance," said the modest little tessa. she was quite abashed by the attention given to the figures of her brother and herself our little italian cousin "they are going back to the hillside for the night. what a lovely soft gray they are painted. i love these dear gentle creatures. they could do great harm with their large, spreading horns, but they are too kind for that." "yes, and see the shepherds standing in that field of daisies," said beppo. "more than once my father and i have stayed all night in just such a place when the storm overtook us and we could not get home." "how i love the mountains, far away in the soft light," said mrs. gray. "they make a beautiful background for the rest of the picture." "when you have admired it as much as you like, i think we had better take a half- holiday and see some of the sights," proposed mr. gray. "it is only two o'clock now; how soon can you all be ready?" "in five minutes, can't we, mother?" said the twins lucy, who was always delighted to have her father's company. he was usually so busy he could not often go anywhere with them. "yes," said mrs. gray. "we will not delay. get your hats, children; we can come here to-morrow to enjoy the picture again." this time they decided to walk, that the children might stop wherever they wished. "what is this show? oh, do look!" cried tessa, as they came to a big box set up on the side of the street. a man could be seen partly hidden behind the curtain. he was making some puppets act out a little play. he changed his voice so as to represent first one, then another. "that is a punch and judy show," said arthur. "you may watch it while i go over to that little flower-girl's stand. i am going to buy a bunch of pansies for mother. i think that is the girl's grandfather standing by her side. he must be lame, for he has a crutch. our little italian cousin i suppose they are very poor. perhaps that child supports them both." after arthur had bought his flowers, they walked on till they came to a shrine set up against the wall. it was a picture of saint mary and the infant jesus in a rough wooden frame. tessa and beppo knelt before it and were very quiet for a minute or two. "they are repeating some prayers," whis- pered lucy to her brother, as they passed slowly on. "when we rode back from tessa's home the other night, i noticed she suddenly stopped talking and shut her eyes when we passed one of those shrines out on the campagna." "she is a good little catholic." "arthur, look at that poor donkey. you can't see anything but his legs and his nose. he is carrying such a big load of hay that the rest of his body is out of sight." the twins their father came up to them at this moment, and said: "how would you like to take a carriage now and visit the coliseum? we still have plenty of time, and i have never been there with you." "good! good!" cried the children. while they were waiting for the carriage they bought some of the big italian chestnuts at a stand where a boy stood roasting them for the passers-by. they had not ridden far before they came upon a crowd of people around a fire. "what are they doing?" asked lucy. "i think i know," tessa answered. "they are heating pine-cones so as to get the seeds. did you ever eat them, lucy? i am very fond of them." "what a queer idea! but then, your pine- trees are different from any i have seen grow- ing at home. i don't doubt they are very nice." our little italian cousin when they drove up in front of the coli- seum, they saw before them one of the grandest ruins in the world. it was built when rome was still a great city, and was made to hold eighty thousand people. "why do you speak of it as a 'sacred ruin,' father?" asked arthur. "whenever we look at it we think of the christians who suffered terrible deaths there because of what they believed," mr. gray answered. "the coliseum was finished about seventy years after the birth of jesus. it was the place where the public games went on and where the wild beast shows and fights were held. "you can see that one side of the great wall of the building is still standing in pretty good condition. it was made in the shape of an oval, as you also see. now, imagine an open space, or arena, in the middle, and all around it rows on rows of seats, built one above the other. our little italian cousin in those sad times they were cruelly put to death here. one good bishop, i remember, was killed by lions in this very spot. but he went to his death cheerfully, — he was glad to be a martyr to his faith." "it looks bright and pleasant now," said mrs. gray. "it is hard to believe that such dreadful things ever took place here. see the pretty vines growing out between the stones in the wall; and listen to the shouts of those boys as they run and jump among the ruins." as the children seemed ready for a change, mr. gray proposed that they should visit the capitol, where they could see many beautiful statues; after which, they must go home, for the afternoon was nearly gone. that evening lucy took her place on one arm of her father's chair and told tessa to take the other. "now, boys," said she, "stop talking and the twins be quiet, and perhaps father won't be too tired to tell us about the building of rome. will you, father dear?" mr. gray could never refuse his little daughter when she spoke like that. and if this had not been enough, there were tessa's great soft eyes looking at him. they seemed to say, "oh, do, please, tell us," although tessa herself was too shy to ask him with her voice. "about rome, you say. all right. "once upon a time there were two little boys—" "but when was this 'once upon a time?'" interrupted arthur. "you began the story of ./eneas with the very same words." "it was quite a while after ieneas settled in italy. the two boys were his great-great- great-grandchildren; thirteen times great, i believe. their mother was a vestal virgin, — that is, she was a maiden who tended the sacred our little italian cousin fire in the temple of the goddess vesta. such maidens were treated with great honour, but they were not allowed to marry. "so the people were very angry when the young girl claimed that the god mars was her husband, and that the two baby boys were his and her children. so the poor girl was buried alive, while the helpless babies were put in a trough and set afloat on the river tiber." "poor little things! were they drowned?" asked beppo. "no, for if they had been, there would be no more story to tell," said mr. gray. "it happened that the river was very high at that time and had overflowed its banks, just as it sometimes does nowadays. the water settled down soon afterward and the two boys were left high and dry on the bank. "and now what do you suppose came along and saw the children?" "some bad men," answered arthur. the twins "the boys' mother, who had escaped from her grave," guessed beppo. "no. it was a mother wolf, who carried them home to her lair and fondled and nursed them," was the answer. "after a while a shepherd discovered the babies with their adopted mother. he was a good man, with a kind heart, and took them home to his wife. she gave them the names romulus and remus, and brought them up to be shepherds like her husband." "oh, father, do you suppose all this was really true?" asked lucy. "no more than the story of ieneas. i think it is a legend handed down by the people for thousands of years. but listen, for i have not finished, and it spoils the story to be all the time wondering whether it is true or not. "when the twin brothers grew up, they fought in a battle that took place between our little italian cousin the shepherds of the boys' grandfather, who ought to have been king, and those of the wrongful ruler of the country. "romulus and remus did such brave deeds that they were noticed and taken before their grandfather. after many questions, he discovered who they really were. they gath- ered an army together, and marching out to battle, seized the country in their grandfather's name. "they must build a city now for them- selves, they thought. they looked over the seven hills on which rome now stands. they said the city must be on one of these hills, but which hill should it be? romulus chose one, and remus another. they could not agree. their grandfather said, watch for a sign from the gods.' so romulus took his place on the hill he had chosen, and remus on his. "remus was the first to see any sign from heaven. it was six vultures flying. but the twins romulus soon saw twelve of these birds, and so the right was given him to found the city on the palatine hill. the people chose him king. "but remus was angry. he thought he should have been given the right to found the city, as he had been the first to see birds. "as the mud walls were being built around the place where the city was to stand, he leaped over them in scorn. his brother looked upon this as an insult, and killed him on the spot, saying, 'every one who leaps over the walls of my city shall perish even as you do.' "after this sad deed the work went on. romulus marked out his city in the shape of a square. it is said that he did this with a plough. he said, ' i will call my city rome.' "he lived here in a hut made of mud, with a thatched roof. "that was the beginning of this wonderful city, so the people will tell you." ioo our little italian cousin tessa nodded her head; she and beppo had heard the story before, and fully believed it to be true. "how long ago do they say all this hap- pened, father?" asked lucy. "they claim that rome was built years before the birth of christ. if it is now , years since his birth, how many years old is rome?" "let me see: and , are , . it was , years ago. whew! what a long time," said arthur. "many things have hap- pened since then." chapter viii. the carnival it was now february. tessa and beppo had been home for several weeks. the baby was growing fast; the mother was strong again and rosy; while the extra money which the children had earned as models for mr. gray had made the family very comfortable. "how would you like to go to the carni- val?" the father asked. the family were gathered around the table where the dish of polenta had just been placed. polenta, you must know, is a kind of porridge made of corn (maize) meal. it was the only food the children would have for supper that night. but that did not seem to trouble them. they all looked happy, even before they heard the word carnival. ioi our little italian cousin but this had a wonderful effect. tessa jumped up, caught the baby out of his cradle, and began to dance about the room. beppo seized his violin and started a lively air. their mother began to laugh, while little francesca looked from one to another in surprise. she could not understand what the sudden excite- ment was about. when tessa had danced herself nearly out of breath, she ran and put her arms around her father's neck. "oh, babbo, babbo! do you really mean it?" she cried. "i have never been to the carnival, and i have heard so much about the beautiful festival." then her mother spoke. she blushed like a young girl as she said to her husband: "it would seem like old times before we were married, to go to the gay carnival together. but how shall we manage it with our family of four children?" the carnival "i have fixed all that," her husband answered. "we are to stay with your cousin lola in the city. she will keep us through the week for a small sum, as she says she has an extra room that she will be glad to have us use. "so get ready, wife, and look as fine as pos- sible in your new blue skirt and the red bodice below the white blouse. do not forget to wear the fringed kerchief on your pretty head. it is the one i gave you when you were a gay young girl." his wife promised to make herself look as fine as possible, as she blushed more deeply than ever. the carnival! the carnival! is it any wonder that tessa and her brother slept but little that night, and that when they did, they dreamed of processions and bonbons and clowns and flower-decked wagons and all sorts of strange sights? the carnival decked with bright-coloured carpets, mats, and all sorts of hangings. merry parties had already seated themselves in the balconies, for it was one o'clock on the first day of the carnival. what does this word "carnival" mean? you ask. it is another name for "farewell to meat," and the great festival of italy is always held during the week before the begin- ning of lent. all the days except sunday and friday are given up to merrymaking, which grows more and more lively until the last night. the children go to bed and get up when- ever they like. there is no scolding, no cross word; and even if the sport becomes very rough, every one takes it with good nature. tessa and beppo went with the rest of the family to their cousin's home on the ground floor of a tall stone building. but they rested only a few moments. io our little italian cousin "take the donkeys, children, and ride off to see the sights," said their father. "your mother and i will stay and talk with our friends awhile before we go out." they did not need to be told twice, and were soon in the midst of a merry crowd on the corso, as one of the principal streets of rome is called. "look, look, beppo," said tessa. "do see that wagon full of clowns and queerly dressed people. they are having great sport. they are pelting every one with confetti. we shall get hit if we don't take care." "we'll get some confetti ourselves," an- swered beppo. "we must not wait any longer." the two children stopped their donkeys in front of a stand covered with tiny lime- balls. perhaps you would call them plaster candies. they were no larger than peas, and looked nice enough to eat. "were soon in the midst of a merry crowd" ! i i i ■ the carnival "now for fun," said beppo, when each had purchased a big bag of confetti. at this moment, some boys, who were close behind, gave pietro's tail a sudden pull and tessa fell forward as he jumped about. before she could get up, she felt a shower of confetti falling over her neck and shoulders. a loud laugh went up from the bystanders. tessa laughed, too, as she brushed the pow- dery balls to right and left. a moment after, another shower came fall- ing about her. but this time it was made of sugar almonds, which a little girl was scattering from a balcony. she must have liked tessa's pretty face and wished to give her a treat. there was a great scrambling for the candy. the mischievous boys who had thrown the confetti got most of it, i fear, but tessa enjoyed it, nevertheless. "look at the lovely carriage ahead of us," she cried. "it is lined with white. aren't io our little italian cousin the ladies in it pretty, beppo? that seat in front of them is just loaded with bouquets and confetti. they are standing up now to throw better." beppo didn't care for this half as much as for the wagon-loads of people dressed in bright colours and wearing masks. "look at that man, tessa, before he is out of sight. yes, it must be a man, though he is dressed like a woman. see his false curls hanging down under the bonnet, and hear him talk. he keeps every one around him laugh- ing. let's put on our masks and then ride past lucy's house. she won't know us if she sees us." beppo had made some rude masks be- fore the children left home. after they had put them on, they felt sure no one would know them as they rode through the lively crowd. "look up at the second balcony," whis- the carnival pered tessa, as she came up close to her brother's side. "there are lucy and arthur with their father and mother, in the midst of a merry party. we might have known they would be here on the corso." "do you see what arthur is doing?" replied beppo. "he has a bouquet of flowers fastened to the end of a long string. and now he is dangling it over the rail. just see that lady in the balcony below reaching out to get it. she thinks it is being thrown to her. how surprised she is when it comes up again out of her reach. oh, what sport! "but watch, tessa. i am going to throw my prettiest bunch of flowers to lucy. ah! she looks like an angel to-day. she is all in white." beppo took a bouquet of roses and tossed them straight up into his little friend's lap. she was looking directly toward him as he no our little italian cousin turned to her fath\ s, for she nival." oved onwa does threw them. she beg them in said soffiething. "she is asking him whor we are," bepp©^" she will never guep not expect tessa and hekb^rother now] but not before they were"~c«veted v/ithl shower of candy. it was lucy's return for her-flowers. a little before sunset the two the carnival in r i , •: that hundreds of bushels of confetti have been thrown about the streets to-day. ,we have received our share of them, without doubt." "r^mmp^ nnt- i mnmant fv^jncp now," said the father, " or we shall be too laje*^k,see the sport." thegggji-jiaftired^ cousin said "fhe woul look after the baby, while franc^ca rode off down the street on her ifther's shoulder. the donkeys had been put tin the stable for their night's rest. the party soon reached (fie corso, which 'vjiadjie£tt-ekaitrl~of carnages. vbetn_sides were lined by an ever-growing crowd- just at sunset a gun was fired. instantly f / number of beautiful horses were freed. thiy wore fine trappings and were withow riders or drivers. down the corso they raced from one end to the other. it seemed as though they passed by like lightning. "good, good," shouted beppo, as the first ii our little italian cousin horse ^reackeh the\oal. this one was the winner of the race, pf course. ort every night of the car- im, as they walked slowly omeward, looking it the sights on the way. next morning tessa and beppo keys once more. they moment of theaay fun. they had many v mock battle with the childi en whom they met, but the fighting was all good-natured, and the only weapons used were nandfuls of confetti. in the afternoon th&y found themselves near arthur and lucy, lfrho were in an open car- riage. they did not have their masks on, so their friends spied them out very quickly. they were very glad to see each other, but the ^crowd was so great they did not have a chance to say much. ther has he was the carnival going to write to them if he did not see them before the end of the carnival. be sure to tell them. it is about you. that was all she had a chance to say before the driver started up the hotses and she had passed dn. tessa wondered what it could be about, »ut her mind was soon ousy with the gay sigl ts, and she forgot all about it till she le la t night of the carnival was th gayest time of all. as soon as it was dark, tessa went with yier "father" and mother and beppo out into thg streets. every one carried a to and tried toi keep it lighted. at the same time he must try to put out as many other torches as possible, how the lights dan streets! ^nat a puffi was all the time. tes rch lighted than so id and put it out up and down the blowing there sooner got her ime up from hen she would ii our little italian cousin cry, "senza moccolo, senza moccolo." that means, "without light, without light." after a while, beppo fastened his torch to the end of a long pole. he thought he was safe at last. but, no! a moment afterward some one came along with a pole longer than his own and dashed it down. the fun was all the greater for such little things as this. the city looked wonderfully pretty with the lights dancing about the windows and balconies and streets. after an hour or two the crowds began to thin out. every one was tired. tessa and beppo turned homeward with their father and mother, calling out: "the carnival is dead. the carnival is dead." soon afterward they tumbled into bed, half asleep, still repeating the words they heard echoing through the streets: "the carnival is dead!" chapter ix. the buried city "we should like to take your little daugh- ter with us on a journey," said mr. gray to tessa's father. the two men were standing in the doorway of the artist's home on the monday after the carnival. tessa had not forgotten to tell her father that mr. gray wished to see him. "we shall be gone only a few days. we are going to take a short trip to naples," the artist went on. "but lucy wishes tessa's company very much, and i think your little girl would enjoy it. what do you say?" the peasant was greatly pleased. his face beamed, as he replied: "you are a good friend to us, mr. gray. " n our little italian cousin we can never forget it. what shall we do when you go back to america?" "that time will not come for two years yet. in the meanwhile, talk with your wife. if she is willing, bring tessa here tuesday morning. we shall leave on the afternoon of that day." you can imagine how excited our little italian cousin was, when she found herself riding on a train for the first time. the cars were much smaller than we use here in amer- ica. it would have seemed odd to you to have the conductor (or the guard, as he is called in europe) lock the doors when the train is about to start. "we are prisoners," laughed lucy. "we can't get out now, even if we should wish to do so ever so much." she was now able to chatter in italian almost as fast as in her own english tongue. "that is because of her acquaintance with tessa and her brother," mr. gray told his our little italian cousin "they all came from the buried city," mr. gray explained. "think of it, children! these beautiful ornaments, vases, and bronzes, were hidden under the ashes for eighteen hundred years. one day it was discovered by some workman that he was digging into the ruins of a build- ing. others came to help him, and by and by they found a city beneath the ashes and soil which had formed above it." "you are going to take us to see the city before we go back to rome, aren't you, father?" asked arthur. "certainly; i would not have you miss the sight for a good deal. but does tessa know its name?" "o yes, it is pompeii. i have heard much about it," the little italian answered. "it is another of the wonderful sights in my country of which i am so proud." the children passed slowly from one part of the buried city the museum to another. they examined the almonds, dates, and figs, which had been pre- served so long. some of them looked quite natural. there was a lady's toilet set that in- terested the girls very much. there were blackened loaves of bread and cake from the baker's oven; there were beauti- ful lamps and golden jewelry, — all these things made for people suddenly overtaken by death nearly two thousand years ago! it was hard to leave the museum. "but there are other things to see yet, and we cannot spend too much time in one place," mr. gray told them as they walked home- ward. they stopped to buy some luscious yellow oranges and some ornaments of coral and lava at stands by the side of the street. that very evening ponies were brought to the hotel door, and the party started out to climb the side of vesuvius. the buried city scooping the lava up into vessels. it would be taken down to naples and made into jewelry and ornaments to be sold to visitors in the city. after two miles or more of hard climbing, they reached the side of the crater. "don't go too near. oh, do be careful, children," cried mrs. gray. she was trem- bling as she looked at the red-hot stones flying upward in the midst of the cinders and flames. "listen, do listen, mother. it is grand!" said lucy, as they could now hear the roaring and grumbling, the pounding and hammering under ground. it was as though some terrible being was an angry prisoner in the volcano and was trying to free himself. tessa clung to mrs. gray's skirt at first. she was frightened, too, and it was no wonder. but after a few moments both she and her kind friend had got over their fright and had begun to enjoy the strange sight. our little italian cousin when at last mrs. gray said it was time to go, they all felt sorry. the drive down the mountain was quite easy. when they reached the hotel the chil- dren went straight to bed to dream of the pleasure to-morrow, — for they were to visit the buried city, pompeii. the next day was bright and clear. although every one felt a little tired after the excitement of the night before, they were all ready for the day's trip. it was a strange place, this city with no one living in it. there were streets all laid out and the walls of houses standing. the roofs were gone, however. mr. gray explained to the children that the city was buried under the terrible shower of ashes which settled down over it. the roofs had been burnt or broken down by the weight above them. after a while, soil formed above the ashes, grass began to grow, and the rest of "it was a strange place" \ i i t i the buried city the world forgot about the city, once so beauti- ful, with its stately palaces and grand buildings. most of the people had time to flee before their homes were destroyed. but some of them stayed too long. their skeletons were found when the city was unearthed. the children went into a cellar where there were marks on the walls. the guide told them that these showed where people were pressed against them. they must have fled to that place for safety, but it had been of no use. they stood here prisoners until kind death freed them from their suffering. they saw many marble ornaments. there were ducks and geese, rabbits and lambs, made long ago. "all this makes me feel queer, lucy," whispered tessa. "i will be glad to get back to a live city again." lucy felt so, too. it was interesting, of course, but it was very strange. our little italian cousin after the visit to pompeii, mr. gray told the children that his vacation was over and they must all go back to rome. "but we will not return by train," he said. "we will take a sailing vessel, as i think you will enjoy a trip on the water." they did enjoy it greatly. the, only trouble was that it seemed too short "when june comes it will be quite^ hot in rome, you know," lucy said to tessa. the two girls were in the bow of the boat, looking over the edge into the water below. "we are going then on a journey to the north of italy, and you are to come, too, tessa. father says so. we will visit venice and sail in boats through its streets. it seems as though i could hardly wait for the time to come. just think of a great city built on little islands, and when you go to the door of your house you find yourself on the water's edge. it must be lovely." the butted cif "tessa," she went on, putting her arm around the little italian's waist, "father says that he is going to manage next winter so that you shall stay with us and we can have lessons together with my governess." tessa bent forward and kissed both of lucy's hands. she was so happy she could not speak. the end /' i boors for young people the little colonel books (trade mark) by annie fallows johnston each vol., large mo, cl,&, illustrated, per vol. . s . the little colonel stories (trade mark) being three " little colonel " stories in the cosy corner series, "the little colonel," "two littie knights of kentucky," and "the giant scissors," put into a single volume. the little colonel's house party (trade mark) the littijs, colonel's holidays (trade mark) the little colonel's hero (trade mark) the little colonel at boarding (trade mark) school the little colonel in arizona (trade mark) the little colonel's christmas <trade mark) vacation the little colonel, maid of honour (trade mark) the little colonel's knight comes (trade mark) riding mary ware: the little colonel's (trade mark) chum tvum ten volume*, boxed as a ten-volume set. . $ . a—x l. c. page &• company's the little colonel (trade mark) two little knights of kentucky the giant scissors big brother special holiday editions each one volume, cloth decorative, small <juarto, $ . new plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. in the desert of waiting: the legend of camelback mountain. the three weavers: a fairy tale for fathers and mothers as well as fob theib daughters. keeping tryst the legend of the bleeding heart the rescue of princess winsome: a fairy play for old and young. the jester's sword each one volume, tall mo, cloth decorative . $ . paper boards . there has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of these six stories, which were originally included in six of the " little colonel" books. joel: a boy of galilee: by annie fellows johnston. illustrated by l. j. bridgman. new illustrated edition, uniform with the little colonel books, vol., large mo, cloth decorative $ . a story of the time of christ, which is one of the author'* best-known books. a— boo its for young people the little colonel good times book uniform in size with the little colonel series. $ . bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . . . cover design and decorations by amy carol rand. the publishers have had many inquiries from readers of the little colonel books as to where they could obtain a " good times book " such as betty kept. mrs. johns- ton, who has for years kept such a book herself, has gone enthusiastically into the matter of the material and format for a similar book for her young readers. every girl will want to possess a " good times book." asa holmes: or, at the cross-roads. a sketch of country life and country humor. by annib fellows johnston. with a frontispiece by ernest fosbery. 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"a bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly to the 'make-believe' instinct in children, and will give them a healthy, active interest in 'the simple life.'" marching with morgan. how donald lovell became a soldier of the revolution. by john l. veasy. cloth decorative, illustrated .... $ . this is a splendid boy's story of the expedition of montgomery and arnold against quebec a— books for young people cosy corner series it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature, — stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well- known artists, and each volume has a separate attract- ive cover design. each vol., mo, cloth * . by annie fellows johnston the little colonel (trade mark.) the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its hero- ine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. the giant scissors this is the story of joyce and of her adrentur .s in france. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful ex- periences of the " house party" and the "holidays." two little knights of kentucky who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the " two little knights." mildred's inheritance a delightful little story of a lonely english girl who comes to america and is befriended by a sympathetic american family who are attracted by her beautiful speaking voice. by means of this one gift she is en- abled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one. a- z. c. page &• companvs by annie fellows johnston (continued) cicely and other stories for girls the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juvenile* will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for youn people. aunt 'liza's hero and other stories a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls. big brother a story of two boyw. the devotion and care of stephen, himself a small boy, lor bis baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale. ole mammy's torment "ole mammy's torment" has been fitly called "a classic of southern life." it relates the haps and mis- haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. the story of dago in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis- haps is both interesting and amusing. the quilt that jack bujlt a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished flip's islands of provddence a story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph, weu worth the reading. books for young people by edith robinson a little puritan's first christmas a story of colonial times in boston, telling how christ- mas was invented by betty sewall, a typical child of the puritans, aided by her brother sam. a little daughter of liberty the author introduces this story as follows: "one ride is memorable in the early history of the american revolution, the well-known ride of paul revere. equally deserving of commendation is another ride, — the ride of anthony severn, — which was no less historic in its action or memorable in its consequences." a loyal little maid a delightful and interesting story of revolutionary days, in which the child heroine, betsey schuyler, renders important services to george washington. a little puritan rebel this is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant sir harry vane was governor of massa- chusetts. a little puritan pioneer the scene of this story is laid in the puritan settlement at charlestown. a little puritan bound girl a story of boston in puritan days, which is of great interest to youthful readers. a little puritan cavalier the story of a "little puritan cavalier" who tried with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead crusaders. a puritan knight errant the story tells of a young lad in colonial times who endeavored to carry out the high ideals of the knight* of olden days. a— l. c. page &> company's by ovid a (louise de la ramee) a dog of flanders a christmas story too well and favorably known to require description. the nurnberg stove this beautiful story has never before been published »t a popular price. by frances margaret fox the little giant's neighbours a charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbors were the creatures of fee field and garden. farmer brown and the birds a little story whbh teaches children that the birds are man's best friends. betty of old mackinaw a charming story of child life. brother billy the story of betty's brother, and some further adven- tures of betty herself. mother nature's little ones curious little sketches d scribing the early lifetime, or "childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors. how christmas came to the mul- vaneys a bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children with an unlimited capacity for fun and misc hief. the country christmas miss fox has vividly described the happy surprises that made the occasion so memorable to the mulvaneys, and the funny things the children did in their new environ- ment. a- en t \ \ hx bb r | |onº. aco. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - a -wes -- harvard college library the bequest of evert jansen wendfll (class of ) of new york a. our little viking cousin of long ago sº , the little cousins of long ago series -' - each volume illustrated with full page plates in tints. cloth, mo, with decorative cover. per volume, cents -' - now ready our little athenian cousin of long ago our little carthaginian cousix of long ago our little macedon ian cousin of long ago our little norman cousix of long ago our little romax cousin of long ago our little saxon cousin of long ago our little spartan cousin of long ago our little viking cousix of long ago in preparation our little frankisii cousin of long ago our little pom peiian cousin of long ago - - the page company beacon street, boston, mass. w w barne herjulfason **s *~~~ * * *º- ? - --- -] º * - c -º-º: - * 'the little coasºns ºf i **. av. sºlºs * . . ºss rºn º our lit ti, f. viking cousin of long ago ºf being the story of barne her-ſº julfson, a boy of norway * *a º º n º º º º - - ºº: ºfºº º - - - - º hy charles : . jchnston author of “famous indi: ... uliuefs,” “fºrt is cavalry leader,” “famº, s. outs,” etc. . t strºar: * *** h. w. packar ſy * boston the page company mdccccyvi º n w # n n the little cousins of long ago series our little viking cousin of long ago being the story of biarne her- julfson, a boy of norway by charles h. l. johnston author of “famous indian chiefs,” “famous cavalry leaders,” “famous scouts,” etc. illustrated by h. w. packard n]] boston the page company mdccccxvi # # º º #(\%éééééé% n w i. - |- º - ſ t º y harward college library from the bequest of r ewert jansen wendell copyright, , by the page company all rights reserved first impression, may, dedicated to evert jansen wendell: ex-champion amateur athlete, philanthropist, and overseer of harvard university, whose work among the poor and needy in new york city, and particularly at the house of refuge on randall's island, has endeared him to thou- sands of american citizens. hark to the story of winland, winland of grapes and wine, which leif the lucky discovered,— the land of hem- lock and pine. he sailed o'er the dark, blue ocean, with warriors ninety or more, and planted his flag, with a cross and a shaft, on the beauteous, curving shore. huzzah, then, for leif the lucky / a hero may ever he be, for his feet first trod on america's sod, in the year one thousand a. d. preface the story of biarne is laid at the time when the first venturesome seafarers crossed the atlantic to explore the new and wonderful country of america. although it is generally believed that columbus discovered america, in , the old norse sagas give very conclusive evidence that the vikings from norway and iceland were the first europeans to set foot upon the shores of the new world. in the year iooo a. d., leif ericson, known as leif the lucky, a son of eric the red — the discoverer of greenland — made a voyage from greenland to the coast of new england. he was a hardy mariner, who feared no perils of land and sea. as an old norse ballad says: vii viii preface “he scorns to rest 'neath the smoky rafter, he plows with his boat the roaring deep; the billows boil, and the storm howls after, but the tempest is only a thing of laughter, the sea-king loves it better than sleep!” with thirty-five strong and adventuresome followers, he first cruised along the coast of nova scotia; then he sailed southward and went ashore at a place where a river flowed out from a lake into the sea. here the ship was anchored; the men transported the luggage from the hold and built dwellings. they erected large buildings, and remained during the winter, and fared well upon the salmon with which the river abounded. in the spring they loaded their vessel with timber and set sail for greenland. all of their friends were glad to see them again and eagerly heard tales of their good fortune. two years later, thorwald ericson — leif's brother — made a similar journey. preface ix if this story gives you, my dear boys and girls, a clear idea of the experiences and tribu- lations of these stalwart adventurers, the pur- pose of the author will have been well fulfilled. ---- contents chapter page preface . . . . . . . . . vii i the christening . . . . . . i ii the training of a young viking .. iii some lessons in viking beliefs . i iv how thor lost his hammer . . v how thor regained his lost weapon . . . . . . . . vi a true viking must be a farmer as well as a warrior . . . . vii the building of the ship . . . . viii the voyage to winland . . . . ix vinland . . . . . . . . . x the battle with the skrellings xi the pirate ship . . . . . . xii buried treasure . . . . . . o xiii winter in winland . . . . . xiv the plot . . . . . . . . xv the journey up the river . . . xvi the fate of the treasure . . iog xvii back to greenland . . . . . i xviii mutiny . . . . . . . . i xix the treasure discovered . . . i xx and all ended happily . . . . i o list of illustrations page biarne herjulfson . . . . . frontispiece “‘i, skuld, give you my blessing'” . . . “eric and biarne became very cramped in their hiding-place ". . . . . . . “picked up a round shield of thick skin " “they buried their portions of the pirate gold" . . . . . . . . . . . “watched them, with one foot in the air and head erect * . . . . . . . i io pronunciation of proper names biarne herjulfson (bi-ar-né her-yulf-son) björn (byern) eric (e^-rik) greenland (grén'-land) iceland (island) jotunheim (ye’tön-him) leif ericson (lif er'-ik-son) loki (lö'-ké) lothair (lo-thar’) nornir (nornº-ir) norumbega (nö-rum-bê'-gã) | thorwald (tor’-väld) thor (tor) valhalla (val-half-ā) valkyrias (vâl-kè-réz) vikings (vikingz) vinland (win'-land) watertown (wa'-ter-town) our little viking cousin of long ago chapter i the christening joy reigned at the house of biarne herjulf- son, for a little son had been born to that bold and hardy norseman. at his great house, or boer, as it was called, all the retainers, maids- of-waiting, and fighting men went about with smiles upon their faces, and whispered to one another: “the nornir have left a message in the chimney that they will be with us to-morrow evening, and they have said that the little one will have an adventurous life and will be a credit to our master.” “thor, himself, who is the foremost of the gods, could not have had a more lusty voice l our little viking cousin when he was a stripling,” spoke one of the serving men. “in truth, my good friends, i believe that the youthful heir to our house will be a great singer some day.” then all laughed with good humor, for there was a feast in store for them in commemoration of the joyful event. it was believed by norsemen that the future life of every child was shaped at its birth by the fates, or nornir, who seemed to have con- trol of the gods themselves. there were three of these: urd, the past; verdandi, the pres- ent; and skuld, the future; who lived at the foot of urd's well, situated at the bottom of a large ash-tree, whose roots they watered with their wisdom and experience of the past, and where they spun the threads of fate at the birth of every child. so, when the word was passed around that the nornir had left a message in the chimney, that the new-born would have a great career, even biarne herjulfson, the rough, old father, smiled and chuckled with glee. next morning all the family and servants gathered in the great hall to witness the chris- tening of the little son of the house. he was the christening placed upon the floor and was left there for some time without being touched by any one. then an old retainer, called gormanud, walked forward, picked up the little norseman, and placed him in the arms of his father, who held out his cloak so that it covered the body of his new born heir. it was a custom of the norsemen to look at a child two days after he was born and decide whether he should be placed outside upon the ground and left to die, or should be allowed to live. this was as the old spartans used to do and was certainly a brutal custom, although these wild people seemed to think nothing of it. so, after old biarne herjulfson had received the child in his arms, he looked at it very care- fully, so as to decide, from its appearance, whether its fortunes would be good or bad, and whether it would or would not be a great sea rover. “thou wilt be a bold and hardy warrior,” said biarne herjulfson. “thou wilt be a brave adventurer and wilt see great hardships and perils upon the sea.” he then walked to a large bowl in which was some water, dipped in his hand, and sprin- our little viking cousin kled it over the body of the young norseman, who was very quiet, and was gazing about him with wide, staring eyes. this was a religious rite called the ausa vatni. now it was time to give a name to the young norseman; a custom which was called nafn- festi, or name-fastening. consequently, an uncle of the child, called thrudvangar, walked up to him, and, laying his hand upon the baby's head, said: “little one, i christen thee biarne, the second. i also give thee a sword, a helmet, a cuirass, and a spear, hoping that you will find good use for them in your life. i also present thee with a gold ring, which i trust that you will wear when your hand is of suffi- cient size to fill it. may you lead a brave and noble life; may you be a credit to your noble father, your good mother, and to all your fam- ily.” at this all of the servants and guests cried out: “hail! valorous biarne ! ” large casks of ale had been rolled into the great sal, or hall, in which this interesting event had taken place, and, after these were opened, great goblets of horn were dipped into the christening them and were handed around among the guests. two men with strange-looking fiddles, called gigja, came into the room, and also a harper with snowy-white hair, and a harp of gold. the sweet strains of music now arose above the hum of the voices of the guests, and all laughed loudly as the little norseman — still in the folds of the cloak upon his father's arm — cried out with loud and vociferous tones. but what was this? suddenly a hush fell upon all the guests as- sembled; the music ceased; and even the wails of young biarne were stilled. at the far end of the room a strange figure was seen approach- ing. clad in a long, black cloak was a woman with flowing gray hair, a thin, cadaverous face, and a large helmet upon her head, from which two great eagle wings extended into the air. “it is one of the nornir,” whispered a lady- in-waiting. “it is urd, the past!” “no,” whispered another. “it is ver- dandi, the present!” but the strange visitor looked neither to the right nor to the left. stalking onward, she walked to where the long-bearded father was holding his little son in his arms, and, raising a our little viking cousin thin arm above him, in a sort of benediction, she said, in deep, sonorous tones: “youth: thy fate will be an auspicious one. thou wilt wax strong and brave, and thou wilt go to far countries and wilt discover a land teeming with wild grapes. thou wilt be a credit to thy parents and to thy country. but i, skuld, do tell thee one thing which thou must remember: do not trust to one who passeth as thy friend, but who is not really such. do not put your faith in a red-bearded man with a scar upon his forehead. i, skuld, give you my blessing.” suddenly, as if by magic, the strange figure disappeared. all looked aghast, for the ap- parition had vanished into the air. “‘i, skuld, give you my blessi ng.’” chapter ii the training of a young wiking “come, little one, it is time for your exer- cise ! ” the man who spoke was a large, bearded norseman, who held a long spear in one hand and, in the other, a very small spear, which a boy could handle without much difficulty. “i will be ready in a moment,” said young biarne,— now grown to be a youth of ten years of age. it was the custom among the norsemen to have their children educated for their future duties of life, at the home of some distinguished friend. when a child was received by a norse- man, his foster parent was bound to treat him with the same love and kindness as he would his own child. the child was brought to his new home by his own parent, who placed him upon the knees of his foster-father. the boy was then called the knesetningr, or the knee- our little viking cousin seated one. this custom was called knesetja, or knee-seating. young biarne had been brought to fierce, old thorwald knutsen, who was a great warrior and had been in many a battle on the ocean. he lived in a big house, about five miles from the house of biarne's father, and had a large ship of his own which lay in the bay, or fiord, before his residence, and which was rowed by one hundred men. just now he was living at home, and was attending to the duties of his farm, but every year he went upon a voyage to the southward and came back with much treasure and many stories of fierce adventure with the picts, the scots, and other tribes of men who lived in britain, and the other lands which lay near the wild north sea. it was the duty of every teacher to endeavor to make his pupil as strong as he could. con- sequently, a boy was taught to ride, to swim, to travel over the deep snow on snowshoes, and how to use the sword and javelin. young biarne followed his teacher out into the garden where a huge target had been hung upon a tree. then thorwald made him stand about ten feet away from it, take the javelin in the training of a young wiking his hand, and throw it at a bull's eye marked in the center. “you are doing well,” said thorwald, after . biarne had made ten or twelve throws and had twice struck the bull's eye. “now we will have an hour or two at walking with the dogs.” the vikings all kept hawks for chasing birds, and also hounds for hunting. they had grey- hounds for running down small game, and also huge, shaggy wolf and bear-hounds for use in the deep forests. thorwald had a kennel of dogs and he went down to let them out. but, before he did so, he walked up to the house and called out: “eric! eric! come and join us in a hunt with the dogs.” a cry went up from inside: “all right, i am coming!” and soon a boy of the same age as biarne, with pink cheeks and golden hair, came running down the graveled path which led from the great house. eric grimolfson had also been sent to school under thorwald, and his father lived not very far away. he was very fond of biarne, and although they had only been together for a year, they were great companions. our little viking cousin now the kennel door was opened, and the dogs, eight in all, bounded into the open. in a very few moments they reached the edge of the deep woods which surrounded the mansion house. no sooner had the dogs entered the edge of the forest than one of them set up a deep baying and howling, showing that he had smelled something. in a moment all the dogs had started off upon a hot scent. they were soon out of sight, and almost out of hearing, although the boys tried their best to keep up with them. after a short time, a deep baying in the woods showed that the dogs had stopped run- ning. thorwald cried out: “hurry up, boys, hurry. we must see what they have been afterl” thorwald wore a big sword and had a javelin in his hand, while both eric and biarne were armed with short spears. as they pressed on- ward they heard a great commotion in the woods, and, coming up with the dogs, saw that they had surrounded a huge, gray wolf, which showed its fangs, snarled evilly, and snapped at them when they approached. “my, what a big fellow,” said eric. “i the training of a young wiking believe that he could kill any dog that attempted to seize him.” “i’ll fix mister wolf,” said thorwald, as he walked up to within striking distance of the ani- mal. taking his javelin in his right hand, he hurled it at the beast with all of his might. the sharp point penetrated the animal's side, and, as he turned to bite at the shaft, the dogs were upon him with a rush. “good!” shouted eric. “now they will finish off mister wolf.” it was as he said. the odds were too great against the big, gray fellow, and in a few mo- ments he was lying dead upon the moss of the forest, while the dogs savagely growled above his shaggy body. “now that you have seen a hunt,” said thor- wald to the boys, “i will show you how to call off the dogs.” putting a ram's horn to his lips, he blew a sharp blast, and started to walk away into the forest. the boys followed, and, after thor- wald had cried out right lustily: “high-on' high-on!” the dogs left their quarry and fol- lowed after. “now, boys, it is time for more gentle ex- our little viking cousin ercise,” said thorwald. “we will go to the house and will have some lessons upon the harp.” although the young vikings were taught how to be warriors and huntsmen, they were also taught to work in wood and metal, and how to play on the harp. to be a good harpist was considered to be the duty of every well-born norwegian. they soon reached the great house, called the holl, and the dogs were put back into the kennels. thorwald then led the boys into a long room, at the end of which was a large fireplace, and which was carpeted with heavy rugs. several harps were here, and, taking his position before one, thorwald gave a harp to each of the boys. soon they were busily learn- ing the music to a famous norse saga, or song. it was soon luncheon time. the music room was left behind and the boys went into the din- ing room, a low chamber hung with shields, with spears, and with the skins of bears, of wolves, of otter, mink, and foxes. here they were cheerfully greeted by thorwald's wife, enid, and his two daughters, rodny and thorhilda, who spread a hearty meal before them. | the training of a young wiking thorwald's wife was dressed in a long gown, or kirtle, which was made very wide with a train, and had big sleeves reaching to the wrists. it was fastened around the waist with a belt made of silver, from which a bag was suspended for keeping keys, rings, and ornaments. over the kirtle was worn a bloeja, a kind of apron, with a fringe at the bottom. after luncheon was over, the boys were told that they were to go riding. three fine steeds were brought around to the door; thorwald had soon mounted; the boys clambered upon the backs of their own horses, and soon all were off for a gallop into the country. when they returned, both eric and biarne were quite will- ing to remain quietly in the house, until bed time. thus were young vikings trained. it was an athletic life, and, under such teaching, they were expected to develop into strong and hardy n . chapter iii some lessons in viking beliefs no sooner had the bright beams of the sun penetrated the room in which eric and biarne were sleeping upon some bear skins, than both boys leaped to their feet and began to splash into their faces some water from a big stone jug which was in a corner of the chamber. break- fast was soon over, and then thorwald told the boys that a famous skald, or poet, named lo- thair, was coming that morning to instruct them in the norse religion and also to recite some of the sagas or songs of the vikings. the boys were delighted to hear this, and when a tall man with a long, brown beard, came into the house, they ran to him and eagerly asked if he were lothair. “yes, i am lothair the skald,” said he, laughing. “and i have brought my harp with me so that i can sing to you boys after i have finished telling you about the valkyrias.” some lessons in viking beliefs “who are they?” asked both of the boys, al- most with the same breath. lothair seated himself in a big chair, after saying “good morning ” to thorwald, and be- gan to speak: “my boys,” said he, “you must know that away up in the heavens live the gods who watch over all of us. thor is the foremost of them all, and he lives at thrudvangar, “the plains of strength,’ in a hall of five hundred and forty rooms, called bilskirnir. “each of us is watched over by a guardian spirit. each of you boys has a guardian spirit who, though unseen, is always near you, and whose hand you can clasp in right good fellow- ship, although he is not visible to you.” “that is nice,” said eric. “i hope that i can see my guardian spirit some day. some day when he is off his guard and needs com- pany.” lothair laughed. “i am afraid that you will never see him,” he answered. “but, when you are older and go into battle, i am sure that you will see some strange maidens near you. these are sent from valhalla, the home of the gods, to deter- our little viking cousin mine the fate of battle, and they are called the valkyrias. they can ride through the air, and also over the sea. sometimes they ride upon the shafts of lightning, which are rays of sun- shine coming from the face of the gods. often they ride upon fiery steeds, clad in glittering armor, and they bear with them long spears, sharpened either for victory, or for death. “at first, my boys, there were only six valky- rias; but, as the years passed onward, there were nine. once, indeed, twenty-seven of them were seen on a battle field; for an old poet has sung: “‘there were three times nine maidens, but one rode foremost a white maiden under helmet; their horses tremble, from their manes fell dew into the deep dales, and hail on the lofty woods.’ “although these maidens nearly always live in the heavens, at times they come to dwell upon the earth; and, upon one of these occa- sions, they were discovered by three royal princes. “these princes were sons of one of the kings some lessons in viking beliefs of sweden and used to spend much of their time running about upon snowshoes, for there was much snow in their country. they also hunted wild beasts, and killed many a large wolf and shaggy bear. “one day the three young men came to a lake hidden deep in the forest, and they liked the place so much that they tarried there and built a house, where they lived for some time. going down to the edge of the lake, one early morning, they beheld three beautiful women, who were spinning flax. the princes knew that they were valkyrias, for nearby lay the swan- skins in which valkyrias usually disguised them- selves. it could be plainly seen that they had been caught unawares. “the three brothers spoke gracefully and courteously to them and asked the valkyrias to go home with them. the maidens consented, and lived seven years with the young men. but they were not happy; for, hearing afar the sound of battle, they were restless. one day they disappeared, never to return. in vain the princes sought for them. the sisters were again amidst the din and carnage of war, and the brothers never saw them again!” our little viking cousin “what a nice story,” eric interrupted. “and do you think that we will see these sis- ters when we are men and can use sword and javelin in battle?” lothair laughed with great good humor. “i've no doubt that you will, my son,” he replied; “for the valkyrias always hover over a battle-field, and look after those who are in trouble and distress. “but never forget that only the valorous, and those who have done great deeds, shall be welcomed in valhalla, ‘the hall of the slain.” it has five hundred and forty doors, and each door is so wide that eight hundred warriors can pass through it at the same moment. “death should have no terror for you, for it is good to be welcomed to the glad halls of valhalla; to sit down to feast at the festive board; and to welcome the brave in the halls of the gods. death you shall not fear; but shame you must always dread, and this can only come to you if you flee before the foe. the greatest thing that a viking can do is to win fame, fame that will live in the sagas of the nation and will be handed down from genera- tion to generation.” & º some lessons in wiking beliefs both of the boys listened to him with the greatest attention. already they had deter- mined to stick manfully to their lessons so as to become strong men and noble warriors. “now, boys,” lothair continued, “i will tell you the story of björn, a son of one of the kings of norway. björn's own mother had died when he was a baby, and he had a step- mother who did not love him. therefore, one day, she struck him with a bearskin glove, say- ing, as she did so, ‘thou shalt become a fierce bear, and thou shalt eat no food save thy father's cattle. so much cattle shalt thou kill that all men shall hear of it, and never shalt thou escape from this spell.' “as she finished speaking, a great bear ran out of the courtyard, and björn was never seen or heard of again. - “the king, who was very fond of his son, sought for him throughout the realm, but it was in vain. no signs of him were ever seen. but, from the day that björn vanished, it is said that a fierce, gray bear was often to be seen prowling around among the cattle of the king, until the numbers grew less and less. “so you see, boys,” said lothair, “that you our little viking cousin can change your form into that of an animal. and, if you but eat the flesh and drink the blood of some wild beast, you will become as strong and fierce as the animal of whose blood you have partaken.” “then i shall drink wolf's blood,” said biarne. “but how is it that you are not fierce, lothair, as you are a great huntsman?” the skald laughed with much good humor. “my boys,” said he, “i am a singer, and sing- ers are not fierce, for their souls are softly tempered by the music which they play. now, if you wish, i will sing to you to the music of my harp.” the boys sprawled out, full length, upon a big bearskin rug, while lothair took his harp and sang to them a song of the valorous deeds of the vikings. thus were they instructed in the history of their forefathers and were told of the great battles which had been fought both on land and upon the surging ocean. chapter iv how thor lost his hammer the next morning dawned cold and blustery, with a chill wind blowing, so the boys were in- formed by thorwald that they would not go out horseback riding, or to practice with the jave- lin; but would spend their time in playing upon the harp and learning about the gods and their life at thrudvangar, “the plains of strength.” lothair had spent the night with them, and, in the morning, told them that he had a story to tell them. they all went into the long room, and, after some huge logs had been heaped upon the fireplace, the boys lay down before it, while lothair and thorwald stretched them- selves out in long chairs. “boys, as i have told you before,” said lothair, “bilskirnir, the palace of the great god thor, king of all the gods, is built in his kingdom of thrudvangar, the realm that lies beyond the thunder clouds. it is the largest our little viking cousin palace that has ever been roofed over for it has five hundred and forty halls beneath its silver dome, and it is so bright and so dazzling that when people on the earth catch a glimpse of it through the clouds, they blink their eyes and say that they have seen lightning. thor spends most of his time there. when he is not away from home, fighting giants or attend- ing assembly meetings, he is wandering around in the five hundred and forty halls, or sitting in a tremendous hall in the center of bilskirnir. around the walls he has benches placed for his followers; gleaming weapons hang there; great fires blaze upon the hearth of gold; while in the center, beneath a high, crystal dome, thor, the splendid one, has a high throne of glittering magnificence. “now, boys, thor had a great hammer of which he was very proud. he called it the crusher (mjolnir) because nothing could with- stand a blow from it when delivered by his arm. when he slept, it always lay near him, within easy reach of his hand. some dwarfs had made this great weapon for him and he was very proud of it, i can assure you. when he struck a blow, all the heavens pealed with how thor lost his hammer a clap of thunder, and way down below the people would gaze upward and would say: “thor has made a mighty blow with his ham- mer. thor must again be angry.’ “one night thor was sleeping in his palace, surrounded by his retainers, who had gone to rest on cushioned benches. among his follow- ers was one loki — known as the sly one — who was visiting him, and who sprawled at full length upon some cushions near the fire, glowing brightly in the great golden hearth. thor had a red beard, and it was tossed up in the air as he leaned back in his high seat. his bushy brows had a frown upon them, for a bad dream was troubling his usually tranquil mind. thor, in fact, had dreamed that his hammer had been stolen by thrym, the giant king who lived not far away in the heavens, and who was very jealous of thor and his power. “the god of all gods awoke with a start and sat up. he looked about him. he was safe in his own hall, and his retainers slept peacefully around him. he could hear their gentle snoring, as they dreamed away upon the cushioned benches. it seemed to be impossible that anything could have happened, yet he our little viking cousin felt that something ill had befallen him, and, to make sure, he put out his hand and reached for his hammer, that weapon before which nothing could stand. instantly thor's red face grew ashen pale, for the crusher had gone! “the strong one uttered such a wild yell that it was heard far down below upon the earth, and the vikings thought that a thunder storm was brewing. thor's beard quivered with righteous anger, and he leaned over to where loki, the sly one, was sleeping, and clutched him by the arm. “‘awake, loki! ” said he, “a terrible ca- lamity has overtaken me. my good hammer, my trusty sledge hammer, has been stolen! what shall i do? i will now be powerless in warfare, and no longer can my peals of thunder ring out to warn the people on earth that i am alive and am god of all gods !' “the sly one jumped up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at thor's troubled face. loki was clever, so, after thinking the matter over for some time, he said: “‘i think that thrym has stolen your ham- mer. but you must not go to him, for, like your red beard, you are of a fiery nature, and how thor lost his hammer you would kill him ere you have learned whether he has your hammer or not. therefore, let me visit thrym. i will disguise myself in the feather-dress of freyja, the lovely one. i will get news to you of your hammer. if possible, i will steal it myself.” “thor's face grew more calm and tranquil. “‘i will reward you greatly if you recover my hammer, loki! ” said he. “i cannot be happy without it.’ “‘wait for me, thor, god of all gods,' loki replied. ‘i will be sure to bring you good news.’ “the sly one immediately went outside and harnessed up two goats to a silver chariot. “i will go to the goddess freyja's palace,’ said he. ‘i will borrow her dress of feathers, and, thus disguised, i will go to the land of the giants, and will find out whether or not thor's ham- mer is there.” “loki soon arrived at freyja's immense pal- ace and, when he asked her for her dress, she gladly gave it to him. it was made of the white and brown plumage of falcons and fitted loki's body like a glove. “the sly one then spread his wings and our little viking cousin flew out of the window, on and on and on, until he arrived at jotunheim, where the giants all lived. there thrym had his home. thrym was very, very large, and he was also very old. he had a long beard which glittered like frost and shone like molten silver. his hands and face were covered with short, glistening hairs. he was crafty and cruel, and, when loki alighted before him, he apparently was expect- ing him, for he looked up with a wicked smile, and said: “‘welcome, sly one. welcome, o loki! how fares thor, god of all gods? how fare the elves? how fares the beautiful freyjaź why do you come alone to jotunheim?' " “loki looked sternly and fearlessly at him. “‘ill fares the mighty one. ill fares the beautiful freyja. ill fare the elves,” said he. “thor has lost his hammer and i think that you have it. have you not stolen thor's hammer? and where have you concealed it?” “thrym grinned, even laughed derisively. “‘yes, i have thor's hammer,” said he. ‘i have concealed it eight lengths beneath the ground. i intend to keep it until freyja, the how thor lost his hammer beautiful one, becomes my bride. no man can have it unless freyja becomes mine.’ “loki burst out laughing. ‘think of it! freyja the bride of such a horrible, old giant? freyja — sweet, lovely freyja — to become the wife of a wicked ugly monster!' his very soul revolted at such a thought, and he laughed long and loudly, while thrym grinned, turned his back on him, and began to talk to his many white horses, with long manes and still longer tails, which he had all about him. “loki said again: “‘is this the only answer that you give? remember that thor is god of all gods, and that his vengeance is swift and sure. demand not too much of thor.” “thrym glowered savagely at him. “‘what do i care for thor,” said he; ‘i have his hammer. what can he do without it?” “loki saw that it was useless to talk with him further, so he spread his shining wings, leaped into the air, and flew back over the world to thrudvangar, where thor was eagerly waiting for him.” “and, now, boys, we will all have some our little viking cousin luncheon,” said thorwald, at this point in the narrative, “and, when it is all over, lothair will tell you how thor regained his mighty ham- mer.” the boys jumped up, right merrily, and soon they were all feasting around the long, oaken table. : * chapter v how thor regained his lost weapon luncheon was soon over. the boys were eager to hear the rest of the tale, so lothair again seated himself in his oaken chair, and continued his narrative. “thor had been very anxious when loki had flown away to visit thrym, for he did not wholly trust the sly one, and he was afraid that he would not return at all. so, when his feather-dress appeared at the doorway of bil- skirnir, he cried out, in a stern voice: “‘well, well, loki, have you succeeded in your errand? what have you learned about my hammer, pray? what has old thrym been doing, eh? hurry! speak up ! i am anx- ious to hear!” “loki looked fearlessly at the god of all gods. “‘well, i have found out everything!” said he. ‘thrym, the king of the giants, has your hammer. he will not return it unless first the our little viking cousin beautiful freyja becomes his bride. what think you of that?' “thor grew so angry that he fairly snorted, and his red beard stuck out in the air as if charged with electricity. he growled out his answer with such force that the heavens rever- berated with thunder, and the people down on the earth looked fearfully into the air as flashes of lightning played above them. “‘hah! what is this you tell me, loki? is it true that thrym has sent me such a mes- sage? is it to win the beautiful freyja that he has made all this trouble? we will ride to see her without delay.” “so the chariot drawn by his two goats was brought around before the palace. thor and loki jumped inside, and soon were speeding through the air to visit the beautiful freyja, whom they found sitting upon her throne and playing with her wonderful necklace, whose beads sparkled and flashed like drops of water upon which the sun is shining. “‘i am delighted to see you, thor,’ said she, as the god of all gods drew up before the door. loki flew up to her and dropped at her feet the feather dress which he had borrowed. : how thor regained his weapon “‘thrym has stolen my hammer, beautiful one,” said thor. “he refuses to bring it back until you become his bride. what think you of that, freyja’’ “the lovely one grew scarlet with rage, and her hand caught in her necklace and broke it into a thousand little sparkling globules. she cried out, angrily: “‘what? become the bride of that hor- rible old monster? never! never! i say, never!' “thor looked at her with great surprise, for he considered the hammer of such impor- tance that he thought that any one would do anything for him in order to regain it. “‘well, if i do not get my hammer back, you will probably be captured by thrym and his giants, for, if they should invade the sky, i would have nothing to fight them with. hence you would be carried away by force.' “freyja said nothing, but looked sorrowfully at both him and loki, who was whistling a tune, and was nervously tapping his foot upon the palace floor. “thor continued as before: “‘i do not see why you do not marry thrym. our little viking cousin he has got great riches. he has twenty milk- white steeds. he has a herd of black oxen and an hundred cows with golden horns.” “but freyja had no wish to become the bride of the terrible giant. she stamped her foot and ran out of the hall and slammed the door in the face of the two visitors. “thor hung his head dejectedly and ran his hands over his beard. “‘loki,’ said he, at length, “we will see what my kinsmen have to say about this. come on | we will visit all the gods and will confer with them.’ “jumping again into the chariot, the two goats were urged onward, and thor and loki sped away into the air, while thor growled so savagely, in anger, that the people down on the earth looked above, saying: ‘hark! what a terrible thunder shower is brewing!” “thor drove to nearly every palace in the sky, and invited all the gods to a conference with him. soon all were gathered together on the plains of ida. there was odin, the all wise ruler; balder, the bright; heimdal, the white one; tyr; broge; and vale. they had a long consultation over what was to be done § º how thor regained his weapon so that thor could regain his hammer. at last heimdal, the white one, spoke loudly, and said: - “‘it is my advice that we play a trick upon the king of these giants by making him believe that we have done as he asked loki to do. i suggest that we dress thor in bridal robes and send him to see thrym. . he can play that he is the beautiful freyja, can find out where his hammer is hid, and, when thrym is not look- ing, he can seize it and can get away.” “‘good! good!” said all, and they laughed heartily. “but thor did not think so well of it. for was he not the strongest man in the heavens? and was he not the god of all gods? imagine him, thor, dressed up as a beautiful woman with his long, red beard hidden by a kerchief. thor scowled with anger. “loki, however, was anxious to have this done. “‘you should do this, thor,” said he, “else the giants will come and take your palace away from you, as you have no hammer to defend yourself with.” “thor knew that this was true, so he could our little viking cousin do nothing but submit when they brought freyja's jewels, her long robes, and her veil, and proceeded to dress him up like a woman. they put on a girdle and hung a bunch of jin- gling keys from his waist in order to show that he was a good housekeeper. they braided his red hair into two long braids, and put a long stick in his right hand. then they put on a cap with a long veil attached, so that no one could see his red beard. and, in spite of the fact that he raged and fumed at all of this, every one laughed at him. all the heavens echoed with the laughter of the gods, so that those below thought that many thunder squalls were brewing. and thor scowled and fumed, but he knew that he must subject himself to all of this, if he were ever to regain his lost ham- mer. loki then dressed himself as a servant maid, and, when all was ready, the chariot was brought up, and away went thor and loki to the palace of jotunheim. “thrym heard them coming when they were a long way off and, as he was sure that the beau- tiful freyja was approaching, he cried out to his followers: “arise, giants, and spread em- broidered cloths over the benches. fill the $ º : how thor regained his weapon golden goblets with sparkling wine, for freyja is coming to be my bride.” “the golden chariot was drawn by the goat-that-gnashes-his-teeth and the goat- that-flashes-his-teeth, and they struck out fiery sparks from their golden-shod hoofs as they pranced along above the clouds. just as twilight fell the chariot thundered into the court- yard, and, as thor had on freyja's jewels, her robes, and her head-dress, thrym thought that it was certainly she. he consequently took her hand, led her to a seat, and smiling exultantly, sang out: “‘much wealth have il many gifts have il freyja, the beautiful one, was all that i lack!’ “‘bring in much food!” he shouted. “every one must join me in my wedding feast !” “all the giants seated themselves around a long table, and the feasting began. thor fell to with a will, although he was careful to open only a small space in his veil so that he could swallow his food. he was very hungry; so hungry, in fact, that he forgot that he was a dainty lady. what do you think? he ate up our little viking cousin seven whole salmon, one whole side of an ox, a gallon of curds and honey, and washed it all down with three barrels of sweet and spicy mead, or ale. loki kicked him under the table, saying: “‘don’t eat so much, thor. you will give yourself away! don't eat so much l’ “but thor ate up another entire salmon. “‘whew!' said thrym. ‘i never saw a bride eat so much beforel i never saw a woman drink so much mead l’ “thor heard what he said and began to get alarmed; for, if the giant should discover who he was, before he obtained possession of his hammer, he would kill him. he sat there si- lently looking before him, when loki spoke, and said: “‘freyja is very hungry, o thrym, for has she not come eight days upon this journey? freyja is thirsty, for eight days is a long time to travel.” “thrym began to look more complacent. ‘yes,’ he answered. “that is a long time to travel.' “but now thrym thought that he would like to implant a kiss upon freyja's swan-like cheek. s how thor regained his weapon so, before loki could stop him, he reached out with a great hairy hand and pulled at the bridal veil. he jerked it aside just far enough to see thor's furious, little fiery eyes. “thrym sprang backwards, shouting out: “‘why are freyja's eyes so sharp fire is burning in the eyes of the beautiful one!” “but loki, the sly one, was again ready for the emergency. “‘freyja has not slept for eight long nights,' said he. “it took eight long days and eight long nights to come to jotunheim.’ “‘my, is that so,” said thrym. “i do not wonder that my beloved one is tired and red eyed.’ he returned to his seat, but continued to look lovingly at his bride-to-be. “but time wore on, and the moment ar- rived for the presentation of the bridal gifts. an old giantess, thrym's sister, came up to where thor was seated, and, bowing low be- fore him, said: “‘give me the golden rings from your hand, if you desire my friendship and my love.’ “thor kept silent, for he knew that the mo- ment he took the gloves from his hairy hands he would be discovered. our little viking cousin “but thrym feared that his bride had been offended by the request, so he spoke up, and said: “‘bring me thor's great hammer, which i stole from him. place it upon the maiden's lap, and wed us together in the name of war.’ “how thor did smile when his beady eyes fell upon his beloved hammer, as it was drawn out of its hiding-place and borne towards him. he sat there as stiff as a poker. there was danger if his disguise was discovered before his hand should grasp the hammer. nearer, al- ways nearer, the giant's attendants came with it. nearer, always nearer, until, at last, they laid it on his knees' “thor's mighty fist closed upon the handle of his trusty weapon. he now feared no one in the heavens. he threw back his veil; he leaped to his feet. his red beard stood out straight on all sides. his fierce eyes blazed upon the assembled giants. his arm flew back to strike one of his mighty blows! “‘cr-a-a-sh!' the thunder shook the halls of jotunheim with a loud, reverberating peal, and thrym fell dead at the feet of the god of all gods. “cr-a-a-sh!” and the old giantess how thor regained his weapon lay dead beside her brother. again and again the fearful hammer fell, until all the giants had been beaten to death, and lay like the trunks of fallen trees. loki was laughing and dancing about in a frenzy of joy, for his strategy had been a complete success. “thus did thor, the son of odin, regain his mighty hammer. it was all due to a smart and crafty trick, and to the aid and assistance of loki, the sly one.” chapter vi a true wiking must be a farmer as well as a warrior the boys clapped their hands, gleefully, when lothair had finished his story. “my,” said eric. “wasn't loki a crafty fellow, though?” thorwald laughed. “but, boys,” said he, “you must now con- tinue your lessons, for, if you are to be true vikings, you must learn not only to be warriors, but also to be farmers, builders of houses, and fishermen. an old skald has sung: “‘you must learn to tame oxen, and till the ground, to timber houses, and build barns, to make carts, and form plows.’ “all of our warriors, and even our mighty chieftains, must lay aside their weapons and º a true viking must be a farmer work in the fields side by side with their thralls, or men, in sowing, reaping, and threshing. even kings must help their men cut the golden grain. all work is an honorable deed.” “we will be glad to work,” said biarne. “we wish to be true vikings.” “you must learn how to thresh wheat,” con- tinued thorwald. “if our crops fail there is great distress in the land.” “have you heard the story of helgi,” in- terrupted lothair, “and how he escaped from his enemies?” “no, no, tell it to us,” said both the boys. “once a man named helgi disguised him- self as a woman thrall in order to escape from his enemies,” lothair began. “in vain his enemies searched for him; helgi was nowhere to be found. at length, as they looked for him far and wide, his enemies came to a barn in which was a hand mill for grinding corn. a tall, strongly built woman was turning the han- dle, but she worked very violently, so that the mill stones cracked and the barn was shattered to pieces, as fragments of the stone flew hither and thither. “‘ah, ha!” said helgi's enemies. ‘this our little viking cousin corn grinder is too vigorous to be a woman.’ “then they pounced upon her, saying: “more suited to these hands is the sword-hilt than the handle of the mill.’ “helgi indeed it was. helgi who had dis- guised himself as a female thrall. but — would you believe it — with the quick humor which, at times, steals over all of our people, helgi's enemies forgot to punish him, as they laughed together over his disguise. ‘ha! ha! ha!' laughed they. “his strength was too great for the disguise of a woman l’.” “now, come on, boys,” said thorwald. “we will go out and will first plant some corn. then you shall help me to start the building of a house.” the norsemen built their own houses, for they were carpenters as well as warriors and farmers. - the boys went out into a field nearby, were given some oats, in sacks, and were soon busy in sowing it over the ground. after they had done this for some time they were given some carpenter tools and were in- structed by thorwald in the methods of build- ing a house. t a true wiking must be a farmer many of the houses of the vikings had only one room. the side walls were long and low, with neither windows nor doors. the entrance was at the gable end, where a small door opened into a tiny vestibule. through this one stepped into the large living-room, or hall. the windows were merely open spaces be- tween the beams which formed the roof of the house. there were wooden shutters out- side. a hole was left above the center of the room by which the smoke from the fire escaped. the norsemen had no chimneys in their dwellings. the floor was made of clay, beaten hard; while the hearth was formed by placing several large, flat stones on the center of the clay floor. here the fire blazed merrily away, while the smoke escaped through the hole in the roof. benches, which were often used as beds, were fixed to the walls. a few chests were sometimes provided, in which were kept the household treasures, al- though many of the vikings placed their jewels, their silver, and their gold in a large copper box, or a large horn; then, digging a hole in the earth, they would bury their treasure, mark- our little viking cousin ing the spot with a stone, or by some sign known only to themselves. thorwald dressed in gay colors, for the norsemen loved bright clothing. his kirtle, or coat, of blue, was held together by a waist belt. over the kirtle was flung a scarlet cloak, fastened at the shoulder with a buckle, which was of gold, studded with gems. “now, boys,” said he, “you must work away at carpentry, so that you can build houses as well as the best of the vikings. after awhile you will be noble warriors and great men.” eric lay down his saw and his hammer. “i am tired of this kind of work,” said he to biarne. “i'd rather have some adventure and some excitement in life. oh, for another hunt!” “yes,” answered biarne. “another hunt, or a fight. this life is too tame.” they were soon to have plenty of adventure. chapter vii the building of the ship “steady, boy, steady, thou wilt hurt thy- self. get thee from beneath these timbers.” the man who spoke was a hairy-bearded viking who was clad in a workman's garb. he was directing the transportation of some stout beams from his work-shop to the shore, where the skeleton of a ship was lying. many norse- men were at work upon the vessel. its great curving sides and high prow showed it to be a typical viking ship. the boy stepped aside at this command and allowed the men who were carrying the beams to pass by. then he walked up to the sides of the vessel in order to watch the progress of the building of the graceful hull. it was biarne, who had wandered down to see what was go- ing on. he was full of curiosity. “biarne, i want to speak to you!” came a voice at his shoulder. our little viking cousin turning around, biarne saw eric, who was carrying some boards on his shoulder. “what is it, eric?” he asked. “i see that you are well laden.” “i want to speak to you after i deposit these boards at the ship.” “very good, i shall be glad to hear what you have to say.” eric went down to the water's edge, laid down the boards, and was soon back at the side of his friend. “this vessel is being built for leif ericson, the lucky,” said he. “and it is whispered that he is to sail far to the west, where he expects to find a great and prosperous new country.” “ah! ” answered biarne. “and what of that?” “would you not like to go with him, and have some adventure?” biarne's eyes opened wide. “i had not thought of it. i am too young. how could i man an oar?” “i am young, also. but i long to see a new country and to have adventures of my own.” biarne looked solemn. “that is all very nice; but how could we the building of the ship persuade one of leif's followers to take us along?” “that is easily evaded. we will stow away in the hold, and then we will see the wonders of the new world!” biarne began to smile. “why, the idea is wonderful!” said he. “we will wait until the expedition is ready to sail, then we will hide in the bow. before any one knows it, we will be out at sea and they cannot bring us home. eric, i am with you!” linked arm in arm the two boys walked up the beach, laughing and jesting. they had in them the true, adventurous spirit of the vikings. but how was it that leif the lucky had knowledge of this land lying far to the west? and how was it that he had determined to go in search of adventures in a strange and un- known country? the vikings were bold and hardy adventur- ers, for the name viking means “son of the bay,” or “son of the ocean.” they loved the sea and the bays, or fiords, which were upon the shores of norway, of denmark, and of sweden. these keen navigators sailed all over the the building of the ship suddenly the cry of “land! land!” was heard. the captain looked eagerly before him, but there was nothing that looked like greenland. this was a heavily wooded shore, with low hills in the background, and not a country rough and snowbound, as greenland was supposed to be. he coasted along the shore, sailed into many of the coves and bays, and ran into some wonderfully deep harbors. it was really the coast of nova scotia and not greenland. “i have lost my way,” said the venturesome mariner. so, turning the bow of the ship towards the north, he sailed back until he reached the shores of greenland. there he found his old father, just as he expected that he would do. but he was full of the tales of that new land which he had seen far to the west. he told them to all whom he met. the story of these strange, wooded shores came to the ears of leif ericson, known as leif the lucky. “i will go and explore the far western ocean,” said he... “and i will build me a goodly ship in which to voyage thither.” our little wiking cousin but a goodly ship could not be built in green- land, as the timber there was not big enough, nor had they sufficient men who were skilled in boat building. so leif had sent over to nor- way for a boat sufficiently large for this expedi- tion. that is how the hammers and the axes came to ring in the little cove, where biarne and eric watched the building of the vessel which was to transport this famous adventurer and his followers to the country of the un- known. eagerly the boys watched the building of this little bark. it did not look much like the ships of to-day. the bow and the stern were fashioned so as to rise high out of the water, and the middle of the vessel was low and had no deck. there was room for thirty rowers, who were to use oars twenty feet long. a single mast was in the forward part of the ship and it had but one sail, which could be taken down when not in use. the shields of the warriors were hung along the sides of this curious-looking craft. at the prow was a beau- tifully carved figure of a bear. in the stern was a firm deck, while in the forepart of the our little viking cousin “hurrah! ” whispered biarne to him. “it will not be long, now, before we have an oppor- tunity to go forth in search of adventure.” and all the people upon the shore gave a great shout as the graceful hull floated upon the waters of the little bay. “good luck to the good ship walhalla! ” cried all, and the cry was taken up by the gulls which wheeled and circled above, with much ap- parent interest and delight in the christening of the new vessel. “good luck to the good ship valhalla!” chapter viii the voyage to winland “hist, biarne, are you ready?” biarne felt a tug at his shoulder. he sat up, yawned, and looked wonderingly around him, for he was in his own little bed in the house near the blue fiord, upon the waters of which floated the newly christened valhalla. “is that you, eric?” “yes. all is ready. leif and his men are preparing to set sail this morning, and, if you and i are to go, we must hasten to stow our- selves away where they cannot see us.” “what time is it?” “near four o'clock in the morning and the cocks will soon be crowing.” biarne leaped out of bed and hastily put on his clothes. he had a suit called a biafal, which consisted of a single garment, open at the sides, without arms, and fastened with a button and a our little viking cousin strap. he seized a bag, which he had lying nearby, and in which he had placed a change of clothing, some warm outer garments to keep off the wind and the rain, and another pair of shoes. then he was all ready to join the ex- pedition. eric was older than biarne, by a year, and eric was filled with the spirit of adventure. he led the way carefully to the beach, seated himself in a little boat, and pushed off towards the walhalla, which could be dimly seen in the misty murk of dawn. fortune favored the two adventurers. they found no sentinel on watch, and, clambering over the side, were soon looking for a place to hide themselves, so that they would be taken away without being dis- covered, until it was too late to make them re- turn to their home. “here is where we will hide,” whispered eric, as he discovered a small opening between some large casks of fresh water. “see, there are some pieces of canvas that we can put over us, and then no one can possibly see us until we are far out at sea.” “splendid!” said biarne. “splendid!” and, as a splashing of the water nearby showed the voyage to winland that a boat was being rowed toward the ship, the boys quickly stowed themselves away in their hiding place. they had not crouched there a very long time, before, with a great scraping and bustling, two men hauled themselves over the sides of the vessel and began to pile some boxes into the hold. one of them moved a box to a position immediately next to where the boys were hiding, but it did not disturb them in the slightest. they crouched down very close to the deck and said nothing. as luck would have it, they were not discovered. a little later more boats put out to the wal- halla and other seafarers came on board. leif ericson, himself, climbed over the side, with a great roaring and singing, so that one would think that some minstrel were going to sea, and not a hardy norse adventurer. by daybreak all were ready to leave for the unknown west. the bow of the staunch ship walhalla was turned towards the open sea, and, with a rousing cheer, the vikings seized their long sweeps and dipped them into the blue water of the fiord. a few of the women had gath- ered on the beach, and these waved a fond our little viking cousin adieu, as the high-sided, curiously shaped ves- sel plowed its way into the atlantic. eric and biarne crouched low behind the boxes and bales which hid them from the eyes of the vikings, and, although their legs became very cramped, and they had strange, tingling sensations in them, they nevertheless managed to keep hidden from view. “how long will we have to crouch down here?” whispered eric, when the ship had trav- eled about a mile from the shore. “we will remain hidden until we have been a day's journey from the land,” said biarne. “then it will be impossible for leif to send us back, when we show ourselves.” eric smiled. “that's a fine idea,” said he. “biarne, you have a long head upon your shoulders.” the ship made good progress, for the wind was fresh, and the great sail bellied out with the steady drive of the breeze. the oarsmen at the sweeps were stout fellows, too, and they churned up the water of the ocean with their long oars. leif the lucky stood at the helm, with a great helmet, with two eagle wings upon either side, on his head. a great, hairy coat < ‘. º º -ºwº caarc- “eric and biarne became very cramped in their hiding- place.” the voyage to winland of bearskin was thrown around his shoulders. to his right was his trusted friend and adviser, thorbiorn; while nearby stood a viking who had been with that first adventurer who had sailed near the coast of nova scotia, staum- froid, the fearless one. thorwald ericson, leif's cousin, was also of the party. eric and biarne became very cramped in their hiding-place, and their muscles became very stiff and sore. but they held on for the space of a full day and a night. then they crept out upon the deck to be greeted with loud laughter by those who were at the oars. “well! well! boys!” said one of the vikings. “you’re with us, sure, and i do not see how we are going to get rid of you; but i doubt if you can stand the hardships of the voyage.” “oh, yes, we can,” cried biarne. “we, too, are vikings!” just then leif ericson, himself, walked up. “well spoken, stripling,” said he. “i see that you have the spirit of a real viking in you. right welcome are you both, and i know that youths of your caliber will be able to share the perils and the hardships of our expedition.” our little viking cousin so saying, he gripped each by the hand, and they knew that they had before them a true hero, a man of dauntless daring and undefatiga- ble purpose. the boys were soon made to feel thoroughly at home. instead of being badly treated by the vikings they were patted on the back, were given a hearty meal, and were told that the older men were glad to have them with them upon this dangerous and hazardous undertak- ing. the valhalla first touched at greenland, in order to take on more men and supplies, then plowed westward and southward, and finally the cry of “land! land!” sounded from the bow, where stood a viking peering keenly into the distance. as the ship neared the coast it could be seen that the shore was heavily wooded. dense forests grew down to the gray rocks upon the wave-tossed beach, and, as they neared the coast, flocks of sea-gulls rose from the water and screamed at the mariners. the valhalla was anchored. several of the sailors went ashore in a boat and wandered inland. biarne, himself, was with the voyag- ers, and, as he walked up to a gushing brook, our little viking cousin the vikings returned to the valhalla. she was steered along the coast and finally came to a place where a river emptied into the sea. the stream seemed to course through a large basin, or lake, which was teeming with all manner of fish. “hah!” said leif the lucky. “we will spend the winter here ! ” down went the anchor into the sandy bottom and the walhalla's great square sail was lowered to the deck. she swung gracefully around until her bow pointed into the outgoing tide, and all gazed at the beautiful shore, where pine and hemlock trees grew close to the water's edge. biarne and eric had been in one of the boats which had been used to tow the ship into the lake, for the outgoing tide was very swift. they now came back to the valhalla, clambered aboard, and assisted the vikings in loading their bedding and tents into the boats. “i know that we shall have a glorious time in this new country,” cried eric, joyously. chapter ix winland “yes, this is a good land to spend the winter in,” said old staumfroid. “the days are longer than in greenland, and, because of the great quantities of salmon in the stream, we will not want for food.” “it is a good country,” cried volga, one of the sailors. “we will rest well throughout the winter months.” the tents were soon put up upon the beach. there was much dew upon the grass, and one of the vikings lifted some of the water to his mouth. “i swear, comrades,” said he, “this dew is sweeter than any dew i ever tasted before. it is indeed a good country.” there is, in fact, a sort of “honey dew" to be found on the coast of new england, in america, which tastes very sweet, and this is what the viking had lifted to his lips. our little viking cousin leif ericson now divided his crew into two divisions. “we must explore the country,” said he. biarne and eric went with the party which staumfroid was leading. as they journeyed in- land, they found that the land which they had discovered was a rich and fertile one. the for- ests showed signs of game, and, also, of men; so it was plain that there were inhabitants in this new-found territory. “suppose we should run upon some of the people who dwell here,” said biarne, as they trudged along. “if they are a warlike race, we should fare ill.” “no danger!” answered eric, smiling. “i believe that we could easily be a match for them, for are we not vikings?” he looked very proud, as he said this, and biarne could not help laughing at him. leif the lucky's foster-father, named tyr- ker, was in the party. not long after this, he became separated from his companions, and apparently was lost in the woods. leif, him- self, was much worried over his disappear- ance. “i fear me that my father will become much winland muddled in his mind as to our whereabouts,” said he. “it is not good to be lost in a strange country where there are enemies about. here, eric! here, biarne, help me look for the old fellow!” the boys hurried off into the woods, but did not go very far, as they, themselves, were in fear of being lost. suddenly they heard leif shouting, and, running back, found that his father had returned. the old gentleman seemed to be very much excited. he was gri- macing and talking to himself in his own “south country’ tongue. “pray be quiet, father,” said leif. “what is it that disturbs you so?” the old man looked at him with wide open eyes. - “i did not go very far, my son,” said he. “yet i found vines and grapes. yes, as good vines as in our own land.” leif smiled broadly. “that is indeed good,” said he. “this is certainly a fine land, if grapes are here, so that we can make the red wine. i shall have to call it winland.” - “well spoken,” said tyrker. “it is a splen- our little viking cousin did country and a fit place for our people to come to.” they all started back towards the beach where they had pitched their tents, seeing abun- dant signs of game on the way; and soon ar- rived at the curving shore of the river, where the walhalla lay gracefully at her anchorage. “men,” said captain leif the lucky, “we shall now have two things to do. we shall gather grapes and shall fell trees, in order to load our ship with lumber. but we must pre- pare for the cruel winter and must build our- selves a log house. come, bestir yourselves. eric and biarne, get the axes ready and we will quickly go after the trees in the neighborhood, so that, when the cutting north wind blows, we shall have no cause for distress and suffering.” the boys paddled out to the walhalla, found the axes, and returned to the land. soon the chips were flying, the trees were falling, and the foundations of a large house were laid. “aren't you glad that you came along?” said biarne to eric, as they toiled over the timber cutting. “this promises to be a place where we can surely spend a pleasant winter.” eric laughed. { winland “indeed i am,” said he. “we can have fine fishing in the bay, and we can go after deer and those big brown animals with spreading antlers which live in the deep woods.” the vikings, in fact, had already caught many fine fish, which swam in the depths of the round basin, through which the blue and rip- pling waters of the river coursed into the sea. they were particularly pleased with the vast quantities of salmon which swam in the stream. they caught many of them; so many, in fact, that they grew tired of eating their flesh and longed for some other kind of diet. the log house progressed rapidly and it was not long be- fore a magnificent structure stood upon the shore. was not this captain well named when they called him leif the lucky? he was the first man to find the great western world, in spite of the fact that christopher columbus is supposed to be the first european to have ever visited america. none of the wise men of europe had ever dreamed that there was a vast con- tinent far to the west of them, and was it not wonderful luck that leif had discovered this country? leif, himself, did not understand his our little viking cousin own good fortune nor did he realize what he had found. “it is a good place,” said he. “and we shall take a boatload of grapes and timber back with us to greenland.” eric and biarne were assisting the sailors in the completion of their house when leif strode up. “we shall have a good winter here, boys,” he said; “but i fear greatly that we shall be attacked by some of the people who live in this country.” just then a loud and peculiar call echoed from the dense forest, and an arrow whizzed by the ear of the staunch viking leader. chapter x the battle with the skrellings leif ericson was a large man, but he was as agile as could be. dodging the whizzing shaft, he ran quickly to the new-made house and there seized his own bow and arrow, his spear and his breast-plate. “come, my vikings!” he cried. “if these natives intend to drive us from the land, let us make it well worth their while.” “hurrah!” shouted his followers, as they, too, ran to seize their bows, their arrows, and their spears. “we will show these skrellings that the vikings are not easily frightened.” a shower of darts and arrows was coming from the woods, as the norsemen made ready to defend themselves. a series of shrill and startling cries rose from the timber; but, al- though an occasional arrow whizzed through the air from the direction of the dense forest, no heads of the enemy were exposed, and it was our little viking cousin impossible to guess what was the size of the attacking party. biarne was at first quite frightened; but when he saw the unconcern with which leif took the whole affair, he regained his composure. strapping around his body one of the many breastplates which the vikings had brought with them, he took up a bow and arrow and stood near the gallant leif, who seemed not at all afraid of the yelping natives, whose war-like cries echoed from the dense underbrush. the vikings now ranged themselves in battle array and prepared to defend themselves, should the skrellings, or natives of winland, debouch from the bush and make an onrush upon them. but no attack came. instead, while the wild war-whoops continued, and an oc- casional arrow issued from the forest, the na- tives seemed to have no intention of issuing forth to engage in a hand-to-hand encounter. “let us advance into the woods,” said leif, at this juncture, “and show our yelping foes that the vikings are men of red blood. come, norsemen, to the attack!” suiting the action to the words the brave norse adventurer started for the woods, and, { the battle with the skrellings penetrating into the glade, drew his bow and shot an arrow at the head of one of the skrel- lings, which he saw just above the side of a giant log. he missed the object of his attack by full a yard. the rest of the vikings now burst into the woods with a wild “hullo,” and were met with a shower of arrows. nothing daunted, they rushed forward and quickly routed the enemy from their hiding-places. and what manner of men were these skrel- lings? they were sometimes called smaellin- gar, or small men. the red indians did not then inhabit the coast of america, and these white people, small and squat in stature, but with heavy hair upon their bodies, were the owners of the land. the indians said that the great spirit gave them the country after he had wrested it from the skrellings. they were a warlike race, and fought with spears, with bows and arrows, and with stone axes. they had skin boats, whereas the red indians who followed them, used birch-bark canoes, or boats fashioned out of logs. they wore armor of deer and moose skin, and had shields fashioned from the same material. our little viking cousin the skrellings held their ground only for a few moments. apparently they had no relish for a hand-to-hand encounter with their giant invaders, who had on such curious-looking things that made their arrows bounce away when they struck them. so, after a terrific yelping, they turned and ran pell-mell into the forest, followed by the spears and arrows of the vikings. not a single norseman had been dan- gerously wounded, although many of them had been struck by the flint-leaded arrows of the skrellings; several, indeed, had been pierced through the thighs and calves of their legs; but, as the arrows were not poisoned, they did not seem to mind the injury. the vikings had been more accurate in their aim. the bodies of two of the skrellings lay pierced by many arrows. as the norsemen gazed upon these curious men of the new coun- try, they found them to be swarthy and sinewy creatures with hairy faces and long black locks. they seemed, also, to be well fed and fairly well clothed, although the heavy skins, which they wore, had been unable to keep the arrows which the vikings had shot from penetrating to their bodies and dealing them a death blow. “picked up a round shield of thick ski n.” \„− − „−~~~~ the battle with the skrellings “see, biarne,” said eric, as he gazed upon the countenance of one of the dead skrellings, “these fellows not only had on good clothing, but they also had splendid shields.” he reached over, as he spoke, and picked up a round shield of thick skin, upon which was painted the body of a beaver. “and they belonged to the tribe of men, no doubt,” answered biarne, “who worshiped this animal with a thick tail.” “it certainly is a curious-looking beast,” said eric. “i never saw anything like this in either greenland or iceland.” but the boys were to see plenty of beaver in winland before they went home to their far distant land in the north atlantic ocean. leif ericson seemed to be well pleased with the turn which the fight had taken. “these skrellings,” said he, “will not at- tack us again in a hurry. we have given them a good drubbing and they have learned what it is to attempt to frighten the vikings. i'll warrant that we will have little more trouble with them in the future. come, boys, back to our camp and catch some salmon for our sup- per.” our little viking cousin all now returned to the beach, and, while some resumed work on the house, others jumped into the boats, paddled down the stream, and, with fish-hooks and lines, attempted to catch fish for the evening meal. the smoke ascended from the fires upon the shore: the axes and ham- mers rang; and the vikings made this once dull place look animated, indeed. the fight was soon forgotten; the skrellings, in fact, seemed to have retired far inland, where, no doubt, lay their camp, or their houses. at any rate no fierce war-whoops came from the dense woodland; instead, the beautiful notes of a wood-thrush echoed tunefully from the somber pines and hemlocks, sounding as if some organ were being piped by the talented and invisible hands of a true musician. chapter xi the pirate ship “biarne! ” * “what is it, eric?” “there is trouble in the windl '' “eh! what!” “yes, trouble, i say; much trouble, for the ravens have been croaking, and there is a strange sound from out the mist.” a thick fog lay over the winding river which coursed through the lake into the sea, and rolled across the marshes upon its border. it envel- oped the valhalla as she swung gracefully at anchor, and it hid from view the great log house, which leif and his men had constructed upon the shore. biarne listened, and, sure enough, away down at the mouth of the lake, where it emptied into the sea, could be heard a muffled noise. “what do you suppose it is, eric?” said he. the pirate ship “my vikings,” said he, “we will soon have a more desperate affair than that fracas with the skrellings.” drifting slowly along in the slight southerly breeze lay the stranger; dark in hull, ominously menacing, her sail flapping wearily, her great curving prow cutting the blue water with a rib- bon of white. with the wisps of vapor eddy- ing around her in the gentle southerly breeze, she looked like a grim phantom, hovering near, with the black hand of death at the helm. the vikings were soon prepared for battle. quickly incasing themselves in their breast- plates, and seizing their shields, bows, and spears, they crowded to the boats and were paddled to the sides of the walhalla. the an- chor was hauled from the sandy bottom, the sail was run aloft, and, dipping the long oars into the brine, the great ship bore down upon the stranger, which still lay there, drifting, idling along, as if prepared for any encounter. “look well to your slings and arrows, my friends,” shouted leif, as he firmly seized the helm. “we will find a foe, here, well worthy of our steel, i'll warrant.” “that's the truth,” spoke eric, as he buckled our little viking cousin on his breastplate. “she looks to me like a pi- rate ship.” “and will she stand?” asked biarne, curi- ously. “that she will,” answered a grizzled wik- ing, as he affectionately ran his fingers down his sword blade. “she will stand, for you notice that her crew are making no effort to paddle her to the harbor's mouth.” on, on forged the valhalla, and still the stranger did not attempt to escape. on, on sped the norsemen under captain leif, until they drew so close to the great, brown hulk in the offing that they could see the oarsmen on the deck. as the vikings eagerly peered at the visitors they saw brown, sunburnt and tawny-bearded faces beneath high caps of steel. breast-plates flashed and glistened in the sun, spears reared their pointed heads from behind the high gun- whales. the visitors were apparently from the coast of france, or perhaps from the land lying upon the german ocean. they rolled out a fierce song of war and shook their fists vindic- tively at the oncomers. “it will be a battle royal,” said biarne. our little viking cousin two sea warriors were linked together in the grip of death. it did not take long for the vikings to clam- ber over the rail and meet the foe in hand-to- hand battle. the arrows flew, axes crashed against steel and iron, blows rang upon cuirass and helmet, groans and sharp cries of battle sounded above the grinding of wood as the two great hulks rubbed against each other. the strangers were a fierce and warlike crew. they fought well. “men, either you must conquer,” cried leif, “or we must all leave our bones in vinland.” but the enemy were no match for the norse- men. several of the latter had already fallen, it is true, for the strangers shot accurately with their bows and struck out right valiantly with sword and with battle-axe. in spite of this, the vikings drove them back to the stern of the ship, where, holding their shields before them, they ranged themselves in a circle, back-to-back, de- termined to battle until the last gasp. leif, himself, now took part in the fray. leaving the helm in the charge of thorwald, he leaped across the gunwale, and, with ax in hand, rushed into the thick of the fight. it was the pirate ship not long before the circle of steel had been broken, before these valiant invaders had been all either killed or disarmed, and the wild songs of the vikings sounded shrill and clear above the groans of the wounded and dying. the norsemen had conquered. chapter xii buried treasure “and, who are these warlike strangers?” eric, who had spoken, with head bruised and battered from a sword-thrust, was peering into the hold of the conquered ship. “at least they did not run away!” said biarne. “i believe that they are pirates.” “pirates?” “yes, even as we might become if we had to. these fellows have been preying on their weaker comrades on the sea.” the hold, in fact, was full of boxes, bales, and a valuable cargo of ivory. the strangers had either bartered with some natives upon the coast of africa, or else had intercepted some vessel traveling overseas from the tropic land. leif ericson had suffered no injury from the encounter. he was now seated near the center of the ship while his men held a few of the prisoners before him. he was questioning them as to their nationality, and their purpose buried treasure in visiting this strange and unexplored country. the strangers, it seems, were from the coast of spain. driven westward by a series of storms, they had fallen in with some traders from france; had captured them; had seized all of the most valuable part of their cargo; and had put all of their captives to death in order to avoid trouble of carrying them upon their own vessel. the treasure in the hold of the staunch craft was worth a large sum of money. what would the vikings do with it? should it be divided, or should it go, for the most part, to leif the lucky? eric and biarne were much interested in the inspection of the pirate ship, which was a trifle smaller than the valhalla. also, it was built of lighter timber, and had a great, high stern. the deck was soon cleared of all signs of the recent affray, and the two boys aided in bind- ing up the wounds of the prisoners. they were fierce-looking fellows, with tanned skins and great masses of coal black hair. they seemed to be resigned to their fate, and took matters with calmness. leif appeared to be much gratified at the result of his attack. our little viking cousin “here,” said he, “is a great treasure, a fitting reward for all of our exertions. we are well repaid for our tremendous battling with this pirate crew. we will sail back to our mooring and to-morrow will decide what will be done with this valuable cargo.” the valhalla had dropped astern, by now, and, with sail well filled, had started to return to her moorings in front of the place, on the beach, where the vikings had built their house. the sail was hoisted on the pirate ship and it was soon driven by the wind and oars towards the sandy shore. leif and his men were cer- tainly well pleased with their venture, and all sang lustily as the boat surged through the blue water. finally they neared the valhalla, which was at anchor; but, by leif's orders, the bow of the pirate ship was driven on the beach. “now, lads,” said the bold viking to the two youngsters, “we will have to decide what is to be done with this treasure. it is more than i can claim for my own share, as all of my gallant men aided and assisted me in its cap ture.” “yes,” said biarne, “but i feel sure that it will be safe here in vinland, and that no one . buried treasure will touch it until we are ready to take it away.” no sooner had the pirate ship been beached, than she was securely fastened to the bank by means of long ropes. the vikings sprang ashore, and were soon busily engaged in land- ing the jars of gold coin; the bales of valuable silk; and the numberless silver and jeweled ornaments which the pirates had captured from many a weak and unsuspecting crew. these were placed in a great pile and the vikings gathered about their leader to hear what he had to say. “my gallant norsemen,” cried leif, “a por- tion of this treasure belongs to me, of course. the rest shall be divided amongst all of you. i feel that i should have at least a third; the remaining two-thirds should be apportioned amongst those who assisted in the taking of this vessel.” “that is fair,” said old thorwald, quite loudly. “yes, that is certainly fair,” said biarne also. but a few of the norsemen shook their heads. “i put two of the pirates out of the way, bold captain,” said one stout fellow, called buried treasure the division of the treasure now went on. leif ericson, who had certainly been rightly christened “the lucky,” took one-third, as near as he could reckon. the rest was divided into equal portions, eric and biarne each re- ceiving their proper share. but what was now to be done with the treasure? “i’ll tell you what i am going to do with my portion, eric,” said biarne. “i am going to bury it.” “an excellent idea,” answered eric. “where?” “up on the beach, up near those hemlock trees. no one will ever know it, if we put it there at night.” “you are right.” “we'll do it right away.” so, that very night eric and biarne carried their share of the treasure far up the beach, and, beneath a great rock where a single pine seemed to grow as a sentinel, they buried their portions of the pirate gold. they marked the rock with a cross and a number six, just oppo- site the spot where the treasure lay, and, trudg- ing back to the hut, were soon fast asleep. chapter xiii winter in winland the days now passed pleasantly enough, and, although the vikings feared an attack by the skrellings, none came. the great forest, back of their log house, stretched into the far dis- tance a solid mass of waving green, from out which sounded the strange caterwaulings of the lynx, the drumming of the red-headed wood- pecker, or the deep grunting of a bull moose. as the fall advanced, there came a restful, quiet and beautiful season known as indian summer, when a curious haze hung over the winding river, when sometimes scarce a ripple disturbed the surface of that curving stream which flowed through the inland lake into the sea; and when the dried and rustling leaves hung to the trees as if they were pieces of parchment. eric and biarne often fished in the deep waters of the bay, to secure their share of the provisions for the winter which was approach- winter in winland _z. ing; and sometimes they chased the black ducks which settled upon the quiet water, on their journey from the far north to the warmer cli- mate of the southern country. they likewise swam in the cold water, paddled far down to the harbor mouth, and explored the numerous islands which lay there, like sentinels watching the ever changing tides of this new-found river. then they joined the vikings in their expedi- tions into the interior where were the vines which leif's foster father had discovered. these were now hung with clusters of ripened grapes which were gathered into large bags and were carried to the huts upon the beach. some of the norsemen pressed out the juice and made a sweet wine from these purple berries which was much enjoyed by the daring sea voyagers. traces of the skrellings were often seen, but it was apparent that their first skirmish with the norsemen had taught them a lesson, and that they did not care to meet again in battle. the earth was tracked with the prints of deer and moose. ruffed grouse, or partridges, often whirred away as the boys trudged through the forest, and, although they would try to shoot them with their arrows, it was very diffi- our little viking cousin cult to hit one unless it could be approached when in a tree. sometimes the unsuspecting birds would sit peering down upon eric and biarne, as they walked through the forest, and were apparently so interested in these new kind of animals that they would remain there cran- ing their necks until a stone-tipped arrow from an ashen bow would send them fluttering to the ground. they would be taken home and broiled over the fire for supper, and they were greatly relished by the vikings, who grew rather tired of fish, and therefore were much pleased to get this addition to their larder. “but, eric,” said biarne, one day, “if we could only get a moose!” “wait until the winter sets in and the snow falls,” said eric. “i am sure that then we can track one of those monster deer through the forest and can catch him as he flounders through the snow.” “i believe that we can do so,” answered biarne. “it is growing very cold, now, and i feel that winter will soon be here.” the days were getting to be perceptibly shorter. by and by, as eric lay dreamily gaz- ing up at the stars, one evening the strange winter in winland “honk! honk!” of a flock of geese sounded from the blue dome above his head. he pur- posely had stretched his bed outside the log hut in which he usually slept and the guttural notes made him start and sit up. yes, winter was coming. the geese were flying southward, driven from their breeding grounds in far off labrador by king winter with his breath of ice and of snow. not long after this, the flakes began to fall, and, in order to keep the cold from the log houses, great roaring fires were built to warm them. the vikings had been busy cutting wood, so that there was a plentiful supply on hand. this was piled behind their houses and all were quite ready for a hard and bleak win- ter season. the forest was apparently de- serted by the skrellings. but there were other denizens of the woods. one day, as biarne was busily engaged in sharpening a spear-point, he heard a long and mournful howling from the forest. “wolves!” said eric, who was standing near him. “they say that they have grown very fierce from hunger.” biarne crept nearer to the fire. our little viking cousin “i believe you,” said he. “they must be big fellows, indeed. certainly they make a mournful enough noise. i am almost fright- ened.” “oh, that needn't frighten you,” eric an- swered. “come, go with me to-morrow into the forest with old staumfroid and we will see if we cannot track a moose.” “i would certainly enjoy that,” said biarne, laughing. “we will first make some snow- shoes, so that we can run over the crust.” this did not take very long to do. the wik- ings had shot some deer, had dried the hides, and had made long strips of deer skin. with these the boys soon made broad-bodied snow- shoes which would easily hold them up upon the hard crust. the next day, with old staumfroid as their companion, they entered the forest and trudged back into the interior, past the wonderful vines of grapes which were now buried deep in a mantle of white. occasionally they saw the v-shaped print of a deer's foot, where one had wandered through the wood, and occasionally, also, a print like the foot of a dog. a wolf had been by, and sad indeed would be the fate winter in winland of any unsuspecting deer who would fall in the path of one of these scavengers of the forest. at last old staumfroid stopped and pointed at a big track in the snow. “it is the monarch of the wood,” said he. “biarne, look at this!” biarne saw a big, broad foot-print like that of a great ox. a bull moose had passed by. “can we get him?” he asked eagerly. “yes,” answered old staumfroid, “if you follow my advice.” “what is that?” “keep doggedly to his trail! never give up! he will run a long way, but we can tire him out as the snow is deep. when we get close to him, you must both run in on either side and shoot your arrows into his flanks, while i head him off and attempt to dispatch him with a spear.” **a “we will do as you say,” said both the boys. now they settled down to work, and, gliding over the crust, were soon speeding upon the trail of the moose. on, on they went through the forest, and fresher, ever fresher, became the tracks of the our little viking cousin huge animal. on, on, they continued, and finally they saw a great brown mass ahead of them. it was the bull, who, terrified at their approach, was plunging through the deep crust in a desperate effort to escape. “now hurry, boys,” cried old staumfroid. “i will head him off.” suiting the action to the words the norseman ran swiftly ahead, spear in hand, and, as the bull stopped and glared at him with blood-shot eyes, he hurled his spear at him and struck him full between the antlers. meanwhile biarne and eric had shot their arrows into his flanks. with a great grunt of pain, the huge animal fell over on his side, while his blood crimsoned the crystal snow. “hurrah!” shouted the boys. “hurrah!” “now, boys, we'll take the haunch of the old fellow home, but we must hang up the head and antlers so that the wolves cannot get them.” with his long knife old staumfroid soon had the haunch cut away, the head was severed from the body and placed far up in the branches of a tree, and, swinging the meat upon his back, the viking turned his face toward the huts upon the beach. winter in winland the boys followed, but they were not alone. as they went forward, a noise made biarne look behind him. there, in the black forest, were two huge, gray wolves. they snarled and showed their fangs. in spite of this the boys went forward. but as they came to the cluster of cabins, the wolves were still on their trail. they stopped, howling dismally, as the old viking, with his two com- panions, broke from the forest into the clearing where were their huts. “my, but i'm glad that i am not out in the forest alone,” said biarne, while his teeth chat- tered. chapter xiv the plot the winter was not as severe as leif had ex- pected. the vikings were all well and healthy. one thing alone marred the pleasure of their stay, and that was the fact that the pirates, whom they had captured, seemed to be very quarrelsome, and it was difficult to keep them. in order. eric was growing in strength and in vigor, but he was looking forward to the spring sea- son, when it would be possible for them to hoist the sails on both the valhalla and the pirate ship, and coast back to greenland and norway. biarne, too, looked forward to the time when they could all be off again. but exciting events were to occur, for dis- sentions had already arisen over the treasure which had been captured from the pirates. late, one afternoon, eric had left the hut and wandered down the beach for quite a dis- the plot tance. he was looking at a reddish glow in the sky and wondering how far away the great north pole might be, when he heard two voices in earnest conversation. carefully stealing up the beach, he hid him- self behind a rock and saw that the voices were those of a sailor called haldor and a man named avalldania. haldor, who had a red beard, and a scar on his forehead, was speaking quite loudly. “i know,” said he, “that those two boys have hidden their part of the treasure, and in a place not so far away. you and i must search the beach, comrade, and i am sure that we can find where it lies buried.” “how do you know this?” asked the second. “why, man, i have looked into all their be- longings, when they have been off hunting in the woods, and i have found nothing of the treas- ure. where, then, have they placed it?” eric's heart began to beat loudly against his ribs. so their prized possessions had been searched, had they? this was why he had often found his bedding disarranged; some one had been looking for his share of the treasure. he was glad, very glad, that he had buried it. our little viking cousin “i think that the place cannot be far away,” continued haldor. “we must search the beach well. perhaps we can find some sign on a rock; some sign which will tell us where we can unearth this gold.” again eric's heart pumped against his side. what if they were to run upon the cross which he and biarne had made the voices now arose again. “i’ll tell you what, comrade,” haldor re- marked, “we will not only look for this treas- ure, but we will gather other stout souls to our way of thinking; we will mutiny on the way home; and all the treasure will be ours before we reach the coast of greenland.” “comrade, will this be possible?” eric shuddered. “yes,” replied haldor, “and it will be a great thing for both of us. we will live in peace and comfort forever !” “we will do it.” eric crouched behind the rock, as he saw the burly forms of haldor and avalldania rise from the sandy beach. what if they should see him? he was breathless with excitement and fear. --..& the plot - - - but they did not see him. instead of this they wandered along the beach, looking for something — eric well knew what — and, when he saw them near the place where the treasure was buried, he watched them very eagerly in- deed. they had keen eyes, but they were not keen enough to see the cross which biarne had chiseled on the rock. eric watched closely, and when he saw that the two vikings had gone safely by the place where the treasure lay hid, he turned and ran back to the hut. “biarne,” he whispered, when he had found his comrade nestled down in his sleeping bag. “biarne, i have bad news to tell you.” “what can it be, eric? your face seems to be very red.” “yes, there are persons looking for our treasure. and a plot to mutiny is on foot.” “to mutiny?” “yes, and to steal all of the treasure on the return trip home.” “you must tell captain leif, at once.” “would you?” “no, stay! i would not tell him now. we will wait until the danger threatens, and then - chapter xv the journey up the river “biarne, let us build a canoe!” eric had been lying upon some skins in a corner of the hut, dreamily gazing at the ceiling, when the idea suddenly came to him that it would be a splendid opportunity to explore the curving river which ebbed and flowed before their hut. the winter had been a severe one, but it had now almost gone, and the little cat- kins upon the pussy willows warned them that the spring was near at hand. “all right, eric,” biarne answered. “we will strip some of the birch trees, from the for- est, and will get old staumfroid to show us how to make the frame to stretch the bark on. then we will melt some pitch in order to caulk the seams, so that the water will not get inside, and will also fashion some paddles from pine wood.” it did not take long to get the bark. after this had been peeled away, old staumfroid the journey up the river old staumfroid smiled. “boys,” he said, “i have been writing a poem, a song of the vikings. do you want to hear it?” “yes! yes!” cried both the boys. “do read it to us, staumfroid.” the old fellow was delighted at the interest which they showed in his work. so, clearing his throat, he read what he had written, in loud, clear tones. “the wind is blowing from off the shore, and our sail has felt its force, for our bark bounds o'er the crested wave, like a wild and restive horse. our sharp prow cleaves the billows, and breaks them into spray, and they blithely gleam in the sunlight, as we speed upon our way. “to our oars we bend with a right good will, and sorrows leave behind. like the white-winged gulls that around us wheel, we are racing with the wind. each day we'll pray to heaven, nor shall we pray in vain, for the gods will watch o'er our steady barks, and will guide us home again. our little viking cousin lord of the waves we are, kings of the seething foam, warriors bold from the norseland cold, far o'er the sea we roam.” the boys clapped their hands. “why, that's fine,” said biarne, laughing. “you certainly know how to write poetry, staumfroid. i thought that you were only a hunter.” old staumfroid chuckled. “why, boys,” said he, “i can write all kinds of good and beautiful things. when you get back from your trip i may have something else for you to hear.” the boys smiled. “why, that would be fine,” they said in uni- so . now they filled the canoe with what sup- plies they needed for a few days, and, taking their bows, their spears, and plenty of arrows, they clambered in, and started up the winding river which was afterwards to be known as the river charles. waving good-by to the norse- men, who had gathered on the bank to bid them adieu, they had soon paddled around the bend, and were speeding up the curving stream. º { { the journey up the river on, on, they went, marveling at the beauty of the country, the wonderful green of the trees, which were just coming into leaf, and the varie- gated flowers along the bank. they heard the song-sparrows singing in the bushes where the fresh green of spring made a beautiful back- ground for their speckled breasts. they heard the frogs piping in the meadows; the cawing of the crows; and the trill of the little red-capped chipping sparrows. on, on they paddled, drinking in the clear air, and reveling in the beauty of the landscape. the river twisted and turned in great curves; and, save for the prints of deer in the banks, there was no sign of animate life. suddenly they turned a bend and almost ran against the body of a cow moose. she had immersed herself in the water, probably to get away from the flies, and, as the canoe shot close to her, she stumbled up on the bank with a great, bellowing grunt. eric was in the stern of the canoe, and sent it ahead with such a shove that it nearly struck the cow as she clambered up on the bank. biarne slapped her on the tail with his paddle, and she went lumbering away as if stung by a our little viking cousin giant hornet. the boys could not help laugh- ing. they kept on up the stream, the river twist- ing and turning in graceful curves. as they rounded a great bend, they saw before them the marks of men's footprints in the sandy soil. “the skrellings have been here,” said biarne, pointing to the footprints. “we must look out.” a place where the bushes had been torn up, on the bank, the marks of a fire and other prints left by men, showed the boys that certainly a camp of skrellings had been there. the boys became cautious, and paddled more slowly up the stream. when night came, they drew their canoe upon the bank, spread their robes beneath it, upon a bed of new-cut hemlock boughs, and, after broil- ing a fish for their dinner, lay down to rest. they were still half awake when a somber voice in the blackness made them both sit up. “hoo-hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo-hoot!” came from the blackness. “my, do you suppose that is one of the skrellings?” whispered biarne. the journey up the river “no!” eric answered. “it's a big, brown owl.” “are you sure?” “certainly ” biarne seemed to be relieved. “i’m glad to hear it,” said he, “for i feared that it was one of the skrellings giving notice of our whereabouts.” again came the call, but, in a few moments the hooting seemed to be far away. the owl had moved. “hoo-hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo-hoot!” came from the far distance. at this, both of the boys breathed more easily and composed themselves in slumber. chapter xvi the fate of the treasure as the bright sun came over the hemlock trees, in the early morning, eric and biarne sprang up and joyfully prepared their break- fast. “we will go a few more miles up the river and then will return home,” said eric. just as they were about to push off the canoe, something made eric look down at the sandy soil, and what he saw there made him start backward. there were the prints of a man's naked foot. “biarne ! ” said he in a startled manner. {{ yes.” “look there ! ” biarne's eyes grew as big as two saucers. could it be one of the skrellings, he thought. they must be careful. “eric, we must start down stream immedi- ately.” “you are quite right, biarne. here, help me shove the canoe into the waterl” ſ the fate of the treasure the canoe was soon lifted from the shore and floated upon the surface of the river. both boys clambered aboard, after hastily putting in their belongings. then the bow was turned down stream, the paddles were seized, and they started away at a rapid pace. as they turned a bend, a fierce cry sounded from the bank and they knew that the skrellings had seen them. “paddle, oh, paddle !” cried biarne. “i am afraid that they will head us off, for it is very shallow here.” eric said nothing, but dug his paddle into the water with a right good will and the boat fairly flew along. again sounded the cry, and, as the boys swung the canoe around a bend in the stream, an arrow whizzed by the ear of poor biarne, whose hair was fairly standing up from his head. on, on paddled the boys, startling a great blue heron which flapped away, squawking dis- mally, and almost running into a flock of black ducks, which had alighted on the peaceful river on their way to the north. on, on they went, and farther and farther behind them echoed that warlike cry. they did not dare look be- ' our little viking cousin hind them, but kept on manfully, while the per- spiration ran down their brows. at length they turned a great bend in the river and eric took in his paddle. “goodness, biarne, but that was a tight squeeze,” he said. “i believe that if we had not shoved off when we did we would have been captured by the skrellings, for they must have been all around us.” biarne looked furtively over his shoulder. “you are quite right, eric,” said he. “we had a very narrow escape. but, after all, i do not believe that the skrellings are such bad people. they might have treated us very well, indeed.” eric laughed. “certainly what i saw of them in the woods did not give me too high an opinion of them,” he answered. “they looked to me like wild men.” the boys now chattered and laughed quite happily, for they felt that the danger was over. a bobolink rose from the bushes and flooded the air with beautiful cascades of melody; the sun shone upon the rippling water with bril- liancy, and, as they floated along by some high the fate of the treasure rushes, a red-winged blackbird sang “con- garee! congaree!” all was peace and beauty along the lovely river. running the canoe into the bank, the boys went ashore and ate their luncheon. little did they think that a great norse town, called norumbega, later would be built where they were seated. it was to have walled docks and wharves, a dam, a fishway, and miles of stone walls along the charles river, below. later a town called watertown, was to come into being on this spot. as the boys lay idly upon the bank, they had not the slightest idea that many norsemen, in later years, would have their homes here, and would interest themselves in fishing, in cutting wood, and in building houses for their friends and their kinsfolk. “i heard thorwald say that we would be- gin the journey to greenland very shortly,” said eric, as he lay upon his back, idly gazing into the air. “we had better dig up our treasure, to-morrow, biarne. what say you?” “i certainly agree, eric. we must get it stowed away in sacks, and, if any one asks us what it is, we will say that it is the result of our trapping expeditions with old staumfroid.” our little viking cousin “i hardly think that would fool them.” “well, we must take our chances.” the noon-day rest was now over, so, again entering their canoe, the boys continued their journey down stream. they felt that there was now no danger from the skrellings, so took things easily. floating along gently and quietly, they startled a great, red buck deer as he was drink- ing from the stream. the animal started to run, as they whirled by, but stopped for a mo- ment and watched them, with one foot in the air and head erect. “doesn't he look like a statue?” said eric. biarne laughed. “yes, i'd like to have a picture of him just as he is.” the buck seemed to blow out his breath as if whistling; then turned, and, with a few bounds, was off into the forest. the boys paddled onwards, and, just as dusk was appearing, reached the neighborhood of the huts which leif had erected. they could see the smoke ascending from the chimneys, and dark forms moving on the beach, so they knew awatºo- “w atched them, with on e foot in the air and head erect.” the fate of the treasure that all was well with the vikings. they neared the place where they had buried their treasure, and quite unconsciously, eric cast his eye in that direction. something in the look of the ground made him uneasy, so he paddled to- wards the spot. as he drew nearer, a cry of dismay issued from his lips. “biarne, paddle on quickly!” he cried. biarne drove his paddle into the water and the bow of the canoe fairly shot through the blue river until the bank was reached. as eric leaped to the shore, a cry of anger and dismay came from his lips. “biarnel oh, biarnel the treasure is gone !” biarne was too stunned to answer. as he looked before him, two great holes were in the beach; stone, sand, and gravel was thrown up on every side. their precious possessions had vanished. only one thing remained. this was a stake driven in the ground upon which had been affixed a board. on this had been written with a burned stick the word: “skrel- ling.” the two boys sat down upon the sand and sobbed bitterly. their treasure, their wonder- chapter xvii back to greenland flood tide. the great, ebbing, surging blue current of the river rolled onward past the log huts of leif and his adventurers. tortuous, twisting, singing, crooning, and sweeping great brown pieces of seaweed along in its mad flight, it passed by the spot where later would stand the home of henry wadsworth longfellow, the inspired poet, the man of sweetness and benev- olence. it eddied and gurgled beyond the green marshes which lay near the future habi- tation of james russell lowell, that mystical dreamer of beautiful dreams at elmwood. it was now deserted and silent, save for the occasional splash of a leaping fish, but almost a thousand years later its surface was to be dotted with the shells of many crimson-shirted oars- men, who were to find healthful exercise upon its fresh and gurgling surface, and recreation, after the hours of study in the halls of the col- our little viking cousin lege which would spring into being near its sloping banks. a bustle and confusion was now upon the shore, for leif ericson had given orders to get everything ready for the return journey to greenland. the gray geese had begun to fly north again; their v-shaped lines had gone “honking” over the green marshes which lay before the low huts of the vikings; the white- throated sparrows were trilling in the bushes, now verdant with the first, young flush of spring, and the soft notes of the hermit thrush sounded from the silence of the forest. flood tide. the valhalla swung at her moorings; and beside her lay the great pirate ship, her high prow topped with a dragon's head, jutting far out from the blue water. the river was dotted with the boats and skiffs of the vikings, as they carried their belongings to the vessels and made preparations to go back to far distant green- land. the huts were being rapidly disman- tled, and the woods echoed with the laughter and shouting of the norsemen. biarne and eric had assisted in loading the walhalla with lumber and with dried grapes; back to greenland they had also placed a considerable amount of timber in the hold of the pirate ship. during the winter they had helped to dry a great many fish, and these had been stowed away in the hold. they also had killed some deer, had dried their hides, and were taking these back to their friends and relatives as a proof of their skill with the bow and arrow. at last all was ready; the treasure had been stowed away; and the oars were dipped into the waters of the blue river. eric and biarne had not mentioned what had happened to their own portion, for they hoped that they would discover the thieves on the return trip. the anchors were drawn from the muddy bottom, the square sails were hoisted aloft, and the prows of the two viking ships were turned to- wards the rounded basin through which the river flowed into the sea. captain leif stood at the helm of the wal- halla, while old staumfroid was at the tiller of the captured ship. as the wind filled the flut- tering sails of the two graceful ships, they careened over to leeward, and a wild “huz- zah. ” came from the throats of the oarsmen. their oaken oars splashed in unison, the two chapter xviii mutiny fair winds were behind the two viking ships, and it was not very long before they had drawn far away from the low-lying shores of vinland. the rowers bent to the oars with a will, singing an old norse song as they propelled the high- sided vessels towards the east. the boys stood in the stern of the walhalla, and looked long and intently at the fast disappearing shore- line. “biarne, we have had a good time in vin- land,” said eric. “but now it is all over.” “yes, but when shall we warn captain leif of the mutiny that has been planned?” “we will do that to-night.” when darkness had settled upon the blue at- lantic, and the boats were drowsing along under their spreading canvas, eric crept to leif's side. “sir,” said he, “i have bad news to tell you.” our little viking cousin pression upon their faces, he knew that they had decided to make an attempt at capturing the vessel before many days were over. what would be the outcome of the battle? biarne saw that avalldania had a good many upon his side, but he also knew that those who would rally to leif's banner were more numer- ous than those whom avalldania could claim. there could be but one ending to the affair: the mutineers would be vanquished. so little biarne felt fairly easy in his mind. he had the greatest confidence in captain leif. the two ships sped onward. the mutineers obeyed all orders that were given them and seemed to bear no outward malice towards leif and those whom they knew to be true to him. day after day the vessels rose and fell upon the long, surging billows, as they plowed their way towards greenland, and day after day the hardy vikings plied the long, oaken sweeps. at last they neared that island of the far north, whence they had come. it was now or never with the mutineers. biarne saw haldor and avalldania convers- ing very earnestly with one another and over- heard the whispered remark: “at seven mutiny o'clock to-morrow morning!” he guessed that this was the time set for the attack. so he went to leif and gave him warn- ing. “i will be ready when the time comes,” said the viking, laughing softly. “avalldania had better beware.” the next day was a foggy one, and great banks of mist blew over the gray, surging ocean. biarne and eric had placed their shields where they could be easily reached, and waited for whatever might transpire. nothing occurred until well after the time set by the mutineers. then avalldania, a sailor named huriulf, and haldor were seen to walk towards the bow. in a second they snatched up their shields and drew their swords, while avalldania gave a great shout of battle. captain leif was standing near the tiller, but, quicker than i can tell you, he had seized his own weapon. the shout had startled all the crew, and, in a moment more, those who were true to the staunch viking, had ranged them- selves by his side. biarne and eric, too, were ready for the fray. “what means this, men?” shouted leif, our little viking cousin above the splashing of the waves. “do you intend to attack your leader?” avalldania's eyes fell before the keen glance of the mighty norseman, and, as he saw the men who ranged themselves by his side, he be- came less anxious to attempt to gain the mas- tery by force. but he had thrown down the gauntlet. what would leif do to him should he now declare a truce, after he had made every show of an attack? prompted by this thought, he threw himself upon the captain. leif met him with a sword thrust, which the mutineer parried, and then closed with the great viking. “to the rescue, friends!” shouted avall- dania, at this juncture. “if you do not come to my assistance, it will be all over with me!” but the mutineers, although previously full of fight, had lost all their fire. although those who had conspired to mutiny had seized their shields and other weapons, they hung back and made no effort to advance. meanwhile it fared badly with avalldania. as he grappled with leif and attempted to pull a dagger from his own belt in order to plunge it into the back of the noble viking, he mutiny was seized upon either side by two stalwart norsemen, who soon threw him to the deck and pinned him down. in a moment, his arms had been bound with ropes, and he lay there, glaring furiously into the laughing faces of those men of iron. meanwhile his followers had thrown down their arms, and had shouted out that they had meant no harm by this display of force, and that they surrendered. the mutiny had been short lived, indeed, but it was to the information furnished by eric and biarne that leif and his followers owed their lives. “thank you, my boys, for what you told me,” said captain leif, holding out a hand to each of the lads. “had it not been for the notice which you gave me of the mutineers, i fear that they would have had their own way, and we would all have been slaughtered. you are good boys.” both biarne and eric felt very proud at such praise from the great leif ericson. the treasure discovered “eric! eric! come here, for i believe that i have unearthed something which will be of interest to you.” eric scrambled up to the place where biarne was kneeling, and found him with his hand upon a bag of deer skin. “feel that l” said he. eric put his hand down and clutched the bag. there was something hard beneath it which felt like large, golden coins. “can it be the treasure?” he whispered. “i think so.” “hurray! then we have it on board, just as i thought.” as he spoke, a shadow darkened the hold, and the boys saw haldor peering in their direc- tion. both of them crouched down low, be- hind a bale of fox skins. “comrade,” said haldor, turning to a second norseman who had come to his side, “i thought that i heard something stirring.” “hist!” answered the other, a sailor named thor. “we must be careful what we say. you remember that the treasure is there.” {{ yes.” the treasure discovered knew that they would secure what really belonged to them when they should reach home. the two ships plunged onward, and, as the sinewy vikings swung the great oaken oars through the water, they sang a wild song of the norseland. they passed the shores of new- foundland, saw many whales spouting and play- ing in the water as they left that land of flat stones far behind, and then, as they plowed their way toward greenland, great schools of porpoises jumped and frolicked around them. a dense fog now encompassed the ships, and, for fully a day they plowed through a sheet of white mist, but, at last the sun burned through the fog bank and the ships sped on- ward towards their goal. the white gulls went careening by, the massive billows surged and tossed, but the brave ships plowed on- ward, until — in the far distance — a thin, bluish-brown line upon the horizon told them that they were nearing greenland. both eric and biarne were delighted to think that they would soon be back in their old home and would see their parents again, for leif had promised to send them home in the the treasure discovered “and it was stolen from us by some men on this very ship.” “w-h-a-a-t?” “yes, and it is now down below in some sacks. will you help us get it back?” “why, certainly, i will, if you can prove that it is yours.” “that we can do quite easily.” “all right. i will help you do it when we get to land.” soon the ships entered the harbor of bratt- halia, and their anchors were lowered in the quiet waters of the little bay. all the towns- folk came out and shouted a welcome to them. they blew horns, waved banners, and cried out in loud tones: “skoal to leif ericson skoal to leif ericson and his brave vikings! wel- come home to greenland!” chapter xx and all ended happily the vikings scrambled ashore, and, form- ing in a procession, marched up the main street, to the blowing of trumpets, the clashing of cymbals, and the rolling of rude drums. then they were carried to the town hall upon the shoulders of the inhabitants of bratthalia, where leif ericson, himself, mounted a high platform and delivered a speech. he closed his remarks with the words: “we are glad to get home, i can assure you, o people of greenland. we are glad to get home from vinland, the land of the salmon, the moose, the beaver, and the wolf, which we have left safely in the hands of the skrellings. we have brought you much lumber and many dried fish, as a token of our affection for you, and we trust that some of you will follow us in explora- tions to ‘vinland, the beautiful.’” the boys clapped their hands at these re- marks, and then went to look for old staum- s and all ended happily froid, as the vessel was to be unloaded next day, and they wished to be where they could get their treasure as it was handed over the side. “boys, i will be with you to-morrow,” said old staumfroid, “and when the treasure comes over the rail, you will hear from me, i can as- sure you. rest content! those two villains, haldor and thor, will not get it away from you as long as my name is old staumfroid.” the boys were much overjoyed to hear him talk in this manner, and, bright and early next morning, they were down at the shore, where the valhalla had been run up against a dock, and where the norsemen were already at work in unloading her. old staumfroid was there, also, with a keen look in his eye. haldor and thor mingled with the other men, and, after much lumber had been taken from the hold, they began to take out a quan- tity of skin bags which seemed to be very heavy, indeed. they were carried up on the beach and were placed next to some fox skins. when all had been removed from the hold, old staumfroid walked over to the place where the bags lay, followed by eric and biarne. lean- ing over, he felt one with his hand. our little viking cousin “what have we here?” said he. haldor was standing nearby and his face grew crimson. the scar upon his forehead took on a purplish hue. “ballast! ” he muttered. “oh, no, my fine friend,” said old staum- froid. “this is not ballast. this is some- thing else, i can assure you.” then he straightened up. “this is treasure which be- longs to biarne and eric, and you dug it up upon the beach at vinland.” the expression upon haldor's face was any- thing but pleasant. “it's a falsehood!” in answer old staumfroid took out his long knife and ripped a bag open. a quantity of golden coins jingled out upon the stones. “what say you to that, sir?” he asked. the thieving norseman stood with his mouth wide open. “now, know you,” continued staumfroid, “that this treasure belongs to these two boys and i insist that it shall be returned to them. you dug it up on the beach in vinland, and you must give it back to the rightful owners. if you do not do this, i will take the matter up be- i . and all ended happily fore leif ericson, himself, and it will go hard with you.” both haldor and thor looked at staum- froid and walked away. old staumfroid smiled. “now, boys, this shall be taken to a safe place and you will both be rich young men,” said he. not long afterwards, with the assistance of leif ericson, the boys sailed with their treas- ure for norway. long life and prosperity were to be their lot; but they often thought of their wonderful expedition to winland, the beautiful. as the old nornir had said, one with a red beard and a scar upon his forehead was to prove to be an enemy, but, thanks to old staumfroid, all had ended auspiciously. the young vikings lived happily ever afterwards, admired and respected by all the brave and daring norsemen. but what of winland? many other norsemen, principal among whom was thorfinn karlsefni in ioo a. d., sailed across the great, surging atlantic ocean to get fish and lumber in the new country. a the page company"s famous leaders series by charles h. l. jobnston each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . . $ . famous cavalry leaders “more of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers, with historical personages in a pleasant, informal way.” – new york sun. “it is a book that will stir the heart of every boy and will prove interesting as well to the adults.” – lawrence daily world famous indian chiefs “mr. johnston has done faithful work in this volume, and his relation of battles, sieges and struggles of these famous indians with the whites for the possession of america is a worthy addition to united states history.” — new york marine journal. famous scouts “it is the kind of a book that will have a great fascina- tion for boys and young men, and while it entertains them it will also present valuable information in regard to those who have left their impress upon the history of the country.” 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hazelton wade our little african cousin our little armenian cousin our little brown cousin our little cuban cousin our little eskimo cousin our little german cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin our little japanese cousin v our little jewish cousin our little norwegian cousin our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little russian cousin vº our little siamese cousin our little swiss cousin - our little turkish cousin blanche mcmanus our little english cousin our little french cousin elizabeth roberts macdonald our little canadian cousin isaac taylor headland our little chinese cousin h. lee m. pike – ca. a- - - our little korean cousin edward c. butler our little mexican cousin jº each volume illustrated with six full-page plates in tint, from original drawings. cloth, mo, with decorative cover, per volume, cents. jº l. c. page & company new england building, boston, mass. *************************************** our little turkish ; cousin - * f º by mary hazelton wade j/lustrated by h. j. bridgman --------- - - - - - º º - : º º º tºº º \º º boston l. c. page & company a (wapa.a.s.a.a.a.a.s. ++++++++++++++++++ ** # §: ****************** # our little turkish # cousin by mary hazelton wade illustrated by l. j. bridgman $º u rſ |) §§ boston l. c. page & company an ubal/s/hers +++++++++++++++++ +: - # - - ! sº rid - *------ ------- - - - - - - - - - *-* -- . . . . . .” * , ! | - i : i t ! - pºve - ' ×. $ e : {d * ! * : *on, le nºx a wº º i ºn four of riº. * + ºr copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved published june, second impression * * * * * ... • (colontal bress * * * * - * * boston, mass., u. s. a. ãºd printed by c. h. simonds & co. º .:s preface in europe and asia there are two countries separated from each other by a narrow strip of water. one of these is spoken of as turkey in europe, and the other as turkey in asia. they are held together under one ruler called the sultan. he has absolute power over his people, and can do with them as he likes. one word from his lips is enough to cause the death of any of his subjects. none dare to disobey him. it is because his rule is not the best and wisest, and also because his kingdom is always in danger from the countries around it, that the sultan is often spoken of as “the sick man of europe.” our little turkish cousin lives in the city of constantinople, not far from the sultan's v *— - *. * - - - r - * - w . * : *on, t_exicº: asº º’ ºr fc un pºrº’, º * ºr º *------- - - - - - - . { §t- º copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved published june, second impression : " " ": . . . colonial bress - e - - - º - rºoty; ind printed by c. h. simonds & co. boston, mass., u. s. a. * * * : *on, le mºx a wº en four of tºº, * qº º *—------ . - - º -- - - - - copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved published june, second impression * * * * - w * * * * - • * - . . . . . . . . . . . ." " ": . . . colonial bregg * w & -> ... • * sº--- *. , • * * * * - - * : * ~ * : eestrotypid add printed by c. h. simonds & co. - * * * * * . . . c e & & & w ~ * boston, mass., u. s. a. * u, w * - - * . . . : *- : • . . . - - * - - * • * * ~ * > . . . - s º w - * - *- t - w - v * ~ * - * - * . . j. : -- c --" - - * - : ... • - - . . . . . º - ~ * º * - c. • * * * - ------- - - - - - - - * * - - * / -: º : * ... º. . - a " * * ~ * - . . ***on, lenºx avº " … ºr fc uno, riºt. * : ) t - - - *-*------ * * * *- - w - mºve : . * i. - , * • *, *, - copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved published june, second impression * * * * * ... • (colontal ress • * * * bād and printed by c. h. simonds & co. ‘’’ ‘’boston, mass., u. s. a. ~ * º .:s preface in europe and asia there are two countries separated from each other by a narrow strip of water. one of these is spoken of as turkey in europe, and the other as turkey in asia. they are held together under one ruler called the sultan. he has absolute power over his people, and can do with them as he likes. one word from his lips is enough to cause the death of any of his subjects. none dare to disobey him. it is because his rule is not the best and wisest, and also because his kingdom is always in danger from the countries around it, that the sultan is often spoken of as “the sick man of europe.” our little turkish cousin lives in the city of constantinople, not far from the sultan's v vi preface palace. he does not understand why some of his people live in wealth and luxury, while so many others spend their lives in begging for the food and clothing they must have. he has no thought but that the sultan of turkey is as great and noble as the ruler of any other land. the child is brought up to love ease and comfort, the daintiest food and the richest clothing. he feels sorry for the poor and the homeless, but he does not know how to truly help them. he hears little about other coun- tries where every one is free and can claim just treatment as his right. but as he grows older he may, perhaps, think for himself, and do some noble deed to save his country and make his people better and happier. let us open the doors of our hearts to him, and let him feel our love and sympathy. contents chapter page i. osman e e e e e e º i ii. school . e e e º º • i iii. the fire - e e e - . iv. the picnic . e e e - • v. gipsies . - e e e º • vi. a turkish bath . e e - . vii. the wedding . e e e - . viii. the children's carnival . e . ix. the two friends . - - e • ioi list of illustrations page osman - - - - • - . frontispiece osman and his mother - - - - . i “it looked almost like a fairy city” . . “‘she told me he would be my husband’” . “through the crowd of busy people ". . . “they came in sight of the mosque at last" our little turkish cousin chapter i. osman of course osman cannot remember his first birthday. he is a big boy now, with brown eyes and soft, dark hair. ten years have rolled over his head since he lay in the little cradle by the side of his mother's grand bedstead. he made an odd picture, — this tiny baby in cotton shirt and quilted dressing-gown. his head was encased in a cap of red silk. a tassel of seed-pearls hung down at one side. several charms were fastened to the tassel. his mother thought they would keep osman ing him tenderly, he carried him from the room. he stopped just outside the door. there he stood for a few moments while he repeated a short prayer and whispered the , name “osman” three times in the baby's ear. this was the only christening the turkish boy would ever receive. osman would be his name for the rest of his life; and a fine name it was, his mother and friends all agreed. when the baby was three days old, there was a grand celebration at his home. certain old women, called “bringers of tidings,” went from one house to another where the lady friends of osman's mother had their homes. wherever they stopped, these old women left bottles of sherbet made of sugar-candy, spices, and water. as they presented the sherbet, they told of the good news about the new baby, of the name his our little turkish cousin father had given him, and of the feast to be held at osman's home. “do come, do come. you will surely be welcome. you will be glad to see the child and rejoice with his mother.” in this way the invitations were given; and so it happened that many ladies found their way to osman's house on the day named. no special hour was set for their visit. but, from morning till night, people were coming and going. it was easy enough for passers-by to know something of interest was taking place inside. they could hear the band of music playing lively airs as the ladies drove up to the door and entered the house. all the visitors wore long cloaks, with veils over their faces, hiding everything except their soft, dark eyes. for it is still the fashion in turkey that no lady shall be seen away from her home with her face uncovered. osman very few of these visitors came alone. they were attended by their slaves and serv- ants, laden with baskets. these baskets were very pretty. they were trimmed with flowers and ribbons, and filled with all sorts of delicious sweets. of course they were presents for the new baby's mother. she lay in her grand state bed, smiling softly as the ladies came up, one by one, to greet her. before they entered her chamber, they took off their veils and cloaks in an outside room. “mashallah may the child live long and be happy,” said the visitors, as they bent over the young mother. at each kind wish, she kissed the hands of the speaker. this was her way of thanking them. strange to say, the ladies seemed hardly to notice the baby himself, in whose honour they had come to the house. do not think for a moment they had for- osman no, i like best to hear them speak as they do. i know they do not mean what they say.” the visitors were in no hurry to leave osman's home. they made themselves com- fortable on the soft couches. they laughed and chatted together while they ate ices and rich cakes, and sipped coffee or sherbet. the refreshments were of many kinds, for the baby's father was rich and held a high office under the sultan, as the ruler of turkey is called. if osman had been born in a poor family, his parents would have had a celebration just the same. the feast would not have been as rich, but coffee and fruits would have been served, at any rate, and the visitors would probably have enjoyed themselves just as much. when osman was eight days old, there was another great ceremony at his house. he received a bath. the ladies who were invited our little turkish cousin could join in the bath if they liked, as well as his mother. there would be music and refreshments and a general good time. the baby was bathed first. his mother's turn came next. a turkish bath is not like that of other people, as perhaps you have heard. a long time is spent before it is finished. on this great day in osman's life, it was even longer than usual. many songs were sung, and the visitors stopped several times to eat refreshments. all this sounds odd to us, but the rich ladies of turkey have little to do except to ride and make calls, bathe in their own homes or at the public bath-houses, meet together for picnics or some entertainment. osman grew so fast it seemed to his mother only a short time before he was able to toddle about without the help of his nurse. the carpets were soft and thick, so he did not get io our little turkish cousin then the baby's mother poured out the coffee and, handing it to her husband, sat down on a cushion at his feet. osman, still in his nightclothes, toddled about, nibbling a sweet-cake. the slave who had brought the coffee was now busy in tidying the room. first of all, mattresses and wadded coverlets must be stowed away in a cupboard. there was no bedstead. such a clumsy piece of furniture had been used in the house but once. that was when the young mother lay in state to receive her friends when osman was born. would you believe it ! the baby's mother was still wearing her wadded night-dress. she often kept it on for hours after she got up in the morning. “it is so comfortable,” she thought. “why should i hurry to dress myself for the day ?” after the coffee, the father took his pipe school i our good books, and understand the use of numbers.” the important day was set and the teacher was told about the new pupil. word was also sent to the priest. osman's father spent some time in choosing a pony on which his boy should first ride to school. at last he decided on one of an iron- gray colour and very handsome. “what beautiful trappings l’exclaimed os- man, when the pony arrived at the door. “oh, you dear, kind father to get them l’’ any boy would be pleased to ride on a pony decked out in such a gay manner. the pony had no sooner arrived than the whole school appeared at the door. the children were dressed in their best clothes to do honour to the new pupil. the priest took his place in front of the young company. they instantly bent low while he made a short prayer. after this, os- i our little turkish cousin man was lifted to the back of the pony, the other children formed in double line, and the procession started out for the school. but it did not move quietly. hymn after hymn was sung by the little ones in strong, clear voices as they went along. the grown-ups whom they passed smiled and said to themselves, “a child is on his way to school for the first time. it is a glad day. may he grow wise and be happy.” what an odd-looking schoolroom it was that osman soon entered; neither seats nor desks could be seen. three divans, as the big, soft turkish couches are called, stood along the wall. the children squatted cross- legged on these, side by side. after they had taken their places, the teacher sat down in front of his little class and began to hear their lessons. each child had by this time opened his x § º § § § º § º § º § º º º § § º º º y º º º º osman and his mother. tº nºy º public library **tofº, is rºox art, tºloch foundatown. school write letters for them, as these people were doing. osman's school was only a short distance from home, and he was soon at his own gate. the moment he arrived, the door was opened by an old black slave, who had been watching for the darling of the house. “i’d like to stop and tell you what i’ve been doing this morning, but i can't now,” said osman. “i must tell mother first.” the little boy ran up the stairs to his mother's rooms. in another moment he was seated on a divan beside her and talking faster than one often hears among the quiet people of his country. lunch was soon brought, and, you may be sure, the little boy was ready for it. there was a dish of pilaf, of course. it was made of nicely cooked rice and butter, and was de- licious. then there was a juicy melon, and our little turkish cousin fresh figs, besides cakes sweetened with honey, candy, and many other nice things. osman's mother is as fond of sweet things as her little boy, and she is ready to eat them at any time. the lunch was served at an odd little table. indeed, it could hardly be called a table, – it was a small, low stand, about eight inches above the floor. the dishes were brought in one at a time, and placed on the stand. osman and his mother ate the pilaf with their fingers, from the same dish. but they did not hurry. the grains of rice were picked up so daintily with their finger-tips, they were hardly soiled by the touch of the food. “we will wash now,” osman's mother said, as the lunch was finished. a queer basin was at once brought by a servant, and held in front of the lady. in the middle of the basin was a little stand holding a cake of soap, while underneath was a sort of well. this was to school i receive the water as it left the basin. as osman's mother held out her hands, one servant slowly poured the water over them, while another held an embroidered towel ready for her use. it was osman's turn next. no matter how much he wished to hurry out to play, he must not rise from his cushion till his hands were bathed. “wash before eating and afterward,” is a law of the koran. osman thinks it would be as wicked to break this rule as to tell a wrong story, or take anything belonging to another. as soon as the hand-washing was over, the little boy started for the courtyard to watch his tame pigeons and play with his friend selim. osman's house is divided into two parts. his father's rooms are down-stairs. a sepa- rate door leads into them from the street. no o our little turkish cousin woman ever enters these rooms. even the servants who take care of them are men. the boy's father receives his gentlemen friends in this part of the house. it is here that he talks over business with his visitors. sometimes he holds dinner-parties in these rooms, but they are only for men. he even has a separate courtyard and garden. osman may come here if he likes, but the real home of the family is up-stairs in his mother's rooms. this part of the house is very beautiful. rich curtains hang in the doorways. soft and heavy rugs are placed here and there on the floors. divans with soft cushions stretch along the sides of the walls, under the latticed windows. yes, every window is covered with lattice- work, so that no one passing along the street below can see the faces of the persons within these upper rooms. school i this is the fashion of the country. poor women of turkey ! they seem to us almost like prisoners, but they have been brought up to think of their life as the most natural and best in the world. they may go out- doors whenever they like, so long as a veil is worn over the face. but no man, unless he is a very near relative, must enter the part of the house where the women and children have their home. our little turkish cousin him " cried osman, turning around to watch. “fatima, don’t you see what is the matter? he is driving a strange dog out of the street. i hope he will succeed.” just as osman spoke, a half-dozen other dogs came tearing along, eager to join in the chase. there was small chance for the stranger, who was now running with all his might. his tongue was hanging from his mouth, and his tail was thrashing from side to side between his legs. poor homeless dogs of constantinople ! there are thousands of them. yes, it is the very truth. there are scores of thousands of them. those big, gaunt, yellow creatures live in the streets and byways, under the door-steps and in the graveyards. they feed on the garbage thrown out from the kitchens, but sometimes get a little choicer food through the kindness of the people. the fire “kill a dog without real need of doing so no, no,” osman's father would say, very sol- emnly. “it is the law of our religion that we should kill nothing living if we can possibly help it. let the dogs live. “besides, they are useful creatures. they keep our streets clean of all decaying matter. by doing this, fevers and many other kinds of illness are prevented. the poor animals are a real blessing.” “i know where there are some new-born puppies,” said selim, as he was leaving osman for the night. “where? let's go and see them now. is it near here ° cried his little friend. “yes, it's only a few steps.” “no, no, children,” broke in fatima, “ you ought to be in your own homes this very moment. wait till morning, and i will go with you before school-time.” “are their eyes open yet? does their the fire papa they are gentle and quiet and clever.” “yes, osman, the city would not seem like home without our yellow-haired dogs. before you were born, however, the sultan thought it would be wise to clear our streets of them. great numbers were taken to an island near the coast.” “did they die there from want of food, papa p" “oh, no. they were too wise to stay there and starve. they all swam back to the city. our people were so pleased, the dogs have never been troubled since then.” “i love the dogs because they are not only gentle, but they do not forget a kindness. they are grateful creatures,” said osman's mother. “i have a friend who told me the story of an english lady living here in our city. she had a small terrier she had brought back with her after a visit to england. o our little turkish cousin “i suppose, osman, you know that our dogs are always ready to attack one of a different breed p’’ “yes, mamma.” “well, it happened one day that this little terrier escaped from his home and got out into the street among the dogs of the city.” “did they kill him ; " “no, indeed. but they had a reason for being friendly to him. the english lady and her family had always been kind to them, and had often fed them. not only this, but she had seen that pans of water were placed in the street on hot days, so the dogs should not suffer from thirst. they were grateful to her, and seemed to feel that her pet terrier was also a friend. “after this, the lady allowed her dog to play with the others as much as he liked. he was always well treated. but he did not have sense enough to keep in his own street. our little turkish cousin mother,” he said. “i love puppies. they are beautiful little things, and their hair is as soft as silk.” osman loved pets as much as any other boy in the wide world, and he was always ready to take a family of puppies into his heart. his parents taught him, however, that it was not good to handle them. “the dog is an unclean animal,” said the boy's father. “be kind to him and love him, but touch him as little as possible.” chapter iv. the picnic it was a beautiful summer day. the sun was shining brightly on the glossy leaves of the olive-trees in osman's garden, and the plants were loaded with blossoms. osman had just picked a bunch of flowers when he heard his mother's voice. “how would you like a day by the sweet waters of europe, my child?” the little boy looked in the direction of the voice. his mother was moving slowly down the garden path. “that would be lovely, mamma, but can't selim go with us?” “certainly, and i have sent word to some our little turkish cousin of my friends to join us, too. we will have a merry time. i am tired of the house, and i long for a row on the beautiful river. let fatima go for selim, and make yourself ready at once.” the little boy's mother was already dressed for the excursion. so, while the servants were preparing the lunch and osman was getting ready, she sat down on a cushion under the trees and idly waited. she was richly clad in a pink silk mantle with wide sleeves and deep cape. it was so long it reached down to her ankles. a small, bright-coloured cap, trimmed with pearls, was fitted closely to her head. the thin muslin veil, fastened to this cap, was brought around her face so no part of it could be seen except her soft, kind eyes. she did not have long to wait before her friends and selim arrived to join in the day's outing. the slaves, with wraps and carpets, our little turkish cousin on and on they went, now rapidly as the river widened; again, they moved more slowly as they entered a narrow stretch of water, almost filled with the boats of other pleasure- seekers. sometimes they were obliged to pass under a little wooden bridge. then it was fun for osman and selim to reach up and see if they could touch the floor of the bridge before they left it behind them. pretty houses stood here and there on the banks of the river, or groves of trees that seemed to say, “stop here and rest awhile. i will give you shade and comfort.” but still the rowers kept on, as though their arms would never get tired. they did not speak, these sober-faced men. each wore a red fez on his head, which made him look hot and uncomfortable in the strong sunshine. there was a time when all turks wore soft turbans, which are the best and most comfort- the picnic able covering for the head. but times are changed now. the great sultan likes the fez best, and the turban is seen more and more seldom as the years pass by. at last the party reached a spot where osman's mother decided to stop. it was a favourite picnic-ground for the people of con- stantinople. a pretty grove of trees was growing close to the shore, while, near by, tiny coffee-houses stood here and there in the meadows. “i hear sweet music,” said osman. “lis- ten, mamma.” “yes, it is a wandering player. after we get settled, we will pay him to play for us,” answered his mother. the ladies made themselves comfortable on the rugs their servants spread under the trees. the children wandered about as they liked. “sweet waters of europe” is a good name for this part of the river. it was a pleasant our little turkish cousin place, and everything about them looked fresh and inviting. “osman, let's see what that man is show- ing,” cried selim, after the boys had listened to some music and eaten the ices they had bought at a stand. the children joined a crowd of people gathering around a showman. it was a puppet-show, something like the punch and judy one sees in england and america. but the funny little figures acted out a very different play. it must have been amusing, for every one laughed heartily. before the day was over other showmen came along, each with a different exhibition of his own. then there were men who per- formed tricks, and others who had candies and dainties to sell. - as cºor the ladies, you must not think they at quietly on their mats all day long. oh, no indeed! they laughed and romped, ** it looked almost like a fairy city.” our little turkish cousin but when the ladies sat down there was no food to be seen, except the pieces of bread, some saucers containing olives, bits of cucum- ber, melons, and radishes. and now the slaves moved from one guest to another, bringing a basin of water and towels. each one must bathe her hands be- fore eating, as well as afterward, whether alone or in the grandest company. it was a pleasure to watch them. as the stream of clear water fell slowly into the basin, each one rubbed her fingers gracefully and daintily, and then dried them on the fine linen towel held out by the watchful servant. when this had been done by every one, osman's mother clapped her hands, and a tureen of thick, creamy soup was brought in and set on the leather pad. the hostess politely waved her hand toward her principal guest. she was inviting her to be the first one to dip her spoon into the the picnic soup. after this, the other ladies joined in, all eating together from the same dish. after a few mouthfuls, the hostess made a sign to the slave to remove the soup and bring in another dish. before the meal was over there would be sixteen courses, at least, and, therefore, it would not be well to eat much of any one of them. the guests ate a little of every course. but, between the courses, they nibbled at the olives, cucumbers, and different sweet- meats. more than once, osman’s mother broke off a choice bit of food with her fingers, and held it up to the mouth of one of her friends. it was a very polite attention, and her visitor was pleased. “how rude some people in the world are about eating,” said one of the ladies. “they use the most clumsy things in their hands. they call them knives and forks. and be- our little turkish cousin sides, i have heard they do not wash before and after each meal. ugh ! it makes me shiver to think of their unclean ways.” “yes, they are certainly not neat, and they are very awkward, if all i have heard about them be true,” said another visitor. “they should study the ways of our people.” at last the luncheon was ended. the hostess led the way into the drawing-room, where coffee was now served. they were having a merry time, laughing and chatting, when osman entered the room. his face showed he had something he wished to tell. making a low bow to the ladies, he turned to his mother and said: “oh, mamma, i just saw a cat fall ever so far. she was on the roof of that old building behind our house. she fell down, down to the ground. and, mamma, i thought she would be killed. but she came down softly on her feet and ran off as if she hadn’t been the picnic hurt the least bit. how is it that a cat can do such a thing? no other animal is like her, i’m sure.” his mother laughed, and turned to one of her friends. “won't you tell my little boy the story of mohammed and the cat?” she asked. “we should all be pleased to listen, and perhaps there are some here who do not know it.” the rest of the company nodded their heads. “yes, do tell it,” said one after another. “very well, little osman,” said the lady whom the boy's mother had asked. “you shall have the story. i trust you will remem- ber it whenever you think of the holy prophet. “mohammed once travelled a long, long distance over the desert. he became very tired, and at last he stopped to rest. as he did so, he fell fast asleep. our little turkish cousin “then, sad am i to tell it, a wicked serpent glided out from among the rocks and drew near the prophet. it was about to bite him, when a cat happened to come along. she saw the serpent and what it was about to do; she rushed upon it and struggled and fought. the serpent defended itself with all its strength and cunning, too. great was the battle. but the cat killed the snake. “as it was dying, the wicked creature hissed so horribly that the noise awakened moham- med, and he saw at once that the cat had saved his life. “‘come here, he said. as the cat obeyed him, the holy man stroked her lovingly three times. three times he blessed her, saying these words: “‘ may peace be yours, o cat. i will reward you for your kindness to me this day. no enemy shall conquer thee. no creature that lives shall ever be able to throw our little turkish cousin had any effect on the wood-cutter. he would not rise from the bed. in a little while a man came to the door of the cottage, and said: “friend wood-cutter, will you help me with your mules i have a load to move.” but the wood-cutter would not get up. “i have made a vow to stay in my bed, and here i shall stay,” he answered. “then, will you let me take your mules ” asked the neighbour. “certainly, help yourself,” said the wood- cutter. the neighbour took the mules and went away. it happened that he had found a rich store of treasure in his field, and he needed the mules to carry it for him to his home. but, alas for him the animals were safely loaded and had nearly reached his house, when some armed policemen came that way. the man knew the law of the sultan, by which he claimed all treasure-trove for himself. our little turkish cousin ground was soon covered with a golden carpet, richer than the most precious stores of the great east. “a treasure | a treasure l’’ cried the woman, as she rushed to her husband's bed- side. “fortune has truly come to our home. husband, you did right in waiting for her here. look and see how rich we are now.” it was certainly time for the wood-cutter to get up, for he had kept his vow. as he looked at the piles of gold pieces, he said: “i was quite right, dear wife. one must wait for fortune. she is very fickle. you will never catch her if you run after her. but, if you wait for her, she will surely come to you.”. when the story was ended, one of the ladies pointed to the clock. “my dear friend,” she said, turning to the picnic osman's mother, “i have had a most delight- ful day. but it is now late in the afternoon. i must bid you farewell.” as she rose to go, the other ladies followed her example, each one thanking the hostess for the pleasant day spent with her. chapter w. gipsies “i wish you had been with me this after- noon, osman,” said his father, as his little boy ran to meet him. “what did you see, papa please tell me all about it.” “i went to walk with a friend. we wan- dered on and on until we came to a large field near the city walls. the field was alive with gipsies, who were having some sort of a holi- day. they were dressed in their gayest colours and were having a dance.” “outdoors in that field, papa?” “yes, osman, and it was a very pretty sight. a number of the men were squatting on the ground in a circle. those were the musicians. gipsies they played on different kinds of instruments. there were drums, flutes, and mandolins. “the players banged away with no kind of time, but the gipsies seemed to enjoy it, not- withstanding.” “how did they dance, papa?” “the men kept by themselves, each one moving separately. but the women danced together. they all beat time with their hands. at the same time they kept saying, ‘oh, oh, oh,' as they moved about. “when the dance was ended, the gipsies went over to a corner of the field where a feast was being prepared. great fires had been kindled. huge kettles of rice were boiling there, and whole sheep were being roasted. “many of the young gipsies were hand- some. their eyes were dark and sparkling, and their teeth were of a pearly white. but the old women were wrinkled and ugly. their long, thin fingers made me think of witches.” our little turkish cousin moment of her time unless she were paid for it,” said his mother. “when i was a young girl, i loved to have my fortune told. one day a beautiful young gipsy girl came to the door of my house. of course, she asked to tell my fortune. “i spread out the palm of my hand and she looked at it a long time with her bright black eyes. she seemed to study the lines as though she were reading. at last, she began to speak slowly in a low voice. and, would you believe it! she described your father, osman, although i had never seen him at that time. she told me he would be my husband.” osman’s father smiled a little and then said, “the less we have to do with these strange people, my son, the better. it is very easy for these fortune-tellers to make one or two guesses that afterward turn out to be true. but we have talked enough about the gipsies for one day. let us speak of something else.” “‘she told me he would be my husband.’” ii, new ºf public library as tofº, lenox ants t{leºn found atiowa. gipsies “then tell me about our great ruler, whom you serve,” said osman. “i like to hear about the palace and the sultan's little children who live in a city of their own inside of our great one.” the people of turkey seldom speak of osman's city as constantinople, the name given it by the christians. they prefer to call it “ the town.” “yes, the palace and the buildings belong- ing to it really make a city by themselves,” said his father. “it is a beautiful place, with its lovely gardens and parks. there is a lake in the midst of the park, and the sultan some- times sails around it in an elegant steam launch. “the palace is of white marble, as you know, osman. the furniture is of ebony inlaid with ivory. the curtains and carpets are of the brightest colours, and are rich and heavy.” o our little turkish cousin “there is a theatre, as well as a great many other buildings, isn't there, papa?” “yes, osman. it is decorated in the rich- est colours. the sultan's seat is in the front part of the gallery.” “he has many children, hasn't he?” “yes, and he loves them dearly. he often spends the evening with them and plays duets on the piano with his favourites. the building where they live with their mothers is in the park. i have been told it is very beautiful.” “the sultan has many, many wives, i have heard mother say.” “it is true. and each wife has a great number of slaves as well as other attendants. sometimes his wives drive through the city in elegant carriages.” “but the sultan never leaves the palace grounds, except on the two great times each year, does he?” gipsies “never, except at those times, osman. but any one can get permission to see him as he rides on horseback to the mosque in his grounds, where he worships.” “it is a beautiful sight, papa. you know you have taken me there to see him. the lines of soldiers, all in red fezzes, reach from the door of the palace to the snow-white mosque. the sultan himself looks so grand as he rides along ! “the troops cheer him as he passes them and enters the mosque, but everybody else is very, very quiet. i suppose they feel some- what as i do, papa. i’m not exactly afraid. but he is such a great and powerful ruler, it doesn’t seem as if i could move or make a sound while i look at him.” dear little osman our far-away cousin has never heard how the people of other countries speak of turkey. they call it the “sick man of europe.” they think it is gipsies saved.” she led him to an old furnace in the palace and begged him to get inside. “‘no matter what happens, nor who calls your name, do not make a sound until i speak to you,' she told him. “he did as she said. hour after hour, he stayed quietly inside the furnace while his father and many of his friends were being cruelly killed. “the sultan's enemies hunted everywhere for him, but he was nowhere to be found. they called his name coaxingly, but he knew better than to answer any one else than his old nurse, so he did not make a sound. “in the meanwhile, the old woman was patiently watching. when the janizaries had gone away, she went to the door of the furnace and whispered to mahmoud. she told him he now had a chance to gather his men about him and seize the government. “there was not a moment to lose; mah- chapter vi. a turkish bath “osman, you may go with me to the public bath-house,” said his father, one bright morning. “i have business at the bazaar to- day, and we will go there afterward. you can have a good bath.” osman was delighted. a whole day with his father was a great treat. besides, it pleased him to think of a visit to the public bath- house. there was a large marble bath-room in his own home, and there were furnaces underneath to heat it. there were servants to wait upon him as he bathed. “yet the public bath is better still,” thought osman, “and i love to go there.” probably you have all heard of our little turkish cousin turkish baths. they are so delightful that people in america and other countries have copied them from the turks. they have built similar bath-houses in their cities. “are we to drive or walk, papa?” asked osman. “we will drive. the carriage will be here in a few moments.” after a short drive they drew up in front of a large and handsome building. it was the public bath-house. the first room entered by osman and his father was a large hall. it was open overhead to let in the fresh air. there was a raised platform around the sides. this platform was covered with a soft carpet and divided into small dressing-rooms. each visitor would have one of these for himself. a fountain was playing in the middle of the hall, making sweet music as the water fell into the marble basin. a turkish bath “go into one of those little rooms and take off your clothing, osman,” said his father. the little boy was soon ready for the bath. the attendant had wound three bright-bor- dered towels around him. one of these was tied about his waist, the second was twisted into a turban around his head, while the third one was thrown over his shoulders. he would not catch cold, for the towels were thick and warm. he wore wooden slippers on his feet. now for the warm chamber. osman knew what was coming. he went at once to the marble platform in the middle of the room. there he stretched himself on a soft mattress which the attendants placed for him. they began to rub his feet and limbs very gently. how pleasant and restful it was the little boy soon began to perspire. this our little turkish cousin and his clothes were torn and ragged, although they were gay with bright colours. as he leaned against the side of a fountain, he made a picture you would like to paint. he kept crying, “baksheesh, baksheesh,” to the passers-by. what a beautiful fountain it was it had a wide roof, giving a pleasant shade. there were gilded gratings all around it, worked in lovely patterns, – roses and honeysuckles and trailing vines. brass drinking-cups, hanging around the sides, seemed to say, “come, thirsty traveller, come and drink.” what a fluttering and cooing there was over the roof. at least a hundred pigeons were flying about, fearless and happy. no one would harm them, not even the ragged street boys who were playing about the fountain and ready for any mischief. after osman had given a silver coin to the a turkish bath beggar, his father pointed to the fountain, and said, “look, my child, at the beautiful pattern of the grating.” “how pretty the gilded flowers are,” an- swered osman. “i love to see them. but, papa, there are ever so many fountains in our city. nearly half of them are as pretty as this one. i believe there is hardly a street without one.” “i knew a very good man who died a few months ago. he left his money to be used in building a fountain. it was a kind deed. don't you think so * * “yes, indeed, papa. there are always peo- ple and animals who are thirsty. it is a com- fort to have fresh water at hand, especially if it is a warm day.” as osman was speaking, he heard a sound of music. looking down the street, he saw two gipsies coming toward him. the man was playing on a bagpipe, and leading a tame our little turkish cousin bear. the woman was dressed in bright colours. she was beating a tambourine. “isn't it pretty music, papa oh, do look at the bear,” cried osman. “he is doing some tricks.” his father was in no hurry, so he and osman joined the crowd who gathered around the gipsies. the bear danced in time to the music, and did other amusing things. osman tossed him a coin, which he carried to his master. this pleased the others, and they threw him some more coins. “at this rate, the gipsies will go home to-night quite rich,” laughed osman's father, as they passed on. “we will go to the bazaar now. i must attend to some business there before it is much later.” “see that man with the tiger's skin over his shoulders,” said osman, a few minutes later. “he is clothed in rags, but he isn't a beggar, is he ’’ “through the crowd of busy people.” our little turkish cousin as for dogs and beggars, there were hun- dreds of them, without a doubt. “there is the bazaar, papa. i can see it on the hilltop beyond us.” it was an immense building of a brownish gray colour. you might almost call it a city in itself. as osman and his father began to climb the hill, they made their way between many stands and tiny booths where goods were for sale. everything looked inviting, and osman saw several things he wished to buy. “see those lovely grapes, papa. i should like to carry some of them home,” said the boy. but his father would not stop. “we will not buy anything till we reach the bazaar,” he said. “you will see enough there to tempt you, i do not doubt.” they passed on, and soon reached the entrance of the great building. it was quiet and dark inside, and there were many narrow our little turkish cousin stones. i should like to buy that necklace for mamma, she is so fond of amber.” but the boy's father replied, “not to-day, osman, not to-day.” some queerly wrought swords now caught the boy's eye. they were made of the finest steel, and the handles were richly ornamented. “how i wish i could have one of those for my very own, papa. mayn't i please have one * * “when you are a young man, osman, we will look for the most elegant sword to be bought. but not now, my child.” osman forgot his longing for a sword when he stood in front of a stand where perfumes were sold. “we will buy some of this attar of roses. it will please your mother, and you may give it to her,” said the father. the turks are fond of delicate perfumes, a turkish bath and there is none they like better than attar of roses, which is largely made in turkey, and sent from there to other countries. “why does it cost so much " asked osman, as his father handed a gold coin to the shopkeeper. “it is because only a few drops can be obtained from hundreds and hundreds of the flowers. next year, you shall take a journey with me, osman. i am going to the part of our country where the roses are raised for this purpose. it is a beautiful sight, — the fields thickly dotted with the sweet-smelling blos- soms. you shall then see how the people get fragrant perfume from the flowers.” “i’m getting so hungry, papa. can't we get some lunch * that cheese makes my . mouth water.” a man with a round wicker basket contain- ing different kinds of cheese was going through the street and calling his wares. o our little turkish cousin “hush, osman.” his father pointed to the tower of a small mosque. high up in this tower stood a man crying out to all faithful believers of mohammed. it was the call to prayer. five times each day this prayer-caller mounted the tower. each time he cried out to the people who were within reach of his voice. osman and his father instantly turned toward the sacred city of mecca, and, kneeling down right where they stood, repeated a short prayer. then they slowly rose and turned their steps toward a restaurant, where they could get a delicious lunch. there were many other peddlers in the streets besides the cheese-seller. some of the shoppers bought what they wished from these peddlers. they could get unleavened bread or biscuits, custards, ices, sherbet, sweetmeats, hot vegetables, and many other things. a turkish bath can get such a fine view of the golden horn.” “why do people call our harbour the golden horn ?” “it is shaped somewhat like a horn. be- sides this, it is the channel through which many shiploads of the richest goods are carried. think of the precious things you saw in the bazaar to-day, the beautiful gems, the spices, the silks, the shawls of camel's hair.” “i understand now. but look | there is a camel with a heavy load on his back. his master is leading him. i love camels.” “when i was a little boy,” said his father, “my mother used to tell me stories of the old times. in those days there were none of the new-fashioned carriages in our streets. only the gaily trimmed arabas, and sedan-chairs carried on men's shoulders could be seen.” “mamma sometimes goes in a sedan-chair now,” said osman. “it must be a warm our little turkish cousin way of riding in summer-time, though. the close curtains keep out the air.” “you would have liked to see the camels in the old days, osman. merchants often trav- elled through the streets with whole proces- sions of those animals. they went very slowly, to be sure, and they blocked up the streets. but camels are steady, faithful creatures, and are good beasts of burden.” “the dress of the people was much prettier long ago, wasn't it?” “indeed, it was. it is a shame so many of our people copy the fashions of other countries. the dress now looks stiff and ugly beside the loose robes and bright colours of the old times. but see, my child, the day has left us and i am tired. we must hasten homeward.” the wedding for the bower. we hung up fine embroideries and festoons of gauze, and fastened numbers of artificial flowers here and there in the draperies. when it was done it was lovely ” osman's mother sighed with delight as she thought of it. “but our work did not stop there, my dear. oh, no. we placed the most precious wed- ding-presents in glass cases, so every one could see and admire them. then we hung garlands of flowers on the walls of the room. it was very beautiful now. “when this room was finished, we went into the next one and set up the new furniture and bedding, the beautiful candelabra, the smok- ing-set, and the kitchen ware.” “what did you do on tuesday, mamma” “we went with the bride to the bath. when it was over, she put on borrowed cloth- ing. some bad fortune might come to her, if she did not follow this old custom.” our little turkish cousin “you spent wednesday with the bride, too, didn't you?” “certainly, osman. that is a very impor- tant day in the wedding-festival. i went to the bride's house quite early in the day, for we are very close friends. i helped her in receiving the bridegroom's mother and other relatives. all her special friends gathered there with me. we formed in a double row and helped the other guests up the stairs. “i hope my dear morgiana will be good friends with her new mother. as they sat side by side, the old lady passed sugar from her own mouth to that of her daughter-in-law.” “why was that, mamma; ” “it was a token of the good feeling there will be between them, osman.” “dear me, a wedding-festival is a grand thing, isn't it? i wish i could have gone thursday with you and papa. that was the greatest day of all.” the wedding i “the bride kissed his hand as he entered. he knelt down on her veil and made a short prayer. after this a mirror was held in front of the young couple by an old woman friend of the bride, so they could see their faces in it side by side. “then sugar was passed from the young man's mouth to that of the bride. it was a symbol of the sweetness of their future life. “but, my dear child, i have been so busy talking i did not notice the time. i must leave you to dress for the banquet at the home of our young friends. run away and play with selim.” the children's carnival osman had looked forward to this festival for a long time. “isn’t it beautiful ?” he exclaimed, when he and selim, with their veiled mothers, entered the courtyard and joined the crowd of happy little people. the children played one game after another. the boys had their tops and marbles, and did many wonderful things with them. of course, refreshments were plentiful; there were delicious sweetmeats, sherbets, and other things the children loved. and all the time the mothers, sitting on their gay carpets, watched the boys and girls at their play, and seemed to enjoy it as much as the little ones themselves. “i have had such a good time,” osman told his father that evening. “papa, do you re- member when you were a little boy like me, and went to children's carnivals '' “yes, as if it were only yesterday, my dear. our little turkish cousin osman's father bent his head, saying these words very slowly: “allah is great, and mohammed is his prophet.” osman repeated them after him. then both father and son sat quiet for a few minutes. when the turk spoke again, he said: “it is bedtime for my little boy. good night, my child.” he bent down and kissed osman, then motioned to his waiting nurse to go with him to his room. the next day was clear and beautiful. even the street dogs seemed quieter and happier than usual. “it is good to be outdoors in the bright sunshine,” said osman, as he walked down the street with his father. they came in sight of the mosque at last. it was not beautiful to look at, but it was very, very large. “once there were no minarets rising from this mosque toward heaven,” the boy's father our little turkish cousin wonder how men could ever build such a great, great place of worship.” there were no altars, no images, no seats. but along the walls, there were slabs of marble of all sorts and colours. pillars of rare and beautiful stones held up the root. “they have been polished so they shine » like mirrors,” thought osman, “and they are as beautiful as gems.” the floor of the mosque was strewn with prayer-rugs. they were arranged so the peo- ple who came to worship might all kneel toward the sacred city of mecca. “it is hundreds of years since christians worshipped here,” osman's father had once told him. “they had altars of solid gold and shrines sparkling with precious jewels. pic- tures of their saints were on the walls. but we, osman, are taught not to have such paint- ings. a mosque should have no pictures of human shapes, nor of any other. for it is the children's carnival written: ‘thou shalt not make the likeness of anything.’ “when the great sultan who conquered the christians took possession of the city, he rode through this very building. it was crowded with people who had fled here for safety. the sultan ordered that no blood should be shed. but he made the christians the slaves of himself and his people. “he changed the building into a place of worship fit for followers of mohammed, say- ing, ‘there is no god but allah, and mohammed is his prophet.’” “what was done with the altars and the images and paintings, papa?” “the altars and images were torn down. the walls were covered with a coating of red- dish plaster, even as you see them to-day, and this hid the pictures from sight.” “i love to come here in ramazan. the brightness dazzles my eyes. i wish i could . the two friends io “ibrahim was told of the plan. what did he do he rushed to joannes's home and said to his friend, ‘i am going away, joannes. i must bid you good-bye.” “‘no, indeed,” answered joannes. ‘where you go, i will go, too.” “‘but that cannot be. my father has ar- ranged it so that i go into another country. i am to serve the pasha of bagdad. but i shall never forget you, joannes. and when i come back to this city, i shall come as your true and loving friend.” “the two boys embraced and kissed each other. then ibrahim went away. soon after this he was sent far away to the city of bagdad. “he served the pasha so well that he soon held a high position. years passed away and the pasha died. a surprise was now in store for ibrahim. he himself was made pasha. “but he longed for his old home. he wished to see his friend joannes once more, ioô our little turkish cousin “‘arise !” said the grand vizier. ‘ i do not wish you harm. i want to talk with you. do you remember ibrahim, your boy friend?' “‘ remember him " i loved him above all others. but he went away, and i never saw him again.” “‘i am he,' answered the great man, and he fell on joannes's neck and kissed him. then he reminded ibrahim of the last words spoken before they parted. “‘i am still your friend, he said. “behold, i will show you that i am. “he sent for his accounts, and then and there made joannes his chief banker. he gave him charge of all his money. he sent him home in a grand uniform, on a fine horse, and with servants to attend him. “you can imagine the surprise of joannes's wife when he came home in such style. “no, he had not been killed, after all. the poor woman fainted with joy at the glad sight. the little cousin series the most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures. each i vol., mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six full- page illustrations in color by l. j. bridgman. price per volume - - - - - . $o. o by mary hazelton wade our little african cousin our little armenian cousin our little brown cousin our little cuban cousin our little eskimo cousin our little german cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin our little japanese cousin our little jewish cousin our little mexican cousin our little norwegian cousin our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little russian cousin our little siamese cousin our little swiss cousin our little turkish cousin by blanche. mcmamus our little english cousin our little french cousin by elizabeth roberts macdowald our little canadian cousin by isaac headland ta ylor our little chinese cousin by h. lee m. pike our little korean cousin a- a. c. page aawd compaavy's by miss mulock the little lame prince. a delightful story of a little boy who has many adven- tures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. adventures of a brownie. the story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him. his little mother. miss mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of delight to them, and “his little mother,” in this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers. little sunshine's holiday. an attractive story of a summer outing. “little sun- shine” is another of those beautiful child-characters for which miss mulock is so justly famous. by juliana horatia ewing jackanapes. a new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and touching story, dear alike to young and old. story of a short life. this beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. it is a part of the world's literatüre, and will never die. a great emergency. how a family of children prepared for a great emergency, and how they acted when the emergency came. a- co.sy coa’aver sea’/e.s. by frances hodges white helena’s wonderworld. a delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in the mysterious regions beneath the sea. aunt nabby's children. this pretty little story, touched with the simple humor of country life, tells of two children who were adopted by aunt nabby. by marshall sa uavders for his country. a sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved his country; written with that charm which has endeared miss saunders to hosts of readers. nita, the story of an irish setter. in this touching little book, miss saunders shows how dear to her heart are all of god's dumb creatures. by other authors susanne. by frances j. delano. this little story will recall in sweetness and appealing charm the work of kate douglas wiggin and laura e. richards. the great scoop. by molly elliot seawell. a capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon. john whopper. the late bishop clark's popular story of the boy who fell through the earth and came out in china, with a new introduction by bishop potter. a- a. c. aage aavz) compaavy the little christmas shoe. by jane p. scott woodruff. a touching story of yule-tide. wee dorothy. by laura updegraff. a story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and setting. with a bit of sadness at the beginning, the story is other. wise bright and sunny, and altogether wholesome in every way. the king of the golden river: a legend of stiria. by john ruskin. written fifty years or more ago, and not originally in- tended for publication, this little fairy tale soon became known and made a place for itself. º garden of verses. by r. l. stevenson. mr. stevenson's little volume is too well known to need description. it will be heartily welcomed in this new and attractive edition. rab and his friends. by dr. john brown. doctor brown's little masterpiece is too well known to need description. the dog rab is loved by all. cr tm . w our little roumanian umanian cousin unidad clara vostrovsky winlow union theological seminary new j york s city library of religious & moral·education our little roumanian cousin the little cousin series (trade mark) each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in tint. cloth, mo, with decorative cover per volume, cents list of titles by mary hazelton wade, mary f. nixon-roulet, blanche mcmanus, clara v. winlow, florence e. mendel and others our little african cousin our little hungarian cousin our little alaskan cousin our little indian cousin our little arabian cousin our little irish cousin our little argentine cousin our little italian cousin our little armenian cousin our little japanese cousin our little australian cousin our little jewish cousin our little austrian cousin our little korean cousin our little belgian cousin our little malayan (brown) our little bohemian cousin cousin our little boer cousin our little mexican cousin our little brazilian cousin our little norwegian cousin our little bulgarian cousin our little panama cousin our little canadian cousin our little persian cousin our little chinese cousin our little philippine cousin our little cossack cousin qur little polish cousin our little cuban cousin our little porto rican cousin our little danish cousin our little portuguese cousin our little dutch cousin our little roumanian cousin our little egyptian cousin our little russian cousin our little english cousin our little scotch cousin our little eskimo cousin our little servian cousin our little french cousin our little siamese cousin our little german cousin our little spanish cousin our little grecian cousin our little swedish cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little swiss cousin qur little hindu cousin our little turkish cousin the page company beacon street, boston, mass. “offered him his hand.” (see page ) our lite rounianian cir .. c. v. author ol' orl chuiles f. .. bexton the page comi! Мі»: Сегун compte la ho o to choose and after som boji *** (ec itin ) init . our little roumanian cousin by clara vostrovsky winlow author of “ our little bohemian cousin,” “our little bulgarian cousin,” etc. 光冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰 ​illustrated by charles e. meister labory spr levi boston the page company mdccccxvii 张冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰冰 ​ copyright, , by the page company all rights reserved first impression, july, tm , w. preface in southern europe are a number of com- paratively small countries known as the balkan states, which remind one very much of quarrel- some children whose troubles have to be straightened out by older brothers and sisters. many years ago there were more independent and partially independent states than now. two of these little principalities called wal- achia and moldavia found that they could bet- ter protect themselves from their neighbors if they stood together. so they combined under one government, and the present country of roumania was formed in . in its native form the name of this country was "romania,” representing the claim of the inhabitants to descent from the roman legions that colonized the country. these colonists, vi preface who called themselves “romani,” or “ru- meni,” came from the carpathian lands and the present transylvania in the early middle ages. when once started, roumania grew quite strong as a state. the people wanted to learn, and improve their condition, and there is no better example of this than their farming, for this country has become one of the greatest grain exporting countries in europe. this was done, for one thing, by giving up their old- fashioned wooden plows, which just scratched the surface of the ground, and using modern steel plows from other countries which turned the ground over, just as our plows do. the roumanian men and women are strong and sturdy, and the men are noted for their bravery and hardiness. so, among the rou- manian children, we find hardy, manly little boys and cheerful, if serious-minded, little girls. however, they like to play, just as do all of our little foreign cousins. this little book tells preface vii about their everyday games and pastimes, how they live, and how they dress. the brave fathers and brothers of our little roumanian cousins took their places in the bat- tle line to defend their homes in the great war that is now being fought in europe. no one knows what the outcome of this terrible strug- gle will be. will roumania be destroyed, or will she emerge a greater and more powerful country, standing for liberty and justice ? time only will tell. · contents chapter page . . preface . . . . . . . . . v i. the doctor prescribes . .. ii. jonitza gets interested . . . . iii. the trip to the country, .. iv. the journey's end . . . . v. getting acquainted . . . . . vi. an excursion . . . . . . . vii. st. george's day . . . . . . viii. the castle of stephen the great. ix. a spinning bee . . . . . . x. new plans . . . . . . . . xi. in the carpathians . . . . . xii. in the carpathians (continued). xiii. leaving the mountains . . . . xiv. the capital of roumania . i . xv. the national dance . . . . . xvi. at the market . . . . . xvii. good-by. . . . . . . . . list of illustrations page “ offered him his hand.” (see page ) frontispiece “we stood as if paralyzed '" . “ it was only maritza” . . . . “ there . . . lay two long shiny snakes” “will you not let me take you home in the car? '» . . . . . “ something carefully covered with a sheet was carried mysteriously into jonitza's room ” . . . . . . . our little roumanian cousin chapter i the doctor prescribes jonitza lay sprawled out on the warm carpet in the living-room near a big brick stove that reached almost to the ceiling. beside him were his playthings and two picture books with fancy covers, but he kicked his slippered feet discontentedly at them, until his mother, seated at the other end of the room, arose, put down her sewing, and with a scarcely audible sigh, picked them up and laid them on the table. jonitza paid no attention. ever since he had been seriously ill the month before, he had grown accustomed to having people wait on our little roumanian cousin him. he now turned on his back and began tracing in the air with his finger the pretty stenciled patterns that covered the walls. tiring of that, he started beating a monotonous tattoo with one foot, until his mother, with the faintest shade of impatience, said: “i think you'd better get up. you've been lying on the floor for a whole hour doing nothing." jonitza arose languidly, stretched himself, and walking over to one of the big double win- dows, plumped himself down into a deep arm chair in front of it. jonitza's home was a very comfortable one- story house in the city of galatz, one of the leading ports on the danube river, near the border line between moldavia and wallachia, the two provinces which with dobrudja, make up the kingdom of roumania. it was in one of the best residence districts, at one end of a high earth cliff. somewhat below this cliff extended the flat level of the lower town, the doctor prescribes made up principally of mills and business houses, immense warehouses for grain, much of which is exported from roumania, and wharves stretching out to the river. the little boy could not see much of this, but far below, in between the scattered apricot- trees and lilac bushes in the garden, he could just get a glimpse of an interesting procession of rude carts to which bullocks or buffaloes were harnessed, toiling slowly upward on a wide road. he had become so interested in the struggles of one cart that looked as if it were loaded with the enormous reeds that are used for fuel by the poorer people of galatz that he did not hear the bell ring and so was quite unprepared to have a hand suddenly laid on his shoulder and to look up into the smiling face of the family doctor. jonitza had a guilty feeling without knowing why and tried his best to scowl and look away. it wasn't easy though. rmous е . our little roumanian cousin “why aren't you out-of-doors ?” the doctor asked in a surprised tone. it was jonitza's turn to be surprised. “why,” he stammered, “it's — too cold,” here he shivered, “i— — i am not well enough." “what nonsense ! ” the doctor said. "the air is delightful. i've been traveling around half the day in it. and, even granting that you're not well — why, fresh air is the only thing that will make you well." jonitza suppressed a yawn and looked list- lessly about him. the doctor shrugged his shoulders as he said: “i see i must leave a new prescription for you.” saying this, he tore a leaf from his note-book, hastily wrote something on it, folded it, and handed it to jonitza's mother who stood near by, with: “ please treat what is written here seriously, mrs. popescu. i shall have more to say regarding it to your husband. now i must hurry away." the doctor prescribes but mrs. popescu barred the entrance. “not until you have had some coffee," she said. at the same moment, a maid entered with a tray on which were coffee and sweets, the refreshments usually handed to visitors in roumania. the doctor took a taste of the coffee and one of the sweetmeats and laugh- ingly remarked as he left: “ it's only fresh air that keeps me from breaking down under the régime to which i am subjected." it was only after the door had closed behind him that mrs. popescu unfolded the paper that he had given her. as she glanced over it she gave an exclamation that caused her son to look up inquiringly. " come here,” she said to him, and, when he approached, she put her arms around him. "the doctor asked this to be taken seriously, and he has ordered -". jonitza's eyes grew round with something like terror, as he fixed them on her. our little roumanian cousin . “it's nothing bad. do look natural,” his mother hastily continued. “he has simply ordered me — to take you to spend a month on a farm near some springs in the foot-hills !" chapter ii jonitza gets interested evidently the doctor did see jonitza's father, for before the week was ended it had been definitely decided that as soon as the weather was a little warmer mrs. popescu would leave with her son for a month's stay in the country. jonitza had been a trifle inter- ested at first, then he had grumbled, and, finally, he had resumed the languid air that was so peculiarly trying to those about him. there was one thing in particular that he rebelled against even in his languid state and that was the fact that every afternoon he was now bundled up and ordered out-of-doors for an hour. “i don't want to go,” he would say every our little roumanian cousin time; and every time his mother would kiss him and answer sweetly, “ it is for your own good. we must do what the doctor orders.” then he would go out into the garden with its lilac and acacia bushes that were just begin- ning to show leaf buds and walk slowly up and down or stand first on one foot and then on the other as if unable to decide what to do. but one day things went differently. whether it was due to the air having a genuine spring alavor for the first time that year, or to the fact that it was a holiday and he had been left at home with a couple of servants, or to the fact that the departure for the foot-hills had been definitely set for the first day of the following week, or to some other entirely different cause, in any case there was quite an alert look about the boy and even something of a sparkle in his eyes. maritza, the maid, noticed it and remarked to the cook: "master jonitza looks quite spry jonitza gets interested to-day. if he were well, i'd warrant he would get into some mischief.” then she forgot all about him. a group of boys that jonitza knew slightly passed by and one seeing him called out: " come on with us. we're going to the marsh." to his own surprise, jonitza called back, “ all right,” and joined them. when they reached a marshy plain bordering on the danube some of the boys left them, and jonitza found himself alone with two boys, both younger than himself. all three were tired from the walk, and finding the stump of an old tree, sat down on it and amused themselves counting the ducks that they saw. suddenly something that his tutor had told him occurred to jonitza. “do you know," he said, "that there are more varieties of ducks on the danube than in most parts of the world? let's see how many different ones we can make out." the little boys did not take kindly to the our little roumanian cousin suggestion. “i am hungry,” one of them said; “ let's go home.” so back the three began to trudge, now and then throwing a stone into the air, or, when they could, into the water. jonitza felt more tired than he cared to con- fess to the two youngsters and inwardly planned to lie down as soon as he came within doors. “i'll be home in less than fifteen minutes, now!” he suddenly exclaimed, thinking aloud. “how can you and see me dance ? " said a voice behind him so unexpectedly that jonitza jumped. turning, he saw a laughing peasant all decorated with tiny bells. "oh, jolly!” the other boys shouted. “there's going to be a dance! come on!” those little bells must have said “ come on ” too, for jonitza found himself trying to keep up with the peasant's rapid strides. down in the lower town, before one of the old domed churches, they found a crowd jonitza gets interested inusu gathered. although there was nothing unusual about such a gathering, one could see from the faces that something unusual was expected. it was not a silent expectation, however. everywhere people were talking and laughing and a few young men were even singing. as soon as the peasant with bells appeared, a shout arose. at the same instant a troop of other peasants, all attired in their gay embroidered national costumes, with bells at their girdles and on their sleeves, came in a body into the square, and taking their places began to dance and shout and sing and stamp their feet. some one said this was the pyrrhic dance that was sacred in ancient mythology, and that had come to the roumanians from their roman forefathers; a dance to prevent saturn from hearing the voice of his infant son jupiter, lest he devour him. whether this explained it or not there was no doubt of the audience liking it, for at its conclusion all clapped their hands was s our little roumanian cousin and burst into boisterous exclamations of delight. jonitza, feeling some of the excite- ment, clapped too, and no longer conscious of any tired feeling waited until almost every one had gone before he made his way slowly home. chapter iii the trip to the country ns on tuesday of the following week jonitza, his mother, and the maid maritza, after a short trip on the train, were being driven over the vast level and wonderfully fertile plains of roumania, that stretched before them like a great green sea. there were already signs that the short spring that roumania has would soon change into summer. wild lowers were to be seen here and there and birds twittered and flew about. the way lay among thatched farmhouses whose gleaming walls showed that they had been freshly whitewashed at easter. now and then a peasant seated in a rude wagon, drawn by beautiful, creamy, short-legged oxen with wide-spreading horns, saluted them gravely. vn xen our little roumanian cousin СО at a little elevation in the road they passed a group of dug-outs called bordei, with turf- covered roofs and shapeless clay chimneys. the windows in these bordei were merely irregular holes in the mud walls. at the door leading down into one of these primitive houses stood an attractive looking woman, with a bright yellow kerchief over her head, and another around her neck. she was busily spinning while she crooned a lullaby to a baby who lay blinking its eyes in an oval wooden box swinging from the branches of a tree near by. not far from these bordei was a cemetery filled with crosses of the oddest possible shapes. it really seemed as if the people had tried to find a new design for each new grave. they passed wayside crosses also, before some of which peasants were kneeling in prayer. but, despite these interesting things, there was something tiring in the long journey over the monotonously level plains, and jonitza was s the trip to the country grew more and more restless. his pretty mother noticed it and drawing him to her she began to tell him the most interesting stories. first of all about trajan, the great roman emperor, who came to their country so many centuries ago and conquered the people who then inhabited it. she described to him the great column in rome commemorating his vic- tory, and told him how proud every rouman- ian was that he was descended from the soldiers that the emperor left to guard the new possessions. "is that why we call the thunder trajan's voice ?" asked jonitza. "perhaps," his mother answered. “we certainly love to call things by his name.” “the milky way is trajan's road, isn't it?" again inquired jonitza. his mother nodded. "the boys call the ditch by the lumber mill trajan's moat,” jonitza continued. our little roumanian cousin his mother smiled. “roumania is full of trajan's moats; it would be hard to find a village that hasn't one. there are many inter- esting stories,” continued his mother, “con- nected with our history. you know, from your tutor, that the section of roumania in which we live is called moldavia. would you like to hear the old legend as to how it got its name?" “please tell it to me,” her son answered eagerly, his eyes sparkling with interest. "once upon a time," began his mother, “a prince called bogdan lived in this part of the world. now, bogdan had a dog whom he valued above all the other dogs that he owned. “one day, while out hunting, this dog, whose name was molda, caught sight of a buffalo and chased it to the very brink of a river. when the terrified buffalo waded into the water the dog in his excitement followed, was caught in the current and drowned. “when his followers saw how deeply the trip to the country ver nce affected by the dog's death bogdan was, they pursued the buffalo, killed it, and taking its head back with them, nailed it over the entrance to the palace. "but this did not lessen the prince's grief. whenever possible he would go to the river's banks to mourn. the people, seeing him there, would repeat the story, so that after a while the river became associated with the name of the dog and was spoken of as the moldava. gradually the name, slightly modified, was applied also to all of the surrounding country." "please tell me more stories about mol- davia,” begged jonitza, when his mother had been silent for some time. . “listen then to the story of movila," again began his mother, glad to see that the restless look had left her son's face. “this is a story of king stephen who was great in mind but very small in body. once in a battle with hungarians his horse was killed under him. our little roumanian cousin as the horse fell, the king was caught by one of his heralds, a man as large as stephen was small. after assisting him to his feet, the herald offered stephen his own horse. the king looked up at the big animal with a frown, but the herald, kneeling before him, placed stephen's foot on his shoulder and exclaimed: oh, prince, allow me to serve you as a mole- hill.' “mole-hill,' returned stephen, getting on the horse, ‘i will make a mountain of you.' “then fortune favored stephen and soon the victory was his. no sooner was he back in camp than he sent for the herald. when the latter came, he found stephen surrounded by his court. “herald,' said stephen, thou hast served me as a mole-hill. in return i give thee the name of movila (little mountain). thou shalt have no other. thou gavest me thy horse in my need. in return, i give thee five full domains over which thou shalt rule.'” the trip to the country the carriage here stopped before a tiny tavern in a little vineyard surrounded town. they were disappointed in finding that they could get nothing for lunch except raw onions with salt and mamaliga, the cold corn meal mush that is eaten everywhere throughout peasant roumania. at first mrs. popescu thought they would eat from their own well- filled lunch basket, but when maritza remarked that mamaliga was really very good, she changed her mind. then, as they seated them- selves before a table on the vine-covered veranda, she asked maritza to tell them how the mamaliga is prepared. “the water must be hot,” said the maid, "before the meal is stirred into it. you con- tinue stirring until it is almost done, then you can add a little grated cheese. at our house, when it is well cooked, we put it into a cloth and tie it up." here some dried fish which the owner of the our little roumanian cousin tavern had perhaps not intended to serve at first, were laid on the table. “these fish have a nice flavor," remarked mrs. popescu. “i know how they also are prepared,” said maritza, " for my brother has helped get them ready." “suppose you tell us about it, maritza," said mrs. popescu, evidently not wishing the party to hurry. " very well, ma'am,” consented the maid. "first, a kind of basket work of osiers is built up. this is covered with walnut leaves in which the fish are wrapped. the building is then filled with smoke for several days, or until the fish look yellow and smell good. they are then taken down, made into bundles and sur- rounded by pine-tree branches, which add a new flavor to them that most people like." here the tavern-keeper again appeared with a bottle of the damson plum brandy for which the trip to the country roumania is famous. but mrs. popescu shook her head. “not this time,” she said smiling. from this little town the journey was a steady climb upward amid oak, beech and lime. trees. there were more crosses along the roadside. in one spot there was a large group of them, all brightly painted and roofed over. it was not until late in the afternoon that they came in sight of the village near which the farm lay where they were to stay for a while. full of expectations of a good supper, they drove past it and on to a pleasant and prosper- ous looking dwelling. in the front of the broad veranda an interesting group stood wait- ing to welcome them. chapter iv the journey's end the medium-sized, vigorous-looking man who formed one of the group on the veranda, hurried forward to meet them. he was dark with long black wavy hair. he wore white woolen trousers, a sort of big sleeved tunic or shirt of coarse but very clean linen, well belted in at the waist by a broad scarlet woolen scarf. over this was a sleeveless sheepskin jacket, the wool inside, the outside gayly embroidered. on his feet were goatskin sandals. · his wife was slender and quite fair. like her husband, she was evidently wearing a holi- day dress. this was a white gown covered with red and black embroidery, a brightly colored apron, and several necklaces of colored beads and coins. a gay kerchief, fringed with the journey's end a row of spangles, was set well back on her light brown hair. she also advanced to meet the newcomers. a bright-eyed boy of about twelve and a very pretty girl about four years younger were left standing and staring by the doorway. after greetings had been exchanged and all had descended from the carriage, the farmer said something to his son who immediately went up to jonitza and offered him his hand. at the same time he proposed showing him the grounds while supper was being placed on the table. jonitza at once accepted the offer. he was anxious to see what was outside, and, besides, his legs felt so stiff from the long ride that he longed to exercise them. neither of the boys spoke at first, although they glanced shyly at each other now and then. at a corner of the house the ice was broken in an unexpected fashion. they walked right into a flock of geese who set up a “honk! our little roumanian cousin s honk!” and made a peck at jonitza who happened to disturb them most. taken by surprise, jonitza jumped awk- wardly to one side. nicolaia, his companion, could not restrain a laugh. the next minute, evidently fearing that he had hurt his new acquaintance' feelings, he put his hand on his shoulder in a friendly way and suggested a visit to the pigs. “katinka,” he called to his sister, who was shyly following them, “go get something to take to the pigs." katinka turned obediently and ran into the house. she soon reappeared, carefully holding a pan. the pigs proved worth visiting. they were of the wild boar species with an upright row of funny hard bristles on their backs. they were so full of play, too, that jonitza was gen- uinely sorry to hear the call to supper. “ it's just splendid here!” he whispered to the journey's end his mother as he saw her for an instant alone before entering the big kitchen which served also as dining-room. jonitza now noticed that although the farmer and his son had kept their hats on in the house, they were careful to remove them before sitting down to the meal. this meal was quite an elaborate one. there was fishroe and olives, mutton and cheese, and rye bread about two inches thick and pierced all over with a fork. this was broken, not cut. there was also a kind of mamaliga cooked in milk and called balmosch. this was placed on the table on a big wooden platter, cut with a string, and eaten with layers of cheese. chapter v getting acquainted jonitza and his mother were out early next morning after a breakfast of bacon and mamaliga. the farm-house at which they were staying looked attractive in its cleanliness. it had been recently whitewashed and the doors and win- dow frames painted a bright blue. it was built entirely of timber. · the roof consisted of thin strips of wood laid closely row upon row. near the house were some fruit-trees and lilac bushes and a small flower garden in which basil and gilliflowers, so often mentioned in rou- manian folk songs, were conspicuous. inside, the big living-room had a comfort- able, homey air. the walls were partially were getting acquainted covered with hand-woven tapestries. in one corner was a huge dutch looking stove, while opposite, under an ikon, stood the primitive loom that is still to be seen in all roumanian farm-houses. besides the table on which the meals were served, there were some plain three- legged chairs, a large chest, a smaller table on which the basket of easter eggs still stood, and a sort of couch which served nicolaia as a bed at night. its corn husk mattress had a pretty cover with an embroidered ruffle over it in the daytime. the straw pillows then changed their clothes for more fancy ones and were placed evenly against the wall. jonitza was anxious to show his mother the sportive pigs and he lost no time in marching her to them. when she had expressed suffi- cient admiration, they wandered to the well with its long sweep to which a rock was attached, and crossed themselves before the brightly painted crosses that were on each side cic our little roumanian cousin of it. katinka came out with a pitcher while they stood there, and knelt in prayer before the crosses before drawing up the water. “where is nicolaia ? ” they asked her. she pointed to the cow-shed where they found him hard at work. he smiled at them in greeting. “this is my job,” he said, “ until i take the sheep to pasture in the mountains, for my mother is to let me do so this year.” jonitza watched his robust companion with some envy as he went cheerfully about what he had to do. nicolaia did it all easily and quickly; at the same time he did not neglect to make an occasional pleasant remark, and he did this with the courtesy that seems natural to the roumanian peasant. among other things he told them the names of some of the beauti- ful cream-colored oxen that his father owned. they were very high-sounding ones. there were antony and cæsar, cassius and brutus, we getting acquainted o augustus, and, of course, trajan, the finest- looking creature of all. then, almost without warning, the weather changed, a heavy rain setting in. this caused all, except the father who was absent, to gather in the big living-room. here katinka, in a matter-of-fact way, took out some embroidery on linen, which at the age of eight she was already getting ready for her bridal trousseau. later she showed mrs. popescu a rug that she was beginning to weave as a covering for her bed. in the meantime, mrs. popescu and maritza also took out some embroidery, the peasant mother sat down at the loom, and nicolaia brought out a bit of wood-carving. this, he said, was now being taught in the village school. jonitza alone had no work. he stood for a while by the window watching the rain splash against it and the wind shake the trees as if it meant to uproot them. it was not long, how- our little roumanian cousin ever, before he wandered to where nicolaia sat and watched him work. mrs. popescu looked over at her idle son several times. a sudden inspiration made her say: “you seem to carve very nicely, nico- laia. how would you like to be jonitza's teacher and earn a little money of your own ? " “will you ?” asked jonitza dropping on the floor beside nicolaia. the peasant boy looked up with a pleased smile. “if you think i know enough,” he answered modestly, “i'll be glad to teach you." here his mother could not keep from re- marking with a proud air: “the school teacher takes an interest in nicolaia. he has advised him to attend the government school of fruit culture which is in the next village from ours. he says he would learn other things besides taking care of fruit-trees there. but that isn't possible, for he's promised as an getting acquainted so apprentice to his uncle in bukurest. well, he'll learn a great deal there, too." “oh, mother,” exclaimed nicolaia when his mother had left the loom and taken up some knitting, “ while we are working won't you sing some songs as you do when we're alone ? " his mother's fair face flushed as she looked shyly at mrs. popescu. “i must get things ready for the mid-day meal,” she said rising. as soon as her back was turned, mrs. pop- escu nodded to good-natured maritza who un- derstood and began to sing a song about a heiduk, the traditional hero of the roumanian peasantry, a person as fascinating as our own robin hood. the song told how handsome he was, how winning his ways, how fearless his manner towards tyrants, how kind to the poor and unfortunate. . . nicolaia's mother was back in her place be- fore the maid finished. “that was very nice, dear,” she remarked. “and now i can't do our little roumanian cousin less than sing-a song, too. it'll be about a woman, the bravest shepherdess that ever was seen.” this was evidently a favorite with the chil- dren, for they joined in an odd refrain that occurred every once in a while. she had scarcely finished when the sun came out to announce that the rain was over. a mo- ment after the door opened and her husband entered. chapter vi son a an excursion during the meal that followed, the farmer turned to his son with: “you will have to go to the convent for me this afternoon. i can't spare the time myself. and perhaps "— here he turned to mrs. popescu — "you and your son might like the trip. it would give you a chance to see one of our old-time institutions." mrs. popescu thanked him. “nothing could be pleasanter," she said. soon all three were seated on a rough timber cart with apparently nothing to hold it together. to the cart were harnessed two moody looking buffaloes with horns lying almost flat along their necks. the cart swayed and twisted up the rough road when suddenly nicolaia gave an excited exclamation. they were just in the our little roumanian cousin middle of one of the great swollen streams that flowed everywhere over the mountains. “what has happened?" asked mrs. pop- escu anxiously, for nicolaia was standing up and urging the animals forward. nicolaia gave a short, funny laugh. “the buffaloes want to take a bath,” he answered, and again shouted at them. fortunately, after a display of much stubbornness on their part, he did persuade them that neither the time nor the place was suitable for bathing, and they moved slowly on. after safely passing through all the ruts and bogs, the creaking cart at length stopped be- fore what was called the “guest house” on one side of an old half-deserted convent. a servant dressed in the national costume, with a wide hat on his long curling hair, came to meet them and bid them welcome. later one of the inmates, an elderly woman in a loose brown dress, appeared bringing coffee, preserved an excursion al fruit, and buffalo milk, which jonitza thought had a very peculiar flavor. after they had partaken of this refreshment and expressed their appreciation of the cour- tesy, and while nicolaia was busy with his er- rand, mrs. popescu and jonitza visited the church of the convent and looked at the crude frescoes of heaven and hell that adorned its walls. there were many ikons or pictures of saints about, for roumania is a greek catholic country like russia. the large size of the convent showed that it must have enjoyed great prosperity in former times. now a deep quiet reigned everywhere. nicolaia grew quite talkative on the way back; he told of the source of one of the streams that they passed and how difficult it was to get to it, of a hermit cave in another part of the mountains in which the bats fly at you when you enter, and finally, of some of his own immediate plans. he talked at length about a friend our little roumanian cousin called demetrius, who lived on the other side of the village and whom he planned to see on the following day, when his own work was done. “would you like to visit him with me?” he asked, turning politely to jonitza. "like!” repeated jonitza almost rudely. “of course." they were passing through the village at the time and mrs. popescu noticed that on certain houses a flower was painted. she pointed this out. “that,” explained nicolaia, “is to let every one know that a maiden lives there." a little further on they met a branch en- twined cart. in it sat two girls gayly talking." one of them called to nicolaia in passing. the girls did not look at all alike and mrs. popescu wondered if they were sisters. “no," said nicolaia, “they are only surata, that is, they have adopted each other as sisters. any girls can do that if they love each other enough. i was at the church when the cere- an excursion mony was performed, and saw their feet chained together in token of the bond. it made them the same as born sisters. sometimes a young man adopts another young man for his brother in the same way. the priest always asks them if they are sure of their affection, for he says the ceremony makes the new rela- tionship very binding." chapter vii st. george's day e the next day the boys walked over to the home of nicolaia's village friend, demetrius, and here a delightful surprise awaited them. two young bear cubs trotted like dogs at the feet of the village boy as he came to meet them. "where did you get these?” both boys shouted with delight. "from my uncle," returned demetrius. "he captured them after their mother had been killed. at first they had to be fed sheep milk with a spoon.” as he spoke, one of the little fellows ran up a tree in the yard and the other began to play with a young puppy. soon the boys were try- ing to help demetrius teach them to turn som- st. george's day er ersaults and do other tricks. they gave this up only when they remembered there were other things to settle before parting. these things all related to st. george's day, or, as it is sometimes called, the “witch's sabbath.” this would come the very last of the week. there were mysteries in regard to the day, for the boys spoke in whispers while jonitza was trying to make one of the bears jump through a hoop. he was so much interested in the antics of the little creatures that he paid no at. tention until just at leaving he heard something which made him open his eyes wide. hidden treasure was to be found! on the way home he answered nicolaia in monosyllables and looked moody, much to the latter's surprise. “what's the matter?” nicolaia finally asked. for answer jonitza glared and then burst out with: “what have i done that you won't let me go with you on st. george's eve? ” our little roumanian cousin nicolaia was taken aback. “you've done nothing,” he made haste to say. “but this must be kept a secret and your mother wouldn't like your going." "i won't tell her,” said jonitza, wincing a little as he spoke;" that is — not until - eh — i show her the treasure. then she won't care." nicolaia looked up and down the road as if trying to find a way out of a difficulty. at last he said faintly, “well, all right, if you can meet us in the yard by the cow-sheds at ten o'clock." on the day before the "witch's sabbath,” jonitza watched nicolaia's father cut square blocks of turf and place them before every door and window of the farm-house and stables. “why are you doing that?” he asked. the farmer smiled at him but did not answer. katinka, however, came and whispered that it was to keep out the witches. she turned from him to help her father place thorn branches here st. george's day and there in the cut turf. jonitza followed every act with a fascinated air. “what's that for?” he asked her. “the witches run when they see thorns,” she explained, smiling at the thought. two of the men who were helping on the farm at the time, offered to keep watch all night near the stables lest the witches should charm the cattle and do them harm. mrs. popescu, who heard them make the offer, asked them if they really believed in witches. they looked at her with the air of grown up children. “if it wasn't witches,” said one with a triumphant air, “what made old theo- doresco's cow give bloody milk , last year for several months beginning the very next day after the witch's sabbath'?” mrs. pope- scu, seeing that it would be useless to argue the question, left them. a half hour later, nicolaia appeared and beckoned to jonitza to follow him indoors. our little roumanian cousin t an- here he took an earthen jar from a closet. “what do you think that is ?” he asked. "one of your mother's jars,” jonitza an- swered. "no," said nicolaia without smiling. “put your hand inside and see what you find.” jonitza did so and brought out some ancient coins dating back to pre-roman times. "my father is keeping these for luck. he found them when he was plowing," said nic- olaia. “i am showing this to you because i thought you ought to know that it may be that kind of treasure that we'll find to- night." jonitza had this constantly in mind the rest of the day. “how wonderful it would be to find a real treasure,” he kept thinking. he ate little for supper, went to bed at once when his mother suggested it, and tried very hard to keep from falling asleep. but alas, despite his efforts, sleep came and it was a very deep st. george's day sleep, so that when he awoke it was bright morning he hurried out, ashamed of himself, and found his friend looking very drowsy and grin- ning in a somewhat downcast way. in answer to jonitza's hurried explanations of what had happened to himself and urgent questions, nicolaia said: “it was just after ten o'clock when we started. i was relieved that you didn't appear, for i didn't know what might happen. there was no moon at the time, but the stars were out, and as we know the hills well, demetrius and i had no trouble making our way over them. we heard all sorts of strange noises, but we weren't a bit afraid. i thought we should surely find the treasure. you see, they say around here that it is easiest for the one born on a sunday or at midday; and demetrius was born just two minutes after noon on a sunday. so that ought to count. .“we spoke only in whispers as we tried to our little roumanian cousin look in every direction at once. each of us wanted to be the first to see the blue flame which shows where the treasure lies hidden. it must have been past midnight when demetrius seized hold of my arm. i felt his hand tremble. " 'do you see that?' he whispered. “i looked where he pointed and saw in the distance what really seemed like a tiny fire. it was not particularly blue but we did not think of that. i felt for my knife, for it must be thrown through the flame so that the spirits who guard the treasure won't harm you. " 'have you your knife?' i whispered back. ““yes,' returned demetrius. 'i'll throw first, and if i miss, you throw right after.' before this we had not minded anything, but now as we crept on, we shuddered whenever we stepped on a dry twig or caused a stone to roll down hill. "as we came nearer there was no sign of flame but there were bright patches on the “ 'we stood as if paralyzed'”. st. george's day ground as if from the remains of a fire. this could just be seen around a big bowlder where we stopped for a moment to gain courage for the final step. “as we stood there we heard a sound as of some creature rolling over. then on the other side of the big rock, a huge form arose. we distinctly heard some cuss words and a threat so terrible that we stood as if paralyzed. sud- denly the figure began to move, and forgetful of everything else but our own safety, we ran down the hillside, stumbling over each other, now rolling a way, tearing our clothes on thorn bushes, and generally having a hard time until we both landed in a brook. we crawled out very much chilled and stood listening. every- thing about us was quiet, so i don't know whether we were followed or not. however, we did not dare return. “so, of course, we didn't get any treasure. my father says it was probably some old gypsy, our little roumanian cousin as but i know it was a bad spirit, for as i have said, it was after midnight, and good spirits show the flame only till twelve. when it is seen later, the treasure is guarded by bad spirits.” chapter viii the castle of stephen the great how quickly the month at the farm-house passed! every day there was so much to see and do, and once in a while there was an ex- cursion to some place of interest. the fur- thest one taken was when jonitza and katinka went with the maid who had accompanied jonitza's mother to the country, for a couple of days' visit to her home in a place called niamtz. the day after they reached the straggling village, the children were allowed out to play. they were attracted to a great red earth cliff, where they began digging tunnels and building little cave houses. tiring of that they wan- dered up toward the cliff's summit, gathering our little roumanian cousin the beautiful wild flowers that they found on the way, and resting now and then under some leafy tree. when they reached the top they both shouted with delight at finding the ruins of a castle. what a delightful place in which to play! there were four corner towers, strong buttresses and battlemented walls, as well as a large moat all the way around, now overgrown with trees. jonitza, who was blessed with a good mem- ory, recalled what he had been told about the place and so hastened to instruct katinka in his own fashion, emphasizing every word that he considered of importance. “this,” said he, in his tutor's manner, “is the old castle cel- ebrated in many of our songs, of one of our greatest kings called stephen the great. "one day, stephen the great was fighting the turks who were winning. he thought it was no use fighting any longer and made for home as quickly as he could. he thought his castle of stephen the great mother would be glad he wasn't killed. but instead of that she met him at the big gate you see over there, and told him he ought to be ashamed to give up; that he was fighting to free his people, and that she wouldn't ever open the gates to him and his army unless he came back as victor.” (here jonitza gave an es- pecial emphasis to the last word.) “so stephen said, “ all right,' and went back. he met the turks in a narrow valley and was so mad that he killed almost every one of them. he was a very brave man, and i'm going to be like him." these last words were hardly spoken when there was a clap of thunder and flash of light- ning, followed by a sudden heavy downpour of rain. the children hurried to shelter which they found in one of the towers. it was dark there and the wind and rain threatened to break through the walls. bat- like things flew about, and strange noises, like our little roumanian cousin the mournful voices of imprisoned spirits, be- gan to be heard. jonitza lost his brave air en- tirely as he and his companion crouched side by side against one of the walls. suddenly there was a peculiarly long whistle, probably made by the wind passing through some crevice. katinka gave a little shriek. “it is the stafii,” she cried, clinging to her friend. jonitza, though trembling, put his arm around her. he knew very well that she was referring to harmful elves whom all the rou- manian country folk believe dwell in ruins and are always unfriendly to human beings. he tried to think of something comforting to say, but at first only managed to clear his throat. after a bit what he did whisper was: “we ought to have some milk to give them." at this katinka cried more than ever. “that's what they say, but we haven't any, we haven't any," she repeated almost in a shriek. “it was only maritza" castle of stephen the great was this was followed by another shriek as a dark form shut out what little light reached them. but it was only maritza, who had come with a big umbrella to their rescue. chapter ix a spinning bee the evening before they left niamtz, a crowd of maritza's girl friends gathered at her home for a spinning bee. they came with heads uncovered, for only married women in roumania wear veils or ker- chiefs. they were all dressed in holiday fin. ery, with their hair beautifully waved. at first a merry little maiden with very red cheeks, and very black eyebrows over sparkling eyes, and black hair twisted into a double plait, came in for a good deal of teasing for some reason or other. she didn't seem to mind it and her bright answers caused much laughter and good feeling. finally she succeeded in drawing attention from herself by asking a rid- a spinning bee dle. this was followed by another and an- other until everybody in the room was guessing. then maritza's mother, who had been busy getting refreshments ready, came in exclaim- ing, “ time for work, girls!” at this there was a general cry of “mar- itza!” “we want maritza !” “maritza must be our leader!" maritza stepped forward with some show of reluctance. “there are better spinners and better singers than i am,” she said modestly. but the girls, rising quickly, formed a ring around her, singing in chorus, “ it's you we want." then maritza took her spindle and began to spin. at the same time she improvised a strange song all about a mysterious heiduk or chieftain who passed through their village. suddenly she threw her spindle to the black- eyed, red-cheeked maiden, holding it by a long thread as she did so. the merry maiden our little roumanian cousin caught it and was obliged to continue both the spinning and singing while maritza pulled out the fax. this required much dexterity. when each girl had had her turn, both in spinning and singing, refreshments were passed around. there was mamaliga, baked pump- kin, potatoes, and last of all, plenty of pop- corn. then, while all seated resumed their work, one of their number was begged for a story. she smilingly consented, and told the follow- ing strange and pathetic tale. the story of a lilac tree “this is a story of what once must have taken place, for if it had never occurred, i would not now have it to tell. "in a little valley among the high moun- tains, there lived a maiden all alone. she worked all day at her spinning and weaving and sang with joy as she worked. a spinning bee “so the years went on, each year adding loveliness to her face and figure. one day when out gathering firewood for her small needs she heard what sounded like a cry of pain. making her way into the thicket she found a man sorely wounded. “she spoke to him but he had become un- conscious, and, not knowing what else to do, she took him in her strong arms and carried him to her hut and laid him on her own bed. then she washed out his wounds and tended him like a sister. “as soon as he could speak, he tried to ex- press his gratitude. dear maiden,' he said, ' had it not been for you i should never again have seen the light of day, and even as it is, i fear i shall never walk again. for it was no ordinary mortal by whom i was wounded, but a demon of some kind who threatened that even should i survive, all power to move my legs will have left me. of what good will life then our little roumanian cousin be to me? trouble yourself no longer, sweet maiden, to cure me. rather let my wounds bleed anew.' “but the beautiful girl shook her head. • why should we believe all that ill?' she said. 'i am skilled in herb lore and shall cure you.' “for more than a week the man lay in bed while the girl tended him. and she grew to love him, he was so patient, so grateful for all she did. then, one morning, he looked brightly at her: 'lo, i am cured. and he sat up in bed. but when he tried to get down he could not. “and the next day it was the same and the next. but the man did not speak of any dis- appointment. instead, he told his nurse strange stories of the life he had seen, and one day something that she found hard to bear. it was of the beautiful woman whom he loved and would have wed. “the maiden, though now sad, still tended a spinning bee him faithfully, but to no avail. at last, in her distress, she sought out a witch who was famed for her wisdom over the whole mountain side. " the man is under enchantment,' said the old woman. 'he knows his cure, but will not tell it to thee.? ""tell me what it is !'exclaimed the maiden. 'i will pay any price for the cure!! ". are you sure?' asked the witch with a disagreeable laugh. "'i am sure,' answered the maiden. “know then,' said the witch, that only a virgin life like yours can save him. will you give your life?' “the girl looked down in thought. at last she spoke. 'if it is indeed so, why should i not? he is strong again and the world has need of him. he loves another from whom only bewitchment separates him. the happi- ness of two is worth the sacrifice of one. i will give my life that they may wed.' our little roumanian cousin "the next morning when the man made his daily trial to arise, he found to his amazement that he could do so. he looked around for the maiden, but she was nowhere to be seen. he waited all day and till the next morning but she did not come. then, full of regret, he went away. near the threshold of the hut he stopped to pick a branch of fragrant lilac. as he did so, the whole bush swayed with delight, and it seemed to him that a spirit within it called his name as he turned away." chapter x new plans jonitza tried to forget that the time for leav- ing the country was approaching. the month had meant much to him. it had made a re- markable change in his appearance. his list- less air had given way to a wide awake inter- ested look, and his pale cheeks had already something of a ruddy hue. although for her own sake, mrs. popescu longed for a return home, she felt something like guilt in taking her son back with her. every night she gave much thought to the sub- ject and every night she knelt in prayer before the ikon that hung in her bedroom, asking that light be given her as to her duty. finally, un- able to decide, she wrote a long letter to her busy husband and begged his advice. our little roumanian cousin instead of a written answer, her husband himself arrived. his solution of the difficulty startled her. “why shouldn't jonitza accompany nicolaia as a sheep herder into the carpathians ? " "i'm afraid,” she said, “there are gypsies there and bad shepherds — and wild ani- mals — and the life is too hard." her husband made light of all these things. “i've talked it over," he said, " with the doc- tor. he declares that the only trouble with our boy is that we've molly-coddled him. he ad- vised me to trust him to nicolaia, whose family he knows. he says that jonitza is just the age to enjoy the experience and that he will thank us all his life for it." but at first mrs. popescu did not agree. “he has grown much heartier,” she said. "perhaps he would get along very well at home now." so it was not settled until after the whole new plans thing was talked over with the peasant and his wife and mrs. popescu was persuaded that her son would be in safe hands and that, besides, the dangers were less than in the city. then katinka was sent to call in the boys who were busy as usual with some outside work. they came in with a surprised air, but when all was explained to them both set up a shout that echoed from the darkened rafters of the room. mr. popescu laughed with pleasure. “can that be really my son ?” he said. chapter xi in the carpathians “i feel as free as a bird!." jonitza could not help exclaiming when they had actually started with their flocks for the carpathian mountains. like his friend, he was dressed in typical shepherd costume, consisting of a coarse white linen shirt and trousers, a long mantle of very heavy wool, and a straight round sheep- skin cap. his very shoes were the same, for the boys had fashioned both pair together. they were made of pieces of goatskin that had been soaked in water until soft, gathered into pleats by means of thongs over the ankles, while other bits of thong held them securely in place. they had a big flock of sheep under their charge, for besides those belonging to nic- in the carpathians olaia's father they were to herd those belong- ing to the richest man in that neighborhood. besides the sheep, two intelligent wolf dogs be- longing to the neighbor went with them, as well as a donkey, to be used later to carry the packs of cheese and milk. it was high time for the boys to start, for the other shepherds had gone, and the hot rou- manian summer was beginning to be felt. although nicolaia had already spent two summers on the mountains this was the first time that he was in charge of so large a flock. in consequence he shared some of jonitza's ex- citement. there was another reason why this summer might prove a notable one for him. it was probably his last experience of the kind, for his parents had decided to have him ap- prenticed that autumn to his uncle, a cabinet maker in the city of bukurest, and apprentice- ships in roumania are for six years. it was a hard climb for the boys. at first our little roumanian cousin as they made their way upward they occasion- ally passed one-room shanties, each shared by an entire family and all the domestic animals. at the last one of these they stopped to ask for a drink of water. the door was open and inside they could see the scanty furniture — a rude table, a bench, a stove, and a cot covered with the skins of wild beasts. a fierce look- ing man answered their call and handed them the water with so surly an air that nicolaia, who was accustomed to the great hospitality of the section where he lived, felt a mingling of amazement and indignation. there was no garden of any kind around this house, but there was a wealth of wild flowers. yellow fox- gloves, gladiolas, and wild honeysuckle seemed determined to make the place a thing of beauty. just at noon, near one of the little streams that constantly crossed their path, they came upon a small band of the gypsies that are as numerous in roumania as in hungary. by a in the carpathians small fire over which a kettle hung, sat two women. a short distance from them lay a dark-skinned lad, with matted hair, while lean- ing against a giant beech on the other side, was a young man playing a weird air that made one think of a mountain storm, on a crude violin. from this wayside camp, the path wound around and around until at last it suddenly branched into two parts. nicolaia stopped at this point perplexed. “i do not remember this,” he said, as he chose the broader looking of the two roads. soon, however, he saw the mistake he made in doing so. what he had taken for a path was the channel of a mountain torrent. it ended in a steep abyss, down which some of the sheep had already scrambled. the boys spent fully half an hour of the hardest kind of work before they got these sheep back. when, shortly after, they came to a grassy valley, both, panting hard, threw them- selves under a tree. our little roumanian cousin “this is where we'll camp for the night,” said nicolaia, “now that we have all the sheep together.” as he spoke, he unpacked the sup- per of cold meat, onions, and mamaliga that they had brought with them. they also helped themselves to a drink of sheep's milk, which is richer and thicker than cow's and of quite a dif- ferent flavor. the sun was already low, and when it sank from sight, darkness followed very soon. quickly wrapping themselves in their mantles, the boys lay down beside their sheep. so strenuous had the day been, that hardly had they exchanged a few sentences than both were fast asleep. the next day, after an early breakfast, they were again on their way. the scenery around was grandly wild. enormous birch and oak- trees towered on both sides of the narrow path, while lime-trees gave forth the honeyed sweet- ness of their blossoms. here and there a our little roumanian cousin with bruises from his many falls. “ i'm as stiff as a board, too,” he confided to nicolaia, as they lay down near each other to sleep. but, by the end of the week, the stiffness was entirely gone, and jonitza could manage to keep his footing on the rocks even better than nicolaia. by that time, too, he had learned the call that would make the sheep clinging to the steep mountainsides stop eating, look up, and then come scrambling to him. the donkey had been let loose as soon as the valley was reached and got into all kinds of scrapes from his dislike to being alone. some- times when he found that he couldn't follow the sheep, he would stand on a bowlder and bray loudly as if proclaiming to an unsympathetic world his loneliness. sometimes the report would spread that wild animals had been seen prowling near. this meant extra watchfulness on the part of the shepherds. but whether there was reason in the carpathians for any especial alarm or not, every night each shepherd wrapped himself in his sheepskin or woolen mantle and lay down by his flock ready to spring up at the least sign of danger. chapter xii in the carpathians (continued) although jonitza and nicolaia could not be constantly together, they tried to share at least one meal every day. once at such a time jonitza remarked: “how i wish i could get to the top of that mountain yonder. see what a queer shape it is! it makes me think of the picture of a peak called 'la omu,' the man.” nicolaia thought that a funny name. “how did it come to get it?” he asked. “let me think,” replied jonitza. "oh, yes, i remember now what was written about it in my story book. it said that it had another name, 'negoi,' but that most of the country people preferred ‘la omu' because of its resemblance to a human figure. when one came near he could see that this was caused by in the carpathians l mass a big rock in the center of a mass of others. according to tradition, a shepherd once lost his way there and began to curse god for his mis- fortune. suddenly as he was cursing, god turned him into stone as a warning to others.” “ although that probably isn't 'la omu,'” said nicolaia, “i should like to climb it never- theless. perhaps vasili would keep an eye on our sheep for a few hours if we asked him.” “do you think so?” asked jonitza eagerly. and he at once ran to a bluff and shouted to vasili, who was stationed nearer to them than any of the other shepherds. vasili called back good-naturedly, “go on. i'll see the sheep don't wander far.” and the boys started. it took them half an hour to reach the peak. gradually, as they ascended it, the pine and fir- trees dwindled into misshapen goblin-like bushes, each of which seemed to be hiding behind one of the great bowlders that were everywhere so plentiful. cs our little roumanian cousin at one point the boys were clambering up a steep rocky path when suddenly jonitza gave a shriek and at the same time jumped high into the air. nicolaia, who was a short distance behind, stopped so suddenly that he almost lost his balance. there, stretched out between the two boys, lay two long shiny snakes sunning themselves and apparently paying no heed to what had happened. nicolaia recovered himself first. he grasped tight hold of his shepherd staff and approached. “pshawl” he called disdainfully, to jonitza on the other side. “they're harm- less." then jumping without fear over them, he ran to where his companion, panting hard, was leaning against a bowlder. seeing an open space near, the boys looked it over carefully and sat down. "it was the suddenness of seeing the snakes that made me jump,” said jonitza, apparently feeling that his natural action needed explanation. at this in the carpathians nicolaia chuckled and then began to lecture jonitza on the necessity of always keeping wide awake in the mountains and never allow- ing himself to be surprised. jonitza did not relish this and interrupted his companion to ask questions. “how is one to tell harmless snakes from others? have you ever seen snakes just born?” at this last question, nicolaia's eyes flashed. “how i wish i could find a snake's nest!” he exclaimed. “don't you know that precious stones are made from snake saliva ? if i found a snake nest, i'd not run but kill the snakes, and then i'd be so rich i'd be able to buy a big farm of my own." an answering flash came into jonitza's eyes. "let's go hunt for one now," he said, spring- ing up. nicolaia rose more slowly. “i'm willing, but i warn you that we must be care- ful.” so with their long shepherd staves in their our little roumanian cousin hands, and keeping watch where they trod, they began a hunt among the bowlders. how it might have ended no one can tell, for they had gone scarcely twenty yards when they heard a loud cry from down below. “it must be for us,” said nicolaia, and quite forgetful of snakes or anything else he led the way back as fast as he was able. when they reached the slopes on which their sheep were grazing, they met a shout of laugh- ter. “it was your donkey,” vasili explained. “he tried, as usual, to follow the flock and this time slipped down between two rocks and couldn't go forward or back. didn't you hear him bray? i didn't know what to do and so called for you. but in the meantime this other vasili here came bounding up from nowhere. and you ought to have seen him manage! he tied the donkey's feet together with a thong and lifted him out as easily as one would a baby." in the carpathians as “you know you helped me,” said a new voice. the boys looked up to see a stranger stand- ing near. he was of medium height but thick- set and very hardy in appearance. instead of a sheepskin cap a broad-brimmed hat was set well back over a mass of glossy black curls. his features were regular; his eyes were now smiling but there were angry lines written long before around them. the boys shook hands with him and thanked him. “it was nothing," he said. “aren't we brothers?". “where are you from? " “i belong to the other side,” the youth answered, and then added, “ the side that isn't free.” all knew at once that he referred to transyl- vania, which, although a part of hungary, is largely inhabited by roumanians. “we intend to make it free,” nicolaia answered with feeling. the transylvanian our little roumanian cousin ma. smiled and shook his head. then, without a word more, he left them. there was one other shepherd that they learned to know. he was the oldest there and came from jassy, once the capital of moldavia, a city so old that the turks claim that it dates back to the time of abraham. the rouma- nians, however, feel that they can do better than that. they put its foundations to the time of their beloved trajan! this shepherd, of whom later they heard strange wild tales, kept much to himself. often, however, the monotonously melancholy notes of a wooden flute on which he played would reach them. sometimes, too, especially at early dawn, they would hear him draw forth powerful notes on the boutchoum, such as no other shepherd could equal. our little roumanian cousin as they joked, they told folk tales, and nicolaia even sang a ballad that had long been a favorite with the roumanians. it was very touching, and, of course, had to do with a shepherd, of his love for his sheep and his dogs and his longing to lie near them even in death. long before they reached the farm-house they had been seen by katinka who ran out to meet them. jonitza found some letters awaiting him. he picked out the daintiest, knowing it to be from his mother, and, begging to be excused, tore it open to read immediately. it was from sinaia, the fashionable mountain resort where “ carmen sylva," the late loved dowager queen elizabeth, had had her sum- mer home. “ your father," said the letter among other things, “ has to make a business trip among our wallachian farmers. he intends to take you with him and finally spend a day or two with leaving the mountains me here. later on, we shall visit relatives for some time at the capital, bukurest." two days later mr. popescu took his son away. · as mr. popescu's business was with the peasants, most of the trip was made by carriage through the very rich agricultural sections of wallachia. now they stopped at the farms of the wealthy, where the very latest in farm machinery could be seen at work; then at some of the hundreds of small farms where the peasants still harvested their grain with the sickle, and threshed it with the flail. on the way they passed orchards of damson plum, from which brandy is made, and vineyards with their rich yield. the weather favored them. only once were they caught in a storm. the sky directly above had been monotonously blue for several days when clouds seemed suddenly to form in all directions. a wind arose that soon changed our little roumanian cousin into a tempest, raising enormous clouds of dust. angry lightning began to fly across the sky, while not only the thunder but the storm itself threatened. through the dust they could just make out a tower which showed that they were near a village. the obedient horses strained every sinew to reach it and did just manage to get under cover at a rude inn when enormous hail stones began to fall. it proved to be rather an interesting place where they had secured shelter, for it was not only an inn but a general store where a little of everything was kept for sale. as no especial room was assigned them, jonitza felt free to wander about the place. on a sort of screened back porch he found a woman pickling whole heads of cabbage, adding corn-meal to the brine to hasten fermentation. this, when stuffed with chopped pork, onions and rice, forms one of the national dishes. mr. popescu smiled at the supper that was leaving the mountains placed before them an hour later. there was, of course, mamaliga and its string, with a big pitcher of rich milk, then some salted cheese, raw onions, and some sun-dried beef that had been seasoned with spices and garlic when cooked. the platters, spoons and forks were of wood, the knives alone being of steel. although the owner of the inn was evidently pleased at having so much to place before his guests, he seemed to think that he could do still better. “one of my pigs,” he said, "is to be killed to-morrow. if you will stay till then i can offer you something really fine.” although that might not have been the reason, mr. popescu decided to stay. “come," the landlord's wife said to jonitza next morning as he sat on the stoop in front of the inn. in answer to her mysterious beckon- ing, jonitza followed her to the rear. here he found a group of men and boys gathered can our little roumanian cousin some around a big fire from which a very pleasant odor rose. “what is it?” jonitza inquired. the land- lady laughed and then whispered, “the pig has been killed and we are burning off its hair.” after the meat had been exposed to the heat for a sufficient length of time, thin slices were cut off and handed to each person present. this resulted in loud exclamations from some of the children whose fingers were burnt and even louder smacking of lips as the delicious morsels were tasted. they left late that afternoon for the next village, overtaking on the way a party of reapers with scythes over their shoulders. a young woman crowned with wheaten ears led several others, all of whom chanted some melancholy air about the end of the harvest. everywhere they went people sang, the num- ber of folk songs about soldier life being par- ticularly noticeable. many of these songs leaving the mountains were exceedingly touching; some, however, were wild in character. all were full of a spirit of rare bravery and resignation to what- ever fate had in store. at last among the grand forests near the prahova river, the pretty rustic houses of rural roumania changed to swiss looking cottages, and then to fine brown and red-roofed villas, hotels and baths. sinaia had been reached. a little apart from the villas stood the royal summer palace, with its tall roofs and glitter- ing pinnacles. during the trip they had changed vehicles and drivers many times, and now a very old man acted as their coachman. his eyes sparkled as he pointed out the château. “i lived near here," he said, “when this château was built for king carol and queen elizabeth, whom they tell me is now generally called carmen sylva.' my daughter was better acquainted with her than i. might i tell you our little roumanian cousin the story, sir? it was not long after the château was finished that the king and queen drove up to spend a few days here. they had splendid horses and came fast. my little girl was playing by the roadside and somehow frightened the horses for they leaped to one side. they were brought under control at once, but the child had been more frightened than they and cried loudly. "her majesty must have heard her for she ordered the coachman to stop. when he had done so, she herself got out and went back to my little one, whom she comforted in a few minutes. as she kissed her and put some coins in her hands, she whispered, 'be ready to pay me a visit tomorrow morning. i'll come for you.' "we did not think anything of this, but the next day, sure enough, a carriage came to our little hut for florica. you can imagine our excitement until we had our little one again and leaving the mountains our heard from her the whole story of her visit to fairy land, for that is what the visit to the château was to her. “but i have another and better reason to bless her gracious majesty. my brother, sir, was blind — couldn't see a thing, sir — and our queen made him happy, as she did others like him, in the asylum for the blind that she founded in bukurest. “she was always doing good. "she liked our peasant ways, sir, she did, and our dress. in the château she always wore the national costume and all her maids had to do so. deeper in the woods is a forester's hut where they tell me she wrote stories and songs like our own.” as the man chatted they approached a deep- roofed chalet from which the sound of merry laughter and conversation was wafted down to them. then they stopped before it and the next moment jonitza was in his mother's arms. chapter xiv the capital of roumania jonitza had not been a week in bukurest when he began to wish himself back in the coun- try. at first there had been much to see, espe- cially in the fine shops on the beautiful street called calea vittoriei, which extends from one end of the city to the other. on this street is also the royal palace and most of the theaters. jonitza and his parents were staying with near relatives in one of the many fine residential sections, where the big stone houses are sur- rounded by beautiful gardens. although this section was no great distance from the business center, they never walked to the latter but either drove or went in the big touring car belonging to the family. “people must be very happy in the city of the capital of roumania pleasure,' ”- that is what the word bukurest means — jonitza said to himself one day as he watched the very lively crowds on the streets. he was standing at the time in front of the splendid show windows of a jewelry store, wait- ing for his mother who had gone inside. at first he had stared at the rich gems through the glass but the interesting passing crowd had gradually attracted him; the very fashionable ladies, some light, some dark, talking so viva- ciously, the priests with their long hair, and, most of all, the numerous soldiers in the splendor and variety of their uniforms. " jonitza,” said his mother when she came out, “ i am going to call on an old-time friend, and as i know such visits bore you, i shall leave you on the way to spend an hour at the national museum. how will you like that?” “very much, dear mother,” jonitza answered. so the carriage took them to the big museum our little roumanian cousin building where jonitza alighted. indoors he found much to interest him. he lingered before the displays of magnificent royal jeweled collars and crowns, and the specimens of roumania's mineral wealth: gold, silver, cop- per, rock salt, and others. there were draw- ings and paintings, too, to be looked at. he stood long before one of the latter. it repre- sented a roumanian boyard or nobleman of long ago, dressed in a long, loose, rich costume, with several jeweled daggers in his embroidered belt. a crowd of dependents surrounded him, some bowing low, some kissing his hand, some trying to get him to listen to the tale that they had to tell. although jonitza's mother was late in return- ing to the museum, he had still much to see when she did come. a richly dressed young woman, who treated jonitza like an old friend, was with her. “ it is still early,” his mother remarked to the capital of roumania ve some on his mystification. and she gave some orders to the coachman who then drove them past the "institution of the blind,” the particular pride of queen elizabeth (carmen sylva), past the university and schools of various kinds, past a beautiful pure white marble statue of some voivode or other, and on to the exten- sive garden of cismegiu; then again to the calea vittoriei, where the carriage stopped before the renowned restaurant of capsa. here jonitza's father, who evidently knew of their coming, was waiting to escort them into a room with tiled glistening floor, lofty mirrors, beautiful flowers, and exquisitely neat tables. the place was crowded to overflowing, but above the hum of voices could be heard the fascinating music of a roumanian gypsy band. hardly had they entered, than two fashion- ably dressed men joined their party. after considerable banter, the conversation became our little roumanian cousin so serious that jonitza did not understand all of it. now and then he caught a quotation that he had heard before, as, “leave a hungarian to guard the thing that you value most," and “there is no fruit so bitter as foreigners in the land.” everything tasted very good, but jonitza would have enjoyed it more had some attention been paid to him. as it was, he was glad when the party at last arose and while the rest of the company went to the theater, he was sent in the carriage home alone. at home, he found only servants and so went at once to the little room that was his own dur- ing his stay at the capital. here he threw himself down for awhile in a big armchair and gave himself up to thoughts that he had never had before, about roumania's past history, about the old-time ballads of heiduks and chieftains that he had heard in the mountains, and about what he had caught in the the capital of roumania conversation at the brilliant restaurant that night regarding roumania's future. even after he lay down on his bed he could not but wonder if roumania was yet to be a great nation, if transylvania now belonging to hungary, if bukovina now a part of austria, and perhaps bessarabia, though claimed by russia — all with a large roumanian popula- tion, would not be restored to her. finally he fell into a restless sleep in which he dreamed that he was already a man and fighting that those of his own blood might be rescued from foreign governments who despised them and tyrannized over them. "chapter xv the national dance when jonitza awoke he found black coffee and delicious white twists awaiting him. he dressed quickly that he might be in time for the hearty breakfast that follows. it was a holi- day, and so later he had a ride behind four horses abreast with his father, first along the sluggish dimbovitza river on which bukurest is situated, then into the hills to an old three- towered cathedral, one of the very few antiq- uities to be seen in bukurest. from here the city looked very attractive with its metal plated steeples and cupolas, its many squares and tree- lined avenues. then the horses carried them still further away to a neighboring hamlet with its pretty rustic vine-embowered houses, their dark roofs the national dance forming verandas on which clay benches invited one to rest. peasant women drawing water from wells by the wayside greeted them; chil- dren tending geese and pigs smiled at them, and a man building a wattled fence invited them into his little country house all blue and white. when they reached home and had had luncheon, jonitza found that the whole family but himself had been invited to some entertain- ment and that he was to be left with maritza and the servants. he had begun to yawn and to wonder how he would spend the day, when maritza solved the problem for him. "your mother said that i might take you to see the hora danced,” she announced. the hora is the roumanian national dance. “oh, good!” cried jonitza, throwing a book that he was holding up to the ceiling and catching it again. soon after, maritza's brother came for his the inic national dance words improvised by certain of the youths who were in charge of the dance for the day. others joined; the ring grew gigantic and then suddenly broke into two, each part with its set of leaders, while a shout of pleasurable excitement rent the air. jonitza enjoyed it all for quite a while and then began to yawn. as he turned to see if he could find anything else of interest his glance fell on a boy seated some distance away under a huge lime-tree. something about this boy made jonitza sit upright. suddenly he leaped to his feet, ran wildly forward, and put his hands over the other boy's eyes. “guess," he said in a muffled voice. in answer the other boy jumped up, over- throwing jonitza as he did so. it was nicolaia. for a moment both boys showed considerable emotion. “when did you come? are you going to stay in bukurest? where do you our little roumanian cousin live?” were some of the questions that jonitza hurled at his companion. nicolaia did his best to answer. “i came yesterday," he said, “to begin my apprentice- ship with my uncle. since to-day is friday and a holiday, uncle says that i am not to begin work till monday. he wants me to see a little of the city first.” “hurrah!” shouted jonitza, throwing up his cap. “where are you going to-morrow? ” " in the morning i'm going to go to market with auntie, so as to know how to buy. i'm to live with them and shall have to do all sorts of odd jobs at times.” jonitza grew thoughtful. “i'll try to see you there,” he said after a pause. "mother won't let me go alone anywhere here. i'm such a lovely child "- here he grinned —" she thinks some one might steal me. but perhaps i can go with one of the house servants or with maritza." the national dance “ i'll look for you," said nicolaia solemnly. then he added: “i was so tired of watching the old dance that i was amusing myself playing arshitza." here he stooped to pick up a sheep bone shaped like the figure eight, and some bits of lead. "what fun we used to have playing that at your house,” said jonitza with something like a sigh. “let's play it now.” nicolaia nodded and they settled down for a quiet time by themselves, each trying in turn to snap as many of the lead pieces as possible into the rings. later they sharpened a few sticks that they found and played another game called tzurka, not unlike our game of cat. then they lay down side by side on the grass and talked. all this time the music, singing, and dancing went on, as if none of those taking part in it knew what it was to get tired. it was only with the setting of the sun that it came to a stop. our little roumanian cousin neither of the boys would have known it, how- ever, so absorbed were they in a deep discus- sion, had not maritza found them. as she shook hands with nicolaia and looked at jonitza's animated face she roguishly asked, “did you like the dance ?" “why — yes —” responded jonitza quite unconscious of the twinkle in her eyes. “ it was splendid, wasn't it, nicolaia? i wish it could have lasted longer!” chapter xvi at the market it was not until he was alone with his mother that night that jonitza mentioned his desire to see nicolaia at the market on the morrow. his mother put her arms around him. “it is a long time since i've gone to market. suppose i go to-morrow morning and take you with me ?" “how good a mother is,” jonitza thought as he went to bed, “and how well she under- stands a boy." it was delightfully cool next morning when a touring car took them to what seemed a village of booths or stalls, presided over by gypsies, peasants and jews. nicolaia and his aunt were evidently look- ing out for them for they came up as the our little roumanian cousin car carriage stopped. mrs. popescu gave nicolaia a hearty handshake and then turning to his aunt asked for permission to keep the boy with them for the rest of the day. the aunt pointed to a basket over her arm, already filled with the purchases that she had wished nicolaia to help her make, and cheerfully gave her con- sent. then mrs. popescu made a gracious offer. “while the boys are enjoying the market together, will you not let me take you home in the car?". nicolaia's aunt was evidently surprised and somewhat embarrassed, but when she saw that the offer was sincerely meant, climbed in with her basket, remarking that it was the first time that she had ever been in “one of those things.” as the car drove off, jonitza grabbed nicolaia's hand and squeezing it, exclaimed: “ isn't this fine!” “bully!” returned nicolaia. “let's go from one end of the market to the other." "'will you not let me take you home in the car?'” at the market to show how entirely he intended agreeing with anything that his companion might sug- gest, jonitza, laughing, took hold of nicolaia's arm and pulled him rapidly forward. both came to a standstill where a heavily bearded man was measuring out rose leaves to be boiled into jam. near him was a stall with the bright pottery made by the peasants, while across the lane an old woman offered amulets of various kinds for sale. “buy one of these,” she urged the boys as their curious glances fell on her wares. “if not for yourselves, my dears, then for your mothers or sisters; what i have will surely protect them from evil.” the boys paid little attention to her words, but when she laid an arm on nicolaia he nudged jonitza with his elbow, said a few words in a low voice and both suddenly darted off, almost knocking down the boys and girls who were going in an opposite direction, carefully balanc- ing stone jars or baskets laden with fruit or our little roumanian cousin vegetables on their heads. they stopped again where food was offered for sale. there were melons and pumpkins, berries, dried fish, caviar, poultry, and bread booths, some of them with women in charge who were knit- ting or spinning, while waiting for custom- ers. “look who is behind me," nicolaia called out suddenly. jonitza turned hastily and saw a knife-grinder who, having caught the remark, made a grimace at the boys. they followed him to a booth, and after watching him for a few minutes, made their way to a place near by where all kinds of birds were for sale. "i must have one,” said jonitza, but when nico- laia could not help him decide whether it should be a parrot or a canary, he decided to postpone the purchase until another day. this bird stall was not far from another entrance than the one by which they had come. from it they could see numerous carts а our little roumanian cousin the boys stopped to count the strokes. as they ceased, nicolaia's face grew serious. it was half an hour past the time when they were to meet mrs. popescu. what would she say? but, when they found her, she did not give them a chance even to offer an excuse. “i know you're late and deserve a scolding, but how dare i scold you when i was ten minutes late myself? i do believe in punctuality, how- ever, for sometimes time is very precious, and i'm going to try not to ever have this happen again. what about yourselves?” “oh, we'll try to keep track of time here- after, dear mother,” jonitza answered both for himself and his friend, at the same time gratefully. pressing one of her hands under the laprobe. our little roumanian cousin ir heat, and the secure double windows treated the powerful wind with scorn. friends added the warmth of welcome, and jonitza was surprised to find how many boys there were of his own age right in his neighbor- hood. he stared at them as if he had never seen them before and they stared in equal sur- prise at him. “the fact is,” mr. popescu con- fided to the doctor, "we have brought back a new son." . there was one very bright boy in particular to whom jonitza was attracted largely because of some physical resemblance to nicolaia, and this boy's opinion came to have quite an influence over him. for instance when the question of resuming his studies under his former tutor came up, jonitza objected. “i want to go to the same school as dimitri,” he said. dimitri was the name of his new friend. “there's a teacher there that knows all sorts of things. besides, i want to study and work good-by with other boys. how can i tell whether i'm stupid or dull unless i do?”. " i'm afraid i am bringing up a democrat!” his father exclaimed half jokingly when he had given his consent. he had reason to think so in earnest before the winter was over for his son took part in all kinds of sports and picked his associates without regard to the class to which they belonged. some of mrs. popescu's relatives and friends did not hesitate to voice their disapproval. once they made mr. popescu think that he must interfere, but for- tunately before he did he ran across his friend the doctor. “your advice has done wonders for our boy,” he said to him, “but —” and in a lowered tone he repeated some of the criti- cisms. the doctor gave his cheery laugh. “let them criticize," he said. “be thankful that your son acts as a normal boy should act; that ran across our little roumanian cousin he chooses his associates for what they are worth, not for what they can spend. take my word for it,” he added impressively, “ class distinctions that have counted so much with some of us, are going to be abolished in our country as well as in many another, and that soon, even if it takes the great war to abolish them." jonitza had made up his mind that nicolaia must spend the christmas holidays with them, and mrs. popescu was anxious to gratify this wish. but at first it seemed that this would be impossible. it was fortunate perhaps that mr. popescu had a business trip to make to bukurest and so could use a little of his per- sonal influence. that this had some weight was shown when he returned on december accompanied by nicolaia. jonitza had given up all hopes of having his friend with him and so was doubly pleased. he resolved to do everything he could to make . sa something carefully covered with a sheet was carried mysteriously into jonitza's room” good-by the time enjoyable for him, and begged dimi- tri's interest and assistance. “will your parents let you join me in carol singing ?” was dimitri's first question. “mother will, if nicolaia would like it," replied jonitza with confidence. “then,” said dimitri, “ i'll come to your house this afternoon and we'll plan things." when dimitri came he was told that mrs. popescu had given her consent and the boys retired to a shed to work secretly at the prep- arations. they were evidently quite elaborate, for jonitza visited the house for supplies sev- eral times. by supper time something care- fully covered with a sheet was carried mys- teriously into jonitza's room where a hiding place was found for it. on christmas eve dimitri was invited over for supper. maritza herself prepared a spe- cial dish called turte for the occasion. this our little roumanian cousin consisted of thin dry wafers of dough covered with honey. after the meal the boys hurried to jonitza's room. when they came out it was hard to recognize them. each had on a mask, a long gown, and a high hat of colored paper. nicolaia held a wooden star adorned with little bells. the center of this star was a rep- resentation of the manger, and was illuminated from behind. they took their stand in the hallway where they sang christmas carols, some of which ended by wishing much prosperity to the house- hold, “for many years, for many years.” then dimitri led the way to other homes, where he knew they would be welcomed. before the christmas festivities came to an end, jonitza and dimitri planned something far more elaborate. it was to act out a peculiar good-by traditional drama for some of the poorest chil- dren of the town. mrs. popescu lent her assistance and it turned out a great success. the name of the drama was irozi, showing that it had something to do with the time of herod. there were seven boys besides jon- itza, nicolaia and dimitri who took part in it. the principal characters were a grumbling herod, some roman officers, and three magi in oriental costumes, a child, a clown, and an old man. the plot is quite simple. a roman officer brings news to herod (who was impersonated by jonitza), that three men have been caught going to bethlehem to adore the new-born christ. entering, they hold a long dialogue with herod, who at last orders them to be cast into prison. they, however, implore god to punish their persecutor. as they do so, strange noises are heard. these frighten herod who begs forgiveness and lets the men go free. our little roumanian cousin as & later a child comes in and prophesies the future of the messiah. as the child proceeds, herod's rage increases until he strikes the child dead. at this all present unite in reproaches until herod sinks to his knees and implores forgiveness. the success of the play was largely due to two characters whose antics pleased the little ones. one of these was the clown (nicolaia), and the other was an old man who was in every- body's way (dimitri). this latter had a mask with a long beard on his face, a hunched back, and wore heavy boots and a sheepskin mantle with the wool on the outside. when the much applauded play came to an end, refreshments were passed around and afterwards the children sent home with their hands filled with gifts of various kinds. in such gayeties the holidays soon passed. on the very last day of the year nicolaia left for home, and as jonitza and dimitri saw him good-by to the train they anticipated the new year by throwing grains of corn at him and repeating the old time roumanian greeting: "may you live and flourish like the trees of the garden and be blessed like them with all things plentiful.” the end selections from the page company's books for young people the blue bonnet series each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . $ . a texas blue bonnet by caroline e. jacobs. “ the book's heroine, blue bonnet, has the very finest kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness.”—chicagn inter-ocean. blue bonnet's ranch party by caroline e. jacobs and edyth ellerbeck read. “a healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every chapter.”—boston transeript. blue bonnet in boston; or, boarding- school days at miss north's. by caroline e. jacobs and lela horn richards. “it is bound to become popular because of its whole- someness and its many human touches.”—boston globe. blue bonnet keeps house; or, the new home in the east. by caroline e. jacobs and lela horn richards. “ it cannot fail to prove fascinating to girls in their teens.”—new york sun. blue bonnet - dÉbutante by lela horn richards. an interesting picture of the unfolding of life for blue bonnete a- the page company's the young pioneer series by harrison adams each mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . . . $ . the pioneer boys of the ohio; or, clearing the wilderness. “ such books as this are an admirable means of stimu- lating among the young americans of to-day interest in the story of their pioneer ancestors and the early days of the republic.” — boston globe. the pioneer boys on the great lakes; or, on the trail of the iroquois. “the recital of the daring deeds of the frontier is not only interesting but instructive as well and shows the sterling type of character which these days of self-reliance and trial produced.” — american tourist, chicago. the pioneer boys of the mississippi; or, the homestead in the wilderness. “ the story is told with spirit, and is full of adven- ture.”—new york sun. the pioneer boys of the missouri; or, in the country of the sioux. “ vivid in style, vigorous in movement, full of dramatic situations, true to historic perspective, this story is a capital one for boys.”—watchman examiner, new york city. the pioneer boys of the yellow- stone; or, lost in the land of wonders. “there is plenty of lively adventure and action and the story is well told.”—duluth herald, duluth, minn. the pioneer boys of the columbia; or, in the wilderness of the great north west. “ the story is full of spirited action and contains much valuable historical information."-boston herald. a- books for young people r. the hadley hall series by louise m. breitenbach each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . . . $ . alma at hadley hall “ the author is to be congratulated on having written such an appealing book for girls.” – detroit free press. alma's sophomore year " it cannot fail to appeal to the lovers of good things in girls' books." — boston herald. alma's junior year “the diverse characters in the boarding-school are strongly drawn, the incidents are well developed and the action is never dull.” — the boston herald. alma's senior year . * incident abounds in all of miss breitenbach's stories and a healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every chapter." - boston transcript. the girls of friendly terrace series by harriet lummis smith each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . . $ . 'the girls of friendly terrace “a book sure to please girl readers, for the author seems to understand perfectly the girl character." — boston globe. peggy raymond's vacation it is a wholesome, hearty story.”—utica observer. peggy raymond's school days the book is delightfully written, and contains lots of exciting incidents. a- the page company's famous leaders series by charles h. l. johnston each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . : : $ . famous cavalry leaders “more of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers with historical personages in a pleasant, informal way.” — new york sun. . “ it is a book that will stir the heart of every boy and will prove interesting as well to the adults." - lawrence daily world. famous indian chiefs “mr. johnston has done faithful work in this volume, and his relation of battles, sieges and struggles of these famous indians with the whites for the possession of america is a worthy addition to united states history.” - new york marine journal. famous scouts " it is the kind of a book that will have a great fascina- tion for boys and young men, and while it entertains them it will also present valuable information in regard to those who have left their impress upon the history of the country." — the new london day. famous privateersmen and adven- turers of the sea " the tales are more than merely interesting; they are entrancing, stirring the blood with thrilling force and bringing new zest to the never-ending interest in the dramas of the sea." - the pittsburgh post. famous frontiersmen and heroes of the border this book is devoted to a description of the adventur- ous lives and stirring experiences of many pioneer heroes who were prominently identified with the opening of the great west. “ the accounts are not only authentic, but distinctly readable, making a book of wide appeal to all who love the history of actual adventure.” – cleveland leader. a- books for young people hildegarde - margaret series by laura e. richards eleven volumes the hildegarde-margaret series, beginning with “queen hildegarde” and ending with * the merry- weathers,” make one of the best and most popular series of books for girls ever written. each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . the eleven volumes boxed as a set . . . $ . list of titles queen hildegarde hildegarde's holiday hildegarde's home hildegarde's neighbors . $ . hildegarde's harvest three margarets margaret montfort peggy rita fernley house the merryweathers a- the page company's the captain january series by laura e. richards each mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . cents captain january a charming idyl of new england coast life, whose success has been very remarkable. same. illustrated holiday edition . same, french text. illustrated holiday edition . ; . . . . . $ . melody: the story of a child. same. illustrated holiday edition . . $ . marie a companion to “ melody” and “captain january." rosin the beau a sequel to “melody” and “marie.” snow-white; or, the house in the wood. jim of hellas; or, in durance vile, and a companion story, bethesda pool. narcissa and a companion story, in verona, being two de- lightful short stories of new england life. “some say" and a companion story, neighbors in cyrus. nautilus “nautilus' is by far the best product of the author's powers, and is certain to achieve the wide success it so richly merits.” isla heron this interesting story is written in the author's usual charming manner. the little master “a well told, interesting tale of a high character." california gateway gazette. *the page company's the boys' story of the railroad series by burton e. stevenson each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . . . $ . the young section - hand; or, the ad- ventures of allan west. “a thrilling story, well told, clean and bright. the whole range of section railroading is covered in the story, and it contains information as well as interest." - chicago post. the young train dispatcher “a vivacious account of the varied and often hazard- ous nature of railroad life, full of incident and adventure, in which the author has woven admirable advice about honesty, manliness, self-oulture, good reading, and the secrets of success." – congregationalist. the young train master >>“ it is a book that can be unreservedly commended to anyone who loves a good, wholesome, thrilling, informing yarn." - passaic news. the young apprentice; or, allan west's chum. " the story is intensely interesting, and one gains an intimate knowledge of the methods and works in the great car shops not easily gained elsewhere." — baltimore sun. " it appeals to every boy of enterprising spirit, and at the same time teaches him some valuable lessons in honor, pluck, and perseverance." – cleveland plain dealer. “the lessons that the books teach in development of uprightness, honesty and true manly character are sure to appeal to the reader." - the american boy. a- books for young people (trade mark) the little colonel books by annie fellows johnston each large mo, cloth, illustrated, per volume . $ . the little colonel stories (trade mark) being three “ little colonel ” stories in the cosy corner series,“ the little colonel," "two little knights of kentucky,” and “ the giant scissors,” in a single volume. the little colonel's house party .(trade mark) the little colonel's holidays (trade mark) the little colonel's hero (trade mark) the little colonel at boarding- (trade mark) • school the little colonel in arizona (trade mark) the little colonel's christmas (trade mark) vacation the little colonel, maid of honor (trade mark) the little colonel's knight comes (trade mark) riding mary ware: the little colonel's (trade mark) chum mary ware in texas mary ware's promised land these twelve volumes, boxed as a set, $ . . a- the page company's special holiday editions each small quarto, cloth decorative, per volume . $ . new plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. the little colonel (trade mark) two little knights of kentucky the giant scissors big brother the johnston jewel series each small mo, cloth decorative, with frontispiece and decorative text borders, per volume . net $ . in the desert of waiting: the legend of camelback mountain. the three weavers: a fairy tale for fathers and mothers as well as for their daughters. keeping tryst: a tale of king arthur's time. the legend of the bleeding heart the rescue of princess winsome: a fairy play for old and young. the jester's sword the little colonel's good times book uniform in size with the little colonel series . $ . bound in white kid (morocco) and gold .' net . cover design and decorations by peter verberg. “ a mighty attractive volume in which the owner may record the good times she has on decorated pages, and under the directions as it were of annie fellows john- ston." - buffalo express. a- books for young people the little colonel doll book – first series quarto, boards, printed in colors . . . $ . a series of “little colonel ” dolls. each has several changes of costume, so they can be appropriately clad for the rehearsal of any scene or incident in the series. the little colonel doll book - second series quarto, boards, printed in colors . . • $ . an artistic series of paper dolls, including not only lovable mary ware, the little colonel's chum, but many another of the much loved characters which appear in the last three volumes of the famous “little colonel series." asa holmes by annie fellows johnston. with a frontispiece by ernest fosbery. mo, cloth decorative, gilt top polinie, • . "asa holmes' is the most delightful, most sympa- $ . thetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while.” — boston times. travelers five: along life's high- way by annie fellows johnston. with an introduction by bliss carman, and a frontis- piece by e. h. garrett. mo, cloth decorative . . $ . “ mrs. johnston broadens her reputation with this book so rich in the significance of common things." — boston advertiser. joel: a boy of galilee by annie fellows johnston. mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $ . “ the book is a very clever handling of the greatest event in the history of the world." - rochester, n. y., herald. a- tiie page company's o the boys' story of the army series sy florence kimball russel born to the blue mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . • $ . “the story deserves warm commendation and genuine popularity.”-army and navy register. in west point gray mo, cloth decorative, illustrated .. “one of the best books that deals with west point.” new york sun. from chevrons to shoulder- straps mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $ . “ the life of a cadet at west point is portrayed very realistically.”—the hartford post, hartford, conn. doctor's little girl series by marion ames taggart each large mo, cloth, illustrated, per volume, $ . the doctor's little girl “a charming story of the ups and downs of the life of a dear little maid.”—the churchman. sweet nancy: the further adventures of the doctor's little girl. “just the sort of book to amuse, while its influence cannot but be elevating.”—new york sun. nancy, the doctor's little partner “the story is sweet and fascinating, such as many girls of wholesome tastes will enjoy.”-springfield union. nancy porter's opportunity “nancy shows throughout that she is a splendid young woman, with plenty of pluck.”—boston globe. nancy and the coggs twins “ the story is refreshing."-new york sriram a-- the page company's historical books the boys of ' ; or, four years of fighting. by charles carleton coffin. standard edition. an entirely new edition, cloth deco- rative, vo, with nearly two hundred illustrations, $ . popular edition. cloth decorative, mo, with eight illustrations . . . . . . $ . a record of personal observation with the army and navy, from the battle of bull run to the fall of rich- mond. the boys of ; and other naval heroes. by james russell soley. cloth decorative, vo, illustrated . $ . “the book is full of stirring incidents and adven- tures.”—boston herald. the sailor boys of ' by james russell soley. cloth decorative, vo, illustrated . : $ . “ it is written with an enthusiasm that never allows the interest to slacken.”—the call, newark, n. j. boys of fort schuyler by james otis. cloth decorative, square mo, illustrated . $ . “ it is unquestionably one of the best historical indian stories ever written.”—boston herald. famous war stories by charles carleton coffin each cloth decorative, mo, illustrated, per vol., $ . winning his way a story of a young soldier in the civil war. my days and nights on the bat- tlefield a story of the battle of bull run and other battles in kentucky, tennessee, and on the mississippi. following the flag a story of the army of the potomac in the civil war. a- books for young people stories of newsboy life by james otis each mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . . $ . jenny wren's boarding house “ distinctively a story of newsboy life in new york, and mr. otis very quickly finds his way to the sensitive and loving heart that beats under the ragged and torn coat of the little boy who is untiring in his efforts to sell his papers and thereby earn a mere pittance to sustain life." — boston herald. teddy and carrots; or, two merchants of newspaper row. his newsboys are real and wide-awake, and his story abounds with many exciting scenes and graphic incidents. the boys' revolt a story of the street arabs of new york. “ this is the story of a strike of bootblack boys in the city of new york and it contains stirring scenes and incidents." — the christian register. jerry's family the story of a street waif of new york. it is written in the author's best vein, the scene being one in which he has won many brilliant successes, i.e., picturing life among the street arabs of new york. the princess and joe potter “the secret of the author's success lies in his wonder- ful sympathy with the aspirations of child-life, his truth- ful delineation of life among the children who act as his object lessons.” – new york sun. larry hudson's ambition “ the book is written with brisk and deft cleverness.” - new york sun. : “an attractive story, with a healthy outdoor atmos- phere." —new york commercial advertiser a- books for young people the little cousin series (trade mark) each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in tint. cloth, mo, with decorative cover, per volume, cents list of titles by mary hazelton wade, mary f. nixon-roulet, blanche mcmanus, clara v. winlow, florence e. mendel and others our little african cousin our little hungarian cousin our little alaskan cousin our little indian cousin our little arabian cousin our little irish cousin our little argentine cousin our little italian cousin our little armenian cousin our little japanese cousin our little australian cousin our little jewish cousin our little austrian cousin our little korean cousin our little belgian cousin our little malayan (brown) our little boer cousin cousin our little bohemian cousin our little nexican cousin our little brazilian cousin our little norwegian cousin our little bulgarian cousin our little panama cousin our little canadian cousin our little persian cousin our little chinese cousin our little philippine cousin our little cossack cousin our little polish cousin our little cuban cousin our little porto rican cousin our little danish cousin our little portuguese cousin our little dutch cousin our little russian cousin our little igyptian cousin our little scotch cousin our little english cousin our little servian cousia our little eskimo cousin our little siam os. cousin our little french cousin our little spanish cousin our little german cousin our little swedish cousin our little grecian cousin our little swiss cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little turkish cousin our little hindu cousin a- the page company's the little cousins of long ago series the voiumes in this series describe the boys and girls of ancient times. each small mo, cloth decorative, illustrated c. our little athenian cousin of long ago by julia darrow cowles. our little carthaginian cousin of long ago by clara v. winlow. our little macedonian cousin of long ago by julia darrow cowles. our little norman cousin of long ago by evaleen stein. our little roman cousin of long ago by julia darrow cowles. our little saxon cousin of long ago by julia darrow cowles. our little spartan cousin of long ago by julia darrow cowles. our little viking cousin of long ago by charles h. l. johnston. in preparation our little pompeiian cousin of long ago a- the burke library office trade mark rec. . i * | artin | ^ our little armenian cousin ^ * * „ * by * & mary hazelton wade *! * * jjj illustrated by ^ • * l. j. bridgman * * * % * < . f t boston ^ l. c. page & company ^ -i* publishers * .v. *• % * * * $ *:$ * * * * m$' * *> * * * copyright, /goj c. page & company (incorporated) by l. all rights reserved published may, third impression, july, fourth impression, march, preface in the schoolroom or playground you may possibly have met your armenian cousin, — a child with dark hair and sad eyes, who is quiet and shy, and who seems almost fearful of accepting your proffered friendship. poor little armenian cousin! have you heard your parents speak of the cruel manner in which the people of his country have been treated and of the hardships they suffer in their own home? it can scarcely be called a homjgjsafjbr it is ruled over by the sultan of t«ffey, who allows little happiness or freedom <£b* ie people he has conquered. v vi preface "there is no such country as armenia," says the turk. "that which was armenia is now a province of turkey, governed by turkish laws and ruled by officers appointed by the sultan." its people are not even allowed to come and go as they choose. nothing can be done without the ruler's permission. the smallest offence is punished in the severest manner, and many massacres of innocent people have taken place. it is no wonder our armenian cousins are glad to leave their native land when a chance is offered, and that many of them come to america in search of a happier and more peaceful home. their faces tell us they have suffered much. we must help them to forget their troubles. our love and friendship must be strong enough to bring smiles to their faces and trust to their hearts. preface the world is great and good. here in america, if not in their native land, our armenian cousins may yet find a real home and lasting happiness. contents chapter •*>'' i. a highland winter .... ii. the sacred land m iii. the earthquake iv. the visitors .... v. hunting wild sheep ... - vi. queer animals . . - vii. sights in the great city . . . list of illustrations fags "artin patted the sheep" (seepage ) frontispiece climbing mount ararat "the old lady went on, speaking quite slowly" •"many caravans pass through armenia,m . laz hunters in erzeroum artin our little armenian cousin chapter i. a highland winter "look! look! see the shower of snow," cried artin. "there is enough snow outside, without having any more in the house," said his mother. but she stopped her work and came out into the hall to see the strange sight. it was early morning and artin had just opened the door leading into the yard. the weather was bitter cold, and as the door swung open the freezing air rushed into the big build- ing. it gave the warm air of the inside a most loving greeting. then lo! a cloud of snow- our little armenian cousin fairies appeared and came fluttering down upon the rough floor. artin stood watching them as if he had never seen snow before in his life. "the world is full of wonders. but come, artin, and help your father with his cattle. breakfast will soon be ready." the mother went back to her work and artin went out into the big stable, where his father and the other men were milking. it was a queer home, where this little black- haired boy had lived ever since he was born. the stable and the house were all together. you could hardly say, "this is where the cattle are kept, and the family live in that part." a large part of the building was used as a stable, while small rooms for housekeeping opened out from it. and yet, the family spent a good deal of their time in the stable itself. artin's father received his friends here. a highland winter they smoked and told stories, and talked over their business, while the oxen chewed their cuds and lazily nodded their heads. the boy's mother often brought her sewing or knitting out here and sat with her hus- band. at first, this custom of living in a stable with the cattle seems strange, but so do all fashions which are unlike ours. artin's father is quite a rich man. before his little son was born, he used to live in a smaller home. but his flocks of sheep grew larger, and his herds of cattle also. he said: "i do not have room enough here." he hired some workmen, who began to dig out the soil on a gentle slope of land which he owned. they dug out a large space of ground. it was like a cellar about five feet deep. it was a long time before the work was done. but this was only the beginning of the home. our little armenian cousin "you must get some stout trunks of trees and saw them into pieces ten or twelve feet long," said the farmer. "we will set them up in rows inside of the cellar. they will make strong pillars." you can see now that artin's home would be largely underground, but would be very strong. when the pillars had been set up, stone walls were built around the sides of the cellar. next came the making of the roof. the branches of the trees, whose trunks had already been used, were laid across from pillar to pillar. the twigs were tied up in bunches and spread over the branches. of course, the roof was not yet so close but that rain would fall through into the rooms beneath. the building of it, however, had only commenced. . the men now took the earth they had dug out of the ground when they made the cellar, and spread it over the a highland winter framework of twigs and branches. they trod it down as hard as possible. then came another layer of earth, and more pounding and treading. now that this was done, there would be no possible leaking for years to come. when warm days of summer came, seeds began to sprout, and blades of grass shot up out of this earth-roof. it was soon like a fine field of grass. the children played here, and the sheep got many a delicious supper over the heads of the people below. it wasn't a bad way of building a home, was it? yet it does seem queer to us. but how could the sheep get up on the roof? at first, that would seem to puzzle you. you must remember the building was put up on sloping land. it was also partly under- ground. besides this, as the loose earth was thrown up on the roof, it was left in a sort of our little armenian cousin banking from the ground to the roof on three sides of the building. the sheep, as well as the children, could scamper up and down the banking, to and from the roof, as much as they pleased. "but, dear me! how could the people inside of that big building see to do the work?" you exclaim. "there were no windows on the sides of the house." indeed, there were only three or four small openings in the roof. and these were covered with oiled paper, so they let in very little light. if we should look closely, we should see one place in which a piece of real glass was set. it would be a sad day for the boy who broke that glass. it was very precious and cost a good deal of money in the part of the world where artin lives. his home was dark, to be sure, and he stayed in the stable a great deal of the time during the long, cold winter. but he got used a highland winter to it and it did not trouble him. indeed, after he had been outdoors for a long time, he was glad to get away from the dazzling light of the sun on the snow. as artin stepped into the stable, a big fat sheep ran to meet him. it rubbed its woolly side against the boy, as much as to say, — "good morning, good morning, little mas- ter." artin patted the sheep and scratched its back. it was his pet out of all the flock. when it was a baby lamb, he picked it out from all the others. he taught it to follow him, and often fed it with tender grass or bits of bread. it was an old sheep now, but was as much of a pet as ever. it often left the rest of the flock to follow artin or his father from place to place. in the winter-time, when the ani- mals had to spend month after month in the stable, it chose the company of the horses. our little armenian cousin "they are wise creatures, and i like them," it seemed to think. "we are very good friends." as soon as artin had petted the sheep, he turned to the dogs who came jumping about him. "bow-wow! bow-wow! how glad we are to see you, little master," they seemed to say. they barked and waved their tails in great delight. they made such a fuss that the chickens, who had already begun to scratch about for their breakfast, fled right and left. they were in a hurry to get out of the reach of the dogs' feet. the big stable was dark, of course. but it was quite comfortable, although only a small fire was kept in the family part. there were so many cows and oxen and sheep and horses that their warm bodies gave a great deal of heat. a highland winter as soon as the dogs became quiet and went back to their places, artin felt something soft rubbing against his legs. it was a sober old cat that had come down from the platform at the end of the stable. she wished to greet artin, too. she had left a new family of kittens, but she now hurried back to see that no harm came to them. artin followed her up on to the platform to her hiding-place in one corner. "oh, how lovely!" he cried, as he knelt down on the floor where two of the most beau- tiful white kittens were cuddled. they were snowy white, without a coloured hair on them. their fur was long and fine. their eyes were not yet open. "what beauties they are!" cried artin, as he tenderly held them in his arms. their mother looked up at him and cried. "no, no, i won't hurt them. and the dogs sha'n't trouble them, either," said the io our little armenian cousin little boy. he put them back in the corner and turned softly away. "i believe they are even prettier than my angora kittens," he said to himself. "they are as white as snow. the angora kittens have long hair, too, but it is brownish. and they are not as gentle as these will be. they are fierce and ready for a battle with the dogs at almost any time." the platform where the cats spent most of their time was the place where artin's father received his friends. there were fine carpets on the floor and soft couches along the sides. there was a rail around it so the cattle and sheep were kept off. the dogs had their dens beneath. the cats were the only animals that were allowed to come there. "you are late. you ought to have been helping us half an hour ago," said his father, as the boy appeared at last among the milkers. a highland winter n the farmer did not often need to find fault with his little son. artin was strong and healthy. he liked to work, and was seldom behindhand. "breakfast! breakfast!" artin's sister, mariam, called a little while afterward. the milking had been finished by this time. every one dropped work and followed the little girl to the room where the morning meal was smoking on the low table. there was hot mutton in a metal dish, and curdled milk, and a plentiful amount of "losh," as artin calls the favourite bread of his people. his mother had made it in thin cakes. they were scarcely thicker than the blade of a knife, but were at least a yard long. the table was fairly covered with these cakes, which took the place of napkins. while artin sat eating, he wiped his mouth with a bit of losh. when he wished some of our little armenian cousin the curdled milk, he broke off a piece of losh and folded it up so as to make a spoon with which he fed himself. when he helped him- self to some mutton, he rolled it up in a strip of losh and made an odd little sandwich. artin was very fond of this queer bread, and ate large quantities of it, while he made it useful in eating the other food to which he was helped. artin's grandmother lived with the family. so, also, did his great-grandmother, who was a bright-looking woman a hundred years old! she was almost as spry as her daughter. she had helped to get the breakfast ready on this cold winter's morning. "there is nothing like the fine air of our country," she often said. "how can a person help keeping well and strong if he lives here?" then she would sigh as she thought of those of her people who had left armenia to live in other lands. a highland winter "it is not because they wished to go away," she had told artin. "oh, no, no! it was because of the rule of the cruel turks." she always spoke in a whisper when she mentioned the turks. it seemed as though she feared that one of them were listening in some corner, or that he would suddenly appear in the doorway. chapter ii. the sacred land "mother, why can't i talk about armenia as much as i wish? it is the name of our country, and it sounds like music when i say it to myself." "sh! sh! my child!" artin's mother looked frightened. she always had a sad expression in her dark eyes, but now they seemed sadder than ever. "i have tried to make you understand the reason," she said, speaking slowly and softly. "you know the sultan of turkey has us in his power. he rules over us as he wishes, and we are not strong enough to free ourselves. "it is the sultan's command that we shall not speak of armenia. 'there is no such the sacred land place,' he says. 'the land that was called by that name belongs to me. it is a province of my empire. its people are now my people.'" the tears fell from the woman's eyes as she said these words. "oh, artin, my child^ i hope we shall live to see the time when other countries will come to help us. it is the only way to save our fatherland from fhe sultan's wicked power." "but, mother, our people were not always like this, were they ?" asked artin. "no, indeed. we once had kings of our own and we were free and happy. just think, artin, the first christian king in the whole world was an armenian. "but our home lies here in southwestern asia, with enemies on every hand. the per- sians are on one side of us, the turks on the other. then, if we go north, the great coun- try of russia lies just across the black sea. "the armies of these different peoples have our little armenian cousin met and fought their battles here in our own dear land. it has been conquered first by one of them, then by another. our courage is gone. our spirit is quite broken." "do not cry, mother. let us ask father to go away. i should like to cross the ocean and go to the wonderful country of america. some of our friends are living there, you know. they write letters about their happy new home." "i know it, artin, i know it. but this land is the only home i can imagine. i love it with all my heart. i cannot bear to think of leaving it. "always remember, my dear child, this land was the cradle of all the peoples of the earth." "you are thinking of the garden of eden, aren't you, mother?" "yes, artin. we are only a few miles from the very spot where adam and eve had their first home. that is what we have been the sacred land told. our first parents lived in perfect happi- ness in that paradise of birds and flowers until the tempter led them into sin. they tasted the wondrous apples that were not meant for them to eat. "then, alas! the sorrow of the world began. adam and eve were driven out from the garden. they now had to work among the thorns and thistles of armenia for their daily living." "i don't wonder you would rather live here than anywhere else. who knows but what the garden of eden will be given back to us! i would like to be as near it as possible, at any rate," said artin. as his mother talked, it seemed as though he could see it all, — the beautiful paradise of fruits and flowers, the birds singing happily overhead, the bright, clear sunshine all around. and in the midst of all this loveliness were two people, a man and a woman. their faces i d our little armenian cousin were calm and gentle. they walked gaily, as though they knew no care. they sang merrily in company with the birds. there was no cloud in the sky. there was no shadow on the earth. then came the change, and sorrow entered the world because of disobedience. "it has stayed here ever since. i wonder if the golden age will ever come again," thought artin. "there is something else for us to be proud of," his mother went on. "if you climb to the top of yonder mountain, what can you, see beyond?" "mount ararat," quickly replied the boy. "i'd rather be near that mountain than any other in the world." "of course you would, artin. it is im- possible to think of it without also thinking of noah, who descended on the mountain of ararat in the ark when the great flood began the sacred land to go down. when the world was overtaken by the deluge, every one was destroyed except noah and his family and the creatures he had taken with him into the ark." "why was there a deluge, mother?" "because the people of the earth had grown very wicked. but noah was good and wise, and the lord loved him. so he directed noah to build the ark and save himself at the time of the rising of the waters." "what a dreadful time it must have been! i wonder if noah wasn't frightened. and i should think so many animals in the ark would have made a fearful noise. just think of it! the bible says the flood lasted forty days and forty nights!" "it seems a long time, doesn't it? but at last the waters began to go down and the ark rested on the mountain of ararat. more and more land was laid bare, and noah left the ark and went down the mountainside. he o our little armenian cousin planted a vineyard and settled there. but first, he built an altar and made sacrifices to god, who had kept him safe." "i know, mother. there is a village on the side of ararat, and the little church stands where the altar was built. father has been to the place." "yes, dear. i have visited the village myself. i have heard there are people in the world who don't believe there ever was a deluge. they even think noah was not a real man. they say the story is a myth. "some of those who travel through our country talk like that. but we people of armenia believe it as i have told you this morning." at this moment the door opened and artin's father came staggering into the room. "dear me! what is the matter?" cried his wife as she hurried to his side. "i cannot see," he answered. "i am snow- our little armenian cousin seldom seen. but up on the high plain the winters were long and cold and the summers were short. artin was never sick. he had never had a doctor. "i wonder if i shall live to be as old as my great-grandmother," he sometimes thought. "ever so many of my people live to be a hundred years old. father says it is because this is the healthiest place in the world. it is the nicest and best place, anyway." after he had gone out into the stable to take care of the horse, his sister soon followed him. "grandma just told me a story, artin, and i thought you would like to hear it," she said to her brother. she was very fond of artin, and the boy and girl played together most of the time. "don't you know we were talking about geese the other day?" she went on. "you the sacred land said you wondered what made the difference between wild geese and tame ones. well, this is what the persians say about them: "once upon a time there were two geese who were going to take a journey together. the evening before they started, one of them said to the other: "' look out, dear friend, and be ready. if god is willing, i will start in the morning.' "' so will i,' answered the other goose, 'whether god is willing or not.' "early the next morning the pious goose ate his breakfast and went to a stream near by for a drink. then he spread his wings and flew far away. "the goose who had talked so wickedly got ready to follow him. but, strange to say, he found he could not rise from the ground. "he hopped and he fluttered, and he made a great deal of fuss. it was all in vain. his wings were useless. our little armenian cousin "he looked around in despair. he saw a hunter not far away, but he could not move enough to get out of his reach. "the hunter soon caught him and carried him away. he kept him in a yard and tamed him. but that goose never got back the power to use his wings. he became the father of all the tame geese in the world." "poor fellow," said artin. "i pity him, even if he did talk wickedly. but your story makes me think of a crane i saw last summer in a neighbour's yard. "a hunter had shot him, but it did no harm to the bird except to break a wing. he was easily caught after that. then the hunter brought him to our neighbour's farmyard. "he stalked about very proudly, as much as to say: 'what business have you to make me stay here with common fowls? a lordly crane like me! shame upon you!' "but after awhile he became quiet, and the sacred land ate corn with the rest of the fowls. of course, he had a deep jug of water to drink from, on account of his long bill. he did not have to share that with the other creatures of the barn- yard, at any rate. "i was over there one day when a flock of cranes flew by overhead. they wheeled round and round as they caught sight of their brother below, and called to him to join them. he stretched up his long neck and answered them in the most mournful way. i think he was telling them that he was a prisoner." "i wonder if they understood him," said mariam. "it seemed as though they did. they flew away, and the poor prisoner was left alone. i felt sorry for him, i can tell you." chapter iii. the earthquake artin and mariam were sitting by the big fireplace of a small sitting-room. they were reading. it was not very late in the afternoon, but the iron lamp hanging from the chimney- piece was already lighted. the tiny windows covered with oiled paper let in so little light that the children could not read without the help of the lamp. mariam looked up from her book. "i was just reading such a funny story, artin," she said. "it was about a little girl who lived in a house like ours. she was all alone in the kitchen one evening. her mother had told her to watch the supper, for the earthquake she had some work to do in another part of the house. "the little girl was sitting by the fireplace and singing. the kettle was boiling away at a great rate. "suddenly the girl heard a sound over- head. somebody was on the roof! it was winter-time, and dark, too. she said: * that cannot be the sheep or dogs.' "a moment afterward she felt sure that the flat stone on top of the chimney had been lifted off, for she felt a gust of cold air. "she began to be frightened, for there was no one else in the part of the house where she was. "but she was a good deal more scared when she saw a crooked stick come slowly down the chimney. it fished around till it caught hold of the handle of the kettle and slowly lifted it up out of sight. our little armenian cousin "when it was entirely gone the child began to scream with all her might. her mother came hurrying into the room, exclaiming, * what is the matter with the child!' at the same time she looked at the fireplace and saw that the kettle was missing. "as soon as the little girl could speak she told what had happened. "' ah, ha!' exclaimed her mother. 'some hungry thief has stolen my nice supper. it was easy enough, too. the chimney is so low, he did not have to reach very far. if i had been here, though, he shouldn't have had it. but stop your crying, my child. no one is hurt. and now we must hurry to get another supper ready.'" artin laughed. "i hope the thief didn't burn his mouth eating the stolen stew. didn't the people ever catch him?" "no one tried. the little girl's mother said it wasn't worth while. and when the the earthquake second supper had been cooked, and the family sat down to enjoy it, everybody laughed over what had happened." "do you remember what i found on our chimney last spring, mariam?" "i don't think i'll forget it very soon, artin. it was a stork's nest. the funniest part of it was that sparrows had built their own little nests among the sticks that formed the big nest of the storks. you know you showed it to me." "i'd like to know what sparrows were made for, mariam. they are such fussy, noisy little things. they scold and scold about every- thing." "yes, and they are such bold birds. they are always ready to steal the grain, as well as every other good thing they can seize in their bills. i do not wonder they dare to build their homes around the storks' nests. they dare almost anything." our little armenian cousin just then the children's great-grandmother entered the room. "won't you tell us a story? we love to hear about long ago," said artin, as the old lady sat down. "dear me! what can i say that would interest you children?" "tell about the earthquake," said mariam. "you said once that you remembered it as if it happened yesterday." "and it was more than sixty years ago. what a long time that is!" exclaimed artin. "yet when it happened, i was a grown woman with a family of little children," said the old lady. "everything seemed as usual on the morn- ing of the earthquake. i went about my work and the children played as happily as could be. but when the afternoon came, i began to feel strange. i could not understand why. "the air became still and gloomy. the the earthquake children came to my side with sober little faces. they felt something, too. but what was it? "all at once i heard a low, rumbling noise. it grew louder every moment. the house trembled and shook. dust from the plastered walls filled the air about me. i choked and coughed. the children began to cry and sob. "' the earth is moving, mardma,' they cried. 'aren't you afraid?' "i could hardly speak from fear, myself, but i managed to say,' god is everywhere, my darlings.' "just then there was a crash. a part of the house had fallen in. "and now the room where we were shook and rocked to and fro, and the air was filled with a fearful rumbling and roaring. the strangest thing about it was that there was no wind outside. it seemed as though the world were stifling. "then came another crash, and another. our little armenian cousin it was the sound of houses falling around us. we were living in the city of erzeroum at that time, as i once told you. "should we be spared? every moment i wondered if that part of the house where we were would fall next. "every moment seemed like an hour. but at last the awful noise stopped, the earth grew quiet, and we dared to move about the room and look outside. "a terrible sight met our gaze. houses lay in ruins on the ground all about us. all of our own house was destroyed, except the room in which we had been and the one next to it. "your great-grandfather came home soon after. he had been outdoors during the whole dreadful time. his life had been saved in some wonderful way. "f what has happened?' i asked. "' it was an earthquake,' he told me. "' may we never see another,' i cried. "the old lady went on, speaking quite slowly" the earthquake and, children, we never have. and i hope you will not live to know what an earthquake is like." "it must have been dreadful," said mariam, tenderly patting the old lady's cheek. "don't let's talk about it any more, but tell us about something pleasanter, if you are not too tired." "would you like to hear about armenia in bible days? it was a free and happy country then." "yes, indeed," answered artin. "mother often tells us what she has read of those times, too." "i think you, artin, would like to hear about the strange boats on which the cargoes were carried down the euphrates river to babylon. you never saw anything like them." "i'd like to hear, too. i know i would," cried mariam. the old lady went on, speaking quite slowly "the frames were made of willow and were our little armenian cousin quite round, like a bowl. skins of wild ani- mals were stretched over them. they were then filled with straw, and the cargoes were taken on board." "what kind of cargoes did the merchants of those days carry ?" asked artin. "chiefly wine." "and how did the people move the boat?" was the next question. "two men had charge of each boat. they stood at their work. they rowed and pushed it along with their oars. "no boat went on a trip without carrying a live ass. the larger boats carried more than one of these animals." "why in the world was the ass carried?" asked mariam, laughing. "this was the reason," answered the old lady. "when the merchants arrived in baby- lon, they sold their cargoes and broke up their boats. then they loaded their asses with the chapter iv. the visitors "may we rest here for a short time? we have just come from erzeroum. our friends there told us you would be most kind to us." it was a stranger who said these words to artin's father. another gentleman was with him. it was plainly to be seen that both of them were americans, and that they were very tired. "welcome, welcome," was the answer in their own language. artin's father was only a farmer, but he could speak two languages besides his own, and he spoke them readily. one of them was english. "england is a great country," he often told the visitors his friends. "some day she will help our poor nation and save us from our enemies. but america is great, too. if i should be obliged to leave armenia, i should rather make a new home in america than in any other part of the world. it is the land of brave, free people." it is no wonder, then, that when he saw his visitors were americans, he smiled pleasantly, and gladly led the way to the platform in the big stable. you will remember this was the place where he received his friends. "we are very tired," said the visitor who had spoken first, and who had introduced him- self as mr. brown. "we came on horseback to erzeroum all the way from the northern coast. it was a rough journey, and a danger- ous one." "yes, at this time of the year it is certainly not an easy one," answered the farmer. "but i am used to mountain climbing, and i made our little armenian cousin the journey many times when i was a young man. do tell me how are my people on the seacoast? are our turkish masters as cruel as ever?" "i fear so. there have been fresh massa- cres, and hundreds of armenians have been killed. they were not to blame, either. a few of your people have been working secretly, trying to stir up a revolution. the turks discovered this and killed everybody, right and left. they were just as cruel to those who had done no harm, and who had never spoken a word against them, as they were to the others. "they did not stop to find out who were innocent and who were guilty. i am sorry with all my heart for you armenians." artin was helping his father when the vis- itors arrived. he heard every word that was said. the word "massacre" made him tremble from head to foot. yet, although he the visitors was so frightened himself, he kept thinking'j;'; ,{•' "i hope mariam won't hear this. poor littlk:': •:: mariam! i don't want her to feel badly." »v his father noticed that the boy was tremv;. bling. "run off to your pets, artin, while i talk with these gentlemen," he said. and artin heard no more about the sad things that had happened in his country. the visitors stayed to supper, but they were talking now about their journey from the seacoast. "up, up, up, we climbed," said mr. brown. "and each new mile of the road seemed harder than the one before it." "indeed, my hair stood on end most of the time," said mr. miller, the other visitor. "the road in some places was cut out of the solid rock, and it was so narrow that a misstep would have made us fall hundreds of feet over a steep precipice. "but the views! i never saw anything so -; our little armenian cousin -"-beautiful as the mountain scenery of armenia ;y$n all my life. there we were with mountains -all around us. some seemed like babies rest- ing beside their giant mothers. "yet they were all grand. as we climbed higher and higher we could look down on the peaks and slopes of some of them, while ahead and beyond us there were other and more lofty ones." "it was a wonderful journey," said his com- panion. "i was filled with fear and delight at almost the same time." artin listened eagerly to the talk of the travellers. he had never left his home on the plateau to visit the seacoast, but he loved to hear about the journey. "i suppose you spent the nights in the inns at the different villages on the way," said artin's father. "yes, and we found plenty of company. the houses were well-filled with drivers of "'many caravans pass through armenia'" the visitors camels and pack-horses who were resting on their way." "many caravans pass through armenia on their way to the north. they carry goods from asia to europe," answered their host. "yes, i know. steam-cars would seem strange in this part of the country. even if the people wished for them, they could not build them through the dangerous passes over which we travelled." "sometimes we had hard work to keep warm at the inns where we rested. one night it was bitter cold. our room was on the second floor. the lower part of the building was used for the horses and camels. we had no fireplace where we could warm ourselves. the innkeeper said: "' i will bring a mangal.' "we wondered what a mangal could be. pretty soon the landlord came back into the our little armenian cousin room with a large brazen vessel. it was full of red-hot charcoal. "he set the mangal in the middle of the room. we were glad to gather around it and feel its warmth." "i'll tell you what seemed to me the queer- est sight of the whole trip," said mr. miller. "it was the camels moving along over snow and ice. i had always thought of those animals as travelling over the hot sands of the desert. they did not seem to belong to cold places and mountain passes." "i will tell you of what once happened to me," said artin's father. "i was passing over the same road by which you came. we had reached the middle of the most dangerous pass between the seashore and our plateau. the way was almost blocked with snow and ice. our horses were sharp- shod, but they had to pick their way with the greatest care. i did not dare to look sideways the visitors over the steep cliff for fear of growing dizzy. then came a turn in the road. away ahead of us we could just see a long, moving line. it came nearer and nearer. "it was a caravan. how were we ever to pass that procession of camels? they were heavily laden, too, and their burdens were hanging down over their sides. "there was only one thing to do. we must keep our horses' heads to the inside of the track and hug the rocky side of the moun- tain. do you understand? "the caravan was now close upon us. we plunged our horses into the snow-drift. as i did so, my hand grazed the sharp rocks. my glove was torn and the flesh of one hand laid bare and bleeding. "if nothing worse happened, i should be thankful indeed. suppose my horse should take fright and make a sudden dash, i should be thrown headlong over the snow-drift. or our little armenian cousin perhaps the heavy load of one of the camels might knock against me as he passed by. some of my bones would certainly be broken. "i held my breath. there! one camel had passed. then two, three, four, five! the minutes seemed like hours, but at last we were alone and safe. "although the rest of the pass was almost as steep as the side of a house, we did not complain." "yes, i know, i know," said mr. brown, "but it was the grandest part of the journey, wasn't it?" "i should say it was. when i looked up into the deep blue, sky, it seemed as though heaven could not be far away. and when i turned my eyes toward the mountain peaks around us, and saw the snow sparkling like millions of diamonds upon their sides, i could not speak. it was so very, very beau- tiful!" the visitors "gentlemen, there is no land in the world like armenia. tell me, is it not so?" both of his visitors agreed with him, and artin's father looked much pleased. "you have not seen mount ararat yet," he went on. "you have a great treat in store. it reaches up toward the sky like a mighty giant. "it is more than three miles high. the persians call it 'noah's mountain,' but we speak of it as the 'painful mountain.'" "we shall not leave armenia till we have looked at it," the visitors promised. but it was growing late and every one was tired. artin showed the americans to their room, and was soon fast asleep in his own little bed. what do you think he saw in his dreams that night? it was himself riding on the back of a camel. and where was he going? he was climbing up the side of mount ararat. our little armenian cousin and as he climbed, he saw that the sides were covered with diamonds. he tried to lean far enough over the side of the camel to reach them, but, alas! he tumbled off. then he waked up only to find he had tumbled out of his own bed at home. chapter v. hunting wild sheep "the spring has come! the spring has come!" shouted artin, as he came hurrying into the house. "mariam, i saw a flock of birds flying northward. it was such a big flock, too. and mother, the snow is beginning to melt and is running off" in streams everywhere." "i felt it in the air this morning," said the children's mother. "the weather is certainly much warmer." she and mariam followed artin to the door and looked out. yes, the snow was melting fast, and everything seemed to say: "spring is here! spring is here!" our little armenian cousin the village had been very quiet for months. all winter long the women and children had stayed indoors, and had scarcely ventured out- side. the cattle and sheep had been kept shut up in the big dark stables. but now everybody was stirring. look! there was a man driving out a long line of cows to get the fresh air. how they winked and blinked in the bright sunlight. and listen! there was the sound of running water, as a stream, which had been frozen all winter, was beginning to rush down the hill- side. smaller streams made by the melting snow ran to join it. "look out for accidents to-day," said artin's mother, as she stood watching. "many a child has been carried off by the mountain streams at the opening of spring." "now, mariam, do take care of yourself," she went on, as the little girl started off with artin to go to a neighbour's. "look out, my hunting wild sheep child, and do not lose your foothold. artin, take good care of your sister." in an hour the two children came hurrying home as fast as the bad going would let them. "mother! mother! what do you suppose has happened?" exclaimed artin. "little sophia was carried off by the stream before her mother could reach her. she toddled out into the street when no one was looking." "dear me ! dear me !" cried artin's mother. "was she drowned?" "no, her father got her just in time. but she lost her senses, and it was a long time before she knew anything. poor little thing, she had a narrow escape." "have you learned whether any wolves have been seen near the village, artin? they are pretty daring at this time of the year. they are so hungry they will venture almost anywhere in the hope of getting food." "yes, i heard one man say he saw two our little armenian cousin wolves skulking behind his house. and where there are two wolves there may be a dozen." while they were talking they heard the two american visitors come into the next room. the gentlemen had expected to stay only one night, but mr. brown was taken ill. he was not a strong man, and the journey had been too much for him. artin's father grew very fond of him and his friend. he found they knew a cousin of his who had gone to america years ago. even when mr. brown was quite well again and able to go on with his travels, the farmer said: "you had better stay with us another week. you are fond of hunting and you can find plenty of wild sheep among our mountains. there are foxes and gray beavers, too." the gentlemen were much pleased. they were in no hurry to leave. they had come to armenia to see the country and were glad hunting wild sheep to have a chance to go hunting. now the spring had opened, they were eager for an adventure. "the gentlemen seem quite excited," said the farmer's wife. "i wonder what is the matter." "i think i know. they are getting ready for hunting," said artin. "they have been down in the village to find some men to go with them. you know father doesn't care for hunting." artin had guessed aright. early the next morning the party of hunters started out. "we will bring home a wild sheep for your mother to roast," mr. miller promised mariam, as he patted the little girl's cheek. the wild sheep of armenia are very different from tame ones. they look more like deer than sheep. they have short horns bending backward. they are very strong. they climb nimbly about in the highest and most slippery our little armenian cousin places. they are shy and are easily fright- ened. "do you really suppose we can get within shot of them?" asked mr. miller of his friend. "i hardly dare to hope so, but it will be great sport and it is worth trying. the head of the animal would be a curiosity in america. i should like to take one home very much." their guides led the way to the top of the nearest mountain. it was rough climbing, but the place was reached at last. "now we must be careful," said one of the hunters in his own language. he was not an armenian, but was a laz. his country is just beyond armenia. the americans could not understand him very well, so he made signs to them to creep along the edges of the cliff and look down over the slopes. mr. brown had brought his telescope. it laz hunters hunting wild sheep would help him in discovering any signs of the wild sheep. these timid creatures jump and frisk about on the most dangerous ledges. they seem to fear nothing in the whole world but men. the hunters crept carefully and quietly about from place to place, looking in every direction. "do you see anything moving below us?" whispered mr. miller, after a search of fifteen minutes. "there is not the smallest sign of a living creature," replied his friend. just then one of the laz hunters pointed to a cleft in the rocks far below. yes, there were two sheep sporting together. it almost seemed as if they were having a game of hide-and-seek. "but it is too far off. our shot couldn't reach them," said mr. brown. the guide pointed again. he showed that the ledge below where they stood jutted out our little armenian cousin and made a little shelf. it was quite a distance down to this place, but no one was afraid. there would not be room for all of them, however. only two could venture at a time. "you may go," said mr. miller to his friend. "i will take the next chance." one of the laz guides was let down by a rope. then mr. brown followed him in the same way. the others leaned over the edge of the cliff and watched. the two men who had gone down found they were still too far away from the sheep. but they discovered still another foothold below them. they swung themselves down to this with the help of the roots of a stunted tree. they were now barely within gunshot of the sheep. bang! bang! went the guns. but, alas! both shots missed the marks. the sheep darted out of sight like the wind and were never seen again. hunting wild sheep there was a new trouble for the hunters now. they could not be seen by their friends above them on account of a bend in the cliff. and when they turned to climb to the next foothold, they found the roots beyond their reach. what was to be done now? the laz guide made signs to the american to brace himself against the side of the cliff so he could climb up on his shoulders. mr. brown understood at once. with all his might, he pressed himself against the side of the rock. he even stuck his rifle into a crevice to make himself more steady. the guide sprang to his shoulders, caught hold of the roots, and was soon safe on the rocky shelf overhead. then it was an easy matter for the guide to stretch a rope down to mr. brown and bring him up to his own foot- hold. the friends who were waiting at the top of our little armenian cousin the cliff could now see and help them. in a few minutes, all were together once more. but what of the wild sheep the americans hoped to bring home with them? they spent the day in vain, for they did not even catch sight of any others. artin and mariam were watching for them when they reached the farm at nightfall. "we don't deserve any supper, for we haven't brought back any game," mr. miller said, laughingly. "next time, artin, we must take you with us. how would you like to be let down with ropes over the sides of the cliffs? would you care enough for wild sheep to do such things?" artin was quite sure he would be satisfied with mutton from his father's own sheep. he was not like some boys, for he did not care very much for exciting adventures. chapter vi. queer animals "look, mariam, look! that's a lemming, i do believe." it was a bright spring morning and artin and his sister were playing on the hillside. "sh, sh! i don't want it to see us. it might spring up and snap at our hands," whispered mariam. "nonsense, it will let us alone, if we do not worry it. see! it is sitting up on its hind legs now and is wiping its eyes with its fore paws. don't move or it will see us and run back into its hole." "there is another coming out to join the first one. they like to feel the warm sunshine queer animals "what makes them take the journey?" "it is probably because their food grows scarce. at any rate, when they once start out they travel in a straight line. they don't even turn aside when they reach a lake or river, but swim across it." "is that so? some of them must get killed on the way, for a good-sized fish could easily kill a lemming." "yes, that is what father said. oh, but i forgot. he told me that they do turn aside for a solid rock or a stone wall, for, of course, they could not make their way through that." "we must be on the lookout now for the cara guz and jerboas," said artin. "they keep quiet all winter, but they begin to get lively as the days grow warmer." "i think the cara guz is a cunning little thing. do you remember bringing one home last year, artin? it was so fat it could scarcely walk. it didn't seem a bit afraid of our little armenian cousin "but you always can. i never knew you to fail," said mariam, putting her arms around the old lady's neck. "well, let me see. i can't think of any- thing just now, except the story of the first christian king in the world." "we've heard it before, but we would like it again," said artin. "very well, then. we must go back to the life of the lord jesus and of his wonderful works among men, — of his healing the leper, restoring sight to the blind, of his making the limbs of cripples straight and strong. "his fame spread through all the country round, and when king abgar sent envoys into the roman empire, they brought back word of jesus and his works. "king abgar was a heathen at that time. he was suffering from a dreadful disease. there did not seem to be any hope of his getting well. when his messengers returned queer animals to armenia with the news of jesus' power, he was greatly interested. "there are legends in some of our books that abgar wrote a letter to jesus begging the saviour to come to armeaia and lay his hands upon him. the legend goes on to say that jesus directed one of his disciples to write abgar an answer saying it was impossible for him to come. "then the messenger asked jesus to allow an artist whom he had brought to paint his picture. but when the artist tried to copy the master's beautiful face, his hand failed him. he could do nothing. "the master saw this. he took a towel and pressed it against his face. then he handed it to the messenger. lo, and be- hold! the likeness of jesus' face was printed on the towel. "it was carried to abgar, and as he looked upon it his sickness left him. our little armenian cousin "of course, this is only a legend, children. we cannot say it is a true story. but our history does tell us that jesus'" apostles visited armenia after their lord's death. abgar be- lieved in them, and so did many of his people, who gave up their heathen belief and became christians." "why aren't there kings in armenia any more?" asked mariam. "it is more than five hundred years, my child, since the last of our kings ruled over us. he was levon vi., and his queen's name was catherine. armenia was overrun by fierce enemies. they came from egypt, and had the same belief as the turks who now rule over us. they were mohammedans. "they came in such numbers that our peo- ple could do nothing. they burned the vil- lages and cities. they killed men, women, and children. they spared no person or thing. they made a desert of the country. queer animals "they made prisoners of the king and his family. they carried them to egypt. after awhile, the ruler of spain took pity on them. he offered valuable presents to their conquerors to free them. he was success- ful. "after that, levon visited jerusalem and different countries of europe. he died in paris, and was buried with great honour. his body was clothed in royal robes of white. an open crown was laid upon his head, and a golden sceptre was placed in his hand. he was the last king of armenia." the old lady spoke the last words slowly and sadly. but in a moment more she smiled at the children, saying: "we must take what comes to us with patient hearts, my dears. the lord's will must be done. i am tired of talking, though. run out into the sunshine and play. watch the birds that have begun to come among us chapter vii. sights in the great city "yes, you may go," artin's father prom- ised. "i shall be away several days, for i have a good deal of business in the city. but you have been a good boy, and you ought to have a little pleasure. so you may ask your mother to get you ready." the next morning the bullocks were hitched to a clumsy cart with two wheels, and artin and his father started for the city. the little boy was dressed in much the same way as his father. he wore baggy trousers and a long, loose jacket. it was made of wadded cotton, and was quite thick. the sides were split up, making a sort of apron both in front and behind. he wore slippers our little armenian cousin on his feet, and a close-fitting cap on his head. "he is the very picture of his father," the neighbours all said. "he is a bright boy, too, and will do well in business when he grows up." "good-bye, good-bye," called mariam, as artin waved his hand to her, and the bullocks trotted off down the rough road. the heavy cart was seldom used, except in going about the village, so it was quite a change for the bullocks as well as for the farmer's little son. as they drove along, the father told artin about the different parts of the country which the boy had never seen. he told him of the rich vineyards where luscious grapes were raised. he described the gardens where melons grew to be very large. "why, artin, i have seen a camel whose load was made up of only two watermelons. our little armenian cousin "i never had any such adventures myself, artin. but, i must say, our mountain passes are not safe from those wicked men. "most of them are kurds or lazis. when they have nothing else to do, they leave their own homes and cross over into the borders of armenia. they seek the lonely spots in the mountain passes and lie in wait for travellers. they rob them, torture them, and sometimes even kill them, as i have already said." "but the sultan's soldiers are all through our country. why don't they drive out the brigands?" "the sultan doesn't care what they do, artin. besides, he is probably glad if he hears of the brigands killing any armenians. the sultan is a bad, bad man. when i was a little boy like you he had a war with russia. "before it began the sultan called a meet- ing of his leading men. he asked them what they thought about such a war. they knew sights in the great city he wished it, so no one dared to speak against it, except one brave, wise man. "he told the ruler this story: "' once upon a time there was a miser. the king was displeased with him, and gave him the choice of three things. he must eat five pounds of raw onions at one meal; and he must eat nothing else with them. or, he must have five hundred lashes of the whip on his bare back. or, he must pay the king five hundred dollars. "' the miser thought it all over. he could not bear to give up so much money. neither did he believe he could live through such a terrible flogging. so he said, "i will eat the onions." "' but after he had eaten a part of them, he became so sick he was not able to swallow any more. then he made up his mind to take the whipping. "' when he had taken about a hundred of our little armenian cousin the lashes, he began to see that the whole of them would kill him. he was forced, at last, to pay the money. so the greedy miser, who had a choice of three evils in the beginning, ended by taking all three of them.' "now, my son, what do you suppose the wise man's story meant? it was this: "if the sultan went to war with russia, he would lose many soldiers to begin with. in the next place, he would be sure to lose a part of his empire. he would end by having to pay large sums of money to his conqueror. "he was very angry with the wise man who had told him this story. he did not take his advice, but began the war. and it all turned out as the honest man had said. "did you ever hear what the people in other countries call the sultan, artin?" his father went on. "they speak of him as the 'sick man of europe.'" sights in the great city artin and his father had now been several hours on the way and they had almost reached the city gates. "see those children," said artin, pointing ahead. a mule was moving at a slow pace over the road. it was no wonder, for he had a heavy load. a woman was sitting on his back and two little children were hanging in baskets fastened on either side of the saddle. "the road is so rough that the children cannot be comfortable," said artin's father. just then the mule floundered in the mud. the baskets were jostled so roughly that one of the children tumbled out and fell head-fore- most into the mud. artin jumped from the cart and, running ahead, picked up the screaming child. its poor little face was black with dirt. its hair was plastered with mud. the mother thanked him, and, after tucking our little armenian cousin the little one into its basket, went on her journey. she was a pretty woman, with large black eyes and rosy cheeks. but her face was almost hidden by the veil which armenian women wear when they are outdoors. her bright red cloak, reaching almost to her ankles, was wrapped closely around her body. her large baggy trousers could hardly be seen. she was dressed in the same manner as artin's mother and all the other women he knew. his people do not change their fashions from year to year, like their american cousins. they resemble many other eastern people in their clothing. the style of their grandmothers and great-grandmothers is good enough for them. by this time, the farmer and his son were entering the city. erzeroum was at one time a fortress, and even now it is surrounded by walls. there in erzeroum sights in the great city were numbers of people moving along the streets. they belonged to different races, for many of them had come here from persia, turkey, and other countries, to live among the armenians. most of them were dressed very gaily, and artin was kept busy admiring the bright scarlet robes, the jackets embroidered with gold, and the robes of brilliant green and white. a procession of camels with their drivers came along with slow and swaying tread. the beasts seemed very patient under their heavy burdens. "did you ever ride on a camel, father?" asked artin. "when i was a little boy about your age, artin, i tried it. i shall never forget how sick i was after five minutes on the creature's back. of course, you have noticed how the camel walks. he first throws forward both legs on one side of his body, then those on the our little armenian cousin other side. this makes a swinging, sideways motion which at first is unpleasant. "the second time i tried to ride one, i did not mind it as much as at first." "you had to be careful when you took your seat on its back. i know that," said artin. "i have often watched camels get up from the ground. they raise their hind legs first, and they do it in such a sudden, jerky way that the rider will be thrown off unless he is used to it and on the lookout." "artin, i wish you to look at that beauti- ful church ahead of us. our people are very proud of it. do you see the fine stone slabs on the roof and around the doorways? "cut stone is very expensive, and there are few good masons who prepare it. so it hap- pened that our priests thought of a new way to get it. they said to the people, 'the tombstones of your dead friends do them no good. but they would be of great help in sights in the great city building the church. it would be a fine thing if each one of you should give us one of those tombstones.' w the people were delighted with the idea. many of them brought the stones on their own backs." "it is a beautiful church," said artin. "i think it is the finest thing i have seen in the city. i hate the sight of those turkish mosques. i suppose the turks think all those little towers and spires are very pretty, but i don't like them." "there is a street writer," said the father. he pointed to a man sitting on a carpet in the shade of a house. his legs were crossed under him. he was writing a letter for a turkish woman who stood beside him. "i like to watch him," said artin. "he keeps the paper flat on the palm of his hand and writes with that pointed stick. i am glad i know how to do my own letter-writing, though." our little armenian cousin "yes, artin. our people think more of learning than the lazy turks. i do not wish you to be ignorant when you grow up. you must study your lessons well and be faithful to them." "i should like to be a trader when i grow up," said artin, as he looked curiously at the storekeepers sitting by their goods. the stores were quite different from those in america. many of them had no fronts at all. can you imagine the lower story of a house with no wall facing the street? then you can picture the store where artin and his father stopped to trade. the shopkeeper sat on a mat with his goods all around him. if the day had been stormy he would have been wrapped up in a blanket. but the sun was shining brightly, and the weather was warm. he was quite comfortable without any extra covering. he was slowly sipping a cup of tea. he sights in the great city acted for all the world as though he had noth- ing to do but enjoy himself. as artin's father got out of the cart and came up to him, the storekeeper scarcely lifted his eyes. he did not seem to care whether he sold his goods or not. "another of those lazy turks," whispered the father to his son. then he stepped up to the trader and asked to see his wares. the armenian did not act hurried or anxious. oh, no, that would not hwve done at all. it would have made the turk charge too great a price for the goods. as it was, the man asked far more than the things were worth. yes, twice as much. artin's father curled up his lip and turned to go. at the same time he said, "i will pay you half the sum. but i don't care very much for the cloth, anyway." he left the store, and artin followed close our little armenian cousin "the poor creatures are tired and thirsty. they have caught sight of a drinking-trough and are longing for water," answered his father. the camels drew near with their driver. he was a persian. he was very dirty and his clothes were in rags. as the caravan drew up in front of the khan, the driver turned and said something to the camels. they went down on their knees with a grunt. then down came their hind legs. they had been trained to obey their master's voice instantly, and, although he spoke few words to them, they seemed to understand exactly what he wished them to do. "they have come all the way from bagdad," the innkeeper told artin. "and they are going to carry their loads to the seacoast on the north. then their burdens will be lifted from their backs and placed on board the ships that sail across the sea to europe." "poor camels! they look old and tired. sights in the great city their lives are hard. how wise they seem!" said the little boy, as he threw himself down on a couch and was soon fast asleep. and what was artin's father doing all this evening? he was going from place to place among his friends and trying to find some one who would buy his farm. can you guess the reason? ever since the visit of the americans, the farmer and his wife had been talking together about a new home across the ocean. sad things were happening in armenia. many men and women lost their lives through no fault of their own. and the turkish ruler had power to do with the people as he pleased. it was hard, very hard, indeed. yet the more the farmer thought about it, the wiser it seemed to take his family to america. "artin and mariam are so young they will not be homesick. but it will not be easy for my good wife," thought the farmer. "as for our little armenian cousin my mother and my dear old grandmother, i do not know what to do. i fear the change would kill them." when he spoke to them about it, both of the old women said, "no, no, we cannot leave our country. no matter what comes, we will stay in armenia. but you must go and take your wife and children. america is great and good. you will all be happy there." artin had an uncle who lived in erzeroum, and it was settled that the old women should now make their home with him. all this time the children knew nothing of the new plans. but when the business was done and the farmer started home with his little boy, he told him that the farm was sold and that he would soon leave beautiful armenia and sail far away on a great steamer. "it is a secret," said his father. "you must not speak of it to any one. we must get sights in the great city away as quietly as possible, or our rulers may prevent it." artin was both glad and sorry. it would be great fun to sail on the ocean which he had never yet even seen. there would be many new things in the strange country of america. when mariam heard the news she went up on the housetop with her brother, and both children began to cry. "our pretty sheep!" said the little girl. "we must say good-bye to them all!" "and the dogs and cats," said artin. "father says we must leave them behind." "but we will make new friends in that beautiful america, and i hope mother will stop looking sad and frightened there," said mariam, drying her tears. the end. l. ft page - company's the little colonel (trade mark) two little knights of kentucky the giant scissors big brother special holiday editions each one volume, cloth decorative, small auarto, $ . new plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page in the desert of waiting: the legend or camelback mountain. the three weavers: a fairy tale fob fathers and mothers as well as fob thbib daughters. keeping tryst the legend of the bleeding heart the rescue of princess winsome: a fairy play for old and young. the jester's sword each one volume, tall mo, cloth decorative . $ . paper boards . there has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of these six stories, which were originally included in six of the " little colonel " books. joel: a boy of galilee: by annie fellows johnston. illustrated by l. j. bridgman. new illustrated edition, uniform with the little colonel books, vol., large mo, cloth decorative . a story of the time of christ, which is one of the author's best-known books. a- books for young people the little colonel good times book uniform in size with the little colonel series. si. bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . . . cover design and decorations by amy carol rand. the publishers have had many inquiries from readers of the little colonel books as to where they could obtain a " good times book " such as betty kept. mrs. johns- ton, who has for years kept such a book herself, has gone enthusiastically into the matter of the material and format for a similar book for her young readers. every girl will want to possess a " good times book." asa holmes: or, at the cross-roads. a sketch of country life and country humor. by annie fellows johnston. with a frontispiece by ernest fosbery. large mo, cloth, gilt top $ . 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"more of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers with historical personages in a pleasant informal way." — n. y. sun. famous indian chiefs. by charles h. l. johnston. large mo, illustrated . ... $ . in this book mr. johnston gives interesting sketches of the indian braves who have figured with prominence in the history of our own land, including powhatan, the indian c»sar; massa&oit, the friend of the puritans; pontiac, the red napoleon; tecumseh, the famous war chief of the shawnees; sitting bull, the famous war chief of the sioux; geronimo, the renowned apache chief, etc etc. billy's princess. by helen egqleston has* kell. cloth decorative, illustrated by helen mccormick kennedy $ . billy lewis was a small boy oi energy and ambition, so when ne was left alone and unprotected, he simply started out to take care of himself. tenants of the trees. by clarenc* hawkes. cloth decorative, illustrated in colors . . $ . "a book which will appeal to all who care for the hearty, healthy, outdoor life of the country. the illus- trations are particularly attractive." — bottom btrold. a- 'books for young people beautiful joe's paradise: ob,tei ow brotherly love. a sequel to "beautiful joe." by marshall saunders, author of " beautiful joe." one vol., library mo, cloth, illustrated . $ . "this book revives the spirit of ' beautiful joe' capi- tally. it is fairly riotous with fun, and is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light." — philadelphia item. 'tilda jane. ey marshall saunders. one vol., mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $ . "i cannot think of any better book for children than this. i commend it unreservedly." — cyrus towntend brady. 'tilda jane's orphans. a sequel to tilda jane. by marshall saunders. one vol., mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $ . 'tilda jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as fond of her animal pets as ever. the story of the graveleys. by mar- shall saunders, author of "beautiful joe's para- dise," " 'tilda jane," etc. library mo, cloth decorative. illustrated by e. b. barry $ . here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful new england family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. born to the blue. by florence kimbalk r.ussel. mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $ . the atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this delightful tale. the boy is the son of a captain of u. s. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation. a—i l. c. page < f compa/rr's in west point gray by florence kimball russbl. mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $ . "singularly enough one of the best books of ja» year for boys is written by a woman and deals with lif at west point. the presentment of life in the famous militarr academy whence so many heroes have graduated is realistic and enjoyable." — new york sun. from chevrons to shoulder straps by florence kimball russel. mo, cloth, illustrated, decorative . . $ . west point again forms the background of a new volume in this popular series, and relates the experience of jack stirling during his junior and senior years. the sandman: his farm stories by william j. hopkins. with fifty illustrations by ada clendenin williamson. large mo, decorative cover .... $ . "an amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small children. it should be one of the most popular of the year's books for reading to small children." — buffalo "express. the sandman: more farm stories by william j. hopkins. large mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $ . mr. hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with suchjapproval that this second book of " sandman " tales was issued for scores of eager children. life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner. the sandman: his ship stories by william j. hopkins, author of "the sandman: his farm stories," etc. mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $ . dren call for these stories over and over again." chicago evening poet. a— books for young people the sandman, his sea stories by william j. hopkins. large mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $ . each year adds to the popularity of this unique series of stories to be read to the little ones at bed time and at other times. the doctor's little girl by marion ames taggart, author of "fussy-cat town," etc. one vol., library mo, illustrated . . . $ . a thoroughly enjoyable tale of a little girl and her com- rade father, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension of the child's point of view. sweet nancy the further adventures op the doctor's little girl. by marion ames taggart. one vol., library, mo, illustrated . $ . in the new book, the author tells how nancy becomes in fact "the doctor's assistant," and continues to shed happiness around her. the christmas-makers' club by edith a. sawyer. mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $ . a delightful story for girls, full of the real spirit of christmas. it abounds in merrymaking and the right kind of fun. carlota a stohy or the san gabriel mission. by frances margaret fox. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by ethelind ridgway . . . $ . "it is a pleasure to recommend this little story as an entertaining contribution to juvenile literature." — the new york sun. the seven christmas candles by frances margaret fox. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- rated in colors by ethelind ridgway $ . miss fox's new book deals with the fortunes of the dfr lightful mulvaney children. z. c. page *• company's pussy-cat town by marion ames taggart. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deoc- rated in colors $ . "anything more interesting than the doings of the cats in this story, their humor, their wisdom, their patriotism, would be hard to imagine." — chicago post. the roses of saint elizabeth by jane scott woodruff. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by adelaide everhart . . . $ . this is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker of the great castle of the wartburg, where saint elizabeth once had her home. gabriel and the hour book by evaleen stein. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- rated in colors'by adelaide everhart . . $ . gabriel was a loving, patient, little french lad, who assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. the enchanted automobile translated from the french by mart j. safford small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- rated in colors by edna m. sawyer . . $ . "an up-to-date french fairy-tale which fairly radiates the spirit of the hour, — unceasing diligence." — chicago record-herald. o-heart-san the story of a japanese girl. by helen eaous- ton haskell. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and deco- rated in colors by frank p. fairbanks $ . "the story comes straight from the heart of japan. the shadow of fujiyama lies across it and from every page breathes the fragrance of tea leaves, cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums." — t chicago iru*r-oe am, a- l. c. page *• company's captain jinks: the autobiography of a shet- land pony. by frances hodges white. cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $ . the story of captain jinks and his faithful dog friend billy, their quaint conversations and their exciting adventures, will be eagerly read by thousands of boys and girls. the story is beautifully written and will take its place alongside of " black beauty " and " beautiful joe." the red feathers. by theodore roberts. cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $ . "the red feathers " tells of the remarkable adventures of an indian boy who lived in the stone age, many years ago, when the world was young. flying plover. by theodore roberts. cloth decorative. illustrated by charles livingston bull $ . squat-by-the-fire is a very old and wise indian who lives alone with her grandson, " flying plover," to whom she tells the stories each evening. the wreck of the ocean queen. by james otis, author of " larry hudson's ambition," etc. cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $ . "a stirring story of wreck and mutiny, which boys will find especially absorbing. the many young admirers of james otis will not let this book escape them, for it fully equals its many predecessors in excitement and sustained interest." — chicago evening post. little white indians. by fannie e. os- trander. cloth decorative, illustrated . $ . "a bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly to the 'make-believe' instinct in children, and_ will give them a healthy, active interest in 'the simple life.'" marching with morgan. how donald lovell became a soldier op the revolution. by john l. vkasy. * cloth decorative, illustrated . __$ . this is a splendid boy's story of the expedition of montgomery and arnold against quebec a— books for young people cosy corner series it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature, — stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well- known artists, and each volume has a separate attract- ive cover design. each vol., mo, cloth * . by annie fellows johnston the little colonel (trade mark.) the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its hero- ine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. the giant scissors this is the story of joyce and of her adventure in france. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful ex- periences of the " house party" and the " holidays." two little knights of kentucky who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the " two little knights." mildred's inheritance a delightful little story of a lonely english girl who comes to america and is befriended by a sympathetic american family who are attracted by her beautiful speaking voice. by means of this one gift she is en- abled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busj- happy one. a- books for young people by edith robinson a little puritan's first christmas a story of colonial times in boston, telling how christ- mas was invented by betty sewall, a typical child »f the puritans, aided by her brother sam. a little daughter of liberty the author introduces this story as follows: "one ride is memorable in the early history of the american revolution, the well-known ride of paul revere. equally deserving of commendation is another ride, — the ride of anthony severn, — which was no less historic in its action or memorable in its oonsequences." a loyal little maid a delightful and interesting story of revolutionary days, in which the child heroine, betsey schuyler, renders important services to george washington. a little puritan rebel this is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant sir harry vane was governor of massa- chusetts. a little puritan pioneer the scene of this story is laid in the puritan settlement at charlestown. a little puritan bound girl a story of boston in puritan days, which is of great interest to youthful readers. a little puritan cavalier the story of a "little puritan cavalier" who tried with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead crusaders. a puritan knight errant the story tells of a young lad in colonial times who endeavored to carry out the high ideals of the knight* of olden days. a— ! san francisco eva cannon brooks s francisco our little argentine cousin the little cousin series (trade mark) each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in tint. cloth, i mo, with decorative cover, per volume, cents list of titles by mary hazelton wade (unless otherwise indicated) our little african cousin our little alaskan cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little arabian cousin by blanche mcmanus our little armenian cousin our little australian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little brazilian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little brown cousin our little canadian cousin by elizabeth r. macdonald our little chinese cousin by isaac taylor headland our little cuban cousin our little dutch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little egyptian cousin by blanche mcmanus our little english cousin by blanche mcmanus our little eskimo cousin our little french cousin by blanche mcmanus our little german cousin our little greek cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little hawaiian cousin our little hindu cousin by blanche mcmanus our little hungarian cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin our little japanese cousin our little jewish cousin our little korean cousin by h. lee m. pike our little mexican cousin by edward c. butler our little norwegian cousin our little panama cousin by h. lee m. l'ike our little persian cousin by e. c. shedd our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little russian cousin our little scotch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little siamese cousin our little spanish cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little swedish cousin by claire m. coburn our little swiss cousin our little turkish cousin l. c. page & new england building, company boston, mass. i i • i i 'they sat down almost under the shadow of the high statue of san martin. (see/age .) **********************## francisco our little argentine cousin | by eva cannon brooks illustrated by john goss £ @u/q boston l. c. page & company am d c c c c x ************************************** /.s. n %) - (£ & n 'vis' j copyright, iqio by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved first impression, june, rlf copy coluvi !j memorial li \ry pan american union jan - washington, d. c, u. s. a, to katharine amb Čiizabeth rduks t l preface if you take a steamer in new york whose destination is the eastern coast of south america, and remain on it a little over four weeks, you will reach the great metropolis of our twin continent, buenos aires. in all probability they will be weeks of in- finite content and delight, for the southern half of the atlantic ocean is milder in her moods than the northern half, and there will be a sufficient number of stops en route to relieve the journey of monotony. first comes the barbadoes, then pernambuco, bahia, rio-de-janeiro, and santos in brazil, and then montevideo, the capital of the re- public of uruguay. viii preface at montevideo the steamer leaves the ocean and enters the mouth of the river plata, which is several hundred miles wide at this point, and in ten hours the beautiful city of buenos aires, the gate-way to the pampas, is spread out before the eye. it is more like a city of north america than any of the south american metropolises, both in its appearance and its remarkable spirit of modernization. beyond, and about this attractive port, lie great tracts of level country known as the campo, and here you will find conditions not unlike those existing in some parts of our own western territory. large ranches predominate, although the industries are varied. the people are of mixed nationalities, but the greater proportion is of spanish extraction and a new race, or type, is being welded with a suffi- cient infusion of anglo-saxon blood to counter- act the inherent tendency of all latin races preface ix towards procrastination. because of this, and aided by an unequalled climate, a fertile soil, and definite aims, they are already achieving a part of their manifest destiny. this, the year of , the publication date of this small volume, marks the one hundredth anniversary of argentina's independence; may it mark also the beginning of an era of even greater harmony and more splendid achieve- ment. contents chapter pagb preface v i. francisco's home i ii. a wonderful day iii. a lesson in history iv. curious sights v. great surprises vi. new experiences vii. on the ranch * viii. cattle branding ix. a successful search x. the carnival list of illustrations page "they sat down almost under the shadow of the high statue of san martin" (see page ) frontispiece "he permitted francisco to take a ride on the tame llama" "' did you ever see such glorious blue eyes!"' . "soon after his eager question they passed a group of them" "blazed the lines of the tres arroyas on its hip" "elena and francisco were dressed and ready" francisco our little argentine cousin chapter i francisco's home francisco sat crosslegged in one corner of the patio under the shade of a small pome- granate tree which grew in a tub. he had moved halfway around the patio since morning, trying to keep out of the sun. just after cafe he had started out under the shade of the east wall, where wistaria vines and jasmine grew in a dense mass of purple, yellow and green; then he had gone from one tubbed shelter to another as the sun mounted higher, until now only the heavy foliage of the pomegranate offered pro- tection from the hot rays. all of the long our little argentine cousin varnished blinds at the doors of the rooms opening upon this central, stone-paved court- yard, had long since been closed securely, for it was middle december and the house must be sealed early against the noon heat of mid- summer. francisco might have gone inside, where the darkened rooms furnished some relief, but he chose to sit crosslegged on the red and white square stones of the patio, with his back to the main part of the house, so that the mother and sisters could not see what occupied his busy hands. francisco's father was dead, and he, with his mother, la senora anita maria lacevera de gonzalez, and his two sisters, elena maria, who was six, and guillerma maria, who was eighteen and very beautiful, lived in the calle cerrito, in the city of buenos aires, argentine republic, south america. street. francisco's home francisco, himself, was nine, and his uncle who was a colonel in the army and who sup- ported his widowed sister and her family, expected him to be a soldier also. his great- grandfather had been a general, and because of his services during the revolution that had brought argentina her liberty nearly one hun- dred years ago, his family was one of the most distinguished in the republic. francisco's own grandfather had given his life for his patria during the ten years' blockade of buenos aires, when the french and english forces combined to overcome general rosas, who then commanded the city. his mother and his uncle, the colonel juan carlos lacevera, were then little children, but they were fired with a patriotism that comes only to those who have given of their own flesh and blood for native land. "el coronel lacevera" was now retired, and with his wife and six daughters lived in a our little argentine cousin spacious, palatial home in the calle san martin facing the beautiful plaza, or park, where the statue of general san martin on his rearing charger stands, a constant reminder to the hundreds of little argentine boys and girls who daily play in the pebbled space around it, of the wonderful man, who, like george wash- ington, was first in war, first in peace, and is still first in the hearts of his countrymen. the monthly allowance bestowed by colonel lacevera upon his sister was enough to keep them in comfort, but not sufficient to allow them to live in luxury, and to-day, because francisco had not enough money to buy his christmas pesebre at the toyshop, he was doing what many little boys of that country do, — he was making his own. now, you must know right here, that christ- mas in these south american countries is not the greatest festival of the entire year, as it is with us; it is simply one of the many that are francisco's home celebrated at frequent intervals, for argentina is a land of fiestas; there is scarcely a month that does not allow three or four holidays from school because of some fiesta, either of church or state. although they do not celebrate this great holiday as we do with christmas trees and visits from santa claus, they have some- thing in their places, and it is the "coming of the three kings." in anticipation of this, all over the republic, children erect pesebres or mangers. a pesebre consists of a miniature open shed, or merely a roof of straw or bark, underneath which, in a tiny box, lies a porcelain baby doll to represent the infant christ. bending in adoration at the head of the wee box that holds this image kneels the mother, mary, and at the foot, with folded hands, stands joseph, the father. about them, placed in sand or moss, that forms the floor of the stable or yard, are figures to represent the worshipful neigh- our little argentine cousin bours, also the farm-yard fowls and animals; cows and donkeys predominating. they look like noah's ark people, stiff-legged and prim. now all of this remains unmoved, a spot of reverent adoration, throughout christmas week, new year's day, and until "twelfth night," or the fifth of january. it is awaiting the great event for which it was erected, the "coming of the three kings." on that auspicious night, through the same magical means that aid santa claus to enter the homes of north american children while their eyes are closed in sleep, come the three richly decorated and delicately carved kings on miniature camels with costly trappings and bags of spices on their little brown backs. on the morning of the sixth of january the children awake, all eagerness to see the arrivals of the night. rushing to the pesebre they find the three little wooden kings kneeling beside the manger, the faithful camels standing in the francisco's home grass without, and all about on the floor are the wonderful gifts that the kings have brought to their pesebre. indeed, as you can see, it was erected for just this purpose, exactly as the fir tree with its glittering ornaments forms the nucleus in other lands for christmas gifts. it was these wooden people and animals that francisco's small fingers were fashioning. he had cut himself several timss, and one finger was bound up in an old handkerchief, but his enthusiasm was not lessened because of it. he knew exactly how they should be carved, and how many there should be, for in the toyshop windows there had been sets of them on display for weeks, and francisco had studied each necessary bit carefully. in a box beside him were the finished product of his penknife. joseph and mary were com- pleted even to the paint; mary's red and blue gown and joseph's yellow robe were not quite dry, and the cows were too vividly red, but that our little argentine cousin would not matter; elena was no severe critic, and it was mainly for her that he was carving them. elena had been ill and this was to be her "getting well" gift. the flashing light in her great brown eyes when she should see them' would be sufficient reward for cut fingers and weary back. besides, this was the sum- mer vacation and there was nothing else to do. in all countries on the other side of the equator the seasons are the reverse of those on this side. in argentina the children are having their summer holidays in december, january, and february, when the children of the northern hemisphere are busy in school, or skating and sleighing; and they are having their winter when the northern children are dressed in their thinnest clothing and are going away to the seashore or mountains. francisco had just completed a wonderful set of bent pin horns for one of the red cows francisco's home when he was called to breakfast, and it was half-past eleven. but you see their meal hours, like their seasons, are different from ours. at eight o'clock he had had his cafe con leche, or coffee with hot milk, and a roll; at half-past eleven he was accustomed to having his break- fast; at four he would have mate or tea; and at seven dinner would be served. francisco gathered his treasures into the tin box, and hurried to the bath-room to make himself ready for almuerzo. when he entered the dining-room his mother and guillerma, the elder sister, were seated, and the little indian serving-maid was arranging a tray to carry to elena in the bed-room. the meal consisted of beef broth and rice, called caldo and the usual beginning to every hearty meal in that country; then came fried fish with garlic, followed by a stew of mutton, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, and large pieces of yellow pumpkin, this being the native dish of io our little argentine cousin the argentines and commonly known as puchero. after that came fruit and coffee. guillerma chatted continuously of the won- derful new gowns which she had seen being packed at the great house in calle san martin, where she had been the day before, to bid her aunt and six cousins good-bye, before their departure for mar-de-la-plata, the fashionable watering place on the atlantic ocean, a day's ride by rail from buenos aires. meanwhile, as they sat thus, eating and talk- ing, over in the great house of the coronel the master sat at his massive library table playing solitaire. he always ended his meals thus with his after-dinner coffee-cup beside him. the walls were lined with well-filled bookcases, for the colonel was a scholar. indeed, he cared little for the gay life that ebbed and flowed about him because of his high social position, and because of the six comely * colonel. francisco's home n daughters, ranging from fourteen to twenty- four; the eldest ones of whom were favourites in exclusive buenos aires society. he suffered it because of his love for them, but his natural fondness for quiet and study led him to think longingly of the large estate in the province of santa fe, where he could spend the remaining years of his life in the free open air, enjoying the quiet and solitude he so loved. but the daughters must be educated and their mother did not like the country, so the colonel was forced to live through the winter months in the noise and roar of the great city; contenting himself with a few months each summer at the estate, when he rode at will over the wide prairies on his swift argentine horse, or read for hours under the shade of the wide spreading ombii trees which surrounded the country house. this estdncia, as they term a very large farm or ranch, was really his wife's; in fact, so was the city house, for no retired colonel's pay, our little argentine cousin nor general's pay, for that matter, could have met the expenses of his large family, accustomed to every luxury; indeed, it was just enough to cover his own personal expenses, and provide a living for his widowed sister, who had been left penniless, but dared not earn her own living, since the custom of the country forbids women of class to do work of any kind. his matronly wife with her six daughters (large families are the rule among these latin americans) had left the evening before, with several french maids, for mar-de-la-plata to spend the entire summer; he would be detained in the city for two weeks, and then —'for freedom and the life he loved. but he was strangely lonely; the house echoed his and the servants' footfalls with an intensity that made him nervous; the pillared corridors rang with no merry girlish laughter, and the luxuriantly furnished patio with its marble floors, and softly pattering fountains, francisco's home seemed to mock him of his loneliness. always before, he had left for the estdncia before his family had gone to europe or the seashore for their summer outing, and he never would have believed that he —an old soldier —could be so overcome by sentiment. he was minded to take up his abode for the next two weeks, previous to his leaving for the country, in his widowed sister's humble home, when the splendid thought came to him; — he would bring francisco, his nephew, there with him to the lonely house. for some time he had been drawn towards the little fellow, partly because his heart was desolate that he had no son of his own, partly because the boy was developing so many manly traits, and reminded him frequently, when he turned his round brown eyes towards him, of his own long since fallen soldier father. he desired to know him better, to get closer to the lad —and now this was his opportunity; our little argentine cousin he would ask anita to let him have francisco for the summer, and the boy would keep the empty house lively for the few days until they should both leave for his tres arroyas ranch. he clapped his hands sharply, and a servant appeared. “have enrique bring the motor car at four, when the afternoon is cooler,” he ordered, and turned to his bed-room for the siesta, or rest, that all tropical and semitropical climates demand of their residents. chapter ii a wonderful day promptly at four, the huge red machine puffed up to the front curbing. the colonel was walking up and down in the plaza opposite, smoking a cigarette; for when not eating or asleep, an argentine gentleman is seldom seen without the thin, white cigarrillo between his lips. he looked most distinguished in his scarlet and green uniform. it took but a few moments to reach his sister's casa, and the maid who answered his ring in the narrow vestibule that opened directly onto the street told him the family were having máte in the patio, which was partly shaded in the late afternoon. he was welcomed heartily, * house. our little argentine cousin and was kissed by each one twice, after the foreign fashion, once on either cheek. the m&te cup, an egg-shaped gourd, was passed from hand to hand as they sat talking, each one in turn sucking the fragrant tea through the same silver tube; the little indian maid refilling the gourd again and again with hot water. this is the universal custom in south ameri- can countries below the equator, and aside from the benefits derived from the drinking of the pungent herb itself, it has a significance akin to the "loving cup" idea, and is a sym- bolization of family love and domestic ties. a guest is always asked to partake of m&te with the family, and if he is unaccustomed to the manner of its usage, the fact that he is expected to obtain his share by means of the one, universal tube, is at first disconcerting, but he dare not refuse under penalty of offending his host. a wonderful day this herb is called "paraguayian tea," or "jesuits' tea," as it was used extensively by the early jesuit fathers, who were one of the most important factors in the civilization of the lower half of south america. it is grown mostly in brazil and paraguay and its cultiva- tion has become quite an industry. the dried leaves are placed in a small gourd, hot water is poured into it, and it is then sucked into the mouth through the long silver tube, which has a bulbous end, perforated with small holes so that the tea is strained. at the first taste it is exceedingly bitter, but one soon grows very fond of it. it is very stimulating and a gaucho, or cowboy, will sometimes, under stress of circumstances, ride all day with only his morning gourd of m&te to sustain him, and then eat his first meal of the day at sundown. the colonel soon made known his errand, and francisco was beside himself with joy. he danced about the patio clapping his hands, our little argentine cousin and then ran indoors to sick elena to smother her with kisses, and to tell her of his good fortune. "oh, elena, just think of it! two whole weeks in the big casa with servants, horses and automobiles —and then two whole months in the campo with uncle to ride with me, and teach me something new every day!" "but elena mia, you will miss me," and a note of sadness crept into his voice. "yes, francisco, i shall miss you, but i shall enjoy myself every day thinking of what you are doing, and you will write to me; mama will read me your letters, and then there will be so much to talk about when you return," — and francisco embraced her another time. half an hour later, clean and shining in his best suit of clothes, exchanged for the long linen , duster that all argentine schoolboys wear to play in, he was spinning along the asphalt country. a wonderful day streets, sitting beside the man who stood, to his young mind, for every virtue assigned to his patron saint. at first he was slightly shy, for this wonderful soldier uncle had never paid any particular attention to him, so engrossed was he always with his books and his family; but as they threaded their way in and out the traffic- crowded streets, among the heavy carts, the noisily clanging electric tram-cars, and low, open victorias filled with elaborately dressed women, and fleet wheeled automobiles of every size and class, francisco began to ask questions, and forgot his timidity. they were soon chatting interestedly. "how would you like a spin out to palermo?" his uncle asked, as they reached the central part of the city. "better than i could say," replied the happy lad; his heart meanwhile bounding, for he seldom saw the trees and flowers of the vast our little argentine cousin park that is one of the city's most picturesque attractions. "then, enrique—to the park, via the avenida alvear," said colonel lacevera to the chauffeur. it was late afternoon now, and being thurs- day, the broad avenues were filled with hundreds of vehicles; since thursday and sunday are the afternoons chosen by fashionable buenos aires for the diversion of riding or driving to the great prado to hear the military band, and to mingle in the long lines of carriages and motor cars. the avenida alvear, broad and smoothly paved, with its magnificent residences on either side, makes a desirable avenue from which to approach the park. as they rode along, the odour of jasmine and roses hung heavy about them, coming from the beautiful gardens sur- rounding the palatial homes. long arbours avenue. a wonderful day of american beauty roses, looking like crimson lined tunnels; majestic palm trees, over which trailed marechal niel roses and cypress vines; bulky shrubs, with sweet scents; all these lent their charm to the scene, and francisco, ever alive to the beauties of nature, felt this to be a foretaste of paradise. soon they were in the palm bordered drives of the park; but they crept along at a snail's pace, as the speed on crowded afternoons is limited to a funeral pace, in order that the lines of carriages both coming and going may avoid confusion. through the trees and shrubbery francisco caught glimpses of cool running streams, crossed by rustic bridges; clear, limpid lakes with swans and boats, and here and there, pavilions where ices and refrescos were being enjoyed by the gay crowd. at intervals, on splendid black horses, were stationed pic- turesque looking mounted policemen, their our little argentine cousin long horsehair plumes trailing over their shoul- ders, from which hung scarlet lined capes. it was their duty to keep the half dozen columns of vehicles in proper line. the colonel's car had entered the wide area of the avenue sarmiento when he leaned towards the chauffeur and said, "turn towards the zoological gardens, enrique." and then, to the boy beside him, he said, "how could you stand half an hour in the zoological gardens, nino ?" "i would try to bear up under it, uncle," replied francisco, as his eyes twinkled an answer to the merriment in the older man's. they alighted at the curbing, and entered the immense iron gates into that mecca of all argentine boyish hearts. all of this seemed as a dream to francisco for although his mother had frequently brought him here, she knew little of the animals and the affectionate name for all small boys. a wonderful day birds; and now with uncle juan he could ask questions innumerable without getting the re- ply: to no se. they paused first at the great cage, fifty feet in height and covering an area of half a city block, built over a small artificial mountain where hundreds of eagles and condors wheeled, fought and chattered. "see the pavilion that looks like a hindoo temple, francisco; let us see what animal makes that its home." "elephants, uncle juan, and perhaps we can see the baby elephant that was born here a few weeks ago." sure enough, in a park all their own, surrounding the hindoo temple house, was a family of elephants and the baby elephant stood beside its mother, who was rubbing it affectionately with her long trunk. the alpacas, llamas, deer, bison, guanacos and vicunas came next, and uncle juan could do not know. our little argentine cousin answer every question that the eager boy put to him, for, during his active service in the army, he had spent much time on the frontier, and on the cordilleras of the andes, where these animals are found. he permitted francisco to take a ride on the tame llama, who rivalled the lilliputian steam engine in its popularity as a mode of progression around the garden. as it did not trot, but walked sleepily along with francisco, having served all day, no doubt, as a vehicle for children visiting the "zoo," uncle juan walked beside him, and, as they proceeded, he told him much about the small camel-like animal upon whose back he rode. "you see, nino, a llama is almost like a camel, but its size and strength are inferior. it has no hump on its back, but as you saw when you mounted it, it kneels like one. they thrive best at a high elevation where they browse on reeds, lichens, mosses and grass. if the "he permitted francisco to take a ride on the tame llama” a wonderful day $ grass is succulent they can go without water for a long time. when they are domesticated it is for their fine fleece. their flesh when young is deliciously tender, and it is then that they can be caught with dogs and a lasso, but the old ones can only be shot at a distance, and their flesh is fit only to be dried and salted. i have seen them in peru used as beasts of burden, and the indians make a very beautiful and valuable cloth from the soft fleece. but come, lad, the sun sinks, and we may come here another time." as they walked towards the gate where the car was awaiting them, they passed lakes where waded and swam many birds of brilliant plumage. herons and flamingoes, red and gray and pink, stood on one leg, lazily, watching for minnows. "why are some of the flamingoes scarlet and some pink?" asked francisco. "those with red plumage are the old ones our little argentine cousin and the delicate rose coloured ones are not yet in their second year. at old roman feasts their tongues were considered the greatest delicacy; i have eaten their flesh roasted, and it is wonderfully palatable." "oh, uncle, we haven't seen the lions, nor the bears, nor the monkeys, nor the boa- constrictors," coaxed francisco, as they came in sight of the gates. "but we shall see them another time, nino. we cannot see the half of these great gardens in a day, for they cover many acres, and contain the finest specimens of any garden on the con- tinent." as they passed out the bugles at the military post opposite were sounding for the soldiers' dinner and the avenues were no longer crowded. "with haste now, to the casa" ordered the colonel, and the enormous car plunged ahead, along the deserted boulevards where the electric lights were beginning to appear one by one. a wonderful day francisco had never flown so fast and he cuddled close into his uncle's arm; the strong man held him tenderly, lovingly, and they entered the electric lighted patio of the casa arm in arm. now the colonel's home was not unlike many others of its class, but to the little lad's eyes it seemed a palace. the main part of it was perfectly square, and built around an inner court from which many of the rooms were lighted and all were entered. the windows facing the street were heavily barred, and small balconies of wrought iron projected from each window, over-hanging the pavement a few feet below. the house was flat and of but one story; into this first court opened lux- uriously furnished parlours, drawing-rooms, smoking-rooms and library. behind all of this was another court with smaller rooms open- ing into it, exactly like a smaller house. into this opened all the bed-rooms, the bath- our little argentine cousin rooms and the long elegantly furnished dining- room. quite separate, and reached by a rear street entrance, was yet another, a third court or patio, and into this opened the pantries, kitchen and servants' quarters. the walls of the high spacious parlours were richly decorated, and the chandeliers were of silver and crystal; while ornaments and valuable souvenirs from all parts of the world were displayed throughout the entire house. although only francisco and the colonel sat at dinner that night, the table was lavishly decorated, and the cut glass, silver and dinner of many courses, including fish, game, meats, vegetables and fruits, were a source of constant bewilderment and admiration to the boy accus- tomed to humbler fare and less luxurious surroundings. chapter iii a lesson in history francisco awoke very early the next morn- ing, for he was unaccustomed to sleeping away from home. he lay quite still listening to the unwonted sounds. he heard the servants scrubbing the marble floors of the patio and corridors; he heard the call of the panadero' and the hurrying feet to answer; for no private family ever bakes its own bread in argentina, and the bakers have it all their own way, which isn't a very bad way since their bread is light and deliciously crisp; he heard the chattering of the parrots and paroquets in the servants' patio; then the clatter of a squad of mounted policemen on their way to the day's duty, the baker. * our little argentine cousin hoofs of their horses beating a tattoo of haste on the smooth asphalt still wet with the day- break bath of the sprinkling carts. then he became interested in his room. such luxury as surrounded him! he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, for he had never viewed these bed-rooms except from the corridor, on his infrequent visits to the house. his bed was heavily carved and overhung with a canopy of pale blue plush and silk; the walls were panelled and painted in delicate colours, with angels and cherubs everywhere; huge mirrors reflected each other as they hung in their frames of florentine gold, and after he had viewed it all for a few moments, he buried his head in his pillow and wished for his own bare room and his mother. then he longed for elena that she might enjoy the beauties about him; and this reminded him of the pesebre, which was still unfinished, but which he had brought with him. a lesson in history he wondered how he could get it to her without her finding out — and — he must have fallen into a doze, for soon he heard an imitation reveille blown through human hands, outside the closed blinds that shaded his door into the corridor, and his uncle called good-naturedly: "a pretty time for a soldier of the republic to get up!" francisco hurried into his clothes and found the colonel taking his coffee and rolls in a shaded corner of the patio. "i am going to give you all of my time to-day, nino, as i feel lazy, and i find there are many things here in your own native city that you know nothing about, and that a boy of nine should see and learn. your mother could not be expected to do it, so it falls to me. we must start immediately, before the heat of the day drives us indoors. get your cap, lad, and we will start over in the plaza san martin opposite, and have a lesson in history." our little argentine cousin they donned their hats, and francisco felt very proud to walk beside his uncle, who, if not a very large man in stature, loomed up big before the boy's worshipful eyes. "what do you know of buenos aires, nino?" he asked as they sauntered towards the centre of the park. "not much, uncle juan. i know it is the largest city on the south american continent, and that it has over one million inhabitants. my teacher said once that it is one of the largest produce markets in the world." "yes, and there is much more. it is the largest spanish speaking city in the world, as it is twice as large as madrid, the capital of spain. but it is also very cosmopolitan." "i don't think i know just what that means, uncle juan." "cosmopolitan? why that, in this case, means that there are many nationalities repre- sented in buenos aires. there are thousands of a lesson in history italians, germans, frenchmen, englishmen and russians; and one can hear half a dozen different languages in an hour's time walking along the streets. but, to-day, i want to start with a little history of our country. so let us sit here on this bench and begin. at this early hour we will not be disturbed." they sat down almost under the shadow of the high statue of san martin and the colonel reverently uncovered his head. without being told, francisco took off his cap, and his uncle patted him affectionately on the back. "good, good, my boy! he deserves it, for no greater soldier ever fought; but we will have to go back several centuries to get the run of things," and as he leaned back he paused and puffed thin clouds of smoke from his cigarette. "you see, when buenos aires was really founded, it was in , sixty-four years after the river plate was discovered by solis, who called it the river of silver, because he believed our little argentine cousin silver could be found on its banks. they called the city 'good airs,' because of the fresh, invigorating quality of the air that blew over from the vast prairies. this first settle- ment grew, and others farther into the interior sprang from it; all of them spanish settlements; and in the king of spain recognized them as a colony and appointed a governor. thus it continued until in , when england was at war with spain, and they sent lord beresford, with several thousand men, down to this colony to take possession of it. "buenos aires then, as now, was the key to the entire country, and as it had but forty thousand inhabitants, and was without any military defence, he took it without trouble. but the spaniards, at last, overcame him; and he was obliged to give up his prize and leave. england then sent another army, but this time the natives were prepared, and their victory was complete. general whitelock, in a lesson in history command, capitulated, and his flag, the flag of the famous seventy-first regiment of the british army, hangs in the cathedral over yonder, where you see the double spires beyond the house-tops. we are justly proud of that flag, for that seventy-first regiment is the one that caused napoleon no end of trouble in egypt. "after this victory our people began to feel the stirrings of independence from spain itself, and a spirit of revolution took hold of the officials and people. at last, an open revolt took place in the plaza mayo, on the twenty-fifth day of may, , and under the leadership of splendid men — patriots all of them — our independence was declared. "but this was only the first step, just as it was with the great republic of the united states when on the fourth of july they declared their independence from england. so our twenty- fifth of may was but the beginning of a our little argentine cousin long struggle. a junta was formed to govern, but it was no easy task. to the north were uruguay, paraguay and bolivia; to the west chile and peru; all spanish colonies. the junta sent troops to these countries to en- deavour to arouse the people to throw off the yoke. they sent general belgrano to —" "oh! belgrano! i know about him, uncle. his tomb is in the little square in front of the church in calle defensa, and it was he who originated our flag. he said the long blue bars were to represent our faithfulness, as true as the beautiful blue of our skies; and the white bar was to symbolize our honour, spotless and fair." "yes. well, he went first to paraguay; but the spaniards had so intermarried with the paraguayan indians, whom they had found in that wild country, that they did not respond to the stirring appeal of general belgrano. he, however, succeeded in some of the northern a lesson in history provinces, and thus encouraged, they organized a small navy. do you know who was our first admiral? no? well, it was an english- man and his name was william brown. "with this navy, montivideo, the capital of uruguay, was taken. enthusiasm ran high, and it was just here that don jose de san martin came into the light of publicity, as commander-in-chief of the army. now let us take the automobile, awaiting us over in front of the house, and ride to the cathedral where the remains of our hero rest, and i will tell you more about him there." they rode along the clean streets, the fresh morning air blowing straight into their faces, the curious, sing-song cries of the street vend- ers following them as they sped along calle * florida. "uncle juan, why is it that most of these street peddlers are italians? see, there goes an onion-man with his long strings of onions, our little argentine cousin their stalks knit together into yard lengths; there is a vegetable cart; there is a vender of fruit, and all of them speaking broken spanish with an italian accent." "yes, nino, most of the peddlers are italian. i do not know why, unless it is that each nationality turns to a special kind of work in this world. the italians are naturally mer- chants, they like to bargain. they are also very fine mechanics. did you ever notice that our plasterers, or masons, who plaster the outside and inside of all our houses, speak italian?" "and that group of men on the corner, see, uncle, they are all dressed alike, and must be of the same nationality; what are they?" "those " — indicating half a dozen men wearing full trousers held up by red sashes, adorned with dozens of coins, their heads covered with round full caps also red. "those are basques or vascongados. there are many a lesson in history here, and they come from a small piece of country to the west end of the pyrenees, in spain, bordering the bay of biscay. like the italians, they, too, follow the work best suited to them, and they are mostly porters, because of their physical strength and powers of en- durance. "i have noticed, too, that the majority of our milk men are basques, and i account for that because in their native home they are a pastoral people and such pursuits attract them. listen as we pass: their language is unintelligible to us although they come from spain. it is unlike any other european language." they were now entering the great square called plaza mayo. it is the heart of the city, although it is not in the centre. it covers about ten acres, and is two blocks back from the muddy la plata river; and scores of masts and smoke-belching funnels of great ocean vessels can be seen from its benches. our little argentine cousin "that is our government house. that much i know," said francisco, pointing to the rose-tinted building, modelled after the tuile- ries, and facing the plaza. from its rear to the river intervened grass plots and groves of sturdy palmettoes. "yes, that is where our senate convenes and where all the business of the republic is done. the president has his offices there, and all the public receptions are held there. you see, our government does not provide a home for our president; that, he must look after himself. why, we are just in time to see his excellency now." there was a clatter of hoofs under the wide porte-cochere and a smart closed coupe drew up before the side entrance. the liveried footman with a cockade of blue and white (the argentine colours) in his high hat sprang to the ground and opened the door. a man, slightly above the usual argentine height, quite handsome, a lesson in history with pure castilian features, and dressed in afternoon garb of tall silk hat and frock coat, got out, and walked spryly up the wide stone steps, past the sentries in scarlet and green, into the vestibule. "do you know him, uncle juan?" asked francisco, with awe in his voice. "senor alcorta, el presidente, is a warm friend of mine," replied the colonel, and as he said it he grew fully half a foot in his nephew's estimation. "a warm friend? do tell me about him." "another time, nino, we must hasten to yonder cathedral; but he is a good man and a good president." they turned towards the enormous building, shaped like the pantheon with its blue tile- covered cupola, and its long portico supported by huge corinthian columns. it was built by the jesuits in the seventeenth century and hundreds of indians were employed our little argentine cousin by these pioneer fathers, in its construction. like all houses in buenos aires, it is of masonry untinted except by years. with the bishop's palace next to it, it covers an acre of ground. francisco and his uncle entered it and crossing themselves, knelt on the bare stone floor, for like most argentines, they were catholics, and this was their greatest cathedral. after a few minutes spent in devotion, the colonel led the way to one of the naves, where the tomb of the great liberator, san martin, stands, a huge sarcophagus upon a high pedestal of marble. the colonel stood in meditation a moment, then drew the boy beside him on a bench. in a low voice he said: "francisco, san martin, the father of our country, was not only a great general, but he was also a remarkable organizer, for his troops were composed mainly of gauchos of the wild uncivilized kind, who were not easily trained or drilled. it was he who originated the plan of a lesson in history crossing the andes and liberating chile and peru from the spanish yoke. "with his army of five thousand men, and in the face of public derision, for the undertaking seemed impossible, he crossed the rugged cordilleras in twenty-five days; met the spanish general in charge of chile and defeated him. he was thus the liberator of the chilean people, for that battle on the twelfth of february, , gave them their independence from spain. in santiago, chile, there is a statue to general san martin, and one to the city of buenos aires. after his wonderful achievement in crushing the power of spain, in argentina, chile and peru, he retired to private life, refusing to serve in any civil capacity. "following this revolutionary triumph, brazil waged war with the argentine republic over the disposition of uruguay. after three years, they agreed on its independence. this was followed by a dictatorship lasting twenty years, our little argentine cousin that was a period of the greatest tyranny in our history. don juan manuel ortiz de rosas, at the head of a powerful troop of half savage gauchos, appeared on the political stage, and literally wrested the reins of government from dorrego, who held them. "some time you will read in history of his twenty years of despotism. it was during this reign that my father, your maternal grandfather, lost his life in the blockade of argentine ports, by french and english forces. rosas was at last overthrown by general urquiza, who organized the government upon its first solid basis, with a constitution modelled closely after that of the united states of north america. since then, although we have had a few revolu- tions and several financial crises, we have main- tained our freedom; and our wonderful natural resources and our rapid commercial develop- ment are giving us a stable place in the world's congress of nations." a lesson in history francisco listened attentively, and when his uncle concluded, followed him out a side entrance into the street, like one in a dream. they stepped into the calle bartolome mitre, which seemed congested with a tor- rent of vehicles pouring down its narrow chan- nel like a noisy stream and discharging itself into the great plaza in front of the cathe- dral. "what if san martin could see this now?" ventured francisco, still under the spell of the hero's achievements. "wouldn't he open his eyes?" "yes, lad, the growth of this city has been phenomenal, and this afternoon i will show you more of it. why, you're not homesick, are you?" he asked, noticing the far away look in the boy's eyes as they sped along the avenida. "not exactly, but i would like to see elena, and find out how she is to-day." "why, bless my heart! i had forgotten the our little argentine cousin sick sister. we will go past thy mother's house and if the little rose is well enough this after- noon, we shall include her in our ride in the city. chapter iv curious sights elena was propped up with pillows in a deep chair by the window which opened out upon the street. she looked lonely, but when she saw the car sweep along the street and stop at their door, her face beamed happily. there was no jealousy in elena's heart because her brother was being thus favoured by their uncle. “oh, elena, mia,” cried francisco, throwing his arms about her, and kissing her on each pale cheek. “do you feel able to take a ride with us this afternoon ?” “i think she is,” answered his mother, enter- ing the room, and taking her son into a close embrace. “but how i have missed my niño, juan,” turning to her brother, the colonel. our little argentine cousin "perhaps i have been selfish in taking him from you, anita. shall i leave him here?" "ah, no! the lad needs you, juan. he has no father to teach him as he should be taught. it is the very opportunity for him; and i am most pleased. only, let me see him often, and i shall be content." "that you shall, and this afternoon just after mdte, we will come to take you and elena with us for a ride. it may bring roses to her cheeks," and he pinched the pale cheeks as he passed her on his way out. true to their promise, at five o'clock the automobile drew up in front of francisco's home and the colonel, himself, carried elena out to it, and placed her in the nest of pillows on the broad leather seat. her mother fol- lowed and before elena realized it, they were speeding toward the central part of the city. "where does the little white rose wish to go ?" inquired her uncle. curious sights "oh, anywhere —away from this horrid street. i am so tired of it. if i may, i should love to see the water." "to the river, enrique," laughingly ordered her uncle. "only, the river isn't a very pretty sheet of water. it is so murky, and i think should be called the river of bronze rather than the river of silver." "i know, uncle juan; but when i had the fever it was water, water, water i dreamt of, and now i want to see my fill of it." "that you shall, white rose, for right here at buenos aires the river is over twenty-five miles wide and the city has a frontage of four miles along the waterfront." they passed through the plaza mayo, and francisco had to tell elena of having seen el presidents that morning. then they turned into the paseo-de-julio, a one-sided boulevard facing the river two blocks away. the inter- vening space was a maze of small plazas where our little argentine cousin palms, flowers, shrubs and statuary edge the waterfront like a band of solid green. beyond, before elena could see the water, were the busy docks, huge masonry basins, where over two thousand ocean-going vessels come and go during the span of a year. electric cranes were swinging the great cargoes of wheat and cattle into the yawning holds of the vessels, and on and on the sea of funnels and masts stretched until the muddy line of water at last broke on the sight. fran- cisco was alert, his brown eyes taking in every detail of the stirring busy scene; but elena's hungry eyes looked past this to the water beyond. "some day, i hope to go away in one of those big vessels," she announced. "indeed, and which one will you choose, little white rose? here is a wide choice. that large one with the enormous smokestacks and the british flag flying above her, is a royal curious sights mail steam-ship from england. one of these leaves every friday for england, and besides the mail, carries about fifteen hundred passengers. on one of them you would travel in great lux- ury; electric fans, electric elevators, an orchestra with dances every evening, and dressing for dinner at night. oh! it's gay enough, the life on those magnificent steamers! "then, alongside of it you see a smaller boat, a french liner from marseilles. they go weekly also, and they bring us our champagne and our opera companies; why, this very automobile came on one of them. there's an italian liner and just beyond are some german boats. in the south dock is a river boat that goes up country to paraguay; our oranges come on those. and all about are smaller boats, some sailing vessels that carry coffee from brazil, and yellow pine from new orleans in the united states." "why, that one just over yonder flies the our little argentine cousin stars and stripes of north america," cried francisco, pointing to a small vessel. "not exactly, nino. it is from los estados unidos. you must not confound them, for the united states are but a part of north america, although many of our people do not seem to think so. but you do not see many of their flags in our docks. the commercial relations between our two countries are as yet in their infancy. the most of our export and import business is done with europe." "do they not send anything at all down here, but yellow pine, uncle?" this from fran- cisco. "yes, oh! yes. they are sending us machinery, especially agricultural machinery. when you go with me to the country you will see their wind-mills, steam threshers and bind- ers in great quantities. they send us other machinery, of many kinds, but in comparison the united states. curious sights with our trade with germany and england it is very little." "and do these big ships go back empty to europe?" inquired elena, pointing to the long wharves. "by no means, little girl. see those heavy carts going towards the docks? well, i don't suppose your young mind can take in the figures, but francisco will understand, when i tell you, those carts carried one hundred and fifty million bushels of wheat last year to those returning ships, to say nothing of millions of sheep, frozen quarters of beef, wool, cheese and even butter and eggs. anita," turning to his sister, " i doubt if you, yourself, have ever been to the barracas, have you?" "no, juan. it is so far from the residence district and i never happened to drive that way." "then we will ride over there now and let you all see the largest wholesale produce our little argentine cousin market under one roof that you can find in all the world." for two miles they sped through narrow streets; past crowded tenements, in front of which scores of dirty children quarrelled and played, and where the peons or working classes huddle, sometimes families of fourteen in one room; past tambos, where the cows and goats stand in sheds, open to the street, awaiting to be milked while the customer waits; past gray spired churches, their wide doors always open, inviting the pious passer-by to enter for prayer; passed fideos factories, where curious shaped macaroni hangs drying in the sun in the open courtyards; on and on they bumped, for the streets here were cobble-stones, until, at last, they reached the vast building covering many acres, where wheat, wool, corn and produce are bought and sold to the foreign trade. "were it not so late, we would alight and see curious sights it closer. however, elena could not walk, her on this, her first outing; eh, white rose?" but elena was fast asleep, her head on her mother's shoulder. the chauffeur turned the car towards the city, where here and there, in the gathering dusk, an electric light could be seen as if notifying the day, by these advance signals, that its duty was over. elena slept on and did not see the wonderful avenida as they flew along its smooth surface, so like paris as to seem a bit of that gay city picked up and transferred to american soil; the plane trees bordering it, with here and there a small newspaper kiosk like a miniature temple; the splendid building of " la prensa," the richest newspaper in the world, where the buenos aires public can obtain the services of the best doctors, lawyers, or dentists free anyhow. already, i fear she has had too long a ride for her strength, and we hope not to tire our little argentine cousin of charge; invitingly odorous confectioneries or restaurants with small tables on the side- walks at which handsomely dressed men and women sit eating and drinking and watching the gay multitude; bewildering shop windows full of the latest parisian novelties; fruit and flower boys, with their trays of luscious fruits and delicately scented blossoms balanced un- aided on their heads; hotels just beginning to glitter with their myriads of electric lights; all of these passed by them as elena slept the sleep of exhaustion. francisco, however, missed none of it, for his was the latin spirit full of love of pleasure and display, bright lights and gay crowds. his uncle watched him intently from under his heavy brows. suddenly a weird, unearthly wail arose above the hum of the traffic all around. elena started up, frightened and trembling, but, as she had heard it before, she recognized it, curious sights and fell back asleep again. francisco had heard it also, but never so close, it seemed right beside him. "uncle, may we not go back by the prensa building and see what has happened?" he cried excitedly. the colonel agreed and enrique crossed to the other side of the street, entering the long line of vehicles going west, for the "rule of the road " in argentina is "keep to the left." the hoarse, wailing steam whistle had drawn the crowds towards the handsome building from whose tower it was issuing, and they could not reach it within half a block. mounted policemen were everywhere trying to disperse the crowd. it was good-natured as any latin crowd, but refused to be moved; like a hot water bag, it bulged out in one spot when pressed down in another. and all of this —because the bulletin methods of this mighty newspaper are so unusual. our little argentine cousin whenever any unexpected occurrence takes place in europe or any part of the world this enterprising "daily" apprises the public of it by blowing this stridently piercing steam whistle. it was blown when queen victoria passed away; its howl distressed the nervous citizens when san francisco was almost in ashes, and its present message was that a son and heir had been born to the king and queen of spain. this was made known from the front steps of the building and very soon the crowd was a cheering, hat-waving mob. it was momentarily growing more excited and enrique turned into a side street and sped towards the house in calle cerrito, where elena, now thoroughly aroused by the bois- terous tumult about them, could be tucked away into bed. as francisco and el coronel lacevera sat at dinner that evening discussing the event of the afternoon, while softly gliding ser- curious sights vants in quiet livery served them, the colonel said: — "did you know, nino, that every time la prensa blows that whistle as they did to-day, it costs them three hundred dollars?" "why, uncle juan, does it use up as much steam as that?" earnestly inquired francisco. "scarcely," laughed the colonel, as he lifted up an enormous bunch of muscatel grapes, weighing several pounds, from the platter of fruit before him, "scarcely that, nino, but our city government fines them that amount every time they blow it, as they term it a public nuisance. now, when they want to indulge in this sensational advertising, they send a mes- senger on to the commissaria post haste to deposit the fine, timing his arrival just as the last howl of the whistle sounds across the city. chapter v great surprises on the colonel's desk the little revolving calendar was set at " december th," and the letters were in red ink, showing by this that it was a feast day. the colonel was writing, and evidently did not notice a little figure clad in a long linen coat standing behind his chair waiting a chance to speak. he wrote on and on, until francisco's patience was exhausted and he coughed warningly. "not much of a soldier, nino! a soldier must have patience if it is to wait all day." but francisco was used by now to his uncle's chaffing; indeed, they were close friends and francisco went right to the heart of his errand. "uncle, it's el dia de navidad." "why, so it is," looking at the calendar. great surprises "i had forgotten it was christmas. we've so many feast days one cannot keep the run of all, and i can scarcely remember my own patron saint's day. if it wasn't such a well known and widely observed one, it would often pass before i knew it." francisco laughed. "why, uncle juan, you couldn't miss st. john's day unless you were deaf and blind. they make such a noise and have such huge bonfires always. for weeks before it comes the children save every piece of wood and paper, and last st. john's night i stood on our roof and looked over the city. my! how pretty it looked; the whole city seemed on fire; for nearly every street had half a dozen bonfires. i wish my saint was as popular. but to-day, i want to ask if i may go home just for a little while." "indeed you may, lad, whenever you choose." "well, you see, to-day, i've a special errand, uncle; i've been making a pesebre for elena our little argentine cousin and it's finished now just in time. i would like to go and set it up." "let me see it," said the colonel. "oh, it's fine, uncle. i've got twenty-eight figures and the paint is dry on every one of them. i worked all day yesterday in the back patio, and jose, the portero, helped me cut out the camels. he said mine looked like giraffes." and the boy began to lay them out on the desk, tenderly lifting each one as though they were alive and breathing. as each little representation took its place in the long row the colonel's face grew tender. he dared not smile at their crudity for behind the rough, unskilful carving, he saw the ideal that had been in the carver's mind. he was seeing some new thing each day in the little fellow's character that made him love him more; and when they were all placed formally to- gether, he drew the little linen coated figure into the circle of his arm and together they great surprises discussed the merits of each wee wooden figure. "nino, we will go together! that's what we'll do," he exclaimed almost boyishly. "i am tired of these long army statistics, so let us go inmediatamente." a span of argentine thoroughbreds took them this time, for the colonel was a genuine lover of horse flesh, and he owned several of the finest in the country. it is said that an argentine will lavish as much care on his favourite horse as a mother will upon her child; and these two, sat- urnino and val-d'or, were the pride of his heart. "this pair, francisco," he began, as they took their seats in the open victoria, and the silver studded harness tinkled as the splendid horses started off; "this pair are to be taken abroad next month with my two trotters, benita and malacaro. our horses are attracting more and more attention in europe as they see the fine specimens our stables are sending there. our little argentine cousin "i shall enter them on the english turf, and i am ready to hazard their price that they will come back, at least one of them, with a blue riband. at any rate, i am sure there are no finer appearing horses anywhere than these; but all of our horses are good to look at. of course, i except those miserable cab horses; they are a disgrace to their name, and should be called sheep." thus he chatted on, full of his subject, until they reached francisco's home. they found guillerma and her mother away. they had gone to celebrate mass and elena, with the one servienta, was alone in the house. "you entertain her, uncle juan, while i erect the pesebre," whispered francisco. so the gray haired soldier took elena on his knee and told her the story of a little girl who was lost in a forest and of the convention of animals that met to discuss her fate. he put most eloquent speeches into the jaws and beaks great surprises of the different birds and animals, such as the deer, the puma, the ostrich, the jaguar, and many others. elena's eyes were wide as the big bear growled out his belief that she should be cut up into half kilo bits, and divided among them; but just then francisco entered the room and asked them to come into the dining- room where estrella, the servant, was preparing mdte. as they entered the comedor elena spied the manger with its surrounding images in the corner, on the floor. "que hermosa! que linda!" she cried, clasping her hands in ecstasy. "only yester- day did i tell encarnacion, when she came to bring me christmas cakes full of almonds and raisins, that we should have no pesehre. she is to have one of ivory that cost a small fortune, but i had rather have this. oh! it is so beauti- ful! who could have brought it? who could dining-room. how beautiful i how lovely! our little argentine cousin have put it here?” and she looked up inquir- ingly, first at her uncle and then at her brother. uncle juan's face pleaded “not guilty” but francisco's was so beamingly tell-tale that she flew to him and embraced him and kissed him over and over again. when each figure had been carefully in- spected and discussed uncle juan proposed a ride, this time behind his favourite horses. as they entered the house on their return he was pleased to see a faint colour on elena’s face and a brighter look in her eyes. thus the days passed, swiftly enough; new year's with its fireworks and noisy crowds of celebrating peons, and at last came twelfth night. elena awoke on the sixth of january fever- ishly expectant. surely, after having set up such a lovely pesebre, the three kings would not forget her. an excursion into the dining-room proved their faithfulness, for there they stood — 'did you ever see such glorious blue eyes !'" _ great surprises three smartly covered camels, and three wee kings, bowing before the tiny babe in the manger. around the room were the gifts they had brought to her. a toy piano, a wonderful french doll with a trunk full of clothes, a few picture- books and a china tea set. she was still admiring them when francisco arrived; he was dressed for travelling and was quite excited, but elena could not notice that, so absorbed was she in her toys and doll. "see this mtifieca, francisco, mio! did you ever see such glorious blue eyes, just like the english senora's on the corner. why, you act as though you had seen them before, fran- cisco, are you not surprised to see so many?" exclaimed elena, impatient that he would not kneel with her among her gifts. "they are beautiful, elena, every one of them. but i am in a great haste for uncle •doll. our little argentine cousin juan and i are leaving from the retiro station in half an hour. the servant, jose, has taken our trunks and large bags ahead, and i stopped here to bid you all goodbye, as uncle juan had another errand to do on his way down. we go a day earlier than we had planned in order that we may stop over for a day and night in rosario. i am glad, elena, that your gifts are so lovely, and if i were not in such a hurry, we would have a long play together. but i shall write to you, all of you; " and he embraced them, each one, mother and two sisters, hastily, not trusting himself to prolong the goodbye. the estacion retiro was full of a holiday crowd, for it was early morning. jose was awaiting him, and they stood watching the long trains of cars coming and going, discharging their loads into the long sheds, and swallowing up another one and puffing out again. fran- cisco's knowledge of railroads was limited. he had never taken a long journey on one; his great surprises mother and guillerma had taken him with them on one of their yearly pilgrimages to the shrine of our lady of lujan, some forty miles distant, for being devout catholics, this was never omitted. he began to grow nervous, fearing his uncle would be too late, as the train for rosario was puffing and blowing just out- side the iron gate and the guard was preparing to ring a huge bell, which announced the de- parture of all trains. just before its first peal broke from its brass throat his uncle strode in, and, motioning the servant to follow with the bags, he hurried francisco through the gate. jose, the portero accompanying them, was an araucanian indian by birth, but he spoke spanish fluently. when a mere boy, the colonel's father had brought him from chile, when returning from a military expedition into that country; and he had been a faithful servant of the family ever since. as slavery is prohibited in argentina he had been paid our little argentine cousin wages since he became of age, over forty years ago, but no power on earth could have induced jose to leave the service of colonel lacevera. he was but slightly bent and possessed the broad face and high cheek bones of the south american indian. his skin was like parchment, and his eyes slanted peculiarly like the eyes of the chinese. when francisco had spoken of that last characteristic to his uncle he had been told that many people believed these indians to be a tangent of the oriental races, and upheld their theory mainly because of the peculiar similarity of the eyes. jose and francisco were great friends and francisco was much pleased that jose was to be with them at the estancia, since his knowledge of animals, birds, herbs, in fact all out door life, was unlimited. the car they occupied was a compartment car of the english type, although the ponderous engine was north american. as the railroads great surprises of argentina are mainly under english control the english railway customs and equipments are largely in evidence. the pretty stations at each suburb are sur- rounded by grass plots with beds of flowers, and the english system of overhead bridges across the tracks at all stations reduces the number of accidents. francisco found out all of this by a series of continuous questions as their train sped through the pretty suburbs with their numbers of summer homes, surrounded by well kept gar- dens. the villages began to grow fewer and fewer and colonel lacevera said: "now it's my turn, nino! can you bound the argentine republic?" francisco began in the sing-song manner of the spanish schools:—"on the north by paraguay, bolivia and brazil, on the west and south by chile; on the east by brazil, uruguay and the atlantic ocean. its area is our little argentine cousin one million, one hundred and eighteen thou- sand square miles and its population is over six million. it is—" "there! there!" exclaimed his uncle, laughingly. "you may stop. no telling how long you could sing the praises of your native land. i want to tell you a few things that you may not have learned. do you know what alluvial soil is?" "it sounds like some metal," ventured the boy. "but it isn't. you see, argentina was once part of the ocean bed; for under the soil, way back in the interior of the country, i, myself, have found shells and gravel. this long level stretch of land between the atlantic ocean and the foothills of the andes, that was once covered with water, is now called the pampas; and you are now in that region. "see that long, coarse grass stretching as far as the eye can reach; it is the finest pasture great surprises land in the world and explains why we produce such quantities of cattle, sheep and horses. you see, having this excellent pasture-land, so well watered, and a climate that insures grazing the whole year through, our expenses for raising and rearing cattle are very low. we are a larger country than we appear on the map, my boy. why! we are twelve times as large as great britain." "uncle, as we have so many things that are the largest and best in the world, tell me, is this the longest railroad on the earth?" "no, nino, not quite that. our railroads are developing our country at a rapid rate and we have some of the finest road beds in the world, but that is because our country is so level. now that i think of it, we have got some- thing connected with railroads that is interesting. we have the longest straight stretch of railway in the world, it is said. on the argentine pacific railway from buenos aires to the our little argentine cousin andes it runs like a surveyor's line two hundred and eleven miles without deviating a foot. but come, let us go into the dining car for break- fast; it is already half-past eleven." this was francisco's greatest surprise of all in a long list of the day's surprises. to eat in a railway car, speeding fifty miles an hour, with delicate china and napery, shining silver and food like he had been having daily at his uncle's table, seemed too wonderful to be true. chapter vi new experiences "levantese! levantese!" came jose's voice to francisco's ear, just as the latter was lassoing a llama he had been pursuing on the back of an ostrich. francisco rubbed his eyes and woke from his dream to a babel of voices, and the train was not in motion. where could he be? as he rubbed his sleepy eyes again his uncle took him gently by the shoulder. "wake yourself, nino. we are in rosario; come, follow me." francisco followed him through the long hall of the compartment car out into the big station where insistent porters and shouting cab-men made frantic grabs at them and their baggage, only to be beaten off by jose, whose language s our little argentine cousin as he scolded and berated them was not what is known as " polite spanish." selecting a victoria from the long line of waiting ones, they entered, jose sitting with the driver, and were soon before the lighted portals of a large hotel. the building was two stories in height and perfectly square; the second story bed-rooms all opened on to a porch or corridor, which ran completely around and overlooked the central court on the first floor. the entrance was very imposing with marble staircases and marble pillars; and francisco's sleepy eyes opened wide in astonishment. they were just in time for dinner; already . the marble tables in the patio were filling with men and women sipping their afterdinner coffee in the cool open air. as this was francisco's first dinner in a hotel it might be interesting to know what he ate. being an argentine, he always ate several dif- ferent kinds of meat, and began this meal with new experiences a platter of cold meats: tongue, pressed chicken and jellied veal. second, a vermicelli soup with grated cheese; third, fried pejerey, the most popular fish of the country; fourth, partridge fried in oil; fifth, asparagus with melted butter; sixth, macaroni with tomato and garlic sauce; seventh, roast mutton; eighth, a salad of lettuce and tomatoes; ninth, a sweet jelly in wine sauce; tenth, fruits; and then they adjourned to the patio for coffee. while his uncle smoked and talked with friends, whom he had chanced to meet, fran- cisco slipped away and jose helped him un- dress for bed, as he was very tired. he remembered no more after jose turned off the electric light until he opened his eyes into the full glare of the sun, the next morning. it was nine o'clock and jose was laying out clean linen for him. after a refreshing shower bath, he returned to his room to find his rolls and coffee on a table beside his bed. our little argentine cousin "why, jose, i'm not a lady that i must have my cafe in bed!" exclaimed the lad. "mother and the girls always do that, but i'm a man and i want to have mine in the dining-room with uncle juan." jose explained that in hotels one must always take one's morning coffee in one's rooms; and he talked on while francisco ate and dressed. "el coronet will be busy all of the day and he has placed you in my hands. rosario, i know like a book, and together we will see it." "oh! that will be great fun, jose. where shall we go first?" "would you like to see them load the vessels? this city is where much of the wheat of our country is brought to be loaded into the vessels for europe. the river is so deep here that the largest ocean-going vessels can come up to the docks." they walked through crowded, busy streets until they came to a high bluff, and from the new experiences edge of this they could look down on the very tops of the long rows of steamships below, all being loaded with wheat. this was just the beginning of the busy season, for the harvest was scarcely under way. in january and february the whole city of rosario would seem nothing but wheat, wheat, wheat. francisco saw all of this with deepest in- terest; he was beginning to comprehend the resources of his own country. they sat watching the course of the wheat bags as they shot down the long chutes from the high bluffs to the vessels below, until francisco's eyes grew tired and even when he closed them he could see long lines of bobbing bags, like yellow mice, chasing one another into the water. so they walked along the bluff, counting the flags of the different nations displayed on the boats beneath them; english, french, italian, our little argentine cousin dutch, german and a few that francisco had never seen before. for a while they watched the lavaderas or washer-women pounding the clothes of the city on the rocks at the edge of the water; and spreading them on the higher rocks behind them to bleach and dry. steam laundries are uncommon in south america and all of the washing is done in this manner. the lavaderas carry the soiled linen from the houses to the river on their heads, balancing huge bundles as easily as though they were trifles, their arms folded across their breasts. as they stood watching this cleansing process francisco spied a raft-like boat piled high with small logs tied on securely. "it looks out of place here, jose, among all these enormous freight steamers. what does it carry r "willow, senorito, and see, there are others new experiences coming down the river. it goes to buenos aires to be made into charcoal, the principal fuel of that city. great quantities of it are raised above here; it is quick of growth and needs only to be planted so," and jose demonstrated by taking a short twig and sticking it into the earth. "behold! and in seven years, it is as you see it there on the rafts ready for market. they use the twigs for making osier baskets. but hace calor let us go to the cool shady patio of the hotel and there i will tell you a story of some charcoal burners until the uncle comes." but the colonel reached the hotel before they did, for francisco must stop to see this thing and that as they sauntered along. the mid-day heat meant little to him while so much of novelty challenged his attention. jose was always ready to answer his questions, it makes hot, literally. our little argentine cousin and he frequently drew the boy's notice to something that would escape any one but a keen observer, and this the indian was. the sun was almost in midheaven, and the daily siesta was beginning in some parts of the city. workshops were being closed, and under every tree some cart driver had drawn up his horse and stretched himself on the grass under its shade; even the beggars were curled up on the church steps fast asleep. "why do some of those ragged beggars wear metal badges, jose?" "they are licensed beggars, senorito. the city has authorized them to beg, and when you help them you may know you are helping no rogues." francisco drew his nose up into a prolonged sniff. "i believe i'm hungry, jose. what smells so good?" "step here on to this side street and i'll show you." new experiences the street was being torn up to be repaved, and the peon workingmen at this noon interval of rest were eating their almuerzo. gathered in little groups, they sat around something that was cooking and emitting odours of stewing meat, potatoes and onions. "but how are they cooking here in the street?" "go closer and you can see," replied jose. francisco walked to the curb, and looking over their backs into the middle of one circle he saw — the stew cooking in a shovel. "they buy these things at the market and use their street shovels for stewpans, as you see. "ugh! i hope they wash them first," laughed francisco. they were now passing the market, an enormous affair covering the best of a large block. but the scene was no longer animated for the chattering and bargaining were be- our little argentine cousin ginning to cease; and the merchants, them- selves, were nodding over their wares. along the curbing were piles of merchandise; here, a stack of peaches, pears, apricots, figs, nectarines, grapes, and plums; there, an array of earthen ware, in curious shapes; here, a stock of readymade clothing, aprons, trousers, ponchos and shoes. the vegetables were heaped high in piles; tomatoes, beans, lettuce, cardon, celery, potatoes, cucumbers, and onions in long ropes, their stems so plaited together with straw that they can be sold by the yard; or, in that country's measure, a metro. many of the stalls offered cooked foods; roasted partridges and chickens; pates of jellied meats; cleaned and cooked armadillo, whose meat tastes like tender roast pork. the argentines are very fond of them and they consume thousands every month. around the curbing, at one end of the market, blankets. * a little over a yard. new experiences stood great carts, with wheels fully eight feet high. these, jose told francisco, were the market carts that brought the produce into the city. they look rude and cumbersome, but carry several tons and often as many as a dozen oxen are hitched to them. these interested francisco but jose bid him hurry as no doubt his uncle would have breakfasted. which, indeed, he was doing, for as they entered the hotel francisco caught sight of him, seated in the long dining-room with several gentlemen; all of them, including the colonel, in cool looking white linen suits. francisco joined them and was introduced to the strangers. they were wealthy estancieros but not span- iards. one was an englishman and the other a north american, owning ranches near ro- sario, and they were negotiating with colonel lacevera for some pedigreed horses which he owned." our little argentine cousin they talked partly in spanish and partly in english; for like most educated argentines, the colonel spoke some english and understood more. francisco had studied english at school just as he did french, and he was delighted to be able to understand some of their conversation. before they parted, the englishman urged colonel lacevera to attend a large sale of cattle and horses which was to take place at his estancia the next day, sunday. patting fran- cisco on the head he added: "bring the nino also, he may enjoy it." so early the following morning jose had their horses at the curb of the hotel, saddled and ready for the three league gallop. francisco had not ridden often, but his enthusiasm knew no bounds when he saw the argentine pony that was to be his mount. the colonel looked at jose meaningly, for he knew that this eagerness would not outlast the long gallop. new experiences at first they rode briskly in the cool morning air. francisco held on bravely, but the colonel noticed the firm set of his lips, and that he talked less and less as they rode on. they were riding through beautiful country. the turf was fresh and green in spots where the old coarse grass had been burned off and the tender young sprouts were coming up through the rich soil. they passed droves of several thousand sheep nibbling peacefully on this succulent new growth. there were shep- herds, with here and there a hut made of poles covered with mud; the roof thatched with asparta grass. francisco was so tired and his bones began to ache so desperately that he ceased to show any interest in the things they passed. colonel lacevera and jose exchanged knowing looks, but dared not permit francisco to see them. when they came to one of these rude huts his uncle said: our little argentine cousin "nino, would you not like to see the inside of one of these prairie palaces?" he admired the boy's pluck, but he feared to tax his physical endurance more. francisco willingly assented, and they rode up to the door around which a swarm of dirty, half naked children sat on the ground. jose called: "ola!" and a copper-coloured woman appeared at the door, dressed only in one garment, a dun-coloured chemise. she was an indian, and when jose spoke to her in her own tongue, asking for a drink, she pointed to the square kerosene tin filled with water, beside which hung a gourd. she said her husband was out with the sheep; and she had no chairs to offer them, but they might alight and rest. they stepped into the hut, the door of which was a horse's hide; the floor was the hard earth; a box stood in the middle and served as a table, while bundles of straw in the corners new experiences served as beds. instead of chairs there were dried skulls of oxen; their wide, spreading horns serving as arms to these unique seats. francisco was glad, however, to rest his weary body within their grewsome embrace and he sat thus for half an hour, while jose watered the horses and the colonel talked to the chil- dren. francisco himself proposed that they start on, but jose was obliged to lift him into his saddle. one more league and they were in sight of the estancia, where the sale was to be held. the house was of the usual spanish style of architecture, and the many buildings grouped around it gave the place a resemblance to a village. senor stanley met them and "gave" them his house, after the manner of all spanish hosts, and they entered to wash and rest. as the senor stanley was an englishman, our little argentine cousin his house interested francisco in spite of his weariness. it was fitted with every luxury of a high class english home; the baths being supplied with cool spring water which flowed through them constantly. there were hand- somely furnished parlours, a well-filled library and a billiard room. the stables were com- modious and sanitary; and the tennis courts and golf links, gardens and patios were nu- merous. in the corrals they found several hundred men gathered and there was much confusion and noise. it was sunday and therefore a holiday spirit pervaded everything, for sunday is not ob- served in argentina as a day of quiet and reverence; it is the day for sports, games and excursions. this sale had been set for sunday to insure a large attendance. first, breakfast was served. under a long arbour, formed by tall eucalyptus trees, the new experiences table, fully a hundred feet in length, had been set. at each place was a bunch of flowers and a bottle of native wine. despite his aching body, francisco did full justice to the soup, barbecued meats and fowls, vegetables and fruits that were served. but after he had eaten he crept under the shade of one of the trees to rest. he fell asleep and slept until his uncle wakened him at mdte time. "hello, my boy! slept through all of this noise? you were certainly exhausted, for such a clatter as there has been. one hundred thousand dollars and many pedigreed animals have changed hands, and it wasn't done quietly either. we will have our mdte and then ride home in the cool of the evening. come." and the colonel helped the stiff" jointed, weary boy to his feet. chapter vii on the ranch "what is that you have, manuel?" cried francisco, to one of the peons, five days later, as he sat under an ombri tree in the garden on his uncle's estancia, playing with some tame tierra birds, that kept the garden clean of worms. manuel was one of the house peons and he had a queer looking machine with a long snout under his arm. "why, this is an ant destroyer, senorito; would you care to watch me kill ants?" for answer, francisco ran eagerly to his side and the two walked toward the peach orchard. francisco had had five days of rest from his tiresome ride the day of the sale, and he was now ready for any new adventure. on the ranch they had arrived at the tres arroyas ranch three days before and he had made friends with every one connected with the house and gar- dens. the heat had been too great to allow of any wider acquaintance, which would have included the gauchos, or cowboys; at least the nearer ones, for the tres arroyas ranch was very large, and francisco never could have known them all. jose had told him that one could ride all day from the centre and not reach its boundaries. "why do you use that to kill ants?" he asked of manuel. "our servienta at home uses hot water when they get into the patio." "ah, yes, senorito, but these country ants come in such armies it would take a geyser of boiling water to kill them. now, we are here in the orchard; you can see how they destroy things." curious rivulets of tawny brown ran here and there as far as the eye could reach. our little argentine cousin "last spring these ants fairly cleaned our peach trees of their tender young leaves, and it was only by continuous labour that we exter- minated them. now, look at them! thick as ever." "but how can you kill millions of ants with so small a machine?" "well, i can't this afternoon. i brought the machine here to place it and get it ready; then early in the morning i will tap on the iron bars of your window and you must follow me." it was scarcely more than dawn the next morning when francisco heard the gentle tapping on the rejas at his window. he had forgotten his engagement with manuel, and started up in bewilderment. the sight of the peon reminded him and he hurried into his garments and was soon with manuel in the crisp morning air. "a little more of the sun above the horizon on the ranch and we would have been too late for to-day," said the swarthy spaniard, as he busied himself lighting the machine. "ants are early risers, and it's only by getting up before they have made their morning toilets that we can manage to make war on them." francisco laughed at the idea of an ant bathing and dressing, and bent over on his knees beside manuel who was scratching a match to light the dry rubbish in the cylindrical can, in one end of which was a small amount of sulphur. he screwed a lid on the other end, inserted the snout into an ant hole and with a pair of bellows he sent the volumes of sul- phurous smoke into the labyrinthine passages of the ant houses. "look, look," excitedly cried francisco, as quantities of smoke were seen issuing from many holes, here and there, within a radius of several hundred yards; showing how intricate our little argentine cousin and many winding are the underground pas- sages of these industrious pests. "yes, there won't be many ants getting out to work this morning. but in a short while they will be just as bad as ever." they went from one part of the orchard to another until the sun was too high, and they were obliged to stop until another morning. francisco learned, as they walked toward the house, that these ants are the worst pest, ex- cepting the locust, that the farmer has to combat. they particularly delight in carrying away whole beds of strawberries and they often come in armies that swarm over every obstacle in their path. as they entered the house, francisco noticed that his uncle had had cafe and was in his riding breeches ready for a morning gallop. "may i go with you, uncle juan?" cried francisco. "hey! that's spirit for you! rode yourself on the ranch to fragments a few days ago and ready for another trial to-day. che," clapping his hands as a peon appeared. "saddle barboza for the senorito, inmedia- tamente." francisco gulped his caff and nibbled at a biscuit, but he was too excited to eat more. when the horses were brought to the door, his eyes gleamed, for he saw that the smaller horse, that was to be his to ride while he was on the estancia, was resplendent in a new saddle, bridle and bit. the servant brought a set of solid silver spurs and smart leather riding boots which he assisted francisco to put on, and which he told him his uncle had had sent with the saddle and outfit from the city. the stirrups were of silver, beautifully chased, and the head stall, ornaments for the brow band which covers most of the horse's face, and the pretel bangles that jingled across the horse's breast, were all of the same valuable metal. our little argentine cousin it was indeed the outfit of a gentleman, and on barboza, the sleek bay horse, with the neat, light hoof of the prairie steed, it seemed an equipment fit for a prince. his uncle appeared at the mounting block and francisco kissed him again and again as he thanked him for the lovely gifts. "hey! hey! we can't waste time thus, my boy. i am going over to the west of the estancia to inspect some horse branding that is to take place to-day. the mayor domo will follow me later." they cantered off across the corral and were soon on the open plains. on and on, over the pastures, some of them red, like battle grounds with the scarlet margarita or verbena; when again they would reach a huge patch of white ones that looked at a distance like snow. "what was that, uncle?" exclaimed fran- cisco, startled, as a large bird with yellow breast superintendent. on the ranch and gray wings screeched across their path, emitting a harsh cry of several syllables. "that is the bicho-feo."' "why do they call it ugly bug? it is a bird." "because its cry is not unlike those words. listen again and you will hear how plainly he says it. it is a bird of prey and lives on smaller birds. that bird just fluttering up out of the grass at your left is a scissors bird." "oh, i know why. see how its two long tail feathers clip the air like scissors as it flies." they passed numbers of small gray owls; and once francisco spied a flock of flamingoes across the water of a small lake. occasionally they passed a shepherd's hut; but now they were getting on beyond the sheep grazing pastures and great herds of cattle came in sight. francisco leaped in his saddle with joy. "oh! uncle, are we coming to the cowboys?" beech-o-fay'-o. ioo our little argentine cousin his boyish enthusiasm had pictured them on their native heath so often, and now he was really to see them! he had watched them when they came to the city on holidays and walked along the paseo de julio, where the pawn shops, with their tempting offers of silver sheathed knives, gaily striped ponchos, and silver mounted rebenques draw them as honey draws bees; but to see them on the plains, — that was what he wanted! he did not have to call on his reserve of patience; indeed, soon after his eager question they passed a group of them, crouched on the ground around a fire of dry thistles, over which hung a can, suspended by wire from a tripod, and which held the water for their morning mdte. they arose to their feet as the colonel galloped past and greeted him with vivas. "do they often use those murderous looking knives on each other, uncle?" asked fran- riding whips. "soon after his eager question they passed a group of them." on the ranch cisco; the sight of their weapons having sub- dued his zeal somewhat. they were rougher looking men in their working clothes than when they came to the city dressed for a lark. "seldom, nino; unless they are intoxicated. they are not very civilized and they have no education whatever. they fairly live on their horses' backs and cannot be persuaded to do any work that must be done outside their saddles." they were, indeed, fierce in appearance. their knee-high boots were made of rawhide; they wore no trousers, but a striped blanket held around the waist with a belt, then brought between the legs and fastened again to the belt in front, formed the covering of the lower part of the body. this is called the chirapa and when walking it gives the wearer a bulky appearance, not unlike a turk. as these were peon gauchos, or low-class cowboys, they were not so picturesque as the our little argentine cousin gentleman gaucho, who is entirely different in appearance and character. the mayor domo rode up to them within the first hour, and his costume was that of the caballero class or gentleman gaucho. he also wore the chirapa, but it was over long white cotton trousers, the edges of which were embroidered and finished with hand-made lace. instead of the rawhide belt of the peon gaucho, his was a strip of hogskin doubled, the inside forming a pocket, which was stitched into compartments, these being made secure with clasps made of silver coins; from all of this hung a festoon of coins encircling the entire waist. the large clasp in the front was of solid silver, carved to represent the crest of argentina. several knives were thrust through his elaborate belt, and his riding whip was of closely braided rawhide, with a heavy silver handle. francisco eyed him curiously, but with evi- on the ranch io dent admiration. this was more to his liking, and he rode between this gentleman of the pampas and his soldier uncle with great pride. almost, he was persuaded to be a gaucho, but a side glance at his idolized uncle brought quick repentance to his heart. how could he be so disloyal to his family traditions! a soldado, of course, that was his destiny. * soldier. chapter viii cattle branding they reached the western corral about ten o'clock, and found the branding already under way. several dozen peon gauchos had as- sembled and they had driven the horses to be branded into an enclosure. "see, nino, these are all young animals; they have never had the iron on them." "why do you brand them, uncle juan? your estancia is so large surely they could not stray on to a neighbour's ranch; and then the gauchos watch them carefully?" "yes, but there are so many thousands that, despite the best of care, our horses stray away occasionally. before every yearly round-up, we send peons to all the neighbouring ranches to gather in the strayed ones; and if our brand our little argentine cousin bolas that their aim is unerring, and although it sometimes bruises the captive's legs, it is a most convenient method for catching a fleet-footed horse or cow. when the gaucho in the enclosure had caught a horse by this means, he immediately pulled it to the ground. a peon sat on its neck while another held it by a rope around its fore-legs, and a third blazed the lines of the tres ar- royas brand on its hip. the mark was in the shape of a horseshoe, inside of which was a cross; and at least ten of these groups were busy all of the time, burning it on the young animals. "what do you raise these wild horses for, uncle juan?" inquired francisco, who had not missed one single detail of the performance. "they are not fine horses like barboza here," and he patted his steed's neck affectionately. "no, they are not, by any means. these wild horses are raised for their hides mainly, “llazed the lines of the tres arroyas on its hip" cattle branding although very little of them goes to waste when they are skinned. look over yonder, near that cluster of mud huts, where the hides are drying in the air and sun." francisco's eyes followed the end of the silver riding whip that his uncle used to point with, and saw tier after tier of poles, from which were stretched horsehides to stakes in the ground below. turning to don carlos, the mayor domo, who was near-by, the colonel inquired the worth of the horses being branded. "not less than ten or twelve dollars each," answered the superintendent. "these are very good ones. does the senor care to have his breakfast now?" for some time, francisco had been feeling pangs of hunger. his hurried cafe had not been sufficient nourishment for the long hot ride, and now his hunger was aroused by odours that came to his nostrils like pleasant mes- our little argentine cousin sengers; yet, he could not see anything cook- ing. “uncle, shall we eat out here with the gauchos ?” he asked, wild-eyed. “very near them anyhow, but not exactly with them. manuel came ahead of us to prepare our almuerzo, which is in process of cooking over yonder behind that clump of willows. before we eat you shall see the gauchos eat, but i warn you it is not a pre- possessing sight. “here, don carlos, have the men go to their breakfast now, the lad wants to see their table manners.” don carlos rode into the corral, spoke a few words and the branding ceased. each man mounted his own pony, for an argentine cowboy never walks, be his journey ever so short. with cheers and shouts they galloped toward the mud huts near-by. francisco and the colonel followed at a cattle branding more dignified pace. they found the men gathered about in groups, squatting on the ground or sitting on ox skulls. the beef had been quartered and roasted on a spit over a charcoal fire, outside one of the huts. each man, without ceremony, had "fallen to" and helped himself, by cutting great chunks of the meat from the large piece on the fire. holding one end with his teeth and the other with his hand, each man would sever the bite about two inches from his mouth with one of his silver-handled belt knives. "you see how superfluous are knives, forks and plates," said the colonel in an undertone to francisco as they watched this primitive process. "and now for our own breakfast. i am as hollow as is the wild pumpkin at the end of summer," and he gave a sharp blow to his horse, another to barboza, and they were off" no our little argentine cousin towards their own waiting meal in the shadow of the willows. manuel had killed a small kid soon after reaching the corral, and had roasted it on a spit in its skin over a fire of dry thistles and charcoal. he was basting it with salt water, which he had brought in a bottle. in the coals below were sweet potatoes roasting in their jackets. so tempting were the combined odours of lamb and sweet potatoes that francisco ran to the little stream to wash himself, in order that he might begin to appease his ap- petite at once. "i never was so hungry," said he, as he took the tin plate offered him by manuel. "i think i could eat with my hands like the cowboys! do they ever eat anything but meat?" "seldom. they care but little for vege- tables; not enough to take the trouble of raising a few. meat and galletas, the hard biscuit of the pampas, often three or four months old, is cattle branding in all they have besides their mdte, that they must have always. "que esperanza! lad, this iamb is good! it takes me back to other days. many times on our expeditions into the provinces have i eaten thus." "tell me, do tell me of one while we eat and rest," coaxed francisco. "there were many, lad," said the colonel, as he passed his plate back to manuel for another piece of the smoking, savoury lamb. "i've never told you of the expedition of general roca into patagonia. i was com- manding a regiment at that time, one of the regiments that became famous because of that remarkable undertaking. "patagonia is all of the southern-most part of this continent lying between the rio negro and the straits of magellan, excepting the narrow strip between the andes and the pacific river. our little argentine cousin ocean, which belongs to chile. this country is not the barren, unproductive country now that it was before our expedition carried civili- zation to its wild wastes and reclaimed those vast prairies from the indians." "but, uncle juan, what right had argen- tina to take the land from the indians of pata- gonia? they had lived there for centuries and it was theirs." "it is a long story, nino, and i shall give you only the bare outline. you see, pata- gonia is a series of vast terraces from the at- lantic ocean to the foot of the andes. on these well watered steppes, patagonian indians, mainly the chennas, raised their cattle, allowing them to rove at will. but the winters there are most severe, especially when a pampero blows; so, during the winter months, they drove their immense droves of cattle to the northward into the foothills of the andes, where it was warmer. during these winter sojourns close to the cattle branding frontier of our republic, they lived by mur- dering and stealing from our settlements, and the development of our lands was being re- tarded because these pioneers were obliged to flee to the cities and leave their fields of grain and maize, their vineyards and their cattle to the mercy of the marauders. "gradually the outposts of our civilization were creeping closer to buenos aires, instead of extending and growing as they should. do you now see why we were justified in fighting them?" "yes, but i didn't know they had made any trouble. i supposed they were peaceful." "far from it. at last when don nicolas avellaneda became president, he sent general roca, who was my general, and the minister of war, into patagonia to exterminate these chennas. "it was not an easy task, for these indians are a fierce race, giants in size and strength. u our little argentine cousin do you know how they came by their name, patagonians?" "i have never heard, it must have something to do with their feet as ' patagon ' means ' large foot.'" "that's it exactly. magellan, the discov- erer, saw their footprints in the sand and be- cause of their magnitude, he believed them to be giants, and called them that before he had ever seen them. "well, general roca never knew discour- agement, and he set about their defeat by digging great trenches, twenty feet deep and twenty feet wide, while the indians were up in the mountains with their herds of cattle. "these trenches he covered with boughs, over which earth was scattered, and when all was ready he sent us back to drive the chennas toward the ditches. "it was a terrible price to pay for their cruelty, and i shudder now as i recall that n our little argentine cousin "yes, yes, several times and it is great sport; and once, for three days, i had only ostrich eggs to eat. you see, we were digging those same trenches and could not spare many of the men for hunting. i was ill and could not eat the army rations, so jose brought me ostrich eggs and cooked them as the indians do—in the red-hot coals." "and was jose with you on that expedi- tion?" exclaimed francisco. "yes, through all my campaigns he has been my body servant. it was jose who told us how the indians catch ostriches; he had heard it when a boy among his tribe of araucanians." francisco clapped his hands in anticipation. "a circle of fire around a great area was built and the huntsmen remained within this circle. the ostriches and guanacos that were thus imprisoned in the circle of fire were easy prey for they fear fire and ran almost into our arms. why, what's the matter, nino?" cattle branding the interest had died out of francisco's eyes and he sat with his hands clasped over his knees. "well, uncle juan, i'll tell you. i'm dis- appointed!" "disappointed! how?" "uncle juan, i don't think that's fair play or good sport." "que esperanza!" exclaimed his uncle, se- cretly proud of the boy's loyalty to his convic- tion, but determined to draw him out on the subject. "and who are you that you may sit in judgment on generals and captains?" "oh! i don't think one's rank has anything to do with one's opinions. uncle, if a peon thinks a thing is not right he must not do that even though the president, himself, commands him; and i don't think hunting animals in that fashion is fair. the little english boy i play with at school is always saying that we our little argentine cousin spaniards are not — well, he calls it 'sporty.' that's their english word for it. he says that the englishmen are the truest sports on earth and that they would never hunt as we do." "to a certain extent he is right, francisco. we don't care for the excitement of the chase merely for the excitement as they do; we are less active in our temperament, and prefer to gain our ends with the least expenditure of energy. i want you, above all things, my lad, to be broad-minded, and able to see your own shortcomings, so think this matter out and if you are convinced that we are not right as a people, in our attitude towards sports, or anything else for that matter, formulate your own opinions and then stick to them. "it is through such men that all nations grow; and the men that are able to see their national deficiencies are the great men, the reformers, and the leaders. cattle branding "but in regard to the ostriches. how would you catch them if you had the opportunity?" "i should do it as the english lad tells me he saw them do it in chubut territory; that's part of patagonia, isn't it, uncle?" the colonel nodded, smoking industriously. "well, he says the real way to catch os- triches is with the bolas. he saw his father chase them there and he says they hunt them in an open plain, not in a circle of fire. they give the birds an equal chance with them for their lives, and if the ostrich can't outrun them, then, when they are within throwing distance, they whirl the bolas around their legs and trip them. he says it is fun to see an ostrich run; it stretches out its long neck and with its awk- ward long legs kicks up a great cloud of dust behind it. he also told me about seeing guana- cos and pumas. did you ever hunt them, uncle?" "yes, but guanacos are hard to shoot be- our little argentine cousin cause of their keen sense of smell, they can scent a human being over a mile away; but their flesh is delicious, tasting much like veni- son. "have you ever seen the puma skin in the library of my city house?" "yes, i have often seen it and one day i measured it; it was over two metros in length. are those guanaco skins in the dining-room at the estancia—the tawny yellow ones with white spots and such deep soft fur?" "yes, and the ostrich robe that your aunt uses in her carriage is made of the breasts of young ostriches; it is as soft as down and marked brown and white. the patagonian indian women often wear them for capes, although they are very expensive. "you know, the ostriches we have here are not the kind that produce the long plumes worn in ladies' hats; these are called the 'rhea' and are an allied species. speaking cattle branding of skins, francisco, i will tell you of one that will interest you. it is a vicuna, and one of the finest i have ever seen. it was presented to your great-grandfather, general lacevera, by a chief of the incas, as a vicuna robe is worn only by one of royal blood among the indians. it saw service as your great-grand- father's poncho during his remarkable career, and is now over one hundred years old, yet it is as soft as velvet. being one of our family heirlooms, it shall be yours, as i have no son." "that pleases me and i shall be very proud of it." "as you well may be. whatever fortunes come to you in life, nino, remember you are a lacevera." sleep was sweet that night, and francisco's head was scarcely on his pillow when guanacos, vicunas and even gauchos were forgotten in dreamless slumber. chapter ix a successful search there was not a dull moment for francisco during the weeks that followed. don carlos, the superintendent, lived in the great house the year through. he was a bachelor and a man of education, so that when the colonel came each summer he insisted that he keep his usual quarters; for the house was very extensive and the colonel enjoyed his com- pany at meals and during the long evenings. francisco had accompanied don carlos on several excursions and once, with a tropilla of horses (eight or ten riding horses driven loose by a peon for fresh mounts on a long journey), they had gone on a journey of five days to a neighbouring estancia to purchase algarroba posts for the extensive fencing that was taking a successful search i place on the tres arroyas ranch. this algar- roba wood is like iron and under water is al- most imperishable. they had passed by one small estancia de- voted almost exclusively to peanut culture; there were leagues and leagues of them being raised to be shipped to the mediterranean ports to be made into olive oil. they had their dinner at this estancia and francisco ate bread made from powdered peanuts mixed with wheat flour and he found it very delicious. josé had taken him on several fishing ex- cursions, and once they had hunted armadillos with small dogs. francisco had laughed heartily at the antics of one dog, who had almost caught the horny-plated little animal when it suddenly rolled up into a ball, its back of movable, bony bands enveloping it like an armour, and rolled off a bluff over the river bank, falling fully fifty feet; while the puzzled dog peeped cautiously over the brink to see our little argentine cousin it unroll itself and with its short legs hastily dig a retreat under the earth. on francisco's birthday his uncle had given a fiesta in his honour. there were fireworks and races, and cowboys from all parts of the estancia came in their full cowboy regalia on their best horses to participate. it was very interesting, and then there was a dinner for everybody and after that a dance. francisco, himself, presented the prizes, and his uncle made a speech. after so much excitement francisco over- slept the next morning, and awoke to find that his uncle had ridden to a far corner of the estan- cia to inspect some of the new fencing; he had left word that he would not return until late that night. francisco sat under his favourite ombui tree, watching a mangangd, or carpenter bee, that was humming loudly in the foliage above his head and looking like a shining ball of gold a successful search among the green leaves. he had received a letter from his mother that morning, and he was a bit homesick. "el senorito is triste. no?" it was jose's voice behind him. francisco brushed away a tear that had stolen down his cheek, and turned to greet the indian with a smile. "i was wishing to see elena, but it won't be long now; and i shall hate to leave this lovely place, too. but one can't have everything one wants, all at the same time, can one, jose?" "no, senorito, but we always have one hap- piness; have you noticed it? there never comes a time when we haven't one, at least. now i've one just now, and i am going to share it with you. it will take away your sadness." "is it —is it another fishing trip?" "no, but it's better. now listen, and i will tell you about it. "while the gauchos were dancing and making our little argentine cousin merry over your birthday, last night, some miserable robbers got into the horse corrals and stole all the horses' tails." "the horses' tails!" gasped francisco. "yes, you see that's partly what we raise wild horses for; their skins and their tails. south american horsehair for mattresses is famous all over the world, and it brings good prices. now, these thieves make their living by visiting the different estancias and helping themselves to the horses' tails. "word came to your uncle, just before he left, that when one hundred of his horses were driven out of the corral de oeste this morning, they hadn't a single tail among them. so he has offered one hundred pesos to the one, or ones, who can catch these thieves. would you like to try?" had jose asked him if he would like to swing on to the new moon by his toes francisco could not have been more startled. a successful search "try —! why jose, you can't be in ear- nest!" "cotno no?" grinned the indian cheerfully. "but jose, wouldn't they shoot us, and, anyhow, i know you are jesting when you ask if i would care to try. you,—you are a strong man, even if you are getting old, and i heard the peon children down by the huts say that there was no man for leagues and leagues around that could wrestle as you do; that you learned how from a japanese soldier years ago in chile. and i know you can shoot; but i would just be in the way." "no, senorito, you wouldn't be in the way. manuel and i want you to go with us because we need you." "need me! oh, jose! " and francisco's eyes gleamed brightly. "do you think uncle would allow me to go with you?" "he is not here to say, and we must leave before he returns. but he left you in my care our little argentine cousin and if i feel sure no harm can befall you, i see no reason why you should not go." "oh! oh! oh!" shouted the happy boy, dancing around jose and clapping his hands. "this is the greatest adventure i ever had. to hunt brigands! why, it's too good to be true. won't ricardo grow green with envy when i tell him about it, and won't the little english boy sit with his eyes wide open, while i recount the story to him. he will hush up about his ostriches and guanacos after this," and francisco sat on the ground hugging his knees, and rocking to and fro gleefully. "well, don't clean your turtles till you've tied them, senorito. we may not get them. it's only because i have a clue and a scheme that i am willing to try; for they are pretty clever fellows and they won't be easy to catch. we want to take you for a decoy, and besides, i think you would enjoy it. a lacevera, even at nine years of age, is no coward." a successful search "a coward, i should say not. why, jose, i am never afraid. but what is a decoy?" "a decoy? well, that's what we used when we caught flamingoes the other night. do you remember how we put young frogs on the end of a string and then lay low in the grass and waited?" "but, you can't tie a string to me, jose — and — and — besides i don't be—believe i » want to be a decoy. it isn't that i'm not brave; no, indeed, jose — but i think i would rather you would decoy them with something else." "leave that to me, senorito, and i promise they won't hurt you. you must have forgotten you are a lacevera. they shall not gobble you up as the flamingoes did the frogs. just what would you buy, anyhow, if you got your share of the reward?" "buy! — let me see. there are so many things to buy. but now that i have my lovely our little argentine cousin saddle and silver stirrups i don't need much for myself. i think i would buy a beautiful parasol, all lace and chiffon, for guillerma, for young ladies don't care for anything much but clothes. then i should buy a jewelled fan for mama, and then — well, i believe elena and i would spend the balance for carnival as it comes next month. but jose, what did you say about not cleaning your turtles till you had tied them?" jose laughed and patted him on the back. "true, don francisco. but let me tell you our plan, or part of it. i have reason to believe that these two horsetail thieves are taking shelter with some charcoal burners over near the river. these charcoal burners are rough men, who live almost like savages. they injure no one, however, and it is only when they quarrel among themselves that they do any harm. they may not know who these men are, and are allowing them to tarry with them, a successful search believing them to be beggars, or gauchos hunt- ing employment. "i feel sure they are too loyal to the es- tancia to harbour them if they knew who they were. now be ready immediately after break- fast, for we must start in tide to reach the charcoal kilns before dusk." it was twelve o'clock, when jose, manuel and francisco galloped off in the direction of the river, and it was just mate time when they came in sight of the charcoal kilns and adobe huts near the river's bank. gathered about the fires, over which hung boiling water for making the mdte, were several clusters of these uncouth appearing men. dirty looking women sat in groups apart, with dozens of dirtier children rolling about on the hard earth at their feet. a pack of dogs ran out to greet them, yelping in front of their horses, until they were called off by their respective owners. jose and manuel approached one group, our little argentine cousin and after greeting and being greeted, asked for boiling water with which to make mate. this was given willingly, and with francisco they sat down on the ground among the men and began leisurely to sip mate from the gourd that manuel always carried in his saddle bags. they talked in friendly fashion with the dirty carboneros, who were as black as the fuel they made. francisco noticed two men, who were less grimy in appearance and who sat quietly side by side, taking no part in the con- versation. they glanced occasionally at jose and man- uel in a hostile manner, and suspicion seemed to lurk in their attitude towards them. fran- cisco felt sure these were the thieves, but jose and manuel took no notice whatever of them and francisco feared his friends had not seen them. after mate francisco asked to see the kilns and jose and manuel took him over to examine a successful search them and explain to him how the willow was made into charcoal. it was quite dark when they returned to the huts and proposed that they return to the casa. "can the boy take another long ride in the same day?" asked one of the carboneros, more kindly in manner than the rest. "is he not exhausted? we have no shelter here, but you are welcome to roll up in your blankets by the fires, for the night wind from the pampas is cool." "no, it is moonlight. a thousand ' gracias ' for your offer, but the lad is a good rider and we shall be home before midnight;" and bid- ding them actios, jose and manuel with fran- cisco, wondering at their behaviour, started towards the enclosure where the horses had been staked together with several other animals. and then jose did a thing that made fran- cisco's eyes fairly start from his head. he thanks. our little argentine cousin deliberately lifted up the stake to which a piebald mare, belonging to one of the thieves, was tethered, and throwing the knotted end of the long bridle across the pommel of his own saddle, rode out at the far end of the en- closure. as he galloped off, manuel and francisco followed and soon they were all abreast, their horses' swift feet brushing the evening dew from the pampas grass as they flew along the level prairie. they rode so fast that the little fellow could not venture a question, it required all of his wits to keep his seat. they had gone thus for fifteen or twenty minutes when he heard the sound of horses' hoofs away off" in the distance. "carramba! they are after us," cried manuel. "good! now for the chase. let your heart be glad, senorito, they have taken the bait." still francisco wondered, he could not yet a successful search see through their plans, but excitement made his blood run hot through his veins; and he held on to barboza's neck and spurred her on to keep the pace. when a glimpse of water ahead of them, sparkling in the moonlight, told them they were near the river salinas, a small tributary to the great river they had just left, the men slackened their speed and francisco was able to get a full breath. he could hear the soft thud of the pursuing horses' feet on the pampas grass plainer and plainer, and when their own horses were within a few hundred feet of the stream he could hear the men's shouts. "are there more than two?" asked jose. "no, just the two thieves, themselves. those carboneros would never give us pursuit. it is none of their affair and they seldom meddle. they probably loaned one a horse in place of this one you are leading." a successful search still fleeing, and jose and manuel in ambush would have it all their own way. he spurred his horse to its highest speed; but it seemed to him that his heart-beats would drown the hoof beats, so vigorously was it pounding against his side. it was an anxious interval and to the fleeing boy seemed an eter- nity; but it was really but half a minute when he heard a sharp cry, and then — a shot. but he rode on, fearing to stop until the half league was covered. he knew the fight was over and that either jose and manuel were being carried back to the huts beside the big river, or that they would soon overtake him with their prisoners. soon a shout came to his ears. it was jose's voice and his mind was relieved. he reined in the horses, which was an easy matter for they were panting, and waited beside a shrine, whose white cross stood like a ghost beside the trail; and soon he saw four figures toiling a successful search "one of them tried to shoot as he was re- gaining his feet, just after we dragged them from their horses, and manuel has a scratch on his thigh, but otherwise, we are all well and doing finely. manuel will ride on to the casa for help and you and i will remain here to keep these gentlemen company. they are great on talking, just listen to them now. maybe they will tell us the price of horsehair per kilo — eh, gentlemen?" and the indian grinned derisively at the cursing men. "but jose, manuel is not fit for the saddle; let me go to the house. please, i beg of you —" "what! alone — and at night. why, the colonel would say i had risked much should he see you ride in at midnight — alone." "uncle? why uncle juan is always pleased when i show any bravery; and besides there is nothing else to do. manuel can't stay with just me here — he is suffering, and he can't ride — so it's the only thing to be done." our little argentine cousin "well, but you will have to ride pretty fast, senorito, and tell them to send the peons imme- diately. here, ride the piebald mare. it's yours anyhow, i dare say, or will be. it has been all day in the corral and is fresh, while barboza is tired." jose changed the saddle, and francisco was off towards the casa. it was nearly two o'clock when don carlos awoke the colonel, who had returned about midnight from his journey. "who calls, colonel? it sounds like the nino's voice." they were out by the edge of the house corral, as francisco rode up, and with almost the last breath he seemed to have left in his little body, he shouted, "we've caught them! we've caught them! they are over by the 'last tribute' shrine near the rio salinas, and jose and manuel are waiting for help to bring them here; jose a successful search could not bring them alone, and manuel has a wound." his uncle was lifting the tired nino from the saddle, but he did not place him on the ground; he carried him close to his heart into the house and laid him on his soft bed. he left him saying he would go with don carlos to help rouse the peons, and francisco heard him blow his nose vigorously as he crossed the patio, and knowing that his uncle juan had no cold, he accepted the tribute to his bravery with a proud smile, and was asleep before he knew it. chapter x the carnival francisco had been at home now for a week. he had returned to find elena rosy and well and the house in a turmoil of preparation, for guillerma was to be married. her fiance was a wealthy estanciero from the province of mendoza, which lies almost at the foot of the andes, and he had made a fortune from raising grapes for wine. his estancia, also, produced great quantities of figs, dates and sugar cane. guillerma was very happy, for although el senor conquero was older than she by fifteen years, theirs was a genuine love match. he had seen her at mass, one morning, and the following day, he had presented himself to her mother and her uncle juan with irreproach- able credentials, and their engagement of six the carnival months was to culminate in the celebration of their marriage during the early part of march. it would be a very quiet wedding, for senor conquero was in mourning for his father, who had died over a year before; and the custom of mourning in argentina demands two years of seclusion from all social events after the loss of a parent. her uncle juan had been most generous in his allowance for her trousseau, and she, with her mother, was busy all of each day visiting the dressmakers and shops. francisco, at first, was very much distressed because guillerma was to live in mendoza, as that fertile province is the seat of numerous earthquake disturbances. scarcely a month passes that the inhabitants are not startled by one, and as a rule they sleep with open doors to insure a quick exit in case one occurs during the night. but guillerma assured him she did not fear our little argentine cousin them, as there had been no serious ones since , and when she began telling him of the beautiful home she would have, surrounded by wide vineyards and orchards of olives and figs, where he could come to visit her, and with elena play just as they pleased, he became better reconciled to her marriage. he was very busy, himself, for carnival, the great festival, came early this year, and never before had he had so much money to spend in its celebration. he and jose and manuel had divided the reward money they had received for capturing the horsetail thieves, and francisco felt very proud of his share of it. he and elena had counted it over and over, and planned how each peso should be spent. each one of the family, including the servant, should have a gift, and the balance would be their own to use as they chose for the celebration of the greatest fiesta of the whole year. the carnival as in many roman catholic countries, car- nival comes during the week preceding lent; and although it is really a church festival, it is the least religious of any celebration, whether of church or state. in buenos aires everything dates from it and everything stops for it; even business is suspended. it is a festival of merriment and revelry, and every house and every street is decorated before its arrival in flags, banners, streamers and lanterns. there are processions and continuous parades, with crowds of people in masks and dominoes, blowing horns, dancing and singing. this year, francisco and elena were to be allowed to enter the corso or carnival parade, and uncle juan had offered his motor car, which was to be decorated with garlands of paper flowers; jose was to be their chaperon and enrique would drive the car. elena and francisco owned their little cos- our little argentine cousin tumes, which they had used on previous occa- sions, but as they had their own money this year, they had decided to buy new ones to wear in the parade. elena was to be dressed as a shepherdess, and francisco as a spanish king. their mother had neglected guillerma and her trousseau one entire day, in order to go with the children to help them select their costumes and masks; for no one enters into the streets in costume without a mask or domino. the morning of the day on which the great parade was to take place the children spent, dressed in their old costumes, playing with the neighbours' children in the streets. although the law had forbidden the custom of throwing water at pedestrians, the number of people who were drenched by unexpected pails of water thrown from upper balconies was not lessened, and the children broke dozens of pomos, or rubber balls filled with perfumed "elena and francisco were dressed and ready." the carnival water, on each other and strangers, as well, who chanced to pass. after siesta that afternoon, elena and fran- cisco began their preparations for the parade; and when the gayly decorated car drove up about six o'clock with a fiery red representation of his majesty, the devil, on the front seat and a pierrot or harlequin with one half of his costume a vivid green and the other half yellow, elena and francisco were dressed and ready. the harlequin jumped out and bowed low to the ground, and elena ran back into the house, for she was sure this comical looking fellow could never be jose. but she was reassured when he lifted his mask, and soon the huge car was puffing along the street with the red driver in front and a dainty little shepherdess, a small king in velvet, gold lace and a crown, and a harlequin in green and yellow, all sitting on the back seat, throwing confetti and waving the carnival the children a view of part of the parade from this vantage point, and then to slip out the side street and enter the corso from the rear. it was nine o'clock when the bands of music took their places at the head of the procession and they were followed by large fancifully decorated wagons, filled with young ladies dressed to represent well known allegories. then came floats with papier-mache figures caricaturing political events in the history of the republic. these were followed by companies of horsemen dressed in every sort of fantastic costume; victorias filled with merry maskers, floats with goddesses, and burlesqued well-known public characters. king carnival was seated on a high throne, very handsomely draped, and drawn by sixteen pure white horses. when the children grew tired of looking, enrique joined the procession itself, and the hearts of elena and francisco were beating high with excitement, for their ambition was our little argentine cousin realized —to be a part of the great carnival cor so. it was quite one o'clock before jose could persuade them to leave it and be taken home; and it was many days before they ceased to talk of their wonderful experience. but school would open immediately after carnival and francisco was anxious to reenter, as he was fond of books and made good progress in his studies. his aunt sarita with her six daughters had returned from their summer outing and uncle juan was preparing for a trip abroad immedi- ately after guillerma's wedding should take place. francisco saw him often, for they had grown very fond of each other during their summer together, and even aunt sarita began to love him more as she saw him oftener. the first day of school had arrived, and fran- cisco, in his clean linen duster, had proudly led elena to the school, for this was to be her the carnival first year. he was very proud of his pretty sister, who was shy, and held on tightly to her protector's sunburned hand. he introduced her to her teacher, kissed her, and then hurried out into the large patio to greet his old school friends. they were all there, like a flock of tan coloured butterflies in their linen coats, their hair brushed sleekly into place and their faces and hands smelling of recent cleansing with perfumed soaps. francisco was a favourite. soon he was in the middle of a group of interested listeners, recounting to them his experiences on the est an a a. he was only human, and you must forgive him if he told of his adventure with the horse- tail thieves. even the little english boy grew excited and plied him with questions that seri- ously retarded francisco in his account of their capture. the bell rang just as he finished, our little argentine cousin and they all fell into line in the patio, where the beautiful argentine national hymn was sung, and the argentine flag of blue and white was saluted by each pupil as they passed it on their way into the school-rooms. the end. books for young people the little colonel books (trade mark) by annie fallows johnston each vol., large v mo, d-ih, illustrated, per vol. . $ . the little colonel stories (trade mark) being three " little colonel " stories in the cosy comer series, "the little colonel," "two little knights of kentucky," and "the giant scissors," put into a single volume. the little colonel's house party (trade mark) the little colonel's holidays (trade mark) the little colonel's hero (trade mark) the little colonel at boarding (trade mark) school the little colonel in arizona (trade mark) the little colonel's christmas •(trade mark) vacation the little colonel, maid of honour (trade mark) the little colonel's knight comes (trade mark) riding mary ware: the little colonel's (trade mark) chum tatti ten volume*, boxed at a 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"the story comes straight from the heart of japan. the shadow of fujiyama lies across it and from every puge breathes the fragrance of tea leaves, cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums." — t'he chicago inter-ocean. a- sº weae. n as , - c ºr y our little russian cousin the little cousin series jº our little japanese cousin our little jewish cousin our little korean cousin by h. lee m. pike our little mexican cousin by edward c. butler our little norwegian cousin our little panama cousin by h. lee m. pike our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little russian cousin our little scotch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little siamese cousin our little spanish cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little swedish cousin by claire m. coburn our little swiss cousin our little turkish cousin each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in tint. cloth, mo, with decorative cover, per volume, cents. list of titles by mary hazelton wade (unless otherwise indicated) our little african cousin our little armenian cousin our little brown cousin our little canadian cousin by elizabeth r. macdonald our little chinese cousin by isaac taylor headland our little cuban cousin. our little dutch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little english cousin by blanche mcmanus our little eskimo cousin our little french cousin by blanche mcmanus our little german cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin l. c. page & company new england building, boston, mass. |-·|-|- |-|--|-|- -·*…·|- • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • ** ** **************** • • • • • •*** • ***************** · ******* |-|-|-|-|-|-|-----|-|-----|-·|-…----|--*--（ ：-|-… * .*- !|-|---- ----+·**** ----|-！！ → ··*ºsº |-• • •||{ ſº: |• •# · *(_）·~|！** |-æ|-* ----- ****|-|-~·-ſ-* �•••••|！ * ,----* * ·z ， !„* ， !c→ ！**,||×|-„ºs，* * * · |-* -...º！ -， ·-|-·|z|* …·！ ！|- |-！|-·|-©！**. *|×|-！ ! ！ ·， ， ， , ， , ， ， ， , ， , ）; 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i £ l. c. page & company f # publishers # ******************** * {^\ * - - - - the new york public library astor, le nox and tilden foundations. r l copyright r by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved tenth impression: december; * . w e e º “ e : - : : :- : : : . : c : e : o : - : - - : colonial bress: electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds & co. boston, mass., u. s. a. --> - . - º preface a large country, called russia, lies in the eastern part of europe. it stretches from the icy shores of the arctic ocean, on the north, to the warm waters of the black sea, on the south. many of the children of this great country have fair skins and blue eyes. they belong to the same race as their english and ameri- can cousins, although they speak a different language. some of them live in palaces, and have everything that heart could desire; but a vast number of them are very poor, and their parents are obliged to work hard to keep the grim wolf, hunger, away from the door. russia, as a nation, is very young, as com- pared with many others. she is still in her v v preface childhood. perhaps it is because of this that her people do not enjoy as much freedom as ourselves. a few years ago the emperor of russia spoke some words to which the people of the western world listened with surprise and de- light. he said, “i wish there were peace between all countries, and that we could settle our differences with each other without fight- ing.” these wise words did a great deal of good. the emperor, without doubt, meant what he said. he did wish heartily that wars should be at an end. he has not felt able, however, to carry out his ideas of peace, for at this very moment he is at war with the people of japan. ‘. . . . . . . . ; ; ; ; ; let us hope that this war;will; soon be over, - - • *. º and that the nation to which our russian cousin belongs will become as truly free and wise as she is now large and powerful. malden, mass., may . list of illustrations petrovna . e e e e baby brother and his nurse . a very grand building . e in the peasant willage . e marfa and frost . e e the great fair of nijni-novgorod . page frontispiece . our little russian cousin petrovna is a dainty little floweret of the cold lands far away. she is your little rus- sian cousin. her home is in the largest coun- try of this great round ball, the earth. how fair are her cheeks, how blue her eyes, and what long, beautiful, yellow hair she has her hands are so white and soft and plump, i know you would like to squeeze them. she is very gentle and ladylike. her mamma has taught her that is the right way to behave. yet she is full of fun, and laughs at every joke that her brother ivan makes. they have great sport together, these two children. petrovna is ten, and ivan eight years old. io our little russian cousin sometimes they play they are grown up, just as you do. then petrovna puts on her mother's gown with a long train, and ivan dresses himself up like a soldier. petrovna “makes believe” that she is a princess at the court of the emperor. she powders her hair, and puffs it on the top of her head, and places feathers in it. ivan cuts shining ornaments out of a sheet of tin and fastens them on his coat. he pretends that these were given him for bravery in battle. these little children live in a fine city near the sea. its name is st. petersburg. the streets look very much like those of chicago and new york. there are many grand pal- aces, however, and the churches are quite different from ours. perhaps you would like to know why st. petersburg was built. a long time ago peter the great was the ruler of russia. there was no large city in the country near the sea at our little russian cousin ii that time. peter said, “if my country is to be powerful, i must have a city that is near the coast and that looks toward the rest of europe.” peter went to the shores of the river neva, near the baltic sea. the land was low and marshy. that did not matter to him. he sent out an order for workmen. great num- bers of men came to the spot he had chosen, to prepare it for streets and houses. thou- sands of piles must first be driven into the marshy soil. millions of stones must be brought to fill it up before streets could be laid. it was such unhealthful work that, be- fore the city was finished, hundreds of the poor workmen died of fever. but the work was done, and peter the great went to live there. he brought all his court with him. he made the place his capital. it is now the most important city of russia, and one of our little russian cousin the largest in the world. it is often called the “czar's window,” because he is said to look out over europe from this place. (i for- got to tell you that the emperor of russia is called the czar.) let us come back to petrovna and ivan, who are just going out on the river to skate. their home is almost a palace, it is so big and grand. their father is a merchant. he buys tea from the east and sells it to the people of his own country. he has grown so rich that he owns a fine house in the city, in which the family live during the long, cold winter. they go to another home on an island of the river neva in the summer-time. let us look into the big drawing-room, where papa and mamma entertain their friends in the evening. how high the walls are at one side of the room is an immense porce- lain stove. it looks somewhat like a tomb. it is big enough for a play-house for petrovna our little russian cousin and ivan. a big wood fire is built in the stove on cold winter mornings. when it has burnt down to glowing coals, the chim- ney is closed up, and port-holes from the stove are opened. then the heat rushes out into the room. how close the air becomes | you do not wonder at it when you look around and notice that there are three sets of windows at each casing. there is only one pane in the whole room which can be opened to let in the outside air. the russians are afraid of having the cold enter their houses. they have enough of it out-of-doors during at least six months of the year. what is that strange-looking vessel on the side table it is of shining copper. the maid polishes it very often, as it is used every evening by papa and mamma. they call it a “samovar,” and no russian home is complete without one. you probably can't guess the reason, so i will have to tell you. our little russian cousin you must understand that the people of this far-away land are great tea-drinkers. tea in the morning, tea at noon, tea at night, and tea between-whiles. they like it fresh, too. tea always tastes best and is least harmful when drunk as soon as it is made. so these good russians must have something near them on which to heat the water. in the middle of the samovar is a cylinder in which hot coals are placed, and the water is heated around this cylinder. the boiling water is taken out whenever it is wanted and poured on the tea in papa's tumbler or mamma's cup. no milk, if you please, to suit their taste, and no sugar in the tea. they prefer to take a lump of the very hardest sugar in their fingers and nibble it as they swallow the beverage they like so much. a slice of lemon is often put in the tumbler with the tea. people in our own country have begun to copy this custom, and drink our little russian cousin what we call “russian tea.” no doubt you have heard of it. let us turn to the wall and notice the large picture of the madonna and the infant jesus hanging there. a lamp is burning in front of it. if petrovna comes into the room now, she will go to that picture at once and cross herself before it. every devout russian has at least one religious picture in his house, and will always pay it reverence when he enters. if a thief should happen to come into pe- trovna's house in the night, he would not dare to steal in the presence of such a picture, however brave he might be. he would first hang a cloth over the painting. then he would go on with his wicked work without further thought. there is a large organ in this grand draw- ing-room. it is played almost automatically. (a big word, isn't it?) petrovna ºnd ivan have music boxes here, as the russians are our little russian cousin very fond of music. i fear they are rather lazy, though, for many of their musical instru- ments do not depend on the skill of those who play upon them. they make what we call mechanical music. there are several little tables about the room, as petrovna's mamma and papa are fond of playing cards with their friends. in- deed, you need not be surprised at seeing the rich merchant playing a game at his store any hour of the day. he smokes and drinks tea while he plays. and mamma does the same. yes, my dears, the women of russia, of your own white race, roll their dainty cigarettes and smoke them as commonly as the men do. petrovna will doubtless do this very thing when she is older. when she comes to america she will probably be much surprised to see only men practising the habit. petrovna and ivan go to bed much later than their cousins across the atlantic, while baby brother and his nurse. our little russian cousin their parents often sit up till three or four o'clock in the morning. such a gay, city as they live in balls and parties, theatres and sleigh-rides, night after night in the winter season. of course people cannot rise early for breakfast if they are awake nearly all night. it is not often that petrovna's papa goes to his store before ten or eleven o’clock in the morning. the whole city looks sleepy and dis- mal before that time. the sky is gray and dreary, and the fog is thick and damp. the stores are closed, and few people are to be seen. but it is dinner-time. here come the chil- dren with their skates on their arms, and with them are the nurse and their baby brother. he has been out for a ride in his little sleigh. he is wrapped up so tightly you can hardly see his fat cheeks and the dimple in his chin. as nurse takes off her hood and cape, i want you to notice her dress. it is the our little russian cousin national costume of russia. she wears a loose white undergarment with full short sleeves. it is low in the neck. she has a dark skirt over this. the band is fastened around her body under the arms, while straps over the shoulders hold it in place. i must not forget to mention a large white apron, which is fastened by a belt around her waist. nor would she think herself dressed without her ear-rings and bead necklace. the mo- ment her hood is taken off she puts a high cap of bright-coloured muslin on her head. this is always worn in the house to show she is a married woman. and here come papa and mamma. papa is a fine-looking man with a long beard. mamma looks good and kind, and has a sweet voice, but she could not be called pretty. dinner is waiting, and all have fine appe- tites. as they enter the dining-room they do not sit down to the table at once. one by our little russian cousin one they go up to a sideboard where all sorts of cold dishes are served. there are dried beef smoked salmon, cheese, radishes, and other relishes of which russians are fond. each one helps himself to some of these dain- ties. they take small portions, however, for this is what they call the zakushka, or appe- tiser. you need not try to pronounce it unless you wish. it is to make them hungrier for the solid meal, which comes afterward. how these people do eat! first there is cabbage soup, made of chopped cabbage which has been boiled with a piece of meat. pe- trovna first dips her spoon into a dish of barley beside her plate, and then into the soup. she is very fond of this national dish. the richest and the poorest people, even the czar himself, eat it continually and never tire of it. the only difference is that the poor peasant can seldom afford the meat which improves its flavour so much. our little russian cousin next comes a pie made of fish and raisins. it seems rather queer to us to have these two things cooked together, but our russian cous- ins think it is very good. and now a roast lamb is served with salted cucumbers, followed by buckwheat pudding, and ices, for dessert. last, but not least, the samovar is set on the table, and cup after cup of delicious tea is drunk by the family. i forgot to tell you that sour cream was served with the soup, and papa and mamma drank some cordial while they ate of the zakushka. this was to encourage their appetites still more. but i certainly can't see what need there was. they ate and ate, and drank tea and still more tea, till it seemed as if they would be made ill. it is said that russians are among the largest eaters in the world. if this be so, i do not wonder that so many of them grow stout. this makes me think of a story i our little russian cousin read the other day. perhaps you would like to hear it. there was a certain soldier in russia who ate so much that his friends used to lay wagers with strangers as to the quantity he could eat at a single time. his friends generally won, too. it happened one day that the colonel of the regiment made a large wager that the man could eat a whole sheep at one meal. the cook prepared the sheep in many ways, in order to encourage the man's appetite. of one part he made a pie, of another a stew, of still another a hash, and so o . the man swallowed one preparation after another until the sheep was almost eaten, when he looked up and said, “if you give me so much zakushka, i am afraid i will not be able to eat the sheep when it is brought in.” you understand the joke, of course, when you re- member that the zakushka is made of the side dishes one eats before the regular meal our little russian cousin unbending. they are fastened to a very strong framework. now guess, if you please, why this ice hill, as it is called, was made in petrovna's back yard. to amuse her and her little brother, of course. they are very fond of coasting. they like it even better than skating. so their thought- ful papa hired two workmen. they made the framework and laid great blocks of ice close together upon the slant. they then poured water over the ice to make it perfectly smooth. the cold winds blew upon it. it froze solid in a few minutes, and not a crack in the ice can be seen. it will last all winter, for in russia the warm days, that we sometimes have in january, are scarcely known. petrovna and ivan take their sleds every morning as soon as lessons are over, and away they run up the steps of their ice hill. hurrah! now hold your breath, for away they go, faster and faster, down the hill and over the pond our little russian cousin below. how they shout with delight! they travel more quickly than any express train you ever saw. i am afraid you will be a little envious of their fun and wish you had a private ice hill like theirs. the best part of it is that these little russians don't have to wait for a good snow-storm to make coasting for them. it is always on hand and made to order. petrovna has a hill made of polished wood at her summer home on the island. it cost a good deal of money, but her papa thought, “what does that matter? the children like coasting better than any other sport, so coast- ing they shall have.” there are public ice-hills in several parts of the city. both old and young people are very fond of coasting. the emperor himself has a slide of beautiful mahogany in his palace. it has been polished until it shines like one of the finest pieces of furniture. our little russian cousin petrovna and ivan do not go to school as some of the poor children do. they have a french governess. she teaches them to read, write, and spell. she also gives them lessons in french and german. she is a fine scholar, and petrovna's papa and mamma respect her greatly. she is treated like one of the family and meets all of their friends. petrovna's mamma wished her children's governess to be a frenchwoman, because french is gen- erally spoken in good society in russia. of course she can teach them to pronounce it better than a person of their own country could. besides the two languages they are studying now, ivan and petrovna will soon take latin, and perhaps italian. well-educated people of russia often speak several different lan- guages. but there are thousands, yes, mil- lions of the poor in their land who cannot read their own language or even write their our little russian cousin own names | the schools are not as common, you see, as in this country, but they are grow- ing better every year. by the way, i must tell you that there are more than forty different tongues spoken in the various parts of the great country of rus- sia. if you learned to speak the russian language in one part of it, you might not understand what the people say in a different part. in petrovna's yard there is a little house close to the main one. if she should let you look in, you would see a large brick oven at the end of the room. wide shelves are fastened one above another on the side of the wall. you can't imagine what this place is used for, so i shall certainly have to tell you. it is the family bath-house. i can hear you cry, “what a bath-house ! i don't see any tub, or, in fact, anything that looks like a bath-house.” but the children of our little russian cousin russia do not take water baths as you do, they are bathed by steam. every saturday a big fire is made in the stove, and when the bricks are very hot, water is poured over them. the room is filled with hot steam. petrovna delights in this weekly bath. at first she lies on a low shelf until she gets quite warm. the perspiration starts out all over her little naked body. then her maid places her on a higher shelf and pours more water over the stove. more steam rises, and petrovna grows warmer and warmer. it seems as though she would suffocate. now for a still higher shelf in the room. of course the higher up the little girl goes, the hotter she grows. the water fairly runs out of the pores of her skin, now. instead of looking like a lily, she would remind you of a boiled lobster. shouldn't you think she would get cold after a hot bath like that, especially as she our little russian cousin is going out of doors into the freezing air? she never does, however, and i will tell you why. when she has been steamed enough, she is slowly cooled off by having first warm and then cold water poured over her. when all is finished, and she has been rubbed down, she feels as fresh and sweet as a flower. she is ready for the next day's duty and pleasure now. to-morrow is the sabbath, and every good russian takes his bath on the day before. sunday morning comes. every one of the family wears his holiday clothes, for, after breakfast, all will attend church service. petrovna's mamma has promised to take her to-day to the cathedral of st. mark. she is so pleased she can hardly wait till the time comes to put on her wraps. no hat for her, if you please. that would not keep her dear little head warm enough. she wears a hood with a deep cape, and a long white our little russian cousin cloak of astrakhan. perhaps you have a muff of the same material. i wonder if you think it is fur. astrakhan is the soft white fleece taken from the new-born lamb of a peculiar kind of sheep. the sooner the baby lamb is killed, the handsomer is the wool. every year thousands of sheep are raised in asia so that the beautiful white, gray, and black astrakhan can be sent to russia, and to people in other parts of the world. petrovna wears her hood and cloak with the wool inside to keep her all the warmer. her mamma has a hood and cloak of the richest sable. it cost thousands of dollars. you cannot see its beauty, for she wears it with the fur on the inside to keep her com- fortable, just as petrovna does. the sleigh is at the door, and it is time to leave. what a curious one it is l it is low and small, and the back of the seat is so low that petrovna might fall over backward o our little russian cousin if she were not used to it. there is just room enough for the little girl and her mamma, with a small seat in front for the coachman. notice his queer clothes and his funny-looking hat. it makes you think of a battered stovepipe. the upper part of the crown is much wider than the lower part, and the narrow brim curls up. his blue cloak is quite loose, and has a long plaited skirt. it is fastened on one side with six metal but- tons. a heavy leather belt is clasped around his waist. observe the horses. they are fine-looking animals, but how queerly they are harnessed. the middle one has a high wooden yoke about his neck. the rest of the harness is fastened to that. the horses on the outside are at- tached to the one in the middle by a single rein. they are left quite free in their mo- tions. they are called madmen. some sleighs have one horse, some two, and some three. our little russian cousin and now petrovna and her mamma are seated, the fur robes are tucked snugly in, the coachman jumps to his seat and makes a kind of clucking noise. the horses rush onward at a furious rate, and still petrovna calls out, “faster l’” she is not afraid of accident, nor is she satisfied, although the horses seem to be doing their best. russians are not fond of exercising themselves, but they dearly like to be moved as fast as possible. this is why they like sleighing and coasting better than any other sports. as petrovna rides along she finds that the streets are full of sleighs, yet they do not sound so merry as they do in our own land. what is the difference? there are no sleigh- bells. there is a law that none can be used in the cities of russia. i will tell you the reason. there are so many sleighs, and the streets are so crowded with them (for hardly any person walks), that the drivers would get our little russian cousin confused by the sound of so many bells, and run into each other. there is a very severe punishment for the one who causes such an accident. but strange to say, al- though there is so much driving, few people are injured. the coachmen are very careful, although they probably drive faster than the people of any other country. in a few minutes petrovna and her mamma arrive in front of a very grand building. this is the cathedral. papa and the rest of the family drive up at the same time, and all alight. see the crowd of beggars at the gates | there are poor men and women who ask for enough money to buy a dinner of coarse black bread. there are nuns who are asking alms to support their convent. few people are willing to refuse at the very doors of the church. the cathedral is built in the shape of a cross. all churches in russia are built in a very grand building. our little russian cousin the same way. but notice these massive steps. each is cut out of a single block of granite. stand off a little and look at the great, shining dome. it is made of copper but is covered thickly with gold. it is so far up, and shines so brightly in the sunlight, that it is a beacon- light to the sailors far out on the sea. now let us follow our little cousin and enter the cathedral. how dark, and yet how beauti- ful it is there are no seats. rich and poor are standing together in worship. see those great columns of beautiful stones. the deli- cate sea-green is malachite. that heavenly blue is lapis lazuli. does it not make you think of fairy-land? notice, please, the num- ber of beautiful pictures. there are no statues or images in the building, because the russian church does not think it right to worship them. listen to the music. there is no organ, but hidden from sight is a choir of men our little russian cousin who are chanting. are not their voices fine? would you not like to stay all day to listen to such music? but what is petrovna doing? as she entered the church she bought a can- dle at a stand near the door. now she brings it to a shrine at the side of the great building. she offers it to a priest, who lights it and places it in a silver stand in front of the sacred picture. there are several holes in the stand, in which other candles are burning. the priest allows each candle to burn only a minute or two, because many other people keep coming up. they wish to have their candles burn there also. as our dear little cousin stands there cross- ing herself devoutly, let us notice the picture of the madonna before which the candles are burning. her dress, as well as the halo around her head, is fairly covered with gold and silver and precious stones. good and pious people have spent thousands of dollars our little russian cousin a time for parties in winter, and picnics in the summer-time. sometimes in the morning petrovna and her brother go to early market with the maid. it is more fun in winter than in summer, even though “jack frost” is on the watch to nip off their noses. snow is everywhere to be seen on the housetops and fences, and great drifts of snow are being dug out in the streets. icicles are hanging from every corner. yes, jack frost is a merry-looking fellow, but he is ready to bite you if he has half a chance. petrovna touches her nose and cheeks every little while to be sure they are not numb. it is so easy in northern russia to find oneself with a frozen ear or nose. a disagreeable surprise party, indeed. but the market ! you never saw anything like it. it is well that it is called “the frozen market.” here are whole sheep standing on their stiff, frozen legs, and looking at you with our little russian cousin creatures, bring them nearer to the hearts of . everybody. the figures of many of the ani- mals that live in his stories are carved on his monument. but look | what is all this commotion about? see the crowd gathering, on the side- walks. the street is cleared by the police, for the emperor is coming, the great white czar. first comes a squadron of cavalry, and behind them is the royal sleigh. it is drawn by two beautiful horses. three officers sit in the sleigh with the emperor. what a fine face and figure he has he looks kind and noble, out worn with the cares of his great empire. as he passes along, the people cheer with might. they love him with all their hearts. he is the head of their church. he is the father of this great people. they worship him, and would save him all his care if they could. but alas ! there are enemies in this very city who may even now our little russian cousin .* be plotting to take his life. they do not believe in kings, nor, indeed, in rulers of any kind. they work secretly against him with other people all over russia. although from time to time they are discovered and killed or sent into exile, others take their places. this great ruler, who is warmly loved by his sub- jects, is in danger of his life all the time. no wonder he looks so careworn. petrovna and ivan look long and tenderly after him, cheering till their little throats are quite tired out. then they hurry home to tell mamma what they have seen to-day. at dinner ivan said, “papa, i wish you would tell me something about the cossacks. they seem to go everywhere the czar does. i noticed them in the body of cavalry this morning. they look and dress so differently from us, but they ride their horses nobly. i would like to look like a cossack when on horseback.” our little russian cousin “they are noble men, indeed,” said papa. “their home is far away from us, in the south of russia. a long time ago they were at war with us, but now they are good friends and strong defenders of our country. in time of war they are the spies and scouts. they are so faithful that the emperor can feel perfectly safe when they are near. they pay no taxes, but give their services in the army instead.” “papa,” interrupted ivan, “why do they wear long beards and have no buttons on their coats? that is not like the rest of the cavalry. and they carry no cartridge-boxes.” “that is true,” was the reply. “the cos- sacks detest buttons, and hook their coats over, just as ladies often do. the cartridges are carried in a row of pockets on the breasts of their coats. you see they are a very inde- pendent people, and insist on dressing in their own manner. the czar allows them to do so because they are so good in other ways. our little russian cousin “you should see them in war. they dare to go into the greatest of dangers. they admire bravery more than anything else in the world. just before a battle they wash themselves and dress with the greatest care. they believe that they must be clean if they would enter heaven. but when the battle is over they draw up in line, leaving empty places for their fellows who have fallen. then they sing sad songs in memory of them. “in their own home they treat each other like brothers, and share the land in common. they are good to their cattle and horses. after a long march they will always care for their horses and feed them before doing any- thing for themselves. before they eat they always wash themselves, oil their hair, and pray. they are as fond of tea as we are, my boy. ... “but this is enough for to-night. i hope - you will study your history carefully as you * our little russian cousin grow older. i want you to know more about the cossacks, as well as many other interest- ing people who live in this great strong coun- try of ours.” not many miles from the fine city in which petrovna lives are some other children whose home is very different from hers. their parents are peasants who were serfs not many years ago. a serf was one kind of slave, for he belonged either to the emperor or some rich nobleman. he could be bought and sold just like a horse. but the grandfather of the present czar said, “my people must all be free. no human being in my empire shall be a slave any longer.” that was the end of serfdom. but these people are still very, very poor. few of them can read a book. many of them are lazy and fond of strong drink. they live in little villages all over russia. there are more peasants than all other classes of people in the country. our little russian cousin ~ petrovna's papa must soon go to one of these villages on business. his little daughter is going with him. she is sorry for the poor peasants. she wishes she could give their children some pretty playthings like hers. she carries a new red skirt for a little girl there whom she knows. the village looks very bare in the winter season. it is still more so in the summer time. no trees, no sidewalks, scanty gardens, and scarcely what you could call a street. only wide pathways between the rows of huts, which are huddled together. there is only one two-story house in the place. this is owned by the storekeeper or village mer- chant. he sells the peasants everything they need to buy. he is not of the peasant class himself. he came to live here in order to make money out of these poor men and women. the village well, from which every one in the place draws his water, is near his our little russian cousin house. on the side of the well hangs a sacred picture, so that every one who comes there may worship first. on the front of each hut are three little windows, close together. the sashes and frames are painted a bright red, or perhaps a gaudy purple. the russian peasant is very fond of colour, and will work hard for the sake of a new red shirt for himself or a yellow skirt for his wife. the porch and doorway are on one side of the hut. in summer time an earthen kettle hangs down from the roof, and as the father comes home from his work he will stop a moment and tip a little water out of the kettle over his hands. he rubs them together and wipes himself on the tail of his shirt. this is the only washing he has except the weekly steaming in the village bath-house. look at the flocks of pigeons around the house. they are very tame. they appear | _ in the peasant village. our little russian cousin well fed and fat. in russia the pigeon or dove is a sacred bird and is never harmed. the rough peasant will share his last crust with a pigeon. petrovna goes to the door of one of the cottages and passes inside. oh dear, how close the place is . it smells strongly of the cabbage soup boiling for the day's dinner. only one small room in the house. yet there is a large family of children living here, besides half a dozen shaggy-haired dogs. with the exception of the big brick stove, there is no furniture except what the father made himself. in one corner of the room is a rickety table. a narrow bench is built against the wall on two sides of the room. there are no chairs and no beds. how do they get along? and yet they seem quite happy and com- fortable. papa and mamma sleep up on top of the big stove. the older children sleep beside them. don't worry, my dears. they our little russian cousin do not get burned, but like their hard, warm bed very much. the logs burn down to ashes in the daytime. the bricks are just pleasantly warm by night. but the little girl to whom petrovna has brought the dress, and her three-year-old brother, where do they sleep? on the benches against the walls. if they should have bad dreams and tumble off in the night, it would not matter so very much, for the bench is near the floor. when meal time comes, the family does not gather around the table, for as i told you, there are no seats that can be moved. they sit on the benches, and the table is therefore kept in the corner of the room. they can sit at only two sides of it, of course. but i have not yet spoken of the most im- portant thing in the house. it is the ikon, or sacred picture. the priest blessed it before it was brought to the home. there is a place our little russian cousin for a candle to burn in front of it, but these poor people cannot afford to keep one lighted all the time. this picture has no gold upon it, like the one in petrovna's house. it cost only a few pennies, but it is sacred, neverthe- less. the family give it reverence many times a day. it is never forgotten as they enter the room. it sometimes happens, i am sorry to say, that the father comes home the worse for taking strong drink. perhaps he cannot walk straight, and hangs his head from side to side. but when he opens the door, he remembers to turn to the sacred picture and cross himself before it. although there is so little furniture and so few windows, the room looks bright and gay. the table is painted a gorgeous red, while the benches are a brilliant green. black bread made from coarse rye-meal, cabbage soup, weak tea (for they cannot our little russian cousin afford to have it strong), are the daily food of the peasants. if they can get some buck- wheat and dried herring, once in awhile, they think themselves well-off. they have many happy times, these poor people of russia. when work is done for the day, they dance and sing, and play upon the concertina, if any one in the village owns one of these cheap musical instruments. when petrovna takes out the red dress for the little girl and a large package of buck- wheat which mamma has sent to the family, every one in the house shouts with delight. it seems as though they could not thank her enough. even the dogs wake up and begin to bark in excitement. in the midst of it all petrovna's papa calls for her. she must go back to the grand city and her fine home. she will forget for a time that all children in the world cannot be as well dressed and well fed as herself. our little russian cousin petrovna has never yet been far away from st. petersburg. she longs to go to the beauti- ful white-walled city of moscow. her mamma has been there, and has described its beauties over and over again. it is a long journey from st. petersburg. as you draw near the city, a blaze of colour is spread out before you. domes of red and gold and purple are shining on the hilltops in the glorious sunlight. churches and towers and palaces are without number, and differ from each other in shape and beauty. mos- cow is a mass of colour made of countless gems and countless tints. in the midst of the city is the kremlin or citadel. but the kremlin is not one building. it is really a fortress surrounded by a massive wall that encloses many palaces and cathedrals, beautiful gardens and stately convents. great gates open into it, and each has its story. one of them is called the nicholas gate. a picture our little russian cousin petersburg. that was not to be thought of all czars must be married as well as crowned in moscow, and, until the time of peter the great, all have been buried there. the coronation of the present czar was the greatest spectacle of modern times. petrovna hears her mamma sigh when she tries to de- scribe it. everything was so grand and shin- ing and gorgeous, – processions and fireworks, music and feasting, everybody pleased and gaily dressed; men in silk and velvet, ladies sparkling in satins covered with pearls and diamonds; the double-headed eagle, the bird of russia, showing its gilded crowns every- where. in the evening there were no rockets and roman candles, but fireworks that were con- stantly shining, while the fronts of the build- ings were covered with candles burning in glass globes. such horses, such elegant carriages, and our little russian cousin such fine parks to drive in and through the city ran the river, reflecting the lights from all sides. there were days and days of feasting, from the time the new emperor arrived in the city. he appeared in the grand procession mounted on a snow-white horse. he was dressed very simply in dark green, wearing a cap of astra- khan. behind him came a great array of princes and grand-dukes. next came the emperor's mother in a carriage drawn by eight superb horses. after this appeared the carriage of the empress. it was all of gold, and also drawn by eight snow-white horses. how the crowd cheered, and cheered again! if this could show how devoted the people were to their ruler, their love could not be measured. the governor of the city came out to meet the czar and presented him with bread and salt. our little russian cousin these are the emblems of trust and friend- ship. then the royal family rode onward till they came to a little chapel, where the emperor and empress alighted. they passed in alone to worship. now to the kremlin, where a multitude was waiting for them. there were thousands of the peasants, who had travelled hundreds of miles on foot. they wished to see, if only for one moment, the head of their church and state. there were princes and officers from every country of the world. there were chinese mandarins, persian rulers, wealthy indians, people of all colours and races. and all were dressed in the richest robes that money could buy and art design. such a mass of colour ! such sparkling of precious stones | such a wealth of satin and lace and velvet and cloth of silver and gold ! after his entrance of triumph into the city, the emperor and empress retired from the our little russian cousin public eye for three days. they must fast and pray until the time that the czar should be crowned, else they would not be in right condition for this ceremony. but the others in the crowded city did not fast. the days were given to pleasures of all kinds, – eating, drinking, music, and dancing. at last the czar was crowned it was in the cathedral, where all other czars have been crowned before. he himself put on the robe and collar, and assumed the crown of empire. the heavy crown of gold was placed on his head by his own hands. he then made a noble prayer for himself and the great empire, and for the millions of people who are his devoted subjects. how fair and strong and kindly was his face | never had petrovna's mamma seen anything so grand or so solemn. she stops and repeats a prayer now for the good emperor nicholas ii. when the ceremony was ended there was a our little russian cousin ringing of bells all over the city. hundreds of cannon were fired. then more feasting and merriment followed for days yet to come. free dinners were served every day to five thousand of the poor. the czar did not forget them. they feasted as they had never done before in their lives. at last came the great day of the festival. it was called the “people's fete.” every one was welcome. there were shows of all kinds that you can imagine. there were concerts and plays, boxing and fencing matches, trained animals, — everything to make the people happy. overlooking it all sat the czar in a grand pavilion. all the lords and ladies of the land were about him. how delightful it was petrovna's mamma leans back in her chair and smiles softly to herself as she thinks of that joyful time. on many a winter evening, as they sit around the big porcelain stove and sip the our little russian cousin tea, petrovna and ivan beg for stories. they like fairy tales best of all. their favourite one is the story of “frost.” perhaps you would like to hear it. once upon a time there was a man who had three children. his wife was extremely fond of two of the daughters, but she was cruel and unkind to the third girl, whose name was marfa. this was because marfa was her stepdaughter. she made marfa get up early in the morning to work, while her stepsisters were having a nice nap. the poor girl had to feed the cattle, bring in the wood, make the fire, and sweep the room. after this she must mend the clothes and do many other things before the rest of the family stirred. what a hard time she had, poor child ! and then she was only scolded for her labour. she did not have a kind word from any one except her old father, and then only when they were alone together. he was afraid of our little russian cousin his wife, and did not dare to be good to marfa when the others were around. she was a beautiful girl, and was sweet and patient, besides. her stepmother was jealous of her because she was so much lovelier than her sisters. the old woman said to herself, “i will put the girl out of my sight and get rid of her. i hate her.” that very night she said to her husband, “come, old man, get up early in the morning and harness the horse. take marfa away on a visit.” then she turned to her stepdaugh- ter, and said, “put your clothes together and dress neatly when you get up, for your father will be ready to take you away.” the girl was delighted. she thought how nice it would be to go where people would be kind to her. morning came. marfa washed herself carefully, prayed to god, put on her best dress, and looked lovely enough to be a bride. our little russian cousin the old stepmother called her to a break- fast of cold cabbage soup, and then said to her, “now, marfa, get out of my sight for ever. i have seen enough of you. the sledge is at the door. husband, take marfa to her bridegroom. go straight down the road, turn to the right, go up the hill till you come to an old pine-tree, and there leave the girl for frost. he will soon come to get her.” the poor old father looked sad enough when he heard these words, but he did not dare to disobey his wife. he and marfa got into the sledge and rode away slowly. his daugh- ter was weeping bitterly. in a little while they came to the place where they were ordered to stop. marfa got out and sat down under the pine-tree. the old man rode away. he thought he should never see his darling child again. he wept at the thought soon he was out of sight. marfa and frost. o our little russian cousin answer, “oh, yes, dearest sir, i am warm enough.” frost took pity on the poor patient maiden. he brought furs and warm blankets and wrapped her up in them. then he left her. she slept unharmed all night, and, when she woke in the morning, she found gifts of rich clothing which frost had brought her in the night. her father soon appeared with the sledge. he had expected to find her dead body, but she was well and healthy. not even a finger was frozen. how the old man rejoiced. he took marfa and her fine presents into the sledge, and they rode home together. you can imagine how angry the stepmother was when she saw the girl again. but when she heard how kind frost had been, and saw the beautiful clothing he had given marfa, she said, “husband, you must take my girls to their bridegroom. he will be far kinder to them than he has been to marfa, i am our little russian cousin sure of that.” then she said to her daugh- ters, “i have found a bridegroom for you. you must go to meet him.” the next morning the girls got up and dressed themselves in their best. they were very happy. they thought to themselves, “oh, my, what a fine time we shall have l’” they got into the sledge with their father and away they went. they soon came to the pine- tree where marfa had stayed the other night. they got out and sat down. their father drove away. the girls began to laugh together. they said, “what a queer idea of mother to send us here for a bridegroom, - as if there were not enough young men in the village.” it was bitter cold, and they soon began to get cross and quarrel with each other. one of them said, “suppose only one bridegroom comes, whom will he take ” “it will be i, of course,” was her sister's reply. “indeed, our little russian cousin no,” exclaimed the other; “i will be the chosen one.” they grew colder and colder, stiffer and stiffer. but they kept quarrelling and calling each other bad names. frost was some way off, but the girls now heard him cracking his fingers and snapping the pine-trees. “listen, some one is coming. i hear sleigh-bells,” said the older sister. but the other would not listen. she declared she was too cold. frost came nearer and nearer. at last he stood in front of the two girls. he spoke to them just as he had to marfa before. “well, my darlings, are you cold?” but the girls only answered with bad words. they called frost names such as no wise person would dare to speak to this great being. yet again he called out, “are you warm, my pretty ones?” and again they answered him with curses. but as they did so they fell dead to the ground. our little russian cousin the next morning the old woman said to her husband, “come, harness the horse quickly, and go fetch the girls home. there was a terrible frost last night. they must be half-dead with cold.” the father did as she bid him, and drove away to the pine-tree. but what did he see two lifeless bodies, frozen stiff! he put them in the sledge, cov- ered them over, and carried them home. as he drove up to the cottage, the old woman went out to meet her daughters. what a sight was there ! the girls had indeed met their bridegroom, but it was death. after this the old woman treated her step- daughter all the worse for awhile, but she soon got over it. she grew kind and loving. they lived pleasantly ever after. marfa married a neighbour who had a good home to give her. she and her chil- dren are very happy. but when her children are naughty, their grandfather frightens them our little russian cousin by saying, “look out, or frost will get you.” petrovna and ivan shiver as the story ends, and draw nearer their dear mamma, as though she could protect them from any danger. the long, cold winter is gone at last. the ice of the river begins to break up. it has been frozen solid for months, but now it is cracking and softening and beginning to move out to the sea. the commander of the fort on the opposite side of the river discovered this last midnight. he did not wait a single moment. he started at once to carry the glad news to the emperor, while cannon were fired off from the fort. when he reached the palace, perhaps you think the attendants kept him waiting because the czar was asleep. not at all. he was shown at once into the royal presence. he presented the czar with a goblet filled with ice-cold water he had brought from the our little russian cousin river. this was his way of stating the good news. the emperor drank to the good for- tune of the city, and then filled the goblet with silver for the bringer of the news. in olden times the goblets grew larger every year. it cost the czar more money each time. at last he said, “let the glass always be of a certain size, after this.” of course, that settled it. when the news was brought to the city, everybody was glad. the next day was made a holiday. petrovna and ivan were excused from lessons and went out to see the sights. eight weeks before easter, comes butter- week. the whole city gives itself up for seven days of feasting and festival. pancakes are eaten at every meal. not like the pan- cakes your mamma makes, my dears. at least, i hope not. for the russian pancakes, or “blinni,” as they are called, are much too rich for your little stomachs. they are made our little russian cousin of flour and butter, cooked in butter, and eaten with butter. and not only is this greasy food eaten in quantities, but many other things containing a great deal of fat. petrovna's mamma has a blinni party for her friends, and petrovna has another for her playmates. the family are invited out to blinni parties at other houses. they are the queerest parties you ever heard of. even in the grandest houses they are held in the kitchen. perhaps you can guess the reason. the cakes must be eaten hot, as soon as they come off the griddle. therefore the people must sit as near the stove as possible. petrovna eats her favourite cakes, until she can swallow nothing more. by the end of the week her head, as well as her stomach, be- gins to ache. she is all ready for the seven weeks of fasting before easter. she is a faith- ful little girl, and never thinks of fussing be- cause she must now live very quietly. she our little russian cousin goes often to church, and repeats many prayers. she eats the simplest food, but all russia does the same, so she has plenty of company. the night before easter comes at last. petrovna and ivan do not go to bed as early as usual. they leave home with their parents a little while before midnight. they are going to church. everybody else in the city goes, to o. the streets are full of carriages as they ride along. our little russian cousins are driven to the same cathedral to which you have been with them before. they enter and join the crowd of worshippers. the lights burn dimly. all is silent. the great bell begins to ring the midnight hour. the other bells of the city join. as the last stroke is sounded the priests come out through the doors of the sanctuary. listen they are chanting, “ christ is risen christ is risen l’” the people respond, “christ is risen.” our little russian cousin at the beginning of the chant all begin to move around, kissing friends and acquaintances in every direction. the bells keep pealing forth the glad news. cannonſ are fired off throughout the city. rockets are flashing in the sky. the cathedral itself suddenly becomes ablaze with light. the kissing lasts all night and during the next day. no one thinks of meeting another without a cordial greeting and a kiss. old men kiss each other. old women kiss, chil- dren kiss. the emperor kisses all those of his household. petrovna's papa kisses his clerks. petrovna herself, dear little maiden, kisses right and left, with the most loving heart in the world. for this is easter-time, the glorious time when all should love each other and show it as best they can. feasting begins with the kissing. it is a great holiday for everybody. petrovna's mamma has a grand dinner-party for her our little russian cousin friends. but she does not forget those who are not so well off as herself. many a basket of good things is sent out to poor homes. many a blessing is given our little petrovna, who rides about the city leaving her mamma's gifts. yes, indeed, it is a beautiful time, this easter day in russia. as the weather gets warmer, petrovna be- gins to look forward to the great fair of nijni- novgorod. it will be a long, long journey. she has never travelled so far in her life be- fore. but dear kind papa has promised her she shall go with him this time. he travels there himself every year to trade with the merchants of far-away countries. the day before they are ready to start, he comes home earlier than usual from his place of business. he says, “come, petrovna and ivan, ask the maid to put on your best clothes. i am going to take you to the winter palace. you have teased me to take o our little russian cousin you there often enough. hurry, or we shall not have time.” the children scamper away. they are soon dressed. their papa looks at his pretty children with pride, as he helps them into the carriage. away they dash over the pavements till they draw up in front of an immense build- ing. it is painted brownish-red and yellow. the outside is ornamented with the figures of angels, and many other beautiful things. this is the winter palace. it is the largest residence in the whole world. six thousand people live in it. shouldn't you be afraid of getting lost there? there is a story that a servant kept some cows in one of the garrets there, a long time ago, and no one found it out for a long while. petrovna and ivan open their eyes wide as they pass through the high gilded halls; they see so many beautiful things to admire. such richly carved chairs and tables | such our little russian cousin immense vases of malachite and jasper and porphyry ! so many fine paintings of the czars and generals and other great people of russia! … in the throne-room of peter the great the walls are hung with red velvet. golden eagles are beautifully embroidered upon it. but the royal jewels how petrovna's blue eyes sparkle as she looks upon the crown of her emperor. it is in the shape of a dome, and is studded with large diamonds, with a border of pearls. at the very top of it is an immense ruby. it is very beautiful. the empress's coronet is most dainty. it is of diamonds of the same size. it is enough to dazzle one with its beauty. in the room where these jewels are kept and guarded there are many others noted all over the world. the sceptre of the czar bears one of the largest diamonds ever discovered. many years ago a rich count gave it to the our little russian cousin several hours of the next day. as they near the end, the weather grows warmer, the trees are larger and the grass greener than at home. for they are farther south. they are too tired to look out of the windows any longer. petrovna is dozing away, and dreaming of her loved ice-hill, when she finds herself gently shaken. mamma is smiling at her and saying, “wake up, my darling, we are here at last.” the train has stopped. every one is getting out. our little cousins are helped out of the car into a comfortable low carriage and are driven to a grand hotel. a good dinner is served, and petrovna and ivan are put to bed. they must get rested and prepare for the excitement of the coming week. they are both so tired and sleepy they are glad to rest after the long, hard journey. perhaps you do not know that this great fair is held every year for the benefit of the people of asia as well as russia. after a our little russian cousin long night's sleep our merchant's family go out into the streets of the old city and see many curious sights. men of many nations are gathered together. chinamen with their long queues and big sleeves are jostling per- sians in flowing silk robes and gay turbans. here are cossacks mounted on fine horses acting as policemen. there are some gypsies on their way to the fair. they expect to tell fortunes and make much money out of the curious peasants. what a bustle and commotion | what a discord of strange languages on every side what variety of costumes, and, above all, what dust the fair grounds are about a mile from the hotel. our little cousins are in as much of a hurry to get there as you would be. it does not take long, however, for the driver of their carriage hurries his horses onward through the crowd. —“º- | the new york public library ast or, lf nox and tit-d-n foundations. - our little russian cousin now for the fair itself. it is arranged in the shape of a triangle, and covers a square mile. not an inch of space is wasted. every- thing is in order. every trade has a street of its own. many of the bazaars have signs in front. these bear the names of all the goods that are sold inside. petrovna's papa is, of course, interested most in the tea. he wishes to buy a large stock of it for his trade at home. there are many kinds to choose from. but he must be sure to get some of the deli- cious yellow tea, which he will sell for fifteen dollars a pound. it is said to be made from the flowers of a certain kind of tea-plant, and is quite rare. the wealthy people of russia like it so much that no one else in the world gets a chance to buy any. so i have heard, at least. if you should drink ever so little of it, you might be kept awake all night. yet it looks very weak. besides many expensive teas, petrovna's our little russian cousin papa orders a large supply of tea-bricks. they are made out of the refuse of the tea, and can be sold to the peasants. poor crea- tures they are glad enough to get this poor stuff, if they cannot afford better. now follow petrovna as she stops at the booth of this richly dressed persian. see the beautiful rugs and carpets hung up for sale. they will last a lifetime for those who have money enough to buy them. here is a whole street devoted to the sale of silks. there are many beautiful shades. petrovna shall have a piece of delicate yellow to make her a new party dress, while her mamma chooses one of rich brocade. it is heavy enough to stand alone. let us go with our travellers and look with them at these exquisite gems, – amethysts, crystals, and the clearest of topaz. petrovna's papa will buy one of these, no doubt. he will have it set in a ring to give his wife. our little russian cousin besides all the rich and rare things which asia can send to the fair, russia furnishes many things to exchange with her great neigh- bour. there are all kinds of goods, which have been made in the factories of her cities. the most important are the cotton goods, the cutlery, and the fine articles of silver. there are also immense stores of wheat, bar- ley, and other grains, and quantities of dried fruits. especially for her own people, there are bazaars and bazaars filled with samovars of every style, rich furs from the animals of the cold lands of the north, and candles by millions. day after day, petrovna and ivan wander about the fair grounds. each time they see something new they wish to buy. when they are tired of looking about in the bazaars, they go to one of the concert-halls. they will be sure to hear some music they like. or else our little russian cousin they go to a theatre, and see a play that makes them laugh till their sides are sore. perhaps they watch the performance of some jugglers, and try to discover how they do their wonder- ful tricks. quite often they go into one of the restaurants with papa. while he is drink- ing tea and talking over prices with the men he meets, the children have a dainty lunch, and watch the waiters. what queer-looking people they are they are tartars. they look much like the chinese, except that their heads are shaven. they wear white linen shirts and trousers. their feet are bound with pieces of cloth and encased in sandals. among other things, petrovna watches a band of gypsies. they are the very ones she saw in the streets the day she arrived in the city. some of them are old and withered and ugly. they look like witches. but others are young and quite handsome, with their black hair and bright dark eyes. the women the little cousin series the most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures. each i vol., mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or more full-page illustrations in color. price per volume $o. by marp hazeltom wade (unless otherwise indicated) our little african cousin our little armenian cousin our little brown cousin our little canadian cousin by elizabeth r. macdonald our little chinese cousin by isaac taylor headland our little cuban cousin our little dutch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little english cousin by blanche mcmanus our little eskimo cousin our little french cousin by blanche mcmanus our little german cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin our little japanese cousin our little jewish cousin our little korean cousin by h. lee m. pike our little mexican cousin by edward c. butler our little norwegian cousin our little panama cousin by h. lee m. pike our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little russian cousin our little scotch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little siamese cousin our little spanish cousin by mary f. nixon - roulet our little swedish cousin by claire m. coburn our little swiss cousin our little turkish cousin the goldenrod library the goldenrod library contains only the highest and purest literature, — stories which appeal alike both to chil- dren and to their parents and guardians. each volume is well illustrated from drawings by compe- tent artists, which, together with their handsomely decorated uniform binding, showing the goldenrod, usually considered the emblem of america, is a feature of their manufacture. each one volume, small mo, illustrated, dec- orated cover, paper wrapper . - - $o. list of titles aunt nabby's children. by frances hodges white. child's dream of a star, the. by charles dickens. flight of rosy dawn, the. by pauline bradford mackie findelkind. by ouida. fairy of the rhone, the. by a. comyns carr. gatty and i. by frances e. crompton. great emergency, a. by juliana horatia ewing. helena’s wonderworld. by frances hodges white. jackanapes. by juliana horatia ewing. jerry's reward. by evelyn snead barnett. la belle nivernaise. by alphonse daudet. little king davie. by nellie hellis. little peterkin vandike. by charles stuart pratt. little professor, the. by ida horton cash. peggy's trial. by mary knight potter. prince yellowtop. by kate whiting patch. provence rose, a. by ouida. rab and his friends. by dr. john brown. seventh daughter, a. by grace wickham curran. sleeping beauty, the. by martha baker dunn. small, small child, a. by e. livingston prescott. story of a short life, the. by juliana horatia ewing susanne. by frances j. delano. water people, the. by charles lee sleight. young archer, the. by charles e. brimblecom. a– cosy corner series it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature, — stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover design. each i vol., mo, cloth . e e - e $o. o by aavavie fezzo ws johnston the little colonel. (trade mark.) the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its heroine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school south- ern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. the giant scissors. this is the story of joyce and of her adventures in france. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences of the “house party” and the “holidays.” two little knights of kentucky. who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the “two little knights.” mildred’s inheritance. a delightful little story of a lonely english girl who comes to america and is befriended by a sympathetic american family who are attracted by her beautiful speak- ing voice. by means of this one gift she is enabled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one. a – a. c. page aawd company's by anawie fellows /ohawstom (continued) cicely and other stories for girls. the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people. aunt 'liza's hero and other stories. a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls. big brother. a story of two boys. the devotion and care of steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale. ole mammy's torment. “ole mammy's torment” has been fitly called “a classic of southern life.” it relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kind- ness to a knowledge of the right. the story of dago. in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing. the quilt that jack built. a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished. flip's islands of providence. a story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph, well worth the reading. a— cosy coraver series by edith robinso/w a little puritan’s first christmas. a story of colonial times in boston, telling how christ. mas was invented by betty sewall, a typical child of the puritans, aided by her brother sam. a little daughter of liberty. the author's motive for this story is well indicated by a quotation from her introduction, as follows: “one ride is memorable in the early history of the american revolution, the well-known ride of paul revere. equally deserving of commendation is another ride, – the ride of anthony severn, – which was no less historic in its action or memorable in its consequences.” a loyal little maid. a delightful and interesting story of revolutionary days, in which the child heroine, betsey schuyler, renders im- portant services to george washington. a little puritan rebel. this is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant sir harry vane was governor of massa- chusetts. a little puritan pioneer. the scene of this story is laid in the puritan settlement at charlestown. the little girl heroine adds another to the list of favorites so well known to the young people. a little puritan bound ofirl. a story of boston in puritan days, which is of great interest to youthful readers. a little puritan cavalier. the story of a “little puritan cavalier” who tried with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead crusaders. a- z. c. page awd compaavy's by ouida (louise de la ramée) a dog of flanders: a christmas story. too well and favorably known to require description. the nurnberg stove. this beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price. by frances margaret fox the little giant's neighbours. a charming nature story of a “little giant” whose neigh- bours were the creatures of the field and garden. farmer brown and the birds. a little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best friends. betty of old mackinaw. a charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little readers who like stories of “real people.” brother billy. the story of betty's brother, and some further adven- tures of betty herself. mother nature’s little ones. curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or “childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors. how christmas came to the mul- vaneys. a bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. the wonderful never-to-be forgotten christmas that came to them is the climax of a series of exciting incidents. a- a. c. page aavz) compaavy’.s. by will alleav dromgoole the farrier's dog and his fellow. this story, written by the gifted young southern woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style. the fortunes of the fellow. those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of “the farrier's dog and his fellow" will welcome the further account of the adventures of baydaw and the fel- low at the home of the kindly smith. the best of friends. this continues the experiences of the farrier's dog and his fellow, written in miss dromgoole's well-known charm- ing style. down in dixie. a fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of ala- bama children who move to florida and grow up in the south. by mariam w. wildmaw loyalty island. an account of the adventures of four children and their pet dog on an island, and how they cleared their brother from the suspicion of dishonesty. theodore and theodora. this is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mis- chievous twins, and continues the adventures of the interest. ing group of children in “loyalty island.” a– co.sy coraver sea’ wes by charles g. d. roberts the cruise of the yacht dido. the story of two boys who turned their yacht into a fishing boat to earn money to pay for a college course, and of their adventures while exploring in search of hidden treasure. the lord of the air the story of the eagle the king of the mamozekel the story of the moose the watchers of the camp-fire the story of the panther the haunter of the pine giloom the story of the lynx the return to the trails the story of the bear the little people of the sycamore the story of the raccoon by other authors the great scoop. by molly elliot sea well a capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon. john whopper. the late bishop clark's popular story of the boy who fell through the earth and came out in china, with a new introduction by bishop potter. a– a. c. page aawd coma’a.v.y's the dole twins. by kate upsoav clark the adventures of two little people who tried to earn money to buy crutches for a lame aunt. an excellent description of child-life about , which will greatly interest and amuse the children of to-day, whose life is widely different. larry hudson's ambition. by james otis, author of “toby tyler,” etc. larry hudson is a typical american boy, whose hard work and enterprise gain him his ambition, — an education and a start in the world. the little christmas shoe. by jane p. scott woodruff a touching story of yule-tide. wee dorothy. by laura updegraff a story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and setting. with a bit of sadness at the beginning, the story is other- wise bright and sunny, and altogether wholesome in every way. the king of the golden river: a legend of stiria. by johaw ruskiaw written fifty years or more ago, and not originally in- tended for publication, this little fairy-tale soon became known and made a place for itself. a child’s garden of verses. by r. l. stevensoav mr. stevenson's little volume is too well known to need description. it will be heartily welcomed in this new and attractive edition. a- books for young people the little colonel books (trade mark) by aavawie fezzo ws /o havston each, i vol. large, mo, cloth decorative, per vol. . $ . o the little colonel stories. (trade mark) illustrated. being three “little colonel” stories in the cosy corner series, “the little colonel,” “two little knights of ken- tucky,” and “the giant scissors,” put into a single volume. the little colonel’s house party. (trade mark) illustrated by louis meynell. the little colonel’s holidays. (trade mark) illustrated by l. j. bridgman. the little colonel's hero. (trade mark) illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel at boarding school. (trade mark) illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel in arizona. (trade mark) illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel’s christmas vaca- (trade mark) tion. illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel, maid of honour. (trade mark) illustrated by e. b. barry. since the time of “little women,” no juvenile heroine has been better beloved of her child readers than mrs. johnston’s “little colonel.” a– l. c. page aawd company's the little colonel. (trade-mark) two little knights of kentucky. the giant scissors. a special holiday edition of mrs. johnston's most famous books. each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $ . new plates, handsomely illustrated, with eight full-page drawings in color. “there are no brighter or better stories for boys and girls than these.”—chicago record-herald. “the books are as satisfactory to the small girls, who find them adorable, as for the mothers and librarians, who delight in their influence.”—christian register. these three volumes, boxed as a three-volume set to com- plete the library editions of the little colonel books, $ . in the desert of waiting: the legend of camelback mountain. the three weavers: a fairy tale for fathers and mothers as well as for their daughters. keeping tryst. each one volume, tall mo, cloth decorative . $o. o paper boards . • - • e - - . there has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of these three stories, which were originally included in three of the “little colonel” books, and the present editions, which are very charmingly gotten up, will be delightful and valued gift-books for both old and young. joel : a boy of galilee. by annie fellows johnston. illustrated by l. j. bridgman. new illustrated edition, uniform with the little colonel books, i vol., large mo, cloth decorative . $ . o a story of the time of christ, which is one of the author's best-known books, and which has been translated into many languages, the last being italian. a— books for youavg people asa holmes; or, at the cross-roads. a sketch of country life and country humor. by annie fellows johnston. with a frontispiece by ernest fosbery. large mo, cloth, gilt top . - - - . $ .oo “‘asa holmes; or, at the cross-roads” is the most delight- ful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been pub- lished in a long while. the lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descriptions of persons and things, are wonderfully true to nature.”—boston times. the rival campers; or, the adventures of henry burns. by ruel p. smith. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by a. b. shute . - e - - - . $ . o here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy reader. it is the story of a party of typical american lads, courageous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camp- ing on an island off the maine coast. “the best boys' book since “tom sawyer.’” — san francisco examiner. “henry burns, the hero, is the “tom brown' of america.”— av. y. supt. the rival campers afloat; or, the prize yacht viking. by ruel p. smith, author of “the rival campers.” square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $ . o this book is a continuation of the adventures of “the rival campers” on their prize yacht viking. every reader will be enthusiastic over the adventures of henry burns and his friends on their sailing trip. they have a splendid time, fishing, racing, and sailing, until an acci- dental collision results in a series of exciting adventures, culminating in a mysterious chase, the loss of their prize yacht, and its recapture by means of their old yacht, sur- prise, which they raise from its watery grave. a– i. c. page aawd company's the young section-hand; or, the ad- ventures of allan west. by burton e. steven- son, author of “the marathon mystery,” etc. mo, cloth, illustrated by l. j. bridgman . . $ . o mr. stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as a section-hand on a big western rail- road, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrill- ing. - “it appeals to every boy of enterprising spirit, and at the same time teaches him some valuable lessons in honor, pluck, and perseverance.”— cleveland plain dealer. the young train despatcher. by bur- ton e. stevenson, author of “the young section- hand,” etc. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $ . o a new volume in the “railroad series,” in which the young section-hand is promoted to a train despatcher. another branch of railroading is presented, in which the young hero has many chances to prove his manliness and courage in the exciting adventures which befall him in the discharge of his duty. jack lorimer. by winn standish. square mo, cloth decorative. illustrated by a. b. shute - - $ . o jack lorimer, whose adventures have for some time been one of the leading features of the boston sunday herald, is the popular favorite of fiction with the boys and girls of new england, and, now that mr. standish has made him the hero of his book, he will soon be a favorite throughout the country. jack is a fine example of the all-around american high- school boy. he has the sturdy qualities boys admire, and his fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic youths. a– books for youavg people the roses of saint elizabeth. by jane scott woodruff, author of “the little christmas shoe.” small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in color by adelaide everhart. - - . $ . this is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker of the great castle of the wartburg, where saint elizabeth once had her home, with a fairy-tale inter- woven, in which the roses and the ivy in the castle yard tell to the child and her playmate quaint old legends of the saint and the castle. gabriel and the hour book. by evaleen stein. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by adelaide everhart - - . $ i.oo gabriel was a loving, patient, little french lad, who as- sisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. it is a dear little story, and will appeal to every child who is fortunate enough to read it. the enchanted automobile. translated from the french by mary j. safford. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by edna m. sawyer . - e $ i.oo the enchanted automobile was sent by the fairy god- mother of a lazy, discontented little prince and princess to take them to fairyland, where they might visit their old story-book favorites. here they find that sleeping beauty has become a fa- mously busy queen; princess charming keeps a jewelry shop, where she sells the jewels that drop from her lips; hop-o'- my-thumb is a farmer, too busy even to see the children, and little red riding hood has trained the wolf into a trick animal, who performs in the city squares for his mistress. they learn the lesson that happy people are the busy people, and they return home cured of their discontent and laziness. a— i. c. aage aawd company beautiful joe’s paradise; or, the island of brotherly love. a sequel to “beautiful joe.” by marshall saunders, author of “beautiful joe,” “for his country,” etc. with fifteen full-page plates and many decorations from drawings by charles liv- ingston bull. one vol., library mo, cloth decorative . . $ . “will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who read it.”—pittsburg gazette. “miss saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness into her story. the book deserves to be a favorite.”— chicago a'ecord-azera/d. “this book revives the spirit of “beautiful joe’ capitally. it is fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light. it is a book for juveniles — old and young.”— philadelphia item. *tilda jane. by marshall saunders, author of “beautiful joe,” etc. one vol., mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover, $ . o “no more amusing and attractive child's story has appeared for a long time than this quaint and curious recital of the adven- tures of that pitiful and charming little runaway. “it is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that win and charm the reader, and i did not put it down until i had finished it—honest and i am sure that every one, young or old, who reads will be proud and happy to make the acquainu ance of the delicious waif. “i cannot think of any better book for children than this. i commend it unreservedly.”— cyrus townsend brady. the story of the graveleys. by mar- shall saunders, author of “beautiful joe's paradise,” “'tilda jane,” etc. library mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by e. b barry . - - - - - - - . $ . o here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful new england family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. from the kindly, serene-souled grandmother to the buoyant madcap, berty, these graveleys are folk of fibre and blood — genuine human beings. a — - º ！… =_= -ae-） …）--~~~~" eta tt- tr- ru rn rn tra cr： of ' - t - *- : * . . . . . . uniºns...} º * \, e. * * .r. y ~ s our little norwegian cousin the little cousin series ill u.s tra ted jº by mary hazelton wade our little japanese cousin our little brown cousin our little indian cousin our little russian cousin our little african cousin our little cuban cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little eskimo cousin our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little swiss cousin our little norwegian cousin our little siamese cousin our little italian cousin our little irish cousin our little turkish cousin our little german cousin our little jewish cousin by isaac taylor headland our little chinese cousin by elizabeth roberts macdon ald our little canadian cousin each volume illustrated with six full-page plates in tint, from drawings by l. j. bridgman. cloth, mo, with decorative cover, per volume, cents. jºë l. c. page & company new england building, boston, mass. mari. ******************!: our little norwegian cousin by mary hazelton wade illustrated by l. j. bridgman boston l. c. page & company m d c c c c / / / *****{**śāsāsāsāsīsāsāsāsāsāsāsās copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved published, july, colonial bregg electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds & co. boston, mass., u. s. a. g - w preface long before columbus discovered america, there were brave men in the north of europe who dared to sail farther out upon the un- known waters of the atlantic than any other people in the world. these daring seamen were called vikings. their home was the peninsula of scandinavia, now ruled over by one king, although divided into two distinct countries, norway and sweden. it was along the shores of norway, with rugged mountains fringing its deep bays, that the vikings learned command of their curious, high-prowed ships, and overcame all fear of wind and storm. their strong nature shows itself to-day in the people of norway, who patiently endure many hardships while trying v vi preface to get a living on the rough mountain-sides or along the rocky coasts. many of our norwegian cousins have come to america to make a new home for them- selves where the sun shines more warmly and the winds blow less keenly. their fair-haired children are growing up amongst us, showing us the qualities their parents most admire. be brave, be honest, be kind to all creatures, be faithful to every little duty, - these are the lessons they have been taught from babyhood, as well as their brothers and sisters who have not as yet ventured far from the land they love so well,—the land of rapid-flowing rivers, deep, dark bays, and narrow valleys. come with me to-day to the home of one of these blue-eyed cousins and join her for a while in her work and play. contents chapter i. the farm . - e e ii. visitors iii. the christening - - iv. the lost pin . e e v. the birthday . - - vi. the wedding . e e vii. legends e e - e viii. the lumber camp . e ix. the lapps . - - x. holiday frolics e e page i ioi iii list of illustrations page mari • • • e - - . frontispiece “it was a sort of gig with very long shafts ’’ . - e • • e e . the christening . - - • • e . i carved houses at thelemarken . e . ski - lobing . - - • e - - • “‘it is alw ays in the shape of a mound''' . ios our little norwegian cousin chapter i. the farm “come, mari, my little daughter, and you shall help me make the cakes,” called her mother. mari stood in the middle of the big farm- yard with a flock of hens around her. she was scattering grain among them from a big bag on her arm; not a sound could be heard except once in a while the scratching of the hens' feet. they were too busy to notice each other or the big dog that sat on the door-step. the little girl laughed quietly as she watched them. “they are so happy; they love this io our little norwegian cousin pleasant summer-time as much as i do,” she said to herself. but the moment she heard her mother's voice, she turned quickly toward the house without stopping a moment longer to see whether her pet hen, biddy wee, or cross old yellow legs got the most dinner. mari never in her life thought of answering her parents by saying: “why, papa?” or “why, mamma p" or “i’ll come in a moment.” mari lives in norway, and norwegian par- ents train their children to obey without delay. the little girl was only too glad to come now, however. her mother had promised she should learn to make flat-bread to–day. she was pleased that she was old enough to be trusted with this important work. why, she could keep house alone when she had mastered this necessary art, and her mother could leave her in charge. the farm i i mari remembers when she was such a tiny tot that her head barely reached above the table. even then she loved to watch her mother as she sat at the big moulding-board, rolling out the dough until it was nearly as thin as paper. this dough was made of barley-meal which was raised here at the farm. it was rolled out into sheets almost as wide as the table itself, for each cake must be about a half-yard across. then came the cooking. the cake was lifted from the board to a hot flat stone on the fire- place, where it was quickly baked. how fast the pile grew and how skilful mother always was. she never seemed to burn or break a single cake. wherever you go in mari's country you will find flat-bread. you can eat quantities of it, if you like, yet somehow it will not easily check your hunger, and it gives little strength. “now, dear, be careful not to get a grain of our little norwegian cousin dust on the floor,” said her mother, as mari stood at the table ready for directions. the child looked very pretty, with her long, light hair hanging down her back in two braids. the snowy kerchief was tied under her chin just as it was when she came in from the farm- yard. she had no need to put on an apron before beginning her work, for she already wore one. she was never without it, in fact, and hardly thought herself dressed in the morning until her apron had been fastened around her plump little waist. her cheeks looked rosy enough to kiss, but such a thing seldom happened, for mothers in norway believe that is a bad habit. they think that it often leads to the carrying of disease from one person to another. “shake hands with the baby and the chil- dren,” they would say, “but please don't kiss them.” they are wise in this, – don't you think so the farm i before mari had rolled out six cakes, her cheeks grew rosier yet. it was hard work, although it had seemed easy enough when mother was doing it. the first three cakes had to be rolled over and over again because they would stick to the board. then the lifting was not such a simple thing as mari had supposed before she came to do it herself. but she kept trying. her mother was very patient and encouraged her with loving smiles and kind words. at last the little girl made a really good cake and landed it all by herself on the stone, without doubling, or even wrinkling, it. “good, good,” said her mother, “you will soon be a real helper, mari. but now you have worked long enough for the first time. i will finish the baking while you take the baby and give him an airing.” and where was the baby, bless him? mari knew, for she went at once to the other side our little norwegian cousin of the room where a pole was fastened into the wall. a big basket was hanging down from the end of this pole, and in the basket was a little blue-eyed baby, cooing softly to himself. mari's mother was a very busy woman. there was always something to do, either inside the house or out-of-doors. she had very little time for holding a baby. so when mari and her brothers were away at school, and mother was left alone, that dear little rosy- cheeked fellow sometimes began to cry in a “very lively manner. the cooking and the cheese-making and the spinning must go on just the same, and time could not be spent in holding a baby. but he must be amused in some way. so the strong pole was fastened into the wall, and the cradle attached to the end. do you wonder what fun there could be in staying up in that basket, hour after hour? the baby enjoyed it because the pole would spring a the farm i little at every movement of his body. as long as he kept awake, he could, and did, bob up and down. that was amusement enough. he was glad to see mari now. she was a perfect little mother, and soon had his hood and cloak fastened on. they were hardly needed, for he was already done up in so many garments, it didn’t seem possible he could be cold, wherever he went. the living-room, where mari had been working, was large and high. the beams were dark with age, but the floor was white from the many scrubbings mari's mother had given it. on one side of the room was the big fire- place where all the cooking was done. during the long winter evenings the family and serv- ants sat in front of the blazing logs and told stories of the famous sea-captains of the olden times. or perhaps they talked of the fairies our little norwegian cousin and giants, in whom mari firmly believed. her mother laughed at the idea of these won- derful creatures. yet, after all, it was not more than a hundred years ago that they seemed real to many grown-up people. wonderful creatures who made themselves seen from time to time dwelt in the mountains, the fields, and the rivers. this is what mari's great-grandma had believed, and was she not a sensible woman it is no wonder, there- fore, that our little cousin loved to think that these beings were still real. when she went to sleep at night, she often dreamed of the gnomes who live far down in the earth, or the giants who once dwelt among the mountains. when she was very little she sometimes waked up from such dreams with a shiver. “o, don't let the cruel giant get me,” she would cry. then she would jump out of her own little cot into the big bed of her parents. she felt quite safe as soon as her mother's the farm loving arms held her tightly, and she was sound asleep again in a minute. that big bed certainly looked strong enough to be a fortress against the giants or any other of the wonderful creatures of fairy-world. it stood in the corner of the living-room, where mari's mother worked all day, and where the family ate and sat. it was so high that even grown people did not get into it without climb- ing up the steps at one side. it had a wooden top, which made it seem like a little house. it was not as long as bedsteads in other coun- tries. no grown person could stretch out in it to his full length. he must bend his knees, or curl himself up in some way, for he cer- tainly could not push his feet through the heavy wooden foot-board. mari's people, however, never thought of its being uncomfortable. all norwegian bed- steads are made in this way, so they became used to it as they grew up. but sometimes our little norwegian cousin english travellers had stayed at the farmhouse all night when they had been overtaken by a storm. they would be sure to get up in the morning complaining. they would say: “o yes, this country of norway is very beautiful, but why don't you have beds long enough for people to sleep in with comfort.” the farm where mari lives lies in a narrow valley half a mile from the sea. the cold winter winds are kept off by the mountain which stands behind the houses. no one but mari's family and the servants who work on the farm live here. yet i spoke of houses. this is because the little girl's home is made up of several different houses, instead of one large farmhouse, such as one sees in america. mari's father thinks that two, or perhaps three, rooms are quite enough to build under one roof. he settled here when he was a young man. mari's mother came here to live when they were married. at that time the farm i there was but one house. it contained the living-room and the storeroom. after a while another house was built close by, for the farm hands to sleep in. still another little building was added after a while for the winter's sup- plies, for there is no store within many miles of the farm. mari's mother never says, “come, my child, run down the road and buy me five pounds of sugar,” or, “hurry, dear, go and get two pounds of steak for dinner.” it would be useless for her to think of doing such a thing. all the provisions the family may need must be obtained in large quantities from the distant city, unless they are raised here on the farm. the storehouse was built very carefully. it was raised higher than the other buildings so that rats and other wild creatures should have hard work to reach the supplies. there is not a great deal on hand now, for it is sum- our little norwegian cousin mer-time, but in the autumn the bins will be full of vegetables, and large quantities of fish and meats will hang from the rafters. there will be stores of butter and cheese and a large supply of coffee, for mari's people drink it freely. chapter ii. visitors “mother, mother, i hear the sound of wheels,” cried the little girl, as she came hur- rying into the house, panting for breath. the baby was such a big load it is a wonder she could hurry at all. “could you see what is coming?” asked her mother. “yes, there are two carriages, i know, for i saw a cariole, and i could hear another gig, although it was still out of sight round the bend of the road. they must be in a hurry, for i could hear the driver of the cariole cluck- ing to his horse to make him go faster.” “run right down to the rye-field, mari, and tell your father to send snorri up with the horses. leave the baby with me.” i our little norwegian cousin mari hurried away, while her mother went out into the yard to greet her visitors who had now drawn near. the first carriage was a cariole, as mari had said. it was a sort of gig with very long shafts. it had a seat in front just wide enough to hold one person, with a small place behind, where the post-boy sat. a lady rode in this cariole and drove the sturdy little horse. behind her came a second carriage, which could not be very comfortable, as there were no springs and the seat was directly over the axle. two people were in this, also, a gentle- man and the driver. “we are in great haste to reach the next station by afternoon,” the gentleman tried to explain to the farmer's wife. he spoke brok- enly, for he seemed to know but few nor- wegian words. “he must be an american,” mari’s mother “it was a sort of gig with very long shafts.” --------~--~--~~~~--~~~~ visitors said to herself. “those people always seem to be in a hurry.” she dropped a deep curtsy to the lady, who seemed to be the gentleman's wife. “won't you come into the house while you wait for the carriage?” she asked. the lady smiled, and followed her into the living- room. “what a lovely big fireplace you have l’” exclaimed the visitor, as she sat down. “and what good times you probably have here in the long winter evenings. indeed they must seem long when the daylight only lasts two or three hours.” mari’s mother smiled. “yes, and the summer days seem long now that there are only two or three hours of darkness in the whole twenty-four,” she answered. “at least, they must seem long to you who are a stranger,” she went on. she spoke in good english, of which she was very proud. she our little norwegian cousin had learned it when she was a girl in school, and was already teaching mari to use it. “is that your spinning-wheel?” asked the visitor, as she looked around the room. “ex- cuse me for asking, but i do wish i could watch you spinning. in america everything we wear is made in the mills and factories, and a spinning-wheel is not a common sight now- adays.” “i make all the clothing for my family,” answered mari's mother. “it is so strong it lasts nearly a lifetime. look at my dress; i have worn it every working-day for many years, and it is still as good as new.” “dear me ! what a smart woman you are. if you don't mind, i should like to examine the goods. i suppose that is what people call homespun. and i suppose the wool of which it was made came from your own sheep, did it not?” “yes, indeed, and my husband raised every visitors one of the flock himself,” was the answer. “i will gladly spin some of the wool for you now. but see the carriages are waiting, and your husband looks impatient.” “then i must not keep him waiting, for we have a long journey before us. so good- bye. perhaps we may stop here again on our way back from the north. thank you very much for your kindness.” the lady went out, and snorri helped her into the cariole and himself jumped up behind, and away they went. the lady's husband fol- lowed in another carriage in the same manner they had driven into the yard. the ones that had brought them here had gone away as soon as the travellers stepped out. their drivers would take them back to the station where they belonged. “mother, why is our house a posting- station ?” asked mari, when the travellers had gone. “i think it is a great bother. our little norwegian cousin no matter how busy father and the men are, they must stop their work and harness up the horses to carry strangers along the road. they don't get money for it, either, do they ” “that is the way your father pays his taxes,” her mother answered. “you know what good roads we have in our country, mari. you know, too, that many other things are done by the government to make this country a fine one. of course every one must share in the cost of these things. as we live on a farm and have horses, your father is allowed to pay his share in work. that is, he agrees to carry the travellers who come this way to the next station. after all, it isn't very much bother,” she said, thoughtfully. “but come, dear, set the table; it is near dinner-time, and your father will soon be here.” the table did not stand in the middle of the room. it was in the corner nearest the visitors fireplace. a wide bench was built round the two sides of the room nearest it, so that most of those who gathered around the table could sit on these benches. mari's mother soon had a steaming junket ready, besides a dish of smoked salmon, plenty of boiled potatoes, a large, dark-col- oured cheese which looked like soap, and last, but not least, a plate was piled high with flat-bread. “may father have the cakes i made?” asked mari. “sure enough, little daughter. he will eat them with pleasure, i know.” in a few minutes the farmer and his help- ers appeared. all gathered around the table together. “what a fine junket this is to-day,” said mari's father, as his wife helped him to another plateful. the junket was made of milk, barley, and our little norwegian cousin potatoes, and was a dish of which he was very fond. “dear me! how good the flat-bread is, too. and only to think that our little mari made it all herself,” continued the farmer. “she will soon be a woman at this rate.” mari's rosy cheeks grew redder still at her father's praise. “i shall be glad to see gretel back again,” said the little girl's mother, after a while. “i miss her very much, though mari is a good little helper. but gretel is having a good time with henrik, i’m sure.” gretel and henrik had gone up on the mountain to the summer-house, where the cows were pastured during the two warmest months of the year. henrik was now four- teen years old, and his father felt that he could be trusted to care for the cows as well as he could do it himself; while gretel could make good cheese and butter, although she was only visitors thirteen. this boy and girl were now living together all alone up on the mountain-side, but they were not the least bit lonely. every saturday afternoon henrik brought down the butter and cheese his sister had made during the week. he had so many stories to tell of their good times, that mari would say: “oh, dear! henrik, i wish i could go back with you.” “i wish you could, little sister, but mother must not be left alone, you know.” and henrik would put his arms around her and kiss her lovingly. “where is ole ” asked the farmer, as the family finished eating their dinner. “he should not be late to meals and give you trouble, good wife.” “he went up to the river on a fishing trip. i told him i should not scold if he was late this time,” said his mother. “i was glad of the thought of having some fresh salmon.” our little norwegian cousin “very well, then. but come, my men, we must get back to the field now. the noon hour has passed.” and the farmer led the way out of the house. but before he rose from the table little mari said: “thanks for the food, dear father and mother,” while she went first to one, then the other, and gave each of them a loving kiss. then the workmen rose and went in turn to the farmer and his wife and shook hands, to show they, too, were thankful. it was very pleasant and cheerful in this farmer's house, you can plainly see; and it was all quite natural for these simple country people to show how kindly they felt for each other. “there comes ole, now,” said the farmer's wife. “i can hear his call. run, mari, and see if he has met with good fortune.” visitors i “o, mother, mother, see what i have here,” cried mari, a few moments afterward. “ole has a fine string of fish, and that will please you, i know. but do look at this young magpie. it was snared in his trap while he was fishing. he says i may have it for my very own. may i keep it, please?” “it seems as though you had enough pets now, mari. you have your own pony and your dog kyle. but i hate to refuse you, my dear. yes, you may have it, but you and ole must keep it out of mischief. magpies are sometimes very troublesome birds, for they notice shining objects and carry them off if they get a chance.” mari's mother now turned to the string of trout which she hastened to put away in the storeroom. ole had cleaned them nicely be- fore he brought them home. he now ate his dinner as quickly as possible, after which he our little norwegian cousin and his sister went out into the yard to make a cage for their new pet. “in a little while he will get tame so he will follow us around,” said ole, as he cut the wooden bars for the cage. “then we shall need to shut him up only when we wish.” “isn't he a beauty,” exclaimed mari, as she stroked the magpie. “look, ole, at the green and purple feathers in his wings and tail. they are very handsome and glossy.” “be careful, mari, or he may bite you. that hooked bill of his is pretty sharp, if he is a young bird. see him look at you with his bright eyes. they say that mag- pies will grow fond of one in a very short time.” “did you ever see a magpie's nest, ole * * “yes, i passed one this morning as i went through the woods. it was way back in a thick bush. i crept up and looked in. visitors the mother bird was away, and i saw five pretty green eggs dotted with little purple spots.” - “what did you do, ole i hope you did not touch them.” “at first, i thought i would, mari, because, you know, those pretty eggs will sometime hatch out, and the five magpies will fly away to harm smaller and more helpless birds. be- sides, they go into the grain-fields and pick the grain. father isn't very fond of magpies, i can tell you. “but after thinking for a moment i said to myself, ‘no, mother magpie sha'n't be made unhappy to-day by coming home to find her nest empty.’ then i went away, and ended my morning's sport by trapping this young fellow.” ole kept on working while he talked. he did his work so cleverly that one could see he was quite a carpenter. he was a tall boy our little norwegian cousin for twelve years, and looked healthy and happy. you might possibly have laughed at his clothes, for he wore a pair of his father's old trousers, and they were gathered in at the waist to keep them in place. they must have been cut off at the knees so that they should not be too long for the boy. that was the only change made. his mother said: “there, those trousers are too much worn for my husband to use any longer. they will do very well for ole as he runs about on the farm. i will not take time to cut them any smaller. on holidays the boy shall wear his fine clothes, of course.” it is no wonder the good woman had to be careful of her time, for she not only spun, wove, and made their clothing, but she also spun the yarn and knit their stockings. ole's stockings are often patched with leather to make them last longer. but his feet are visitors not tender, and he does not mind it in the least. “what kind of a nest did the magpie have " asked mari, as ole finished the cage and they placed the bird inside. “it was lined with wool and hair and had a sort of roof over it. the opening was very narrow; i really don't see how the mother- bird could get in and out.” “i suppose the roof is to protect the young birds from enemies, don't you, oleº ’’ “yes, mari; but come, let us go and find some worms for our bird. he must be hungry.” chapter iii. the christening “o mother, i have something to tell you. i have just been down to the village, and i heard there that neighbour hans's wife has a new baby. it is a boy. every one says he is a fine little fellow,” said mari, one beautiful afternoon. “dear me ! dear me ! that is fine news, truly,” said her mother. “i must make her a dish of my best porridge and take it to her in the morning.” “did everybody remember you when i was born, mother ?” “yes, dear, the people of the village seemed to vie with each other in preparing a dish of flödegrod. it did taste so good! it was hard to tell whose was the best. you must learn the christening how to make this cream porridge now, mari; you are quite old enough. you will never be thought a good housekeeper if you cannot make smooth flödegrod.” “the baby is to be christened next week. everybody will be there, of course, mother.” the farm was only half a mile from a little fishing village on the shore of a deep bay. such a long, narrow bay is called a fiord. there are many fiords in norway. there were only about a dozen cottages in the village, but in their midst was a tiny little church and a small building used as the school- house. but school was not kept there all the year round. half of the time the master taught in this place, and the rest of the year he spent in another little village a few miles up the coast. neither of them was large enough to pay for a teacher the whole year round. the children, however, were glad to work hard while he was among them. they loved our little norwegian cousin their teacher and their school, and they learned quickly. every one in the place was busy now, get- ting ready for the christening. at last came the great day, as bright and sunny a one as could be wished. all the work on the farm was stopped and every one in the family was dressed in his best. mari had a fresh white linen kerchief tied under her chin, and also a finely starched apron. her plump little arms were bare. her stomacher was worked with bright beads on scarlet cloth. she had embroidered it all herself and she could not help being proud of it. but perhaps you do not know what a stomacher is. it is a piece of cloth worn as an ornament on the waist and over the stomach. mari’s mother wore one also, but hers was sparkling with silver trimmings that had be- longed to her great-grandmother. the christening how fine the father looked in his short coat and knee-breeches. he wore a bright red vest, over which hung his long light beard. but mari's mother was the prettiest sight of all. her muslin apron was trimmed with three rows of lovely open-work. her scarlet waist was finished with bands of black velvet, with the beautiful stomacher in front of that. she had loose white linen sleeves, and such an odd cap. you never saw one like it, i am sure. it was made of crimped white muslin with a wide rim over the forehead, with a narrow band beneath that hid her hair. the corners fell down behind nearly to the waist. her silver ornaments must also be men- tioned. they were really beautiful, and were hundreds of years old. ole looked fine, too, in a suit much like his father's and a little round cap, fitting tightly to his head. you would scarcely have known the family in their holiday dress. our little norwegian cousin they stepped off gaily, and soon reached the village. they arrived at the church just as the christening party reached it. “do look at the dear baby, ole,” said mari. “isn't he lovely " the nurse was carrying him. he was so swaddled in his fine clothes that you would have almost thought he was an indian pap- poose. only his face could be seen. the swaddling bands were of many colours, – red, green, and white, and there was a large white satin bow, of course. every norse baby wears such a bow to its christening. and now the flock of people followed the minister into the little church. they passed up to the front and gathered around the altar. “the baby behaves finely, doesn't he?” whispered ole. “i am real proud of him because he is to have the same name as my- self. did you hear the minister say ole, mari p. " the christening. the christening i “yes, but look now. the baby's father and mother and his godparents are all going up behind the altar. what is that for?” “they are laying presents there for the min- ister. of course they want to thank him for the christening. i declare, mari, our baby was christened only last year, and you have forgotten what people do at such times.” “i was so excited then, ole, i don’t believe i noticed it. but come, everybody is going out of the church. now we shall have the best time, for you know we are invited to the party.” the building was soon empty, and all the people started gaily for the home of the new baby. the minister went with them, of course. he looked very dignified in his long black gown, with a great white ruff about his neck. he loved his people, and took part in all their merry-makings. ole and mari were very fond of him. they ran to his side as our little norwegian cousin soon as they got outdoors. ole took one hand and mari the other. it was only a few steps to the little home of the fisherman. everything had been made ready for the company. the table was spread with the good things that the norse people love best. in the centre of the table stood the old silver bowl from which every one must drink to the health of the new baby. this bowl was the most precious thing in the simple home. it had not been used before since the parents of the baby came here and held their wedding- feast. there is much eating, and frequent hand- shaking. it seemed as though the company could only show how loving they felt toward one another by the hearty shakes which they gave so often. when every one had eaten so much that he could hold no more with comfort, the table the christening was quickly cleared, and a young man brought out a fiddle from the corner of the room. “now for some of our norse songs,” cried one of the company. “good, good,” cried all, and soon the room was filled with lively music. the new baby behaved very well, and went to sleep in the midst of it. but mari's baby brother, who had come to the party with the rest of the family, was hav- ing too good a time to shut his eyes for a mo- ment. it was not until the dancing began that his little head commenced to nod and his eyes could keep open no longer. the older folk and children sat against the wall and talked together while the younger people waltzed around the room. “gustav, we want to see you and frigga in the spring dance,” said one of the party after a while. “o yes, gustav, you can both do it so our little norwegian cousin well,” cried another. “we must see it before we go home.” gustav stepped out into the middle of the room and was followed by the young girl whom he was soon to marry. her cheeks grew rosy as every one looked at her. she was a pretty girl, and her long, fair braids reached way below her waist. and now the fiddler started up again with a lively tune. who could keep still now surely gustav could not. he took hold of one of frigga's hands, and away they spun around the room. but it was not a simple waltz such as you have seen. the young girl held her other hand above her head and showed her grace as she kept moving around gustav ; she kept perfect time and step as she did so. - other odd dances followed the spring dance. ole's and mari's eyes were wide open with delight as they watched their older friends. the christening whenever one of the dances came to an end, there was a general shaking of hands in which the children joined with a right good will. the time to go home came all too soon. but as it was near the middle of summer, it was not dark even now at ten o'clock in the evening. “gud nag, gud nag,” cried every one, after they had drunk again to the health of the baby and his proud parents, and the hands of all had been heartily shaken once more. chapter iv. the lost pin “mar , ole, come here to me at once,” called their mother. it was the morning after the christening. the two children were sitting with their pet magpie under a tree near the house. “what can be the matter, mother speaks so quickly p" whispered ole, as he and his sister hurried to obey. “have you seen the silver brooch i wore at my throat yesterday ?” said their mother, as soon as they came into the house. the good woman seemed nervous. her words came quickly, which was not a common thing, for she was a slow speaker, like other norse people. “why, no, mother, of course not,” said the lost pin mari. “didn't you put it away in the box where you always keep it?” “certainly, my child, but i did not lock the box as usual. i found it open just now. can it be possible that a thief has been here? it does not seem probable. besides, my other ornaments are there safe. a thief would have taken all.” “i shouldn't wonder if i could guess who took the brooch, mother,” said ole. “it’s the magpie. you know you said magpies like all kinds of shining objects.” “you handsome little mischief, have you done it?” said the boy, as he looked at his pet. the magpie had kept his seat on ole's shoulder when the children came into the house. he looked from him to the boy's mother with bright eyes, as much as to say, “i could tell all about it, if i wished.” “it seems as though the bird understands our little norwegian cousin what we are talking about, but of course he doesn’t. still, i believe he has done some- thing with your brooch, mother,” said mari. “it may be so, indeed, children. the box was possibly left open, although i am gener- ally so careful. if that is so, ole and mari, you must find it. unless you are able to do so, you cannot keep your pet any longer.” you may be sure the children were anxious to find the brooch now. all that day they searched in every nook and corner of the house and yard. “you know, we let him fly around for a long time this morning,” said ole, when night came and still the brooch could not be found. “if it was carried up into some tree, we may never see it again.” ole had crawled out upon the limbs of all the trees near the house, and his legs were pretty tired. “you can’t do any more to-night, children,” y g > the lost pin said the farmer, when supper was over and the family were gathered on the porch to talk over the trouble. “go to bed, and do not fret. in the morning, let the magpie out of the cage, and allow him to go where he pleases. watch him, and perhaps you will find he has some hiding-place where he stores his treas- ures.” those were wise words. the next morn- ing the children did as their father had directed, and the magpie was set free. five minutes afterward he flew out of the house, and away he went toward the barn. now it happened that a pole stretched out from under the low roof of this building. in winter-time a bundle of grain was fastened to this pole from time to time. it was placed there to give food to the hungry birds that came that way. they might starve during freezing weather, if kind people did not think of them. the lost pin i and ledges covered the shore. there was only one little nook where it was easy for boats to land. the village was built at the head of this narrow bay, as it reached far into the land. it was a long sail out to the open ocean. mari had never yet seen it, although she had lived so near the water all her life. it was a wonderful sight that the children looked upon this afternoon. great cliffs rose high up from the water on each side of the bay. they were so straight and tall, they seemed to join it to the sky above. a waterfall came rushing down from the top of one of these cliffs. it made a whirlpool in the spot where it fell into the bay. but everywhere else the water was very quiet. it was so still, that as you looked up to the steep mountains on each side, it would have made you almost fearful, it seemed so lonely and apart from the rest of the world. our little norwegian cousin “i climbed way up that cliff by the water- fall last spring,” ole told his sister, as the children sat down upon a rock to rest. “weren't you afraid p’’ she asked, as she looked at him proudly. then she added, quickly, “of course you weren't. i never knew you to be afraid of anything in your life. but why did you do it?” “i was after down for mother's cloak. the eider-ducks build their nests in the crannies of the rocks. i found three of them that day, i remember. it seemed almost too bad to rob the nests, but still you know there is nothing so soft and warm as the down. and i shall be proud when mother has enough to line her cloak and finish it.” “those ducks have a queer habit of pluck- ing the softest feathers from their own breasts to line their nests. don't you think so, ole p’’ “yes, birds are a great deal nicer than we the lost pin are apt to think. you know the mother-bird covers the eggs with this down before she flies away for food. she seems to understand that they must be kept warm, and the father-duck doesn't help her by bringing her food or taking her place while she is away. she has all the care on her own shoulders, poor thing. “if her nest is robbed of the down, she will pluck more feathers from her breast and line it again. if it happens the third time, she flies to her mate and takes enough from him to fill their place. but after that her patience is worn out, she goes away and seeks another place in which she can build a new nest undis- turbed.” “she certainly is a wise little creature, for she wouldn't be warm enough if she robbed herself too much,” said mari. “mother has been to the city of bergen, and she says cloaks lined with eider-down are sold in the stores the lost pin when the postman had carried his letters up to the office, in the leading house in the village, he came back to the shore and sat down for a few moments' talk with the children. “this is a wonderful country of ours,” he said, as he looked at the shadows of the great mountains in the water. “and we who live here belong to a noble and a mighty race. never forget that, mari, will you, my child p’’ “o no, olaf, i love to think of the grand old times when the vikings sailed out of these bays and travelled all over the world. they were the ones who discovered america, weren’t they although i have heard it said that the honour is given now to columbus, the italian.” “hundreds of years before columbus lived, mari, our great seamen crossed the ocean. many of our people went with them and our little norwegian cousin settled in iceland. but they did not forget their native land and the wonderful stories that had been handed down for centuries from father to son. “at last a wise man said, ‘i will gather together these stories of the norse people. i will write them down, and our children shall have them for ever.” in this way the “eddas’ came to be written. they are dearer to us now than any other books except the bible. is it not so, children : * “yes, yes, olaf,” cried mari and ole together. and mari added, “we are so happy when father reads to us from the “eddas.” i hardly know what story i like best.” “i have sometimes heard strangers in the land speak about our boats,” olaf went on. “they call them old-fashioned and say they remind them of the ships the vikings sailed in a thousand years ago, they have such high the lost pin curved prows and are so broad. but what do we care if they do call them old-fashioned we like it, children, for the old ways were good ways.” “i wish i had lived in the time of the vikings,” said ole. “i should like to have gone with them on their daring voyages. but why were they better sailors than any other people at that time, olaf’’ “in the first place, they were strong and brave. they loved the sea and spent their lives upon it. they trained themselves from boyhood to bear cold and hardships. and, besides all these things, these deep bays were good places for sailors to learn their craft. “but i have stayed here longer than i thought; i must go home. this was the last village where i had to deliver letters or i could not have stopped with you so long. i will try sailing back, but if i find the wind still strong our little norwegian cousin when i get outside the fiord, i can easily take the sail down. good-bye.” the postman was soon far down the bay. he passed several fishermen in their boats just coming back from their day's catch. ole and mari waited till they came in. “what luck, what luck ” cried the chil- dren. “i have had such a good haul,” said gus- tav, who was the first to touch the shore, “that here is a fine large haddock to take home to your mother, ole.” “many thanks, gustav, my mother will be much pleased,” answered the boy, as he re- ceived the gift. then the two children trudged homeward, clasping hands and singing one of the songs they had learned at school. chapter v. the birth day “ten years old, my daughter. do you believe you have grown any taller since last night?” said mari's mother, when she called her that morning. “it seems so, anyway,” answered the little girl, as she watched her mother making the birthday cake. “bring the citron and currants from the storeroom, mari. i have sugar enough, i think. this must be a beautiful cake for my daughter. the frosting shall be thick. here comes ole now with the flowers.” ole's arms were full. “do you think i have enough to decorate your cake, mari?” he laughed as he spoke. our little norwegian cousin “we can’t use half of them, of course. look at the quantity of fruit mother is using. there ! see how yellow the dough looks since she put in the saffron. won't it be lovely when it is done * * “come, ole, get to work on that tub you are making for me. and, mari, take your knitting and go out on the porch. i wish to be quiet while i watch the baking of the cake. there will be fun enough for you this after- noon.” mari's mother had promised her a coffee party in honour of her birthday. soon after dinner the children began to arrive. they were dressed in their best and looked very happy, although the white kerchiefs tied around the rosy faces of the girls made them appear like little old women. there was plenty of coffee to drink, for the children of the north are as fond of it as the older people. then there was the magnificent the birthday birthday cake, rich in the fruits and sugar, and trimmed with the flowers ole had gathered in the morning. of course, there were piles of flat-bread on the table, besides other things of which the children were fond. many games were played outdoors in the sunshine. mulberry-bush was the favourite, and it was played over and over again. “i shall never forget my tenth birthday,” said mari, that night, after her little friends had gone home. “i have had a lovely time, mother, and you were so good to let me have the party.” “you can repay me by being more diligent in all your work the coming year, my child. learn to be more careful in your knitting and spinning. always be ready, with a cheerful face, to help me in the churning, and i shall think you are growing to be a noble woman.” our little cousin certainly had many duties. her hands were seldom idle during the long our little norwegian cousin winter afternoons and evenings, for there were stockings to knit for ole and herself, scarfs to crochet, wool to be spun and woven, besides many other things which norse girls need to learn if they are to grow up to be good house- keepers. and ole had much to do, also. in sum- mer there was plenty of work in the garden, besides fishing and shooting the wild ducks. during the winter time he must make many useful things at his carpenter's bench. his father was his teacher in this kind of work. why, he had made every piece of furniture in the house; and although it was not beautiful, it was well made and strong. “i love to carve,” ole once said to his sister. “i wish it were the fashion to decorate our buildings as the people of thelemarken do. i have seen pictures of their storehouses. they are just beautiful, mari. the men carve with their knives all sorts of figures on at thelemarken. carved houses the birthday the outside. the side posts of the porches are fairly covered with lovely patterns.” “the people there don't dress as we do, either,” answered mari. “even the farmers wear the same clothes at work as on the holi- days. i should think it would be hard to keep clean their white jackets all trimmed with silver buttons. the women there sometimes make their aprons out of silk handkerchiefs. and they wear their silver belts and brooches every day. i should like to go there and see them. just think, ole, i’ve never been away from this place in my life l’” “never mind, little sister. you and i will travel some day and go all over our country. we will even go to the north cape and see the sun set at midnight and then rise a mo- ment afterward. we can almost do that here on midsummer nights, but not quite. you know people from all over the world travel to the north cape, mari.” our little norwegian cousin “what else do they see there besides the midnight sunset and sunrise?” “our friend ernst, over in the village, went there once. he belonged to the crew of a ship that carries people there every summer. he says it is a high mass of rocks, and it is hard to climb. when you reach the top, you can get a good view of the arctic ocean, but there is nothing to see but the dreary water; no land nor ship in sight. that is, of course, as you look toward the north. on one side of the cape there is a small glacier, but those can be seen in many other parts of the country. one doesn't need to go to the north cape to look at a glacier.” “our teacher told me, ole, that a long time ago this whole country was covered with ice. of course, there were no people then. but after a while the land became warmer and the ice went away. here and there, the ice-rivers, or glaciers, were left among the mountains, the birthday and they have stayed there ever since. i don't see why.” “of course, it's terribly cold above us, mari, up among the mountains. the snow falls and changes into ice. it slides slowly down into the valleys and begins to melt, but there is always plenty of ice above. people like to come to our country to see the glaciers as well as the other wonderful sights. i de- clare, i’m getting sleepy and i am going to bed. good night, little sister.” chapter vi. the wedding “there they are. they are just rounding the point,” exclaimed mari. she was standing on the shore and looking anxiously down the bay. she was not alone, by any means, for every one of the village was there with her. why were they all dressed so finely why were they all looking in one direction ? and why was the church door standing open it was not sunday, and it was the time when every one was usually at work. gustav and frigga, who lived farther up the coast, you remember, were to be married. there was no church in frigga's village, so the wedding party must come here. for what would a wedding be if it were not the wedding held in a church half of the beauty would be missing. - ah! here come the boats. the first one, of course, contains the fair bride and her lover. they sit on a raised seat, with the bridesmaid and best man near them. the bride looks quite charming with the high silver crown on her fair head. it seems as though a queen and her royal party were drawing near. the boat is trimmed with flowers, and the rowers pull with a will. two other boats follow close behind, con- taining the dearest friends of the bride and groom. as they draw near, the people on the shore hasten to greet them with a rousing welcome. and now the procession is formed and starts out toward the church. first comes the fiddler with his violin under his arm. he is followed by a man bearing a large silver tankard. the health of the newly married our little norwegian cousin pair will be drunk from this many times be- fore the festival is over. next comes the best man, with gustav and frigga close behind; after whom follow the fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers of the couple. last, come the other relatives and friends. all are laughing and joking, and are bright with the pretty colours of their holiday clothes. now they enter the little church and pass down the aisles strewn with juniper-tips. the air is very sweet with the odour of the freshly cut sprigs. the minister is at the altar to meet them. he is dressed as usual in his long black gown with the great white ruff around his neck. but the bride how lovely she looks as she stands with bent head, with the silver crown resting on her fair hair. a heavy silver chain is around her neck, and she sparkles with rings, and brooches, and other ornaments without number. her stomacher is covered the wedding with silver embroidery. her apron is of the finest muslin, and is also embroidered beauti- fully. the little church was so full that ole and mari were crowded near the door with the other children. but they could see everything that was going on. - “isn't she beautiful ?” whispered mari, to a little girl behind her. “i don't believe our queen in her own palace can look grander than she.” when the service was over, the wedding party left the church and turned toward the shore. was the good time over now, do you think? by no means, for a whole week's merriment had only begun. the bridal party seated themselves in the boat in which they had arrived. the other boats were quickly filled; the fiddler began to play a lively air; the rowers pulled with long, steady strokes, and as they moved out over o our little norwegian cousin the clear, sunlit waters, one of the party began to sing. others joined in the song until the air seemed filled with music. ole and mari stood on the shore together with the others who had not gone with the young couple to their new home. “gustav has made a lovely new house for frigga,” ole told his sister. “i sailed over there last week with olaf, and it was just done. the last piece of furniture was also finished. i wish we were going there to-day; what fun everybody will have, feasting and dancing.” “never mind, ole, we shall be grown up before many years. and then we shall be invited to the wedding-parties,” said mari. “let’s go in swimming and have some fun by ourselves this afternoon.” several other children followed the example of ole and mari. soon there was such a splashing and diving that the echoes of the noise came sounding back from the mountain- the wedding sides. norse children are great swimmers. when mari was no more than five years old she had learned to feel as much at home in the water as the mermaids of whom her mother told in stories. she could stay below as long as ole ; she could dive, and tread water, and swim backwards. there was nothing to fear, for sharks were never seen near that shore, and the water was so clear one could see to the very bottom, no matter how deep it might be. chapter vii. legends “i am afraid i shall have to go to lumber- ing this winter,” said mari's father, as the family sat around the great open fireplace. henrik had been home from the mountain pasture for two weeks. it was growing cold, and jack frost had paid several visits to the farm already. “what a shame it is that the crops turned out so badly,” answered his wife. “in one more week of good weather, you could have saved everything.” “yes, that is true, wife, but we cannot help it. we lost nearly everything on account of the frost. if you are to live in comfort, i must earn money now in some other way. two of the farm-hands can go with me to the legends camp in the woods, so i shall not be very lonely.” the farmer looked around the cheerful room, and sighed. mari went to his side, and put her arms around his neck. “dear father, we shall miss you so much,” she said. “you will come home at christmas, anyway, won't you?” “o yes, the camp is not so far away but i shall try to be back for one night out of every two weeks. henrik and ole will take good care of you girls and your mother, i know. they will be able to visit me, too. they are both good runners on the skis (skees). al- though the camp is miles away, it will not seem much to them, eh, ole ” “it will be grand sport,” answered the boy, quickly. “we will run a race to see which one of us can get there first. of course henrik will win. but who cares? i don't.” the two boys had been busy all day mak- our little norwegian cousin ing new skis for themselves. great sport the children would have all this winter sliding down the hillsides. coasting on sleds ! yes, there was plenty of that, too, on the snowy slopes around mari's home. but ski-lobing was better fun, by far. mari had learned to slide on skis long ago. they were made from two strips of wood, six feet long, with pointed ends curved upward. when they were strapped on her stout shoes the little girl could slide over the snow at a wonderful rate, without sinking or falling. no, there was no sport like ski-lobing. mari had the sled henrik made for her two years ago, and her two brothers sometimes dragged her on it down to the village. some- times all the children went coasting with their sleds. “but it isn't as good as ski-lobing,” they would always say when they came home. and it was no wonder; you would agree with them, if you could once see them travel. ski - lobing. legends it was almost like flying. they would stand together at the top of a slope. “ready l’” henrik would cry. then away ! they would all start downwards. it seemed but a second before all were stand- ing at the foot of the hill, out of breath and rosy as the reddest winter apples. “now for the top,” cried the leader, after a moment's rest; and up they would go again. it is easy to understand now why ole and henrik were not afraid of a long trip on skis over the snow-covered fields and hills. they were so skilful they would get to the camp in two hours at most. after an afternoon's sport on the hillside, the children once more gathered in the big living-room. “tell us some of the good old stories we love so much,” said mari. “there is no one who tells them so well, dear father.” it was the last evening he would be at our little norwegian cousin home. the next morning he must start out for the cold, dreary camp in the woods. every one was feeling sad, but all tried to hide it and seem gay and cheerful. “what shall it be, a fairy-story, or a tale of the gods and goddesses in whom the vikings believed ” he asked when the children had gathered around him, in front of the blazing logs in the fireplace. “first let us hear that wonderful legend of the beginning of the world,” answered mari. “it is told in the eddas, you know.” “very well, then. shut your eyes and try to think of a time when there was no earth, nor sun, nor stars, and the great father was all.” mari opened her eyes after a moment and said, softly, “how lonely it must have been, papa.” “a time came, however,” her father went on, “when all was changed. for out of the legends thoughts of the all-father, the land of win- ter was formed in the far north. it was wrapped in ice and cold and mist. then, far away to the south, arose the land of heat and fire, whose flames never died nor burned low. “now, between the land of darkness and cold, and the land of light and heat, there was a great abyss, into which the icy rivers from the north were ever flowing. mist rose from these waters and rushed to meet the sparks from the fires which were ever burning in the south lands. and as they met, a wondrous giant came into life, the child of heat and cold.” “who was there to care for him when he was little " asked mari. “he needed no one, because he was not like ourselves, my dear; still, he must have food. and so a wonderful cow appeared, to give him milk. as she licked the ice from the stones, a new being gradually took shape our little norwegian cousin and arose. he was like ourselves, mari, only larger, nobler, mightier. he was the father of all the gods, of whom you have read so many stories. i believe you are fondest of the god odin, are you not, ole " “yes, father, and it is because so many brave and noble things are told of him. but please go on with the story. you haven't yet told us how this world was made.” “the gods made it out of the body of the giant, whom they were obliged to kill.” “they killed him because he grew wicked and evil, didn't he, papa?” “yes, mari, and that was a good reason, without doubt. the gods now used all their thought and power in making the world beau- tiful. the mountains that reach up so grandly toward the sky were their work, as well as the beautiful valleys, the rivers winding through the green meadows, the rushing cata- racts, and the blue lakes. it is, indeed, a | legends wonderful earth. round it all the gods wrapped the great oceans which send their arms far up into our shores.” “but how were the stars made '' asked mari. “the gods first made the blue heaven which stretches above us, and dwarfs were put at each corner to keep it in place. sparks arising from the realm of fire were caught and changed into stars, and they were set on high to give light. “a giantess whose name was night had a son called day. the gods were kind to them and gave them beautiful chariots and swift horses with which to ride through the heavens. look out of the window, children, and see how bright it is. that is because the mane of night's horse is shedding light upon the earth as he travels onward. “when the sun and the moon, day and night, were established, the gods set to work legends “‘we will make the dwarfs, who shall live in the earth and work the mines.’ “but this was not all, for odin, your favourite among the gods, said to his brothers: “‘look yonder at those two trees, the ash and the elm, standing side by side. we will make man and woman from them. they shall people the earth and we will care for them as our children.’ “so it came to pass that our race began to live among the hills and valleys, and has been here ever since. but the gods have never deserted us, but are ever ready to help and protect us. at least, all this is what the legend teaches.” “of course, there are no real gods, are there * * said mari. “the only gods are our beautiful souls, my daughter. they can never die nor do evil, any more than these gods in whom our old vikings really believed. the giants are our our little norwegian cousin earthly natures that are constantly trying to make us forget our godlike souls. but we shall conquer them at last, just as the gods always succeeded in mastering the giants, no matter how strong or clever they were.” “didn't it take a long time to do it, papa? the golden age didn't last after quarrelling began, did it?” “no. the gods had their troubles and sorrows as well as men. but, as i said before, the gods always ended by being suc- cessful.” “are you too tired to tell another story, father ? this time i wish we could hear some- thing about the fairies. won't you tell us about ashiepattle?” now ashiepattle is one of the favourites of all norse children, and many tales are told of his wonderful deeds. “which story shall it be?” asked the farmer. legends “the one about his eating with the troll,” cried mari and ole, together. their father laughed. “you are never tired of that, although you are almost a man, ole. listen, then, and you shall hear how this brave boy ate with the giant. “once upon a time there was a man who had three sons. the older boys were idle and lazy and would do no work. their father was too old and feeble to compel them. he had a fine wood-lot, and he wished them to go out and cut down the trees. then he would be able to sell lumber and pay his bills; but for a long time the sons gave no heed to his request. “at length, however, they began to listen and think the plan was a good one. the oldest son shouldered his axe and started for the forest. but he had no sooner begun his work upon a big tree, than a troll suddenly appeared at his side. our little norwegian cousin “‘that is my tree,’ said the troll. “if you cut it down, i will kill you at once.” “the boy was terribly frightened. and it is scarcely to be wondered at, for the troll was an immense, fierce-looking creature. dropping his axe, he started for home on the run, and did not stop to look around till he got there. “‘you coward, cried his father when he heard his story. “when i was a boy no troll was ever able to scare me away from my work.” “‘i will go,' said the second son. “i shall not be afraid, you may believe.” “he started out with a brave heart, and was soon at work in the forest. but his axe had hardly struck the first tree when the troll appeared before him. “‘spare the tree, if you wish me to spare your life, cried the giant. “the boy did exactly as his brother had done before him. all his bravery disappeared the moment he looked upon the giant. with- legends out stopping a moment he fled for home, and rushed into the house breathless. “‘what a foolish, cowardly fellow, cried his father. “you are not much like me when i was young. no troll ever drove me away from my work.’ “‘let me try, father,’ said little ashiepattle. ‘ i am not afraid.’ “his two brothers looked at him in aston- ishment. “tou try, when we have both failed ! you, who never go out of the house, what an idea!’ and they laughed in scorn. “nevertheless, ashiepattle went to the forest. but first, he asked his mother for a good supply of food. she at once put on the pot and made him a cheese, for she had nothing ready. with this in his bag, he started out merrily and was soon at work. the axe was sent straight into the heart of the tree, and the chips flew right and left. but just then a deep, gruff voice was heard close by. our little norwegian cousin “‘stop at once, cried the troll, “ or you shall die.’ “now, do you suppose ashiepattle followed his brothers' example, and that he fled from the troll he never thought of such a thing. he did run, to be sure, but only for a short distance, to the spot where he had left his cheese. coming back to the place where the troll stood, he squeezed his cheese with all his might. “‘keep still, or i will squeeze you just as i am squeezing this cheese,’ he shouted. “it would have made you laugh to see that little fellow talking to the big giant in this way; but the troll was a coward, as all big blusterers are, and somehow ashiepattle felt it. his quick mind told him that he was a human being, and wiser than all the trolls. what do you suppose the troll did, children he cried, “spare me!’ with a voice trembling with fear. ‘if you will only spare me, i our little norwegian cousin told the troll; ‘i will bring the well itself. then you will be sure to have water enough.” “‘o, don’t do that,’ cried the troll, in fear, ‘for i will have no well left. let me get the water, while you make the fire.” “this suited ashiepattle, of course, for it was exactly what he wished. the water was brought, and a great kettleful of porridge was soon ready to eat, so the troll and the boy sat down together at the table. “‘i can eat more than you, although you are so much larger,’ said ashiepattle to his host. “‘let us see you try,” said the troll, who felt sure he could beat the boy. “what do you think ashiepattle did? when the troll was not looking, he seized the bag in which he had kept the cheese, and, fas- tening it in front of him, he slipped most of the porridge he received into that, instead of his mouth. at last it was quite full. legends ashiepattle then took his knife and cut a hole in it, while the troll watched him in wonder. after awhile the giant exclaimed: “‘i really can't eat any more. i shall have to admit you have beaten me.’ “‘didn't you see what i did?' cried his visitor. “if you cut a hole in your stomach as you saw me do, you can eat as long as you wish.’ “‘but didn't it hurt terribly f' asked the troll. “‘no, indeed. try it and see for yourself,' replied ashiepattle, laughing inside all the while. “the troll did as he was told, and you may guess what happened. he fell on the floor in agony and died in a few moments. “and what did our brave little ashiepattle do? he searched for the stores of gold and silver belonging to the troll, and soon suc- ceeded in finding them. he started for home our little norwegian cousin in great glee, for now he could pay his father's debt and free the old man from trouble.” “listen,” cried henrik, as his father fin- ished the story. “there is a noise outside as though something were the matter. do you suppose foxes have dared to come near and are disturbing the hens ° “we will soon find out,” cried the farmer, jumping to his feet. “hand me my gun from the wall, good wife, and henrik, take yours and follow me.” they crept out of the house with as little noise as possible, while ole and mari flattened their noses against the window-panes. but it was pitch-dark outside, and they could see nothing. bang, bang! went a gun. “they found him, they found him,” shouted ole, jumping up and down. “i do hope he was hit.” a few minutes after, steps were heard com- legends i ing back to the house. ole rushed to the door and opened it. there stood his father holding a large red fox by the nape of the neck. the eyes of the animal were glassy, for he was quite dead. “he was creeping away over the snow when we saw him,” said the farmer, “ and he had one of my finest hens in his mouth. i don’t believe this was his first visit, either, for you know, wife, we have lost several fowls lately. henrik, you and ole may skin this sly fellow and make a mat for your mother. but it is getting late, and i must start early in the morning, so to bed, one and all.” the lumber camp bade them good-bye and the three men started out on their snow-shoes over the crisp snow. they were soon out of sight and the rest of the family returned to their work. but little mari, who loved her father very tenderly, kept thinking of the hard, cold work before him. what kind of a home would he find when he got into the forest? there would be no shelter of any kind. he and his men must go to work at once and saw some logs, with which they would build a rough hut. they would stuff the chinks with moss to keep out the great cold, or else they would freeze to death. what furniture would they have a large, flat stone would serve as a fireplace, while the bed would be made of poles placed side by side and covered with moss. that was all. they must sleep as close to the fire as possi- ble, and even then they would suffer greatly during the long, freezing nights. our little norwegian cousin “i am so sorry the crops failed,” said mari to her mother when she had thought of all these things. “i almost wish father had gone to work fishing this winter. i don't believe that would have been as hard work.” “the sea has its own dangers, my daugh- ter,” answered her mother. “think of the fearful storms that rage along our coast and the sad deaths that have come to some of our friends. no, mari, lumbering is hard work, but it is safer, i think, than fishing in the winter season.” ole had come into the room while they were talking. “it’s cold and uncomfortable for father this winter, i know,” he said, “but the greatest danger is in the spring-time, when he has to float the logs down the narrow streams to the sawmills.” “why is that so dangerous " asked mari. “because his work isn't over when he has the lumber camp once launched the logs into the water. he must watch them in their course and see that they get to their journey's end. suppose one log gets across the stream and blocks the way ? then father must wade out into the water and pull that log aside with his boat-hook. he has to spend a good deal of his time in the water, and is likely to freeze his feet, or get a terrible cold, at any rate. perhaps he has to jump on the logs as he pulls them apart. suppose he slips and, falling through, is jammed to death between the logs “there, there, mari, dear, don’t cry. i shouldn't have said all this. father will prob- ably get along all right and come home safe in the spring.” henrik put his strong arms around his little sister, and she had soon forgotten her fears and was laughing heartily over the fairy- story he was telling her. the next week after their father left home, our little norwegian cousin henrik and ole started out on a visit to the camp, carrying with them a stock of provisions large enough to supply the men for several days longer. “take your gun, henrik,” said his mother, “for you can't tell what wild creatures you may meet on the way. it would be a fine surprise for your father if you should present him with a hare or a deer. some fresh meat would make a rare treat for the men.” the boys skimmed over mile after mile of snowy ground, and nothing unusual happened. no houses were in sight all this time, and there were no tracks of living creatures. it was lonely, and dreary, and quiet. they were nearing their journey's end, and were climbing the side of a hill, when henrik suddenly stopped. “see, ole,” he whispered, “there are the tracks of some four-footed beast ahead of us. they are too heavy and big for hares'. it may the lumber camp be we are near some bear's den. look out, for you know the old ones are sometimes very fierce. let us follow the tracks for a while and see what we come to, anyway.” “shouldn't we be proud if we could find him and kill him ” answered ole. “roasted bear's meat makes a pretty good dinner.” the boys travelled very carefully now, for they had come into the thick woods. the tracks suddenly came to an end at a pile of logs lying at one side. “perhaps the bear has a snug home under those logs,” said henrik, in a low tone, as he seized his gun. at that very moment the boys heard a sound, and at once a huge brown bear appeared. he moved sleepily, as though he had just been wakened, but as soon as he got sight of the boys he roused, and his face became fierce. no time was to be lost, but henrik was as cool as any old hunter. his hand did not our little norwegian cousin tremble as he took careful aim. whizz' flew the bullet just as the bear prepared to come at them. it would have gone straight into his heart if he had not suddenly raised his paw, but it entered that instead. “run for your life, ole,” shouted his brother, as the huge and angry brute dashed toward them. even as he spoke, the bear knocked ole down, and would have made short work of him if it had not been for henrik's coolness. a second shot from his gun broke the animal's neck. he rose on his hind legs, and plunged blindly forward only to fall dead at henrik's feet. “it’s a good thing we are trained to be soldiers at school,” the brave boy said after- ward, when he told the story to his father. “i really believe i should have lost my head, if it hadn't been for that training. but i said to myself: ‘you never fail at home in hitting the lumber camp the mark, why should you now : ' it gave me courage, father.” his father smiled and answered, “you have done well, henrik. i am proud of you.” this was said as the boys sat around the fire in the log hut that night. as soon as they were sure the bear was really dead, they had hurried on to the camp, which was only a short distance away. then, as soon as they had told of their luck, the men went back with them to skin the bear and cut up and bring in the meat. they brought it to the camp on a rough sledge. “he is a beauty,” exclaimed one of the men, as he looked at the bear. “and as big a one as i ever set eyes on,” said the other. “i don't see how you ever dared to tackle him, henrik. i should have hesitated for a moment, myself.” it was so late in the day when they all got back to the camp that father said: ioo our little norwegian cousin “boys, you had better stay all night, unless you think your mother will worry about you.” “we told her we might not come home to-day,” said ole. “it is such a long tramp, she said we had better not try, for we would get too tired. so it is all right.” how good the bear steak looked when it was set on the rough supper-table. it was smoked a good deal, - that was certain; but no one spoke or even thought of that. and the table was not elegant, for there was no cloth to cover the rough pine boards. but the fresh cheese, the kind mother had sent, the hard brown bread baked by the men, with plenty of bear steak and a bowl of steaming coffee, > made a supper “fit for a king,” as the boys declared when they could eat no more. chapter ix. the lapps “perhaps this seems a cold place to you, when you think of the warm farmhouse you left yesterday,” said one of the workmen to henrik. “you ought to go to the far north, and visit the lapps. ah! you will find plenty of cold weather there. but those queer people don't seem to notice it very much. i suppose that is because they have got used to it, since they never lived anywhere else.” “do tell us about them,” begged ole. “i didn't know you had ever been to lapland, adolf.” “yes, when i was a young man i was a great hunter, ole. i have travelled all over this country and have seen many strange sights.” ioi io our little norwegian cousin “i should like to be a hunter, too,” said henrik. “it must be great sport getting the wild reindeer. but go on, adolf, and tell us about the homes of the lapps, and their herds of tame reindeer, as well as the queer ways of the people.” “they are a strange people, that is a fact,” said adolf. “they are queer-looking and queer in their ways. they are very small, few of them over five feet tall, and they are quite stout. their skin is of a dark yellow; the hair is jet-black, coarse and straight; their cheek-bones, high; and their eyes are blue and small. their little noses turn up in a comical way, and their mouths are often open as though they were surprised at something.” “i suppose they dress in fur, don't they ” asked ole. “o yes, from head to foot. but they get all they need from the skins of their reindeer. they wear high boots bound tightly around “‘it is always in the shape of a mound.’” the lapps io “the beds were easily made by stretching deer-skins on the floor. we covered our- selves with more skins, and lay snug and warm till morning.” - “did you sleep more warmly than we do here?” the farmer laughed as he said it. | “i must say i did,” replied adolf, with an answering laugh. “although the lapps' huts are far from beautiful, they are made so that wind and snow cannot blow in, at any rate.” adolf pointed to a ridge of snow that had sifted in through the wall, although they had stuffed the cracks as well as they could with dried moss. “but, dear me! the lapps wouldn't mind it very much if it did,” he went on. “the men will lie down to sleep in an open field on rocks or snow, if they are not near their home. they are not afraid of the cold, and it seldom seems to hurt them, either. our little norwegian cousin “as i lay on the floor of the hut that night, i could see rows of smoked meat and fish hanging against the sides of the walls. they have neither storehouses nor closets, so they are obliged to keep their provisions in the huts. “the next morning i went out among the reindeer with the chief of the settlement. i believe there were more than a thousand rein- deer in sight. it was milking-day and the men were having a lively time of it. they had to catch each animal and hold it still with a lasso while the milking was done.” “why did you speak of milking-day, adolf? don't the lapps milk the reindeer as often as we do our cows ° “no, indeed. it is done only once a week, because the creatures are so wild. they are not gentle and tame, as you have probably supposed. they can be managed very well in driving, however. it is great sport to the lapps io' ride behind a team of reindeer, for one flies over the snow like the wind. their masters sometimes drive them a hundred miles in a day.” “that is good, for i have heard that the lapps don’t stay in one place all their lives. they are a wandering people, aren't they ” “yes, ole, but one reason for that is the need of finding good feeding-grounds for their deer. when one place becomes bare, they must seek another. then, again, in the sum- mer-time they like to go to the rivers and camp beside them for the sake of the salmon fishing. they are as fond as we of a good dish of salmon for dinner.” “what do the reindeer feed on ” asked henrik. “in winter they paw away the snow and find the lichen, which is a little gray plant very much like the moss you see growing on io our little norwegian cousin the mountainside about here. in summer they eat the young and tender shoots on the bushes and low trees. they are very hardy creatures and among the most useful.” “just think!” cried ole. “the reindeer furnish the lapps with everything they need, — their clothing, food, and shelter; and, as if that were not enough, they make good beasts of burden, and carry their masters wherever they wish to go.” “i shall tell mari all about them when i get home,” ole went on. “i know one question my busy little sister will ask at once. she will say, ‘what do the women and chil- dren do with themselves all the time p' how shall i answer that question, adolf?” “you may tell mari there is plenty of work for them. they dress the reindeer skins, and make lovely rugs and warm slip- pers turned up at the toes and bound with red.” the lapps io “why, yes, ole, your mother has a pair of slippers made by the lapp women,” in- terrupted his father. “i bought them for her at bergen, and she wears them on cold winter mornings.” “that is so, i remember them ; but i never thought about the lapps when i looked at them,” answered ole. “is there any- thing else the women of lapland make, adolf?” “many things. they showed me knives and spoons they had shaped out of the horns of the reindeer. they were very pretty, and a great deal of time must have been spent on the carving. the men and boys do most of this last work. i really think the most won- derful thing i saw was the thread the women make of the reindeer sinews. it is fine and even, yet very strong. i wish i could have seen them making it.” adolf yawned. “i am so sleepy i think it io our little norwegian cousin must be bedtime. there's a hard day's work before us to-morrow.” after fresh wood had been laid on the fire, the party quickly settled themselves for the night's rest. chapter x. holiday frolics “father's coming, father's coming !” cried mari as she stood looking down the snow- covered valley. she rushed into the house and put on her skis, then skimmed across the fields with long strides. “everything is ready,” she told her father as soon as she reached him. “and now we shall have a lovely christmas because you have come.” yes, everything was ready for the greatest day of the year. even the birds were not forgotten, for a fresh sheaf of wheat had been fastened on the pole where the magpie had hidden the silver brooch. ole had made a new collar for the dog, kyle; henrik had iii holiday frolics ii ing on the shoulders of the young girls suddenly, would startle them and make every one else laugh. the baby, bless his heart, had the best time of all. he was not left to hang in his cradle for a single moment. everybody wished to hold him, and he was passed from one to an- other of the company, where he enjoyed him- self fingering the shining silver ornaments of his friends. - he had his new toys to amuse him, also, for henrik and ole had carved him a doll and a queer-looking horse out of wood. everybody was jolly and happy, and there was much drinking of coffee and shaking of hands. it was eleven o’clock when the tired but happy children climbed the steps of their beds to dream of the good time just over. after this, it did not seem a very long time to fastilevn, which is the next best holiday to christmas. at least, that is what mari holiday frolics i i them. the night before the great day, these twigs were set up in a corner of the living- room, all ready for the next day's fun. with the first light of morning those gay switches began to be plied, while the chil- dren followed their mother about, laughing gaily all the while. how long did the fun last, do you suppose until the last shred of paper was gone from each switch. and how do you suppose there ever came to be such an odd custom the norse parents believe firmly in the old maxim, “spare the rod and spoil the child.” their children are likely to be often whipped for wrong-doing; fastilevn is supposed to make up for twelve months of whippings, whether they were deserved or not. mari has seldom needed punishment, for she is a good, helpful little girl; but she en- joys fastilevn very much, nevertheless. i our little norwegian cousin the holiday came to an end, as all days must, whether they are good or bad. in the evening, when the bare switches had been thrown away, mari went to her mother and put her arms around her neck, whispering: “mamma, i wouldn't really hurt you for the world, even if you had to give me a thou- sand whippings. and i am going to try harder than ever to be your little helper.” the good woman's eyes filled with tears. “god bless you, little daughter,” she said, as she bent down and kissed her. the end. the little cousin series the most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures. each i vol., mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six full-page illustrations in color by l. j. bridgman. price per volume . - - e - . $o. “juveniles will get a whole world of pleasure and instruc- tion out of the little cousin series. . . . pleasing narra- tives give pictures of the little folk in the far-away lands in their duties and pleasures, showing their odd ways of playing, studying, their queer homes, clothes, and play- things. . . .”— detroit avews-tribune. by mary hazezzoav wade our little swiss cousin. our little norwegian cousin. our little italian cousin. our little siamese cousin. our little cuban cousin. our little hawaiian cousin. our little eskimo cousin. our little philippine cousin. our little porto rican cousin, our little african cousin. our little japanese cousin our little brown cousin. our little indian cousin. our little russian cousin. our little german cousin. our little irish cousin. our little turkish cousin. our little jewish cousin. by isaac headzand ta ylor our little chinese cousin. by elizabeth roberts macdomald our little canadian cousin. a n i m a. l t a l e s by charles g. d. roberts illustrated by charles livingston bull as follows: the lord of the air (the eagle) the king of the mamozekel (the moose) the watchers of the camp-fire (the panther) the haunter of the pine giloom (the lynx) each i vol., small mo, cloth decorative, per vol. unne , - - - - - - e . $o. o realizing the great demand for the animal stories of professor roberts, one of the masters of nature writers, the publishers have selected four representative stories, to be issued separately, at a popular price. each story is illustrated by charles livingston bull, and is bound in a handsome decorative cover. books for young people the little colonel books (trade mark.) by anavie fezzo wsjohnston each, vol., large mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated, per vol. . º e e $ . o the little colonel stories. (trade mark.) illustrated. being three “little colonel” stories in the cosy corner series, “the little colonel,” “two little knights of kentucky,” and “the giant scissors,” put into a single volume. the little colonel’s house party. (trade mark.) illustrated by louis meynell. the little colonel's holidays. (trade mark.) illustrated by l. j. bridgman. the little colonel’s hero. (trade mark.) illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel at boarding (trade mark.) school. - illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel in arizona. (trade mark.) illustrated by l. j. bridgman. since the time of “little women,” no juvenile heroine has been better beloved of her child readers than mrs. johnston’s “little colonel.” each succeeding book has been more popular than its predecessor. a. c. pagaz aavd compaavy’.s. joel: a boy of galilee. by annie fellows johnston. illustrated by l. j. bridgman. new illustrated edition, uniform with the little colonel books, vol., large mo, cloth decorative . $ . o a story of the time of christ, which is one of the author's best-known books, and which has been trans- lated into many languages, the last being italian. flip’s “islands of providence.” by annie fellows johnston. mo, cloth, with illustrations e e . $ .oo in this book the author of “the little colonel” and her girl friends and companions shows that she is equally at home in telling a tale in which the leading character is a boy, and in describing his troubles and triumphs in a way that will enhance her reputation as a skilled and sympathetic writer of stories for children. asa holmes; or, at the cross-roads. a sketch of country life and country humor. by annie fellows johnston. with a frontispiece by ernest fosbery. large mo, cloth, gilt top . - - . $ .oo “‘asa holmes; or, at the cross-roads” is the most de- lightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while. the lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descriptions of persons and things are wonder- fully true to nature.”— boston times. the great scoop. by molly elliot sea. well, author of “little jarvis,” “laurie vane,” etc. mo, cloth, with illustrations - e . $ i.oo a capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed therein. every boy with an ounce of true boyish blood in him will have the time of his life in reading how dick hen- shaw entered the newspaper business, and how he secured “the great scoop.” books for you wg people little lady marjorie. by francis mar- garet fox, author of “farmer brown and the birds,” etc. mo, cloth, illustrated . - e - . $ . o a charming story for children between the ages of ten and fifteen years, with both heart and nature interest. the sandman : his farm stories. by william j. hopkins. with fifty illustrations by ada clendenin williamson. one vol., large i mo, decorative cover . . $ . o “an amusing, original book, written for the benefit of children not more than six years old, is, “the sandman : his farm stories.’ it should be one of the most popular of the year's books for reading to small children.”— buffalo express. “mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this book a treasure.” – cleveland leader. the sandman : more farm stories. by william j. hopkins, author of “the sandman: his farm stories.” library mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated, $ . mr. hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories has met with such approval that this second book of “sandman” tales has been issued for scores of eager children. life on the farm, and out-of-doors, will be portrayed in his inimitable manner, and many a little one will hail the bedtime season as one of delight. a puritan knight errant. by edith robinson, author of “a little puritan pioneer,” “a little puritan's first christmas,” “a little puritan rebel,” etc. library mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $ . o the charm of style and historical value of miss robinson's previous stories of child life in puritan days have brought them wide popularity. her latest and most important book appeals to a large juvenile public. the “knighterrant” of this story is a little don quixote, whose trials and their ultimate outcome will prove deeply interesting to their reader. books aor youavg people phyllis field friends series by leavore e. muzets. six vols., cloth decorative, illustrated by sophie schneider. sold separately, or as a set. per volume . e - e e - . $ .co per set . e e - e e e . $ .oo insect stories. stories of little animals. flower stories. bird stories. tree stories. stories of little fishes. in this series of six little nature books, it is the author's intention so to present to the child reader the facts about each particular flower, insect, bird, or animal, in story form, as to make delightful reading. clas- sical legends, myths, poems, and songs are so introduced as to correlate fully with these lessons, to which the excellent illustrations are no little help. the woodranger tales by g. waldo browne the woodranger. the young gunbearer. the hero of the hills. each, vol., large mo, cloth, decorative cover, illus- trated, per volume . - - e e . $ i.oo three vols., boxed, per set . - • . $ .oo “the woodranger tales,” like the “pathfinder tales” of j. fenimore cooper, combine historical in- formation relating to early pioneer days in america with interesting adventures in the backwoods. although the same characters are continued throughout the series, each book is complete in itself, and, while based strictly on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting tale of adventure. cosy corner series it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature, — stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well- known artists, and each volume has a separate attract- ive cover design. each, i vol., mo, cloth . - - e . $o. o ay anavie fezzo ws johnston the little colonel. (trade mark.) the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its heroine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. this old colonel proves to be the grandfather of the child. the giant scissors. this is the story of joyce and of her adventures in france,—the wonderful house with the gate of the giant scissors, jules, her little playmate, sister denisa, the cruel brossard, and her dear aunt kate. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences of the “house party” and the “holidays.” two little knights of kentucky, who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the “two little knights.” l. c. page aawd compaavy's by ammie fellows johnstom (continued) cicely and other stories for girls. the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people, written in the author's sympathetic and entertaining manner. aunt 'liza's hero and other stories. a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls. big brother. a story of two boys. the devotion and care of steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale, the pathos and beauty of which has appealed to so many thousands. - ole mammy's torment. “ole mammy's torment” has been fitly called “a classic of southern life.” it relates the haps and mis- haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. the story of dago. in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis- haps is both interesting and amusing. the quilt that jack built. a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished. told in mrs. johnston's usual vein of quaint charm and genuine sincerity. university of california library berkeley return to desk from which borrowed. this book is due on the last date stamped below. º nº \"j sºx *i- ld – m- ,’ (a s ). ulu mummi uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu hu lam wa w mu uuuuuu umum elut u rrur ului pruun uelle mulieren llllllll u uuu urrur uuuuu huur chuhe fu mum www u u rrur l teuerullufuli urul future n re muum huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuu u uuu olunette parama errer me h ur uuuuu humuuuuu www llllllllll lllllet luuluhurufe heffle turner ulu lllllls lllllllll huru fuerufe f l uidelium h orse w luule hu una ww uuuuuu un ell lutee umum eur sunn mult mer inn ruun untur olulu perum * ** wh m uut you re uurin relelli lullll mulle het aut lehe hepu here hun een full h emmetruruuruus nellleu r et store lep free umu eur ullerede himu l umpur p uuuuuuu rom mmmmerferon hlumen prendre hellentette free ult rum met uuuuuuuuuuu hulle hun r efunnnnn wah uefeester reperture free eur . et иннонаturuu forum esearch lib | nypl r | |||||| | in swiss uniºn our little swiss cousin a lºv the anº wº little cousin series (trade mark) each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in tint. cloth, mo, with decorative cover per volume, cents list of titles by mary hazelton wade, mary f. nixon-roulet, blanche mcmanus, clara v. winlow, florence e. mendel and others our little hungarian cousin our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin our little japanese cousin our little jewish cousin our little korean cousin our little malayan (brown) cousin our little mexican cousin our little norwegian cousin our little panama cousin our little persian cousin our little philippine cousin our little polish cousin our little porto rican cousin our little portuguese cousin our little russian cousin our little scotch cousin our little servian cousin our little siamese cousin our little spanish cousin our little swedish cousin our little swiss cousin our little turkish cousin our little african cousin our little alaskan cousin our little arabian cousin our little argentine cousin our little armenian cousin our little australian cousin our little austrian cousin our little belgian cousin qur little bohemian cousin our little boer cousin our little brazilian cousin our little bulgarian cousin our little canadian cousin our little chinese cousin our little cossack cousin our little cuban cousin our little danish cousin our little dutch cousin our little egyptian cousin our little english cousin our little eskimo cousin our little french cousin our little german cousin our little grecian cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little hindu cousin the page company beacon street, boston, mass. the newt: public library astor, lenox a no tilden foundatiors r carl * *** *** **** ** *** ****** **-*****- : *** * * * * *. : **** -- - * sº -º-" **. --- -- º * *** *- *- -- e- *** º - *… º * , - ** - - r ºr º our little - - - * * - * - * º - º - - -- * * * | º --- * * º i * * * j} - f - - • ?: s ** º y _* * a $. sº, i * - - • * ... ---- - - --- - ------------ - * s º * * * -- º ". **** º * y º -- * - ** - - -- * _ - * s - - -: mary | icº it tº \ y º!e ** - * º -- - *. t - * * -- -- - - - - - º - * * - - *** º - fº, tººd ty a - -> - .* * l. j. fº tº . - - * * --- --- - - -- - - - - * - * - - - * , º * - a ** * - - -- - - ** * * - - ** º: -- *" * * * - * * -- :* º - * --- * ~~ * -> * ! * * * * - sº - t * * * : * - - *. -- s * * * * - * * .*. - - * -------- - - - - ---- * - - - * - *** * *. ** º º: js ( , ;" * the l’ºe co-ºpºly -: - a u a. z a.” º * ..., º - ‘.+. : ** * - ** --- --- -- *** -a- * * * . . ... → * - * ~ * * * ************ *** * *-*, *, * !------- * * * * * .* t * - - - - - - - - - * - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - * - º - - - - - - - - - - - - ** * . -- º - - - - - * - * - - - - - -- - -- - -- - - - - - - - - - - *** * * * * * // * / tº //> */? * tº . x++*********************** % # # lº' # e # * # our little # # swiss cousin # # + # # # mary hazelton wade ++ # l ++ + #. # illustrated ay ++ . l. j. bridgman # a- + + ++ ++ + ++ # #. + #. # ++ + #. # ++ + #. + ++ + # # boston # # the page company # +: a c/ b z z.s. h. e. r.s. #. # ++ % §§ sº #sºsºsºsºsºsºsº. | | - - - - - - - c. i ::::: … – the new york public library a *stor, lenox and *pen foundations r l copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved published, july, fifth impression, march, sixth impression, october, seventh impression, june, eighth impression, november, ninth impression, march, tenth impression, april, = i preface in the very heart of europe lies a small country nestling among the mountains. it is unlike any other in the world. its people speak four different languages: they believe in different religions; the government is not alike in different parts; yet the swiss states are bound together by a bond stronger than unity of language or creed can possibly make. our brave swiss cousins believe in liberty for all and brotherly love. these make the most powerful of ties. in their mountains and valleys they have fought against the enemies who would have destroyed them, and the tyrants who would have made them slaves. they have driven out their foes again and again, for their cause v contents chapter page i. carl's holiday. - - - - - ii. the mountain pasture . - - . iii. the schoolmaster’s visit - - • iv. the brave archer . - - - • i v. the haymakers - - - - . vi. the marmot . - - - - . vii. glacier and avalanche. - • . viii. santa claus night . - - - . io ix. the wonderful abbey . - - . i io our little swiss cousin chapter i. carl's holiday “to-morrow, to-morrow !” carl kept re- peating to himself. he was standing at the window of the little cottage and looking out toward the great mountain. he had lived under its shadow all his life. its snowy summit was coloured a fiery red as it stood against the sky in the sunset light. people in far-away lands would give a great deal to see such a glorious sight. but carl saw another picture in his mind. it was the grand procession of the next day, that would celebrate the close of school before the summer vacation. thousands of children io our little swiss cousin would march in the line. they would carry the flag of switzerland, – the red cross on a white ground. it was the emblem of their country's freedom, and they loved it well. there would be bands of music; there would be a speech by the mayor of the city. feasts would be spread, to which all the chil- dren were invited. yes, the glorious day was near, and carl was very happy. “carl, my boy, are you thinking of the good time to-morrow?” said a voice at the other side of the room. carl started, and, turning round, he saw his father standing in the doorway. “o father, is that you? how glad i am to see you!” and the little boy rushed into the good man's arms. “yes, i am all ready for the festival. mother has my best clothes laid out on the bed. she is planning to go, too, and now you are home just in time to go with us. i carl's holiday ii am very, very glad.” carl was so excited that he talked faster than usual. “i am tired of working in a hotel in the city, the country is so much pleasanter,” an- swered his father. “and now i shall spend the summer with your mother and you. the people of the village wish me to take the cows to the mountain pasture. you shall go, too, and we will have a good time together.” “that will be fine. i never spent the whole summer there before. how soon are we to start, father ?” “next week. the days are growing warmer and the flowers must already be in bloom upon the alps. but now we must see your mother and talk about to-morrow. on my way home i heard in the village that you were going to the festival. nearly all the neighbours are going too, aren't they f" at this moment the door opened and a kind-faced woman came in, bringing a pail of i our little swiss cousin milk in each hand. her eyes were as blue as the sky, and her hair was nearly as fair as carl's. it was easy to see that she was the boy's mother. - a happy smile lighted her face when she saw who was in the room. it was as much a surprise to her as it had been to carl. she supposed her husband was still working in the big hotel at lucerne, where so many strangers came from other lands. when her husband told her of the work he had been doing, the heavy trunks which he had to lift till his back had grown lame, her face grew full of pity. “it was too hard for you, rudolf,” she cried. “it is far better for you to take care of the cows this summer. we will go with you, carl and i, and we shall have a merry time.” she moved quickly about the room as she strained the milk into the crocks and made our little swiss cousin w was no wonder that he looked forward to that day as the best of all, for it seemed a feast day to him. at the noon meal on other days there was only soup or potatoes with the bread and cheese. there was little change through the year except at the time when the fruit and nuts were ripe and they could be eaten fresh. after the supper was over, the family sat a while longer around the table and talked about the school festival. carl's father had just come from lucerne. he told the boy how the buildings were decorated. he named the bands that would furnish the music. “i am to march, father,” carl said. “and i am to carry the flag of my country. chil- dren from all the villages around the lake are to take part, i hear. just think! although we are back in the country, our school has its place in the procession.” carl's mother showed her husband the carl's holiday i bright red skirt that she was going to wear. it would reach to the tops of her shoes. there was a white waist with big sleeves that she had starched and ironed. there was a new black bodice she had just made; it would be laced about the waist, and it fitted her finely. she had polished the bands of silver to fasten across the back of her head above the long braids of glossy hair. she would certainly look very well in her finery, and her husband would be proud of her. oh, yes, that was certain. what kind of a hat would she wear none at all ! there was no need, and it would be a shame to hide the silver bands; they were too pretty. what did it matter if some of the women of switzerland dressed like the people of other lands? carl's mother was not ready to follow new fashions yet awhile. the old customs of her village were good enough for her. i our little swiss cousin it was a small room where carl and his parents sat and talked. everything was fresh and clean ; the floor had been scrubbed so that no spot could be seen upon it. the table was unpainted. the chairs had straight, stiff backs; no rocking-chair or lounge had ever found a place here. carl’s mother had never rested her- self on such a piece of furniture in her life. there was one strange-looking object in the room. it was large and white. it reached far up toward the ceiling, and was made of porcelain. it was the family stove. it had belonged to carl's great-grandfather, and had stood in this very place, summer and winter, for a hundred years at least. it would not seem like home without it. when baby carl was first old enough to notice things around him, he used to creep up to the stove and try to touch the pictures painted on its sides. one was the scene of a battle where the swiss were driving their o our little swiss cousin upon the clear surface. brave men have lived on its shores. noble deeds have been done near by. every swiss loves this lake, as he thinks of the history of his country. the little steamer was quickly loaded with its gay passengers, and made its way over the waters. other steamers soon came in sight, but all were moving in the same direction, — toward the city of lucerne. such a festival is not held every year. each village generally celebrates the close of school by a picnic or steamer-ride. there is usually something pleasant for the children, but not always a time like this. when the day was over, it was hard for carl to tell what he had enjoyed most. in the morning, after the children had marched around the city to lively music, they went out to a large open space where the feast was served. every one had all the coffee and cakes he wished. there were many odd little cakes carl's holiday i that only swiss women know how to make. the children enjoyed them hugely. after the feast games were played, and there were rides on the flying horses. you will laugh when you hear the name of one of the games. it is “blind cow.” carl is very fond of it. it is much like our “blind man's buff.” carl and his friend franz chose one corner of a large field. marie, franz's sister, and freda, another little friend, were with them. they were soon joined by other chil- dren, and they had a lively game. carl was the cow oftener than any one else. he didn't care. it was great fun stumbling around with blinded eyes, and trying to catch the others. when they thought they were quite safe and out of reach, one of them was sure to laugh and show where he was. then carl would make a sudden spring, and catch the laugher. before the afternoon was over, the mayor carl's holiday bread to eat and clothes to wear; best of all, he taught them and kept their minds busy. but at last his money was all spent. what could he do now he gathered the ragged, hungry boys around him. they had grown to love him, and were willing to do anything he directed. he showed them how to sew and spin and do mally other kinds of work. they were soon able to earn enough money to support them- selves and their school. pestalozzi did not teach in the way others did. he said: “it is not enough for these children to study their lessons from books and then be whipped if they do not get them. they must see how real things are; they must study from objects. the living birds and flowers should help them. they must learn to shape things for themselves, and see as much as possible with their own eyes. then they will love to our little swiss cousin study; they will enjoy their schools, and be happiest when there.” he set a new fashion for the world. his pupils learned so fast and well that other teachers came to watch and learn his ways. his fame spread to other countries, to eng- land and america. they also copied his manner of teaching. not only swiss chil- dren, but those of different lands, began to enjoy their schools better. it all came about through the kind and loving work of pestalozzi. carl has never known of a boy being whipped in his school. such a punishment is seldom given in switzerland. the teacher tries love and kindness first. if these fail, the boy is turned out of school. it is a terrible disgrace; it will follow the boy all his life, and he dreads it above everything. after the mayor had spoken of pestalozzi to the children, he bade them be proud of their carl's holiday schools and their school-buildings, which were finer than even the council-houses. he told them to be glad that all children of switzer- land, no matter how poor they were, could go to these schools and learn of the great world around them. as he spoke, he could see in the faces of thousands of little ones that they were proud indeed. carl whispered to franz, who stood beside him : “there is no country like ours, is there, franz we could not be happy anywhere else, i’m sure.” his friend replied, “no, indeed, carl. it is the home of free men, and we must grow up to keep it so. i don't care if we do have to study for six hours every school-day. we learn all the faster and, besides, we have ever so many holidays.” the best part of the holiday came in the our little swiss cousin evening, for that was the time for fireworks. there was a grand display on the shore of the lake. there were rockets, and roman can- dles, and fire-pictures, and many other beauti- ful pieces which lighted the sky and were reflected in the waters of the lake. many of the people watched the display from the decks of the little steamers, which were also bright with coloured lights. the time came all too soon for the home- ward journey. “what a lovely time i’ve had,” sighed carl, as he reached his own door. “i only wish it were going to be to-morrow instead of to-day.” “it was a fine show indeed,” said his father. “everybody looked well and happy. but i must say that i liked the dress of the people of our own village better than tha of any other.” chapter ii. the mountain pasture “here, carl, take this kettle, and you, franz, may carry the other,” said carl's mother. it was two days after the school holiday, and again the village was astir before sunrise. there was a great jingling of cow-bells as the men and boys moved about from farm to farm and gathered the cattle together. rudolf was to take all the cows in the vil- lage to the mountain pastures for the summer. carl and his friend franz would help him in taking care of them. carl's mother would make the cheese. in the autumn, they would bring the cows back and divide the cheese ac- cording to the number of cows each family owned. our little swiss cousin it was a joyful time and well deserving a holiday. almost every one in the village would keep the herder and his family com- pany on his way up the mountainside. their food and cooking dishes must be carried; the cows must be kept in the right path, while their friends, who were leaving them for months, must be cheered and kept in good heart. at last everything was made ready. brown katze, the handsomest cow in the village, led the line. she tossed her head as though she could already sniff the fresh air of the uplands. how the bells jingled ! what gay songs rang out! carl was a fine singer himself, and if you listened you could hear his voice above all the rest. the procession at first followed a narrow path through the woods. there were many beech and chestnut trees where carl would go nutting in the fall. after a while these were o our little swiss cousin wide, overhanging roof on which great rocks were lying, here and there. they were needed to keep it from blowing off during the hard storms of the winter. carl's father opened the door and looked carefully around to see if everything had remained safe since the summer before. yes, it was all right; no one would know from the appearance that people had not been inside the room for eight months at least. there was the stove over which the milk would be heated before it could be made into cheese. the rough table stood in the corner, while at the farther end was a supply of hay to be used in case the cattle had need of it. it was a large room, but there were many low windows, so it would be bright and cheer- ful when the shutters had been taken down. just back of this room was the stable, where the cows could find shelter at night. shouldn't you think carl would be lonely the chalet. our little swiss cousin n few songs were sung with a hearty good-will. the time passed so quickly that the people came near forgetting how late it was growing when one of the party, standing in the door- way, heard the clock strike four. “good friends, we must start homeward at once,” he cried. “think of the long climb down and the dark path through the woods.” what a bustle and commotion there was now ! what hearty hand-shakings were given then away they went, calling back from time to time, or blowing another farewell upon their horns when they were hidden from sight by the trees below. carl and franz turned to help rudolf in the care of the cows, for the milking must be done before nightfall. carl's mother made up fresh beds from the hay and put away the pro- visions. she would soon have plenty to do besides, for the cheese-making would be her work. the mountain pasture “carl,” she said to her boy that night, “you will be old enough to be a herder your- self before long. in four or five years you and franz can bring the cows here to pasture by yourselves, and do all the work, too. you must learn how to make cheese this summer.” so it was that the two boys took their first lessons, and before many days they had be- come good helpers inside the house as well as outdoors. they would lift the great kettles of milk and place them over the fire to heat. at just the right moment, the rennet must be put in to curdle the milk and separate the curds from the whey. now for the beating with a clean pine stick. carl's strong arms could aid his mother well in this work, upon which the goodness of the cheese depended. “well done,” the herder's wife would say. “it is easy enough to make cheese with two such good lads to help me.” our little swiss cousin she was very fond of franz, and loved him like a son. the faces of both boys grew bright when they were praised like this, and they were all the more eager to work. there was plenty to do yet, for the boiling and press- ing must come next. at last a big mould was ready to set away; but even now it must be watched and turned, day after day. carl's mother proudly watched her store grow larger as the weeks passed by. those cheeses would bring large sums of money, - at least, it seemed so to her. but, of course, the money would be divided among the dif- ferent families, according to the number of cows each sent to the pasture. one morning as carl was watching the herd, he looked down the mountainside and saw a party of strangers coming up the winding path. then he heard a voice call: “hullo, hullo, little boy | is your home our little swiss cousin “oh, my l’” said the little girl, “i believe i was never so hungry in my life before.” “carl,” she went on, for his mother had told her his name, “do you ever carve little houses to look like this one? if you do, i will ask my father to buy one. he told me that swiss boys do carve all sorts of things.” “i am sorry,” answered carl, “but i never did work of that kind. over to the west of us are villages where every one carves. the men do so as well as the boys. one family will make the toy houses all their lives; an- other will carve chamois and nothing else; still another will cut out toy cows. but we in our village have other work.” “but why don't the wood-carvers change? i should think they would get tired of always doing the same thing,” said ruth, for this was the child's name. “i suppose they never think about it. it is hard work living among these mountains of the mountain pasture ours. people wish to earn all they can, and if one makes the same kind of thing, over and over again, he learns how to do it very quickly.” “i understand now,” answered ruth. “and i see, too, why the swiss have such a queer way of making watches. one man in a village keeps making one part of the works; another man works steadily, year after year, on another part, and so on. all these different parts are sent to the factory in the city, and quickly put together into complete watches. that is what my father told me, and he must know, i’m sure.” “yes, that is the work of the people around geneva,” answered carl. “i have never been to that city yet, but i hope to go there before long.” “we stayed there a week. nearly every one i met spoke in french, while you talk ſ' rman all the time, carl. that seems so the mountain pasture beautiful i have ever seen. and father says we americans can learn some good lessons from switzerland. i shall understand more about that, however, when i am older.” “how long have you been here in switzer- land p’’ carl asked. “it is two months, i think. but we haven’t been travelling all the time. mother wasn't well and we stayed most of the time at the queerest place i ever heard of. this was so mother could drink the waters and get cured.” “do you remember the name of the place?” asked carl. “yes, it is called the leuken baths.” “i’ve often heard of those waters. they are boiling as they come bursting out of the ground, aren't they ’’ “yes, but that is not the odd part of it, be- cause there are many other boiling springs in the world. it is the way that people are cured at these baths that made me laugh. why, o our little swiss cousin carl, some of them stay in the water all day long / they wear flannel gowns and sit soak- ing while they play games on floating tables, and even eat their dinners there. the men smoke, while the women laugh and chat. the hot water brings out a rash all over the body, and the blood, after a while, becomes purer.” carl laughed when he pictured the food on floating tables and people sitting around them with only heads and shoulders out of water. “did your mother do like these others ?” he asked, and he turned his head toward the beautifully dressed lady who sat talking with his parents. “no, she said that was too much, but she drank a good deal of the water, and she feels better than she has for years,” replied ruth. “come, come, my dear, we have stayed a long time. i fear we have kept these good people from their work. we must thank them, and go back to the town.” the mountain pasture i it was ruth's father who said these words. he was standing in the doorway, and ready to start. “i shall not forget you, carl,” said the little girl. “i shall often think of this little cottage up on the mountain, with the pretty flowers growing around it and the cows feeding near by.” after they had gone, carl hastily picked a bunch of alpine roses. “she thought they were beautiful,” he said to himself. “perhaps she will press one of them, and keep it to remember me by.” then with strong bounds and leaps the little boy overtook the party before they had gone very far. when he reached them, however, he was suddenly overcome with shyness. he hastily put the flowers into the hands of ruth's mother, and was far away again before she could thank him. “he is a dear little fellow,” said the lady. our little swiss cousin “he will make a strong man, and a good one, too, i believe. we will always keep these beautiful flowers. perhaps we may come here again in a year or two, ruth. then we can tell carl how much we thought of his little gift.” chapter iii. the school master’s visit “good news good news i’’ cried carl, as he came running into the house, quite out of breath. “the schoolmaster is coming, mother. i know it must be he. come, franz, let's go to meet him.” the sun was just hiding his head behind the mountain-tops, and the little family were about to sit down to their evening meal. “do go at once, my dear boys,” said carl's mother. “tell the good teacher how glad we are at his coming.” it was not a complete surprise, for the schoolmaster had promised carl to spend a our little swiss cousin week with him on the mountain pastures, if it were possible. another place was quickly set at the table. in a few minutes the boys returned, and with them was a man with a kind face and a hearty voice. “welcome, welcome ! my friend,” said rudolf. “it is indeed a pleasure to see you here. what news is there from the good folks of our village " “they are all well, and send greetings. even poor little gretel, the cretin, seemed to understand where i was coming, and she sent you her love.” what is a cretin, you wonder a person of weak mind is so called in switzerland. you often find such people who are not as bright as they should be. the mind is dull and dark, it cannot see and understand like others. why is it that cretins are often found in the homes of the poor? some think it is because the schoolmaster's visit the swiss are such hard workers, and yet do not have the nourishing food they should. “have you been at home all summer ?” asked rudolf. “no, i had business that took me over the st. bernard pass. it was a hard journey, even in this summer-time, for i travelled most of the way on foot.” “o, how i wish i could have gone with you,” cried franz. “i have always longed to visit the good monks and see their brave dogs.” “it must be a terrible tramp over the mountain in winter,” the schoolmaster went on. “yet every year there are some people who need to go that way at that season. how much worse it would be, however, if the monastery were not there, with the priests living in it and giving their lives to help others.” “they say that the cold is so great that the our little swiss cousin monks cannot stand more than a few years of such a life,” said rudolf. “it is true,” replied the schoolmaster. “many of them die before their time, while others must after a while go down to warmer lands. the noble dogs that they raise stand the cold much better.” “i have often made a picture for myself of a snow-storm on the st. bernard,” said carl, thoughtfully. he had not spoken for a long time. “how the drifts pile up and fill the pathway. the snow falls thick and fast, and after a while the poor traveller cannot tell which way to turn. he grows cold and numb; he is quite tired out. at last he gives up hope, and perhaps he sinks down, and perhaps he loses all sense of where he is. now is the very time that the good monks, watching the storin, loose the dogs. but first, food and reviving drink are fastened to the collars of the trusty animals. the schoolmaster's visit “off they bound, down the mountainside, scenting the air on every side. they under- stand their duty and work faithfully. they find the poor traveller in time to save his life and guide him to the home of the priests. ah! how i love these good men and their faithful dogs.” “your cheeks have grown quite rosy with the story, my boy,” said the schoolmaster. “the picture in your mind must be bright, indeed. but we cannot praise too highly both the monks and their loving deeds. some- times, alas ! the dogs do not find the travellers in time, however. then they can only drag their dead bodies to the monastery, where they will stay till friends of the travellers come to claim them. but enough of this sad thought for to-night; let us talk of other things.” “dear master,” said franz, “please tell us of other things you have seen this summer. we always love to hear your stories.” our little swiss cousin “let me see. o, yes, now i think of something that will interest you boys. i travelled for quite a distance with a hunter. he had been in search of chamois, but he says they are getting very scarce now. he was bringing home only one.” “it seems a shame to kill the poor crea- tures,” said carl's father. “they are gentle and harmless, and take pleasure in living where others find only danger. once i came suddenly upon a herd of them. they seemed to be having a game of chase together, and were frolicking gaily. but at the sound of my footstep they fled like the wind over the snow and ice. in a moment, almost, they were out of sight.” “why can they climb where no one else is able to go?” asked carl. “behind each hoof there is another called the false hoof,” replied the schoolmaster. “i looked at those of the dead chamois the hunter the schoolmaster's visit was carrying home. these extra hoofs give the creature the power to hold himself in places which would not be safe without their aid. their bodies are very light and their legs are slim, while they seem to be entirely without fear of anything save men.” “poor little things,” exclaimed franz “we are taught to be kind to the bird, and to protect them in every way. i never in my life knew of a swiss harming a bird's nest. we ought to be kind to the chamois as well. i once knew a boy who had a tame one for a pet. his father caught it when it was very young. it was the dearest little thing, following its master about just like a dog. in summer its hair was yellowish brown, but in winter it grew darker and was almost black.” “did you know that the chamois always have a sentinel on guard while they are feed- ing " asked the schoolmaster. “no, sir,” said both boys together. o our little swiss cousin “yes, it is true, the hunters have told me so. if this chamois guard hears the slightest sound or discovers even a footprint, he at once gives an alarm. away flees the herd in search of safety. “but, dear me! it is growing late and you must be up early in the morning. then you must show me your store of cheeses,” he added, turning to carl's mother. “the cows are looking fine; they must enjoy the pastures here. and now, good night. may you all sleep well in the care of the loving father.” in a few minutes every one in the little cottage was resting quietly. chapter iv. the brave archer it was a bright summer day. in the morn- ing carl's father had said to the boys: “you may have a holiday and may go where you please with the schoolmaster. i will attend to the cows all the day.” so they had taken a lunch and had climbed to the summit of the mountain. their kind teacher had told them stories of the flowers and the stones. “they never seemed so much alive to me before,” said carl, as they sat resting on a big gray rock, far up above the pastures. “i like to hear you talk in school, dear master, but it is far better up here among the grand moun- tains and in the fresh air. perhaps william tell himself once stood on this very spot.” .i our little swiss cousin “it is quite likely,” replied the school- master. “you know that his home was not many miles from our village. he was never so happy as when wandering among the moun- tains. those were wonderful times in which he lived. but there is the same feeling now as then. we swiss love freedom best of all, and are ever ready to give our lives for it, if there be need.” “how cruel the austrians were ! they thought that because theirs was a large and powerful country they could do with us as they pleased. but they found themselves mistaken after awhile, didn't they ” said franz. “yes, my boy, but never forget that our freedom started in the work of three men, and three only, who joined together with brave hearts. they worked with no selfish feeling, and, before the end came, they had filled all switzerland with the daring to be free.” “yes, yes, we will always remember that. our little swiss cousin gessler,” cried franz. “it seems to me only another name for cruel power. but is it pos- sible that he really had his hat stuck up on a pole in the market-place of altdorf, and that every swiss who passed by was ordered to bow down before it ” “i believe so, although some people think the whole story of william tell is only a legend, and that is a part of it. our history shows, however, that this brave man really lived.” “won't you repeat the story " asked franz. “i love to hear it over and over again.” “yes, if you like.” “after gessler's hat had been stuck on the pole, william tell was one of those who passed by. bow before the hat of the cruel tyrant it was not to be thought of tell took no notice of it whatever. he did not appear to know it was there. the brave archer “now it happened that one of gessler's spies stood near by. he watched tell closely. he sent word to his master at once that there was one swiss who would not give him proper honour. you know what followed, my boys. tell was seized and bound. “gessler must have said to himself, ‘ i will make an example of this insolent peasant.” for tell was brought before him and ordered to stand at a great distance from his little son and shoot at an apple on the boy's head. if he struck the apple he was to be allowed to go free. “do you think tell feared he could not do it? no, he was too good an archer. but his child was so dear to him that his very love might make his hand tremble. think again the boy might move from fright, and then the arrow would enter his body instead of the apple on his head. “it was a terrible thing to think of. but our little swiss cousin william tell made ready for the trial. the time came. a crowd of people gathered to see the test. the boy did not move a mus- cle. the arrow went straight to its mark. the people shouted with joy. “then it was that gessler, who had been watching closely, noticed that tell held a second arrow. “‘why didst thou bring more than one, thou proud peasant ' angrily asked the tyrant. “‘that i might shoot thee had i failed in cleaving the apple,’ was the quick answer. “‘seize him bind him hand and foot, and away with him to the dungeon l’ shouted the enraged governor. “his men seized tell, and strong chains made the noble swiss helpless. he was car- ried to a boat already waiting on the shore, for the dungeon was across the deep, blue waters of lake lucerne. the brave archer “ah ! how sad must have been the hearts of our people as they watched gessler and his servants get into the boat and row away. they thought they would never see the brave archer again. “but this was not god’s will. a sudden storm arose before the party had gone very far. the wind blew fearfully, and the little boat was tossed about on the waves as though it were a feather. the rowers could not keep the boat in her course. it seemed as though, every moment, she would be dashed against the rocks and destroyed. then it was that gessler remembered that tell was as skilful with a boat as he was with a bow and arrow. “‘take off the peasant's chains, he cried. ‘let him guide us to a safe landing-place. it is our only chance of being saved.” “tell was made free. his quick mind told him what to do. he seized the oars, and our little swiss cousin with strong strokes soon brought the boat close to the shore. then, springing out, he pushed the boat off into the water. “would gessler be saved tell wondered if it were possible. then he said to himself, “if the tyrant is not destroyed, he must go home through the pass in the mountains.' “with this thought, he hurried up over the crags, and hid himself behind a great rock. he waited patiently. at last he heard foot- steps and voices. his enemy was drawing near. he stood ready with bent bow. as gessler came into view, whizz! flew the arrow straight into the tyrant's heart! he could never again harm switzerland or the swiss.” “ brave tell ! brave tell !” shouted carl. “dear master, have you ever visited the chapel which stands to-day in honour of this great countryman of ours ?” “yes, carl, and when you come back to the lowlands in the fall, you shall visit it with me. our little swiss cousin “very well, then, you shall listen to the story of arnold of winkelried. “it was a time of great danger. the aus- trians were pouring into our country. their sol- diers, protected by the strongest steel armour, bore fearful weapons. our people were poor, and had only slings or bows and arrows with which to defend themselves. what should be done? there was the austrian army, closely drawn up, with shields glistening in the sun- light, — here were the swiss, few and un- protected, but burning with love for their country. “it seemed as though all chance of saving switzerland was hopeless. then the brave arnold spoke. “‘friends,’ said he, ‘ i am ready to give my life for my country. i will rush into the ranks of our enemies and make an entrance for you. be ready; follow with all your might, and you may throw them into confusion. you who the brave archer i five after me must take care of my wife and children when i am gone.’ “there was not a moment to be lost. “‘make way for liberty l’ cried arnold, then ran with arms extended wide, as if to clasp his dearest friend. “a hundred spears were thrust toward him. he gathered as many as he could in his hands and arms. they entered his body on all sides, but before the hero fell he had made an open- ing into the ranks of the enemy through which his comrades dashed. thrown into confusion, the austrians fled, and were driven out of our loved country. “switzerland was saved for us, my lads, through the sacrifice of that noble man, arnold von winkelried. may you live to do him honour !” “i can see him now, as he rushed into the midst of the cruel austrians,” cried carl, jump- ing to his feet. “noble, noble arnold! i our little swiss cousin do not believe any other land has such a hero. dear master, i will try to be braver and truer all my life, and be ready to serve my country faithfully in time of need.” “i, too,” exclaimed franz, “will be more of a man from this very moment.” “well said, my dear boys. but come, it is growing late and you will be needed at home.” chapter v. the hay makers “mother | mother here come the mow- ers,” called carl, as he came toward the house with a pail of milk in each hand. the wooden milking-stool was still strapped around the boy's waist, and its one leg stuck out behind like a little stiff tail. you would have laughed at the sight, as did the two haymakers who had by this time reached the hut. “what, ho! carl,” said one of the men, “are you changing into a monkey now you have come up to the highlands for the summer?” “i was so busy thinking,” replied the boy, “that i forgot to leave the stool in the stable when i had finished the milking. i am glad our little swiss cousin you are here to-night. how does the work go?” “ pretty hard, my boy, pretty hard, but i love it,” answered the younger man of the two mowers. “still, i shouldn't advise you to be a haymaker when you grow up. it is too dangerous a business.” “it isn't such hard work gathering the hay in these parts as it is in most places,” said the older man. “ah! many a time i have worked all day long on the edge of a preci- pice; it is a wonder i am living now.” “it is not strange that the law allows only one person in a family to be a haymaker,” said carl’s mother, who had come to the door to welcome her visitors. “i am very glad my husband never chose the work. i should fret about him all through the summer. but come in, friends, and lay down your scythes. we are glad to see you.” the two mowers were on their way to our little swiss cousin should happen, an accident, and probably a very bad one, too, would surely follow. when all the nets were filled, they would be stored in safe nooks until the snow should come. then for the sport | for the mowers would climb the mountains with their sledges, load them with the nets full of hay, and slide down the slopes with their precious stores. “may i go with you when you collect the hay in november?” carl asked his friends. “i won’t be afraid, and it is such fun travelling like the wind.” “it will take your breath away, i promise you,” said the boy's father. he had come into the house just in time to hear what was being said. “i will risk you, carl, however. you would not be afraid, and he who is not afraid is generally safe. it is fear that causes most of the accidents. but come, my good wife has made the supper ready. let us sit down; then we can go on talking.” the haymakers “how good this is l’” said one of the visitors, as he tasted the bread on which toasted cheese had been spread. carl’s mother did not sit down to the table with the others. she had said to herself, “i will give the mowers a treat. they are not able to have the comforts of a home very often.” so she stood by the fire and held a mould of cheese close to the flames. as fast as it softened, she scraped it off and spread it on the slices of bread. every one was hungry, so she was kept busy serving first one, then another. - she smiled at the men's praise. they told her they had spent the night before with two goatherds who lived in a cave. it was only a few miles away on the west slope of the mountain. “they have a fine flock of goats,” said one of the men, “and they are getting quantities of rich milk for cheese. but it cannot be our little swiss cousin good for them to sleep two or three months in such a wretched place. they look pale, even though they breathe this fine mountain air all day long.” “carl and franz don't look sickly, by any means,” laughed rudolf, as he pointed to the boys' brown arms. the sleeves of their leather jackets were short and hardly reached to their elbows. the strong sunshine and wind had done their work and changed the colour of the fair skin to a deep brown. “you will have good weather for haying, to-morrow,” said franz, who was standing at the window and looking off toward a mountain- top in the distance. “pilatus has his hood on to-night.” “a good sign, surely,” said rudolf. “we shall probably see a fine sunrise in the morn- ing. you all know the old verse, “‘if pilatus wears his hood, then the weather's always good.” our little swiss cousin lowed the wise one to be put to death. he himself was to blame, for he could have saved him. he could not put the thought out of his mind. at last, he could bear it no longer, and he ended his own life. “his body was thrown into the tiber, a river that flows by the city of rome. the river refused to let it stay there, for it was the body of too wicked a man, so it cast it up on the shore. then it was carried to the rhine, but this river would not keep it, either. what should be tried now p some one said, “we will take it to the summit of a mountain where there is a deep lake, and drop it in the dark waters.” “it was done, and the body found a resting- place at last.” “you did not finish the story,” said rudolf. “it is said that the restless spirit of pilate is allowed to arise once each year and roam through the mountains for a single night on the haymakers a jet-black horse. on that night the waters of the lake surge and foam as if a terrible storm were raging.” “are you going to the party to-morrow night?” asked the younger mower. “the goatherds told me about it. i wish we could be there, but our work is too far away. the villagers are getting ready for a good time.” “what party " cried carl and franz together. they were excited at the very idea. “why, haven't you heard about it? you know there is a little village about two miles below the pasture where those goatherds live. the young folks have planned to have a dance and a wrestling match. i am surprised you have not heard about it. they expect all the herders and mowers to come from near and far. you will certainly be invited in the morning.” our little swiss cousin ' and so it was. before the cows were let out to pasture, a horn was heard in the dis- tance. “hail, friends !” it seemed to call. carl rushed into the house for his own horn and gave a strong, clear blast, then another and another. it was an answering cry of wel- come and good-will. a boy about twelve years old soon came into view. he wore a tight-fitting leather cap and heavy shoes with iron-spiked soles like carl's. he came hurrying along. “there is to be a party at our village to- night,” he said, as soon as he was near enough for carl to hear. “it will be moonlight, you know, and we will have a jolly time. all your folks must come, too.” carl and franz were soon talking with the boy as though they had always known him, yet they had never met before. “my folks came near forgetting there was the haymakers any one living here this summer,” the strange boy said. “they only thought about it last night, but they very much wish you to come.” he stayed only a few moments, as he had been told to return at once. “there is plenty to do, you know, to get ready for a party,” he said. “besides, it will take me a good hour to go back by the short- est path around the slope, it winds up and down so much. but you will come, won't you?” carl's father and mother were as much pleased by the invitation as were the boys. the milking was done earlier than usual, and the cows were locked up in the stable before the sunset light had coloured the snowy tops of the distant mountains. it was quite a long tramp for carl's mother, but she only thought how nice it would be to join in dance and song again. the wrestling match took place in the afternoon. the father our little swiss cousin would not have missed that for a good deal, so he left home three hours, at least, before the others. the boys stayed behind to help the mother in the milking and to show her the way to the village afterward. the party was a merry one. they drank cup after cup of coffee, and all the good old songs of switzerland were sung with a will. carl's mother showed she had not forgotten how to dance. carl and franz were too shy to join in the dancing, but it was fun enough for them to watch the others. oh, yes, it was a merry time, and the moon shone so brightly that it lighted the path homeward almost as plainly as though it were daytime. “next week we return to our own little vil- lage in the valley,” said rudolf, as the family walked back after the party. “our old friends will be glad to see us as well as the fine store of cheese we shall bring. then for another merrymaking. carl, you must show the haymakers us then what you learned at the gymnasium last year.” the boy's father was proud of carl's strength and grace. “how fine it is,” he often said to himself, “that every school in our country has a gymnasium, so that the boys are trained in body as well as in mind. that is the way to have strong men to defend our country and to govern it. i will buy carl a rifle for his very own. the boy deserves it, he has worked so hard and so well all summer. he can shoot well already, and i will train him myself this winter, and in a year or two more he can take part in the yearly rifle match. i am very glad i have a son.” chapter vi. the marmot it was the week after carl got back to the village. what a busy day it had been for his mother | you would certainly think so if you had looked at the wide field back of the house. a great part of it was covered with the family wash. sheets, sheets, sheets and piece after piece of clothing ! what could it all mean? and did this little family own so much linen as lay spread out on the grass to-day ? it was indeed so. in carl's village it is the custom to wash only twice a year. of course, chests full of bedding are needed to last six months, if the pieces are changed as often in switzer- land as they are in our country. when carl's mother was married, she the marmot brought enough linen to her new home to last for the rest of her life. carl's grandmother had been busy for years getting it ready for her daughter. a swiss woman would feel ashamed if she did not have a large quantity of such things with which to begin housekeeping. when the washing had been spread out on the grass, carl's mother went into the house feeling quite tired from her day's work. the two women who had been helping her had gone home. she sat down in a chair to rest herself, and closed her eyes. just then she heard steps outside. “it is carl getting home from school,” she thought, and she did not look up, even when the door opened. “well, wife, we have caught you sleeping, while it is still day. wake up, and see who has come to visit us.” she opened her eyes, and there stood not only her husband and carl, but a dear brother our little swiss cousin whom she had not seen for years. how de- lighted she was he had changed from a slim young fellow into a big, strong man. “o, fritz, how glad i am to see you,” she cried. “do tell us about all that has hap- pened. we have not heard from you for a long time. what have you been doing?” “i have spent part of my time as a guide among the highest mountains of the alps. there is not much work of that kind to do around here; the passes are not dangerous, you know. most of the travellers who come to this part of switzerland are satisfied if they go up the rigi in a train. but i have taken many dangerous trips in other parts of the country, and been well paid for them.” “have you ever been up the matterhorn?” asked carl. “only once, my boy. it was the most fearful experience of my whole life. i shudder when i think of it. there was a party of climbing the matter horn. the marmot three gentlemen besides another guide and my- self. you know it is the shape of that moun- tain that makes it so dangerous to climb. it reaches up toward the heavens like a great icy wedge. “of course, we had a long, stout rope to pass from one to another. it was fastened around the waist of each of us, as soon as we reached the difficult part. our shoes had iron spikes in the soles to help us still more, while each one carried a stout, iron-shod staff. the other guide and myself had hatchets to use in cutting steps when we came to a smooth slope of ice. “think of it, as we sit here in this cozy, comfortable room. there were several times that i was lowered over a steep, ice-covered ridge by a rope. and while i hung there, i had to cut out steps with my hatchet. “there was many a time, too, that only one of us dared to move at a time. in case the o our little swiss cousin footing was not safe, the others could pull him back if he made a misstep and fell.” “did you climb that dangerous mountain in one day " asked rudolf. “i thought it was impossible.” “you are quite right. we went the greater part of the distance the first day, and then camped out for the night. early the next morning we rose to finish the fearful under- taking. and we did succeed, but i would never attempt it again for all the money in the world.” “o, fritz, how did you feel when you had reached the summit : " asked carl's mother. “in the first place, i was terribly cold. my heart was beating so rapidly i could scarcely think. it was not from fear, though. it was because the air was so thin that it made the blood rush rapidly through the lungs to get enough of it. the marmot “but i can never forget the sight that was before us. everything we had ever known seemed so little now, it was so far below us. towns, lakes, and rivers were tiny dots or lines, while we could look across the summits of other snow-capped peaks.” “was it easy coming down " asked carl, “that is, of course, did it seem easy beside the upward climb f * “i believe the descent was more terrible, my boy. it was hard to keep from growing dizzy, and it would have been so easy to make a false step and slide over some cliff and fall thou- sands of feet. i couldn't keep out of my mind the story of the first party who climbed to the summit of the matterhorn.” “i do not wonder, my dear brother, the whole world sorrowed over their fate,” said carl's mother. “only think of their pride at succeeding, and then of the horrible death of four of the party.” our little swiss cousin “do tell us about it; i never heard the story,” said carl. “a brave man named whymper was deter- mined to climb the mountain,” answered his father. “every one else had failed. he said to himself: ‘i will not give up. i will keep trying even if the storms and clouds and ice-walls drive me back again and again.” “he kept on trying, but each time with no success. at last whymper formed a party with three englishmen. they hired the trustiest guides known in the country, besides two men to carry the tents and provisions. after great trouble they reached the summit and planted a flag there to tell the story of their coming. “but on their way down one of the englishmen slipped. he struck the guide as he fell and the two men hung over the precipice. they were fastened to the others by the rope; surely they could be saved the marmot but, alas ! the rope broke under the sudden weight. not only those men, but two others, were swept down four thousand feet! “the others who were left were filled with such horror they could not move for a long while. their skilful guide had been killed; could they descend the mountain safely now : it looked impossible; they were dizzy and faint. it seemed as though there were only one thing left: they would have to stay where they were till death should come. “after a while, however, their courage re- turned and they succeeded in reaching the foot of the mountain at last without any other accident, but with a sad and fearful story to tell of those who started out with them.” “i should think we would have heard of your climbing the matterhorn, fritz,” said rudolf. “it was a great thing to do, and few have dared it. we are proud of you, indeed. our little swiss cousin how would you have liked to be in your uncle's place, carl’ ” “i wish i could have been with him, father. when i am older, i hope i may have a chance to do such daring deeds. i’ll be glad to try, anyway.” carl's mother shivered, as she quickly said: “there are other kinds of brave deeds, carl, which i hope you will be ever ready to do. speak the truth and be an honest man in all things. that kind of bravery in you will satisfy me. but be willing for your mother's sake to stay away from icy moun- tain peaks.” the loving woman's eyes had filled with tears. carl ran to her and put his arms around her neck. “don’t fret, my dear mother, i will always try to do what you wish.” and he kissed her again and again. as he did so, he began to cough. the marmot “i believe carl has the whooping-cough,” said his father. “he never had it when he was little, and every now and then he gives a regular whoop.” “i wish we had some marmot fat; that would cure him quickly,” said his mother. “at any rate, it would make him feel better.” “i have a bottle of the oil in my satchel,” said his uncle. “it is good for so many things, i keep it on hand. here, carl, open the bag and take a dose at once. i got it from the fat of the last marmot i killed.” “o, uncle, i never saw one in my life. i’ve heard so much about marmots, i would rather hear you tell about them than take the medicine.” “you may have both the medicine and the story, carl. while we sit around the stove this evening you shall hear of the fun i have had hunting the shy little creature.” the marmot there. all through the long winter of six or eight months the marmot lies in his burrow and does not move. you would hardly call it sleep, though. the little creature scarcely breathes; if you should see him then, you would think he was dead. “but as soon as there is warmer weather he begins to rouse himseif. how thin he is now ! at the beginning of winter he was quite fat. that fat has in some wonderful way kept him alive through the long months.” “does he stay in this burrow all alone, uncle ” “o, no. marmots live together in fami- lies in the summer-time, and when the time comes for a long rest, a whole family enter the burrow and stretch themselves out close to— gether on the hay.” “where does the hay come from ?” asked one of the visitors. “why, the marmots carry it into the bur- our little swiss cousin row and line it as carefully as birds prepare their nests.” “i have heard,” said rudolf, “that one marmot lies on his back and holds a bundle of hay between his legs, while two or three others drag him through the long tunnel into the burrow. that is the reason the hair is worn off the backs of so many of them.” fritz held his sides with laughter. “did you believe such a silly story as that, rudolf? i thought you knew more about the animals of our mountains than that, surely. “when a marmot's back is bare, you may know it is because the roof of his burrow is not high enough. his hair has rubbed off against it as he moved while asleep.” “how large do the marmots grow?” asked carl. “are they pretty creatures, uncle; and are they clever?” “they are rather stupid, it seems to me, carl, and they are not as pretty as squirrels. the marmot they are larger, however. the colour of their fur is a yellowish-gray. their tails are short, like those of rabbits. they move about in a slow, clumsy way.” “why are they so hard to catch, if that is so ° said carl’s mother. “while they are feeding, there is always one of them acting as a guard. he stands near the opening into the burrow, and gives a cry of alarm if he hears the slightest strange sound. then all the others scamper with him through the passageway into their home.” “but can’t the hunters easily dig it out and reach them ** asked carl. “sometimes the tunnel that leads to the burrow is many feet long. a friend of mine unearthed one that was actually thirty feet from the outside opening of the burrow.” “how did you manage to catch them : you have killed quite a number, haven't you?” asked rudolf. our little swiss cousin “yes, i have been quite successful, and this is the way i worked: if i found any tracks or signs of their burrows, i crept along very softly. i kept looking ahead in all directions. away off in the distance, perhaps, i saw some- thing looking like a family of marmots asleep in the sunshine. “i crept nearer and nearer. i must not make a sound or i would lose my chance. at last, when i was close upon them, i lifted a stone and blocked the opening to their burrow. then i whistled. the poor little things waked up too late and saw that their way home was cut off. they gave a shrill cry, like a whistle, and fled together into the nearest cranny. there they cowered while i drew near and pinned one of them to the ground. it was an easy matter to end its life after that. “if i wished to carry it home alive, i seized it by its hind legs and dropped it into a bag; the poor little thing was helpless then.” the marmot ot “you will stay with us for a while, won’t you, fritz p’’ asked one of the neighbours. “you have been a long time away, and have been living a rough and dangerous life as a guide. it seems good, indeed, to see you back again.” “yes, i shall rest here for a month or so with my good sister and rudolf. then i must be away among my mountains again. i am never so happy as when i am climbing some difficult slope.” - “it is growing late, friends,” said one of the visitors. “we must bid you good night, for to-morrow brings its work to each of us.” “good night, good night, then. but let us first have a song in memory of old days,” said fritz. all joined with a good-will. half an hour afterward the lights were out in the little house and every one was settled for a good night's rest. chapter vii. glacier and avalanche it was cold weather now. some snow had already fallen, and carl had helped his father and mother in getting ready for the long, cold winter. uncle fritz had been gone for quite a while, and the family had settled down to their old quiet life. one evening carl was sitting by the big stove and telling his mother about the day's work at school, when the door opened, and who should stand there but fritz. carl rushed into his arms, exclaiming: “i knew you would come back, because you promised, uncle fritz.” “yes, but i shall stay only a day or two. then i must be off again. there is a little glacier and avalanche village up in the mountains about twenty miles away. i must go there before the weather grows any colder, for if a big snow-storm should come up it would make hard walking.” “will you go all the way on foot, uncle " asked carl. “i do believe you never ride in a train if you can help it.” fritz laughed. “i must say i enjoy the walking best. but, anyhow, this time my way lies across country. how would you like to go too? i have to cross a glacier before i get there. did you ever see a glacier, my boy " “no, uncle fritz, and i have always longed to do so. o, mother, may i go i will study hard at school, and make up all the lessons i lose while i am away.” “how long will you be gone, fritz; " asked his sister. “not over three days, if the weather is good; and after that i shall not stay in this our little swiss cousin part of the country. i am going to geneva, so it will be carl's last chance for a long time to go with me.” in this way it came to pass that carl went with his uncle. “do take good care of him, fritz,” the loving mother called, as the man and boy left the little cottage the next morning. “you know he is my only child.” “never fear, sister. i will watch well, and try to keep danger away,” fritz promised. soon after the two travellers had left the village, the way became quite rough. fritz told many stories of his wild life as a guide, and carl was so interested he had no time to think about himself. after three hours of hard walking, the two travellers stopped to rest and eat the lunch of bread and cheese carl's mother had given them. a long tramp was still before them, and the way grew rougher at every step. the -> was a river of solid ice ( it glacier and avalanche sun was just setting when the little mountain village at last came in sight. it looked, at first, like a small bunch of black dots high up on the steep slope before them. but before it could be reached, the glacier must be crossed. it was a river, indeed, but not like most other rivers in the world. it was a river of solid ice when it first came in sight, it seemed like a broad, smooth sheet. carl was a little bit disappointed. he turned to his uncle, and said: - “i don't see anything wonderful or danger- ous in a glacier, i’m sure.” “wait till you get a little nearer,” was the answer. “it is not as easy to cross it as it at first seems.” “why does it stay a river of ice all the time, uncle i should think it would melt in the summer-time, and be like other rivers,” carl went on. our little swiss cousin “high up in the mountains the snow stays all the year round. you know that?” “o, yes, uncle fritz.” “very well, then. the mass gets heavier and heavier, and much of it is gradually changed into ice.” “yes, i know that, too.” “the great weight makes it begin to slide down. it comes very slowly, of course, – so slowly that it does not seem to move at all. but it does move, and brings with it rocks and trees and whatever is in its way.” “i see now why it is called a river of ice, uncle. but it doesn’t move as fast in the winter as in the summer, does it?” “o, no, it can hardly be said to move at all during the coldest months of the year. in the summer-time, however, it moves much faster than it seems to do. i have been crossing a glacier more than once when i was suddenly startled by a tremendous noise. it would glacier and avalanche seem like the roar of thunder; but as the sky was clear, it was certainly not thunder. it was a sound made by the glacier itself as it passed over uneven ground. it is very likely that deep cracks opened in the ice at the same time, making a noise like an explosion. “but here we are, my dear, on the edge of the ice river. don't you think now that it is a wonderful sight?” “yes, indeed. how beautiful the colour is . it is such a lovely blue. but dear me ! look at this mass of rocks all along the edge. the glacier is a giant, isn't it, to make these great stones prisoners and bring them along in its course they look strong and ugly, yet they are helpless in its clutches. it isn't easy walking over them, either, is it?” after some hard climbing they found them- selves on the glacier. it was not smooth, as carl had at first thought, but was often cut into deep furrows or piled into rough masses. our little swiss cousin “look out, now, carl. we must cross that deep chasm ahead of us very carefully. it is wider than it looks. here ! follow me.” fritz led the way to a place where the chasm was narrow enough for him to spring across with the aid of his mountain staff. carl followed, while fritz reached over from the other side and seized the boy as he landed. carl laughed. he wasn't the least bit fright- ened. - “i think you did that because of what mother said, uncle fritz. you act as though i were a child, but i am very sure-footed and have been in slippery places before.” “no doubt of that, carl. you are a brave boy, too. but it is very easy to make a mis- step in such a place. i shouldn't like it very much if you were down at the bottom of that chasm at this moment. it wouldn't be easy getting you up again, even though it is not deep.” glacier and avalanche here and there the two travellers met little streams of water flowing along over the surface. the day had been quite warm for this time of the year, the ice had melted a little, and the water was running off in these stream s. “o, uncle, look " cried carl, as they came near another chasm in the glacier. “here is another bridge of ice over which we can cross. how clear it is ; it looks like glass.” by this time the moon was shining in all her glory. “it is like fairy-land,” said carl to himself as he looked back at the glacier which they were just leaving, and then onward to the mountain-tops in the distance, lighted - p by the soft yellow light. “the mountains are god's true temples, aren't they ” said fritz, after a few moments. “but come, my dear, it is getting late. we must move quickly now, even though we are tired. the lights in the village above us are a ioo our little swiss cousin calling, “ hurry, hurry, good people, before we sleep for the night !” it had been a long, hard day, but carl had enjoyed every moment. that night as he lay in the warm bed prepared for him, he thought it all over before he slept. - how kind these new friends were, too. although he and his uncle had reached the village so late, a warm supper was made ready for them at once and everything done for their comfort. why, the good woman of the house had even taken a hot stone from the hearth and put it into carl's bed. “i want you to sleep warm, my boy,” she said, as she kissed him good night, “and it must be colder up here than in your own home in the valley.” the next day carl had a chance to look around the little village. you would hardly call it a village, either. there were only six or eight houses. their roofs were weighted down glacier and avalanche ioi with rocks, like the cottage where carl had stayed through the summer. it was the only way to be sure of safety, for the winter winds blew fiercely here; carl knew that. there were long months when the cows must stay in their stable, week after week. “but how neat the barn is l’’ exclaimed the boy. “it is almost like a sitting-room. your father has a table and chairs here, as though he stayed here a good deal of the time.” - “yes, father likes his cattle so much, he wishes to be with them all he can,” answered marie, who was the only child in the house where carl and his uncle were staying. “don’t you think our cows are lovely, and did you notice the big black one in the first stall? she is the queen of the herd. father let me name her, and so l called her “marie,’ after myself.” “o, yes, i noticed her first of all,” answered io our little swiss cousin carl. “i should think you would like it here better in summer than in winter. aren't you ever afraid of avalanches, marie; " “yes, indeed, carl. sometimes i lie awake and tremble all night. i can't help it. that is when the wind blows very hard and the house rocks to and fro. then i think of the great drifts of snow above us on the mountain. what if they should start down and come in this direction there would be an end of us; the whole village would be buried. “once last winter, i was wakened by a terrible noise. i knew what it was at once. it was an avalanche. it was coming this way with a sound like thunder. i ran into mother's room; she and father were on their knees, praying. the danger lasted only a few minutes and then all was still. but, do you know, carl, in the morning we had sad news. “the house of a neighbour had been carried away. his cattle were buried somewhere in io. our little swiss cousin “then you will be just as safe as i am in my home in the valley.” “carl, carl where are you?” the words came from the direction of the house. it was carl’s uncle, who had wondered what had become of the boy. the children came hurry- ing out of the barn. “it is growing dark, my dear, and i was afraid you had wandered off somewhere,” said fritz. “i promised your mother to look out for you, carl, so you see i am doing my duty. come into the house now. we will have a pleasant evening with our good friends. then, with morning light, we must start on our homeward way.” that night many stories were told of the fairies and the gnomes. it is no wonder that when carl went to sleep he dreamed he was living in a cave with the fairies, and that the gnomes brought him a pile of gold heavy enough to make him rich all the rest of his life. chapter viii. santa claus night it was two weeks before christmas. carl had been back from his visit to the mountain village for more than a month. no harm had come to him on his way home, although heavy snow had fallen, which made hard walking. it was worst of all in crossing the glacier, but the boy's uncle took great care, and no accident came to either of them. and now the joyful day had come which carl liked best of all the year. he had saved up money for months beforehand to buy presents for his parents and his friend franz. what would he receive, himself? he thought sometimes, “i wonder if father will buy me a rifle. he thinks i can shoot pretty ios io our little swiss cousin well now, i know that. but a rifle of my own that would be too good to be true.” it was the custom of carl's village to have the christmas tree on saint claus's day, two weeks before the real christmas day. they did not wait for the time at which we give the presents. christmas was a holiday, of course, but it was somewhat like sunday; everybody went to church. there was a sermon, and a great deal of music. saint claus's day was the time for fun and frolic. good children looked forward to that day with gladness; but the bad children dear me! they trembled for fear they would be carried off to some dreadful place by saint claus's servant. all the day before carl was greatly excited. he could hardly wait for night to come, but it did come at last. the supper-table was scarcely cleared before a loud knocking and stamping of feet could be heard outside. santa claus night rudolf hurried to open the door, while carl clapped his hands. who should enter but a jolly-looking old fellow with rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes. he was dressed from head to foot in furs. surely this was santa claus himself. there was a great pack of goodies on his back. carl could see the red apples and bags of candy sticking out. but who was the creature that followed santa claus his face was black, his clothes were black, everything about him was black as soot. he carried a broom over his shoulder. “this is my servant,” said santa in a big, strong voice. “i hope the child in this house has been good. i just called at a place where there was a boy who had not minded his mother. i was going to let my servant carry him off, but he promised to be good, so i for- gave him this time.” santa claus tried to scowl fiercely while he said these words. io our little swiss cousin “have you been a good boy?” he cried, suddeq'v turning toward carl. “o, wes, sir, i have tried hard,” answered the boy, who was half afraid, although, some- how, this same santa claus spoke very much like a friend of the family who lived near by. “very well, then.” with this, santa cov- ered the floor with nuts and fruit which he shook out of his pack. a party of men who had followed him and his servant into the house, and were dressed up in all sorts of funny ways, laughed and joked with carl's father and mother. after a few moments of fun, santa claus went away, first wishing the boy and his par- ents good night and a merry day on the mor- row. they had many more calls to make before their work would be done, and they must hurry on their way, they said. when the door was closed, carl said, “father, i don’t believe that is the real santa santa claus night io claus; it is neighbour hans, who has dressed up like him. i knew his voice, too.” carl danced around the room laughing, while his father and mother laughed, too. “when i was a little tot,” carl went on, “i used to be scared, i tell you. i was afraid of doing naughty things all the year for fear mother would tell santa claus, and his servant would then sweep me away with his broom. oh, i know better now.” and carl ran first to his father, and then to his mother, and gave each of them a hearty kiss. the next morning, when he came down- stairs, there was the dearest little fir-tree in the corner of the room, and under it lay some mit- tens and stockings, besides the rifle for which carl had hoped and longed. “santa claus helped me get them,” said rudolf, and they all sat down to breakfast laughing at the merry joke. chapter ix. the wonderful abbey it was the beautiful spring-time, and the country had begun to look green and fresh again after the long months of snow and frost. “carl, my dear, how would you like to go on a pilgrimage to the blessed abbey ’’ asked his father one night as they finished milking the cows. “easter sunday is almost here, and the people of the village are talking of going to einsiedeln together.” “o, father, that would make me happier than anything else in the world. what a fine time we can have and only to think that i can see the place with my own eyes. do you really mean it?” iio the wonderful abbey i “yes, my boy, but do you think you can walk so far without getting tired out?” carl laughed. “look at me, father; see how i have grown since last summer,” and the boy stretched to make himself seem as tall as possible. “very well, then. your mother knows about it, and is getting things ready for the journey now.” the next three days carl could think of nothing else. he was full of excitement. the night before they were to start, he said to his father: “please tell me the story of the wonderful abbey again. i wish to have the picture still brighter in my mind as we journey along our way to-morrow.” rudolf leaned back in his chair. his face was lighted by a happy smile as he said: “carl, my dear child, i love to think of the good souls who have made this world so beau- the wonderful abbey i i thought he must have a store of gold hidden away, and they wished to get it. the holy man gave them food and drink, but what do you think these wicked men did in return for such kindness? they cruelly murdered him then, finding no money, they hurried away. “meinrad had two birds who kept him company in the lonely forest. they were ravens, and had grown very tame, loving their master dearly. “when the murderers fled, these birds followed them down the mountainside, across the lake, and into the town. the men stopped at an inn for food and rest. the birds flapped their wings against the windows, and kept up shrill cries. every one in the inn wondered what it could mean. when this had kept up for several hours, the men thought, ‘this is a warning to us from heaven. we will confess what we have done.’ “they told the fearful story, and were put i our little swiss cousin to death by the angry people who heard it. ever since that time the place has been called the ravens' inn, and two ravens were carved out of stone and placed upon the wall. when we go to zurich, carl, you shall see those stone ravens, for they are still there.” “now, please tell me about the holy abbey, father,” said carl, “and how it was blessed by the angels.” “after a while,” his father went on, “the priests, who had heard the story of meinrad's death, decided to build a grand church. it was to be on the very spot where meinrad's cell had stood and he had been murdered. it was a beautiful building. when it was entirely finished, bishops and knights came to conse- crate it to the lord. people gathered from far and near to listen to the service. “now, it was the custom of the good bishop conrad to pray at midnight. on the night before the great day of consecration, he the wonderful abbey ii arose for his usual prayer, and, as he did so, was surprised to hear beautiful music in the air around him. he listened closely. be- hold it was the chorus of angels; they were consecrating the chapel. he bowed his head in wonder and awe. “the next morning, when the people had come together for the sacred service, the bishop waited in silence till nearly noon, and then he told the crowd of listeners what had happened during the night. there was noth- ing for him to do now; the angels had already made this a holy place. “but the people would not, could not, believe it. they still pressed the bishop to go on with the service. at last, he felt that he could not satisfy them in any other way, so had already begun, when a clear voice was heard to say, ‘brother, do not go on; for see, it is already consecrated.’ “then the people were able to understand the wonderful abbey i rudolf, with his wife and carl, was joined by several others of the village people. franz was among them, together with his parents. there were many, many miles to walk, and several days must be spent upon the way. the nights were passed at taverns along the roadside. as our friends journeyed onward, they were joined by other parties, all going in the same direction, — to the abbey blessed by the angels. in one party there was a blind man, who hoped to see again after he had drunk from the wonderful fountain. in another, there was a person who was lame, and who moved pain- fully along on crutches. he believed he would be able to leave these crutches behind him if he could once reach the abbey. as carl drew nearer and nearer, he could see that thousands and thousands of people were all going the same way. and now as they began to climb the mountainside, there were crosses at every turn in the road. he the wonderful abbey i i but best of all was the precious image of the divine child and his mother. it was only a clumsy-looking little wooden figure, and was black with age, but it was adorned with precious stones that sparkled brilliantly. before carl entered the sacred building, he first stopped at the fountain, and drank from each one of the fourteen spouts. this alone would make his life better, he thought. but after he had received a blessing from the priest within the church, and had touched the marble on which the image of jesus rested, he could go away perfectly happy. there were many small inns in the village, and you may be sure that they were well filled at this time. carl's family were together with their friends at one of them, and they had a merry time. when they were well rested, however, carl's father said to the boy: “we will take a trip to zurich before going home. it is only a few miles away, and i i o our little swiss cousin promised to show you the stone ravens, you know. an old friend of mine lives right on the shore of the lake, and he will be glad to have us lodge with him.” what a lively place zurich seemed to the little country boy. every one was so busy, and there was so much going on all the time. “why is it such a busy place, father?” asked carl. “it is largely because of the business in silk, carl. we do not raise silk in switzer- land; it is too cold. but the cocoons are brought here from italy, and thousands of people are kept busy in spinning, weaving and dyeing the precious stuff. “the wife of my good friend is at her loom every moment she can spare from the work of her house. but she tells me the pay is very poor, yet the rich man who gives her the work sells the silk for great prices. ah! it is hard to be poor.” on the lake, the wonderful abbey yes, it was true. nearly every little home around the lake had its loom, and one could hear the whirr and the click in the houses as he passed along. carl took trips on the pretty steamboats on the lake. they had been built in the city and rudolf took the boy to the shipyard where others were being made. “all the iron steamers of switzerland are built here,” he said, “besides others which are sent to italy and austria. yes, it is a great and busy place.” “our schoolmaster told us once that people call these lakes of ours ‘the eyes of the earth.' don't you think that is a pretty idea, father ? they are very bright and clear, as they lie walled in between the mountains. “and, father, he says that there were people living on these lakes ages and ages ago. it was before any history was written, even.” i our little swiss cousin “then how do they know that such people lived on the lakes p’’ asked rudolf. “whole rows of piles have been discovered under the water. many were found right here in lake zurich. they must once have reached up much higher, but have rotted away !” “is that the only proof that people built their houses out over the water, carl p’’ “o, no, the schoolmaster says that many tools have been found in the beds of earth between the piles. they were almost all of stone. besides these, there were things to use in housekeeping, and nets for fishing, and cloth, and even embroidery.” “dear me ! i never happened to hear of these strange people before,” exclaimed ru- dolf. “what name did the master give them, carl p.” “he called them lake-dwellers, because they built their houses out over the water.” the wonderful abbey i coming. what a lovely time i have had. you are such a good, kind father to bring me here, as well as to the chapel of the holy meinrad.” carl looked up at rudolf with such a happy face that his father bent down and kissed him. *he end, ; selections from the page company’s 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little chinese cousin our little cossack cousin our little cuban cousin our little czecho-slovac cousin our little danish cousin our little dutch cousin our little egyptian cousin our little english cousin our little eskimo cousin our little finnish cousin our little french cousin our little german cousin our little grecian cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little hindu cousin our little hungarian cousin our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin our little japanese cousin our little jewish cousin our little korean cousin our little malayan (brown) cousin our little mexican cousin our little norwegian cousin our little panama cousin our little persian cousin our little philippine cousin our little polish cousin our little porto rican cousin our little portuguese cousin our little quebec cousin our little roumanian cousin our little russian cousin our little scotch cousin our little servian cousin our little siamese cousin our little spanish cousin our little swedish cousin our little swiss cousin our little turkish cousin the page company beacon street boston, mass. edith th eu} fidflhhhhb'h’r'i'flmhk’bhhb’b’kfiag 'b . “p: our thtle g if; english cousin ii “ * ‘ : g is: ' by \ g blanche mcmanus if“? % % i illuxirated by g { - . the author % 'ef % g €$§a z hmqmip ,. * - mq% % . égllltifiiil'ig é a ““ § * boston % g the page' company * - p u bl s h e r gr ' * . f i? ******¢$*$$$¢*$*** i copyright, by l. c. page : company (incorporated) all rights reserved published june, fifth impression, june, sixth impression, september, seventh impression, august, eighth impression, april, ninth impression, october, tenth impression, april, the colonial press c. h- sibionds c ., boston, u. s. a. wsv< 's ' er qi'f r l i : elr'rri-rr as“, kqi rn “i i! do m w introduction england entered the world war in order to protect the neutrality of belgium, a little country whose independence had been guaran- teed by treaty between france, england and germany. when the germans violated their agreement with belgium by sending their troops through that country, the english did not fail their little ally; but at once sent their army to meet the foe. i during the early days of the war the british troops suffered heavy losses, for they were greatly outnumbered by the enemy; but they never lost heart, and again and again repulsed the on-rushing german hosts. the ruins of ypres, where they made their glorious stand, will ever remain as a monument to english courage and english self-sacrifice. england, from the start, realized the value of r " \- ‘ introduction or " herlgreat‘fleetp-and with it she kept‘the german in warships “ bottled up "i where they could do no ( % damage. ~ she iwa'ged continual warfare on the - ' .» répsubmarines' and cleared the seas, so that amer- }, . '-»- rica could send -to europe, first food and war s r. . i supplies‘to aid. the allies, andlater two million i,- of our own american soldiers. on we appreciate v our e'ngli'slr cousins, now, is: » \ »‘~ more than ever before, ,because we‘realize what a ' < tremendous ~par’t'theysplaiyedwin defeating ger- ., ‘ ;~ m many and-her allies; -inde'ed,,now that our own litre iv american 'soldiers havefoug'ht side by side in ;, *"i- the trenches with .the “british. “tommies ” and - * spent their furlough'srlinzthe‘beautiful d cities, \ or in wanderingiaboutithe quiet countrysides of "‘ i'.‘ '. ‘ ."‘ old england," perhaps we may say that today ‘ ~ the boys and girls .of england are more like _, brother-sand sisters. to s, than justif‘cousins.” introduction the lives of our little english cousins are not so widely different from our own in america. it is only the more ancient associa- tions with which they are surrounded that changes their manners and customs. their speech is the same and their amuse- ments and tasks are to a great extent quite similar. certain details of home life vary considerably, and when they “ take their walks abroad,” “ our little english cousins,” as often as not, visit some ancient historic shrine from whose asso- ciations have been built up the great british nation. little english cousins and little american vr introduction cousins alike, however, would have the same affections for the same things were they but to change places, therefore things are not so very diherent after all. what washington is to america, london is to britain; meaning in this case england, ireland, and scotland as well, for our little scotch and irish cousins by no means like one to talk or write of england alone when one really means britain. “our little english cousin” lives in a less rigorous climate than that which prevails for the most part in america. their winters are in general not so cold (though they are quite as long) and not usually so bright and sunny. the summers are by no means so hot as ours and are accordingly most delightful. the open—air pleasures of our english cou- sins, while existent in our own country, are at least more general than with us, and tea out— of-doors, in the garden, or on the banks of the introduction vn thames is an institution which is quite unique, and accordingly, as a summer divertisement, is greatly in vogue. the associations which link america with england are many and important; indeed they are so numerous that it were futile to attempt to give place to any in this introductory note beyond recalling to the mind of little american cousins that the great washington himself was of a well—known english family before they settled in america. to-day, if' the english are not emigrating to america to the extent that they formerly were, our american cousins are returning the visits, if only for pleasure or edification, in astonish- ingly growing numbers each year. all this makes for a better understanding and appreciation of each other and cements the growing friendship of years, which in our pro- gressive times is a good thing not to overlook. “ our little english cousin,” then, extends viii introduction a cordial hand of welcome, not only to her cousins across the seas who annually make visits to her native land, but to the stay-at- homes as well, who have that pleasure in store for some future time. craft-l i. ii. iii. iv. v. contents .___.____ editii’s home on the thames . . a day at hampton court . . a drive to richmond and kew gardens with tom at windsor castle and eton page vi. vii. viii. ix. london - hyde park and westminster abbey . . . . . . the tower of london . . . . madame tussaud’s and the . . henley week . . . . . . summer holidays . . . . . the lord mayor’s snow . - . o list of illustrations __.__ page edith . . . . . . . frontal-piece oldham manor . . . . . . . ‘in a few minutes they had landed” . . i windsor castle . i . . . . . . o “after watching other antics our little friends bade the ‘beeeeater’ and his pet good-bye” . . . . . . . “ she walked down the path by the river avon " . . . . . . . . i vac nmvn/.-~"' m m“, ‘iiddon mun unnuch asa“ aoaron i .warwick ‘l’yia‘i'i'ordqipauon kingsyon r brighton co - n ric mom: canyerbury our little english cousin chapter i. editi-i’s home on the thames “now it is really time to get ready, is it not, miss green?" exclaimed edith, looking up at the clock for the twentieth time during the last half—hour, and breaking off in the middle of the list of english kings and queens which she was trying to commit to memory. which king came after henry iii., in that far-away time, seemed a small matter compared to the outing which she and her governess had planned to enjoy on the river that lovely afternoon. our little english cousin miss green smiled indulgently as she closed her book. “it does seem a shame to remain indoors a moment longer than one can help such a day as this. well, i will see betty about the tea-things and pack them in the basket while you are getting ready.” you may imagine it did not take edith long to put away her books; then giving her good-natured governess a hug she skipped oil: for her hat and coat. “there are eleanor and clarence waiting for us now,” cried edith, as she and miss green, who was carrying the tea-basket, crossed the gardens. running over the lawn, which stretched down to the river, she greeted her two little playmates from the vicarage. all three were bubbling over with glee at the prospect of an outing this bright june after- noon upon the river thames. they were to go up-stream to a pretty little nook, in a quiet “backwater,” which was a favourite spot with edith’s home on the thames them, and have a “gipsy” tea under the willows. the children were soon seated on cushions in the neat little shallow punt. , towser, the big collie dog, was already in the boat, for he knew he was a welcome companion on these trips. miss green, standing at one end, poled the boat gracefully through the water. this looks like an easy thing to do, but it takes a great deal of skill to handle a punt. “ does not the river look gay?” said eleanor. “there are lots of people out." the river indeed was covered with pleasure craft of all kinds. there is probably no stream in the world so given up to pleasure as is the thames, which flows through the very heart of england; indeed it has been called the “ river of pleasure.” it took all miss green’s skill to steer through the many boats filled with gay par- our little english cousin ties. daintily fitted up rowboats with soft- cushioned seats, the ladies in their bright summer dresses, with parasols of gay colours; the men in white flannel suits and straw hats. there were many punts like their own. also tiny sailboats, some of them with bright red or blue sails; while every now and then a crew of young men from one of the colleges sculled past them, practising for the forthcoming boat- race. all made way for these swift racing boats, for one of the unwritten rules of the river is that boat crews must not be interfered with while practising. occasionally our party in the punt would get the effect of a gentle wave from an auto- mobile boat or a steam-launch as it rushed by. in the midst of it all were to be seen the swans gliding in and out among the boats. the thames swans are as well known as the river itself. they are very privileged birds and directly under the protection of the gov' edith’s home on the thames ';; r =,;=; ' _' ' . ernment itself. there are special keepers to look after them, and any person who injured a swan in any way would be punished. but no harm ever happens to them, for the'lovely white birds are great pets with every one, and the children especially like nothing better than to feed them. along the banks, under the shade of over- hanging trees, were merry boat‘loads of family parties making a picnic of their afternoon tea, as our little party intended to do. you must know that everybody in england takes what is called “five o’clock tea,” and would no more think of going without their tea in the afternoon than their dinner.‘ presently the punt glided behind a clump of trees. you would think it was going into some one’s garden, but out it came into a quiet bit of water, a miniature bay quite apart from this is called a “ backwater.” catching hold of a tree with the hook on the the main river. .:._l._.-.wz=mz;rz.. . ww ma. . a . our little english cousin end of her pole, miss green brought the punt up against the bank under the overhanging willows, and the young people were quickly out and on shore. then the tea-basket was brought from the punt. “now, clarence,” said miss green, “you fill the teakettle while the girls help me.” their kettle was especially constructed for these occasions with a hollow space in the bottom into which fits a small spirit-lamp,— this so the wind cannot blow out the flame. “my! we have got a jolly lot of cake; that’s good,” and clarence looked very ap- provingly at the nice plum-cake and the madeira cake, which is a sort of sponge cake with slices of preserved citron on top of it,— a favourite cake for teas. in a few minutes the water boiled in spite of everybody watching it attentively, and miss green filled the teapot. then they all gath- edith’s home on the thames ered around the dainty cloth spread on the grass, and the slices of bread and butter, known as “cut bread and butter,” and the lovely strawberry jam quickly disappeared. “why do we always eat more out-of-doors,” said edith, “ than when we are indoors eating in the proper way? i suppose it is because we are doing it for fun that it seems different from tea in the schoolroom." “ perhaps the fresh air has more to do with it than anything else,” laughed miss green, as she cut them the sixth piece of cake all around. “now you rest, miss green, and we will pack up everything,” said eleanor. “yes, and let’s wash up the tea—things. it will be fun,” said edith, “and betty will be surprised.” so the little girls amused themselves with their housekeeping, while clarence and tow- ser ran races up and down the greensward until it was time to return. our little english cousin the sun was setting when they pulled up at the steps of their boat-landing where colonel and mrs. howard, edith’s parents, were sit- ting in comfortable wicker garden-chairs, wait- ing for them. oldham manor, edith’s home, was a fine old house built in the “tudor” style, of red brick with stone doorways and windows, and quaint, tall, ornamental chimneys, with the lower story entirely covered with ivy. colonel howard was a retired army officer who had seen much service in far-away india. he had to leave the army on account of his health, and now devoted himself to his wife and two children, and his lovely home. mrs. howard herself was a handsome and stately woman, rather reserved in her manner, but devoted to her children. tom, edith’s brother, was at school at eton college, so edith had a double share of petting, and led a very happy existence with oldham manor edith’s home on the thames plenty of work and plenty of play. she had a pretty little room, with a little brass bed, and an old—fashioned chest of drawers for her clothes. the little dressing-table, which stood in front of one of the windows, was draped with pink-flowered muslin, and the window curtains were of the same material. the chairs were covered with a bright, pretty pink, green, and white chintz,iand the carpet was pale green with pink roses. from the window of this delightful room, one overlooked the rose-garden. adjoining was the schoolroom, a big room where miss green and edith spent much of their time. edith usually dressed quickly, for, when the weather was fine, she and her papa always took a walk around the gardens before breakfast. colonel howard was very proud of his roses, and the rose garden of the manor was quite famous; many of the rose-bushes were trained to form great arches over the walks. our little english cousin another hobby of colonel howard’s was his fancy chickens and ducks, of which he had a great variety. edith had her pet chickens, too, and she and her papa could never agree as to whose chickens were the finest, when they went to feed them in the morning. edith would run each morning into the breakfast—room, a bright-faced little girl with sparkling blue eyes and golden brown hair tied up with a pink ribbon and waving loosely over her shoulders—as all english girls wear their hair until they are quite young ladies. her dress was very simply made, and around the neck was a pink ribbon—pink was her favourite colour—tied in a bow. there was a “good—morning kiss” for mamma, and edith must help to fasten the rose in her hair, which colonel howard always brought his wife. @dith had a good appetite for her breakfast of porridge and cream, milk, eggs and toast, or fish, or perhaps grilled kidneys and to- edith’s home on the thames ii matoes, which is a favourite english breakfast dish and very good indeed. always she fin- ished with marmalade. breakfast over, then came the lessons in the schoolroom until one o’clock, when edith and miss green had their dinner served to them here. after dinner she was free to walk or drive with her papa and mamma, or miss green, or play games with her little friends in the neighbourhood. then for an hour in the afternoon edith studied her lessons for the next day, curled up on the big green sofa near the window, while miss green read or sewed beside her, ready to help her out with a hard , word. finally she had tea with miss green in the schoolroom at six o’clock, and soon after this was ready for bed. thursday was a red—letter day for edith, for in the afternoon she always took tea with mamma and papa in state, in the drawing-room. this was so that she should learn how to go our little english cousin through with it in the proper manner, which is a very important part of a little english girl’s education. mamma received her just as if she was a grown-up lady visitor, while edith put on her real “company” manners, and colonel and mrs. howard often could scarcely repress a smile at her great dignity when she began the conversation with, “ it’s a charming day, is it not.” “i take two lumps of sugar only, thank you.” rainy afternoons she often worked on fancy articles for the bazaars held by the children’s league of mercy. edith was a member, and the money from the sales was given to help the very poor children in their neighbourhood. so the little girl’s days passed pleasantly enough, as you may imagine. chapter ii. a day at hampton court “ no, towser, you can’t come with us; you know you will not be allowed to go into the palace, and what should we do with you then,” said edith, patting him on the head, as she closed the gate and left poor doggie looking wistfully after them. edith had been looking forward to a visit to hampton court for some time. her mamma had promised that she could invite eleanor and clarence whitworth and that miss green would take them all to spend a saturday half- holiday, or rather a whole holiday, at this beautiful old palace, which was on the river, not very far distant from oldham manor. our little english cousin several saturdays had proved disappoint- ingly rainy, but to-day was all they could wish for, and after calling at the vicarage for eleanor and clarence, they went down the little village street which led to the river landing, where there was a sign, “ boats to let." miss green intended to engage a waterman to row them up to the court, as it was a rather long and tiresome pull. the thames watermen are quite an insti- tution, and are one of the oldest of english guilds or societies. they are banded together for the mutual protection of their business, which is to hire out boats—and to row boats and the like. each man wears a badge, and is very jealous of his rights. a new man who wishes to join their band must go through a long apprenticeship before he can become what is publicly known as a “ thames waterman." “good morning, john,” said miss green, to a bluff, good-natured man who lifted his a few minutes they had landed” in a day at hampton court i cap to them. “ have you a good boat for us to- day ? we want you to take us up to the court.” “yes, indeed, miss, one of the best of the , lot. john was their favourite waterman, who often rowed them when the distances were too great for miss green. it was a pretty row past the green lawns of handsome homes, and one or two small river villages, where the principal business is the letting of boats and of fishing-tackle. john’s sturdy strokes soon brought them in sight of the park belonging to hampton court, surrounded by a high wall past which the river winds for some distance. soon they caught sight of the red brick towers of the palace itself, and its beautiful gardens, and in a few minutes they had landed near one of the small excursion steamers that ply between london and hampton court, on which so many folk take a charming day's excursion on the thames. our little english cousin _there is also a little village at hampton court, as well as the palace, but one never pays much attention to it, except when one begins to get hungry, for it is mostly made up of little shops, that hang out signs on which is the one word, “ teas,” which means one can get there their afternoon tea. our little party made straight for the big iron gates which lead into the entrance court. on one side are barracks where soldiers live, and before them rises the red brick lodge or gateway through which is the main entrance to the palace itself. i fancy one often thinks of a palace as a great, tall, imposing building of many stories. well, most palaces do cover a great deal of ground, but many of the english ones are not so very tall. this palace is only two stories high, with a sort of attic at the top. another strange thing about these old-time palaces is that most of the rooms are very small ac- a day at hampton court i cording to our modern ideas, except for a few long rooms, called galleries. “ let us go through the two courtyards into the gardens and sit on a bench under one of those old yew-trees, and i will tell you chil- dren something of the story of the palace; then you will enjoy seeing it much more,” said miss green, as she led them into the lovely gardens where they could see the building to the best advantage. the children crowded around her as she began: “it was built several hundred years ago by the great cardinal wolsey who was minister or councillor to king henry viii. wolsey became a powerful favourite of the king, who loaded him with royal gifts. he became wealthy and proud, and built for himself many grand homes, until at last he founded this hampton court, which was to be the most splendid of them all. but the cardinal had become by this time such a power in the king— our little english cousin dom, and was so arrogant and wealthy that the king was jealous of him, fearing that the cardinal would become his rival. “to counteract this, the cardinal presented his palace at hampton court to the king, and so it became a royal palace. but this did not prevent the cardinal's downfall. “until a hundred or more years ago this palace was a favourite home of the royal family, but now it is only a show—place for holiday-makers.” “i don’t see how the king could have treated the poor cardinal badly after he gave him such a beautiful home,” remarked edith, as they entered the palace. “ah, well! perhaps he deserved it,” said miss green, as they went up the grand stair. way and through room after room filled with pictures, and some of the furniture of those old days. they could see the beds on which had slept a day at hampton court many royal persons. around this furniture were drawn ropes so no one could touch it or sit upon the chairs. the floors were highly waxed, and in every room was a guardian or sort of policeman, who closely watched visitors to see that nothing was disturbed. “well, they did have a great number of rooms,” said eleanor, after they had walked through many bedchambers, anterooms, and reception-rooms. “ yes,” answered miss green, “they were necessary not only for the royal family itself, but for the many people who were always attached to the court. ’ “here is the ‘throne-room,” she con- tinued, “where the king or queen sat in that gilt chair which stands on a dais or platform raised several steps above the floor.” above the chair was a velvet canopy surmounted by a gilt crown. usually the arms of england (the “ lion and the unicorn ”) were embroid~ our little english cousin ered in gold and coloured silks on the velvet background behind the throne. here the kings and queens held their audiences, and saw those who wished to present some petition or ask some royal favour. “ this is one of the most splendid old-time ‘ banqueting-halls ' in our country,” said miss green, as they came into the great chamber with a high roof of great carved wood beams and windows of coloured glass. around the walls were great stag heads, and over the entrance door was a gallery where the musi- cians played while guests ate dinner at the long tables. the guests sat on wooden benches or stools, while the persons of high rank occupied chairs at a table at the end of the hall, which was placed on a raised platform which separated them from those of inferior rank. “ can’t we see the big grape-vine now?" said edith, as they left the palace itself. a day at hampton court miss green led the way through the rose- garden, and past queen mary’s bower, a shady and favourite walk of one of the queens, so shut in by trees that it looked like a green tunnel. “there is the vine- house,” exclaimed clarence, as they came to a long, low, glass house which covered the huge vine, nearly two hundred years old, the largest single vine in the world. the trunk looked like that of a small tree, and its branches, hanging thick with bunches of grapes, covered the glass roof. at various times its home had to be added to, and still the vine has to be constantly pruned to keep it within bounds. “i should like to eat some of those grapes when they are ripe," said eleanor, looking up at the clusters over her head. “you would have to be one of the royal family to do that,” miss green smilingly said. “they are all kept for the king’s own use.” our little english cousin “well, are you young people ready for dinner? ” asked the governess, looking at her watch as they left the vine-house. “it is nearly one o’clock, so we had better have our dinner, and then we can spend the afternoon in the gardens and park.” “afterward we can go through the maze, eleanor," cried edith, as, holding each other by the hand, the little girls skipped through the garden paths. “yes, but dinner first, by all means,” said clarence, “and let us go to one of the places on the river, please, miss green, where we can watch the boats.” on the gallery of one of the inns that over- look the river they found a round table that would just accommodate their party. here they could enjoy a fine view of the palace and the river, and a substantial meal at the same time. “now for the ‘maze,’ ” cried the young a day at hampton court people, when they entered the gardens again. the “maze” is an elaborate labyrinth, whose pattern is laid out in high-clipped hedges of box-trees. one can lose themselves for some time amid its tangle of paths before it is pos- sible to reach the centre, and come back again to the starting-place. “by paying a penny i can watch your efforts,” said miss green, as she paid her penny to the guardian, and mounted a little platform which overlooks the tangle of paths. “i think i shall enjoy this more than rushing around through the hot sun,” she said, smiling down on her charges. finding the right path through the maze is one of the favourite amusements of the chil- dren when they visit hampton court, and our three young friends were soon rushing around, laughing in the wildest excitement. it took nearly an hour’s fun before they were able to reach the centre and get out again, our little english cousin clarence being rather crestfallen that the girls had beaten him out. “ oh, we are warm,” said edith, as they ran up to miss green, panting and fanning their faces with their hats. “ indeed you are. come, and we will rest and cool off in the park. the chestnut-trees look lovely with their spikes of white flowers.” under the great trees, groups of children were playing about, or having picnic lunches, or amusing themselves with the deer, which live in the park, and are so used to visitors that they are very tame, and will even eat out of one’s hand. “i should like to come here next sun- day; it will be ‘chestnut sunday,’ ” said clar- ence, as they threw themselves on the soft grass. “oh,” said edith, “that is always one of the first sundays in may.” “yes,” continued clarence, “the first sun- a day at hampton court day after the chestnut-trees come in full blossom." thousands of people come here from lon~ don and the surrounding country on that day, that they may drive through this long avenue that leads directly through the park to the palace and admire the display of blossoms on the great trees that line the avenue on both sides. clarence grew enthusiastic. “it’s a jolly sight, i can tell you, to see vehicles of all kinds, from bicycles and coster’s carts to big four-in-hand coaches and automobiles. there is such a jam on the avenue that they can only creep along; it’s like a big picnic.” “is it not nearly tea-time? we are so thirsty, miss green,” said eleanor, as the sun began to drop behind the trees. the little girls had amused themselves by making endless daisy chains, and decorating their hats with the “ may " as they call the hawthorn-bloom, while our little english cousin miss green read to them from a story- book. “yes, we must not be too late in getting home; we will stop at one of the little tea- shops near the boat-landing.” it was a neat little cottage which they se— lected, covered with vines, with a small flower- garden in front. the pleasant-faced hostess soon brought-in a big tea-tray covered with a dainty cloth on which was a big pot of tea, cut bread and butter, and delicious strawberries, such as only grow in england. “nearly as big as my fist,” declared clarence, but this was perhaps putting it rather strongly, though each one made a big mouthful as the young folk ate them, dipping them first into sugar. they sang songs as they rowed home, and the tunes were taken up by other boats fill] of young people out for the saturday half- holiday. “we have had such a lovely time; thank a day at hampton court you so much, miss green,” said the young whitworths as they parted at their gate. “it has been a nice day, and we will have some others, too, when adelaide comes, won't we e ” said edith. chapter iii. a drive 'ro richmond and new gardens adelaide stamford was edith’s first cousin and lived in london. she was not as strong as edith, and during the winter her mamma had taken her to brighton, which is the great winter seaside resort. although it is also a very fashionable place, many invalids go there to enjoy the warm sunshine. adelaide was taken up and down the fine promenade in a bath chair, which is a kind of big baby-carriage which a man pulls, or pushes along. she also sat in the glass “ shelters ” along the sea front, which keep off the wind nicely, and are like small glass houses. adelaide had become much stronger, but the smoky london fog had again made her a drive to richmond rather pale and thin, and so she was coming to spend a few weeks with the howards, to see if surrey air would not be beneficial. she was edith’s favourite cousin, and the little girls were nearly of the same age. edith looked forward to having her share her lessons, and planned many pleasant drives together in their neighbourhood, which is one of the most beautiful and interesting in england. “ my clear, we must not only have roses in our garden, we must get some into your cheeks," said colonel howard, as he lifted a little pale-faced girl with dark hair and eyes out of the dog-cart which had brought her from the station. “she must stay out-of-doors as much as possible, and on the river, and edith will take her on some of her favourite drives, and we will soon have her looking as plump as our little girl,” said her aunt as she kissed her. mrs. howard then took adelaide up to our little english cousin edith's room, where another bed had been put up for her. “kate will arrange your things in their proper places,” said mrs. howard, as the neat- capped maid came to take her coat and hat. “i must leave you now, we are very busy. edith has probably told you that the ‘ sunday- school treat’ is to be held on our lawn this afternoon, so, when you have rested, come into the garden and help us amuse the little ones.” “a treat” in other words is a picnic, and often only an afternoon picnic, as in this case. the children of the neighbourhood had early gathered in the churchyard, and were mar— shalled by the vicar and their teachers into a procession. marching two by two, they came down the street, and through the big gates of the manor, where they quickly spread themselves in merry groups over the lawns. soon everybody was a drive to richmond in full swing for a good time; games were started, and clarence with some of the older boys put up a cricket-pitch in one corner of the grounds. the croquet lawn was also well patronized. colonel howard had generously arranged for a small steam—launch to take the children for short trips up the river and back again; this was perhaps more popular than anything else. meanwhile mrs. howard and mrs. whit- worth superintended the setting of the tables on the grass under gay red and white awnings. the summons to tea was welcome, and the children joyfully gathered around the well- filled tables. there were huge plates of sand- wiches, cakes, buns, jam, and big strawberries. all the good things melted away so quickly that it kept the older folks running to bring more, while nobody stopped to count the cups of tea that each one stowed away. our little english cousin there was a little lull after this, while they listened to a band of music placed under the trees. adelaide greatly enjoyed it; it was more of a novelty to her than her cousin, and she was much interested in helping feed the swans, who had evidently got wind of the entertainment and knew that their chances for food were good. a number of these graceful birds had gathered along the river bank, and the children were stuffing them with pieces of buns. there was one greedy old swan that amused them very much ; he was always trying to peck the more timid ones away and gobble up everything himself, just like some greedy children we all have seen. the twilight was closing in when the last band of young people left, singing songs, and waving their hats and handkerchiefs; all of them very grateful for the happy time they had enjoyed so much. a drive to richmond “ miss green says if we are very good she will take us for a drive in the governess—cart to richmond and kew gardens this after- noon,” edith confidentially whispered to adelaide, as they went up to the schoolroom the next day. lessons were learned as by magic that morning, and tony and the cart were at the door early in the afternoon. tony was one of the dearest of ponies, and was almost as much of a playmate with the children as towser. “ look at tony as we get in, adelaide; he has the fiinniest little way of looking around at you.” sure enough, tony was peering around at them as much as to say, “i’m watching you; aren’t you almost ready to start?” they halted a moment at the vicarage to arrange that eleanor and clarence should meet them at the bird-pond in kew gardens. soon they were driving through the beautiful our little english cousin richmond park. miss green pointed out white lodge, one of the many royal resi- dences; a rather small, plain, white house in the centre of the park. “ it was here,” she continued, “that young prince edward, the eldest son of the prince of wales, who will some day be king of england, was born. his birthday was celebrated by a great dinner which was given by the late queen victoria to all the children of richmond. tables were set under the trees in the old park, at which hundreds of children feasted, and speeches were made in honour of the young prince. afterward each child was given a mug, on which was a picture of the queen and the date, which they could always keep as a souvenir, or remembrance, of the day.” “oh, yes, miss green,” said edith, “ you remember that betty’s little sister has one of the mugs, and betty once showed it to me.” “look at the deer, adelaide,” said edith, a drive to richmond as she caught her cousin by the hand. “ see, they want to cross the road, and are waiting for us to go past.” sure enough, there stood, watching the cart, a great herd of these grace- ful creatures, very erect, with their dainty heads crowned with big, branching horns. they were evidently undecided whether or not they had time enough to cross the road before the cart would reach them; then one made up his mind and darted across, another followed, and then the entire herd swept swiftly by, then turned again to look at the cart, as much as to say, “ well, we did it.” “ here is the famous view from richmond hill, known all over the world,” said miss green, as she pulled up tony for a few min- utes, that the girls might admire the winding river thames, far below them, lying like a silver ribbon between green meadows and wooded hills. “authors and artists alike have helped to make this view celebrated," our little english cousin said miss green, “and that big building on the left is the famous ‘ star and garter’ hotel. it used to be the fashion to drive down from london and lunch on its terrace, from which one gets a most beautiful view down the thames valley.” edith was trying to point out to adelaide the tower of windsor castle, where the king and the royal f amily live when they are not in london. “we will go over there some day while you are with us, adelaide.” “miss green,” continued edith, as the pony trotted down the long, narrow street into the town, “won’t you please stop at the ‘maid of honor’ shop, so we can buy some cakes?” “i can never get edith past this place,” laughed miss green, as she pulled up in front of an old-fashioned shop, painted green, with a big sign over the front: “the original maid or honor. shop.” a drive to richmond while the little girls make their purchases you might like to hear the story of these famous cakes. it is said they were first made for king henry viii., by one of the maids of honor at his court, and this is why they are called “ maid of honor” cakes. a maid of hanor is not really a maid or a servant, but a lady who attends upon the queen —a companion. well, the king thought the cakes tasted so good that many more were made for him, and the recipe was kept safely guarded in a fine chest with a gold lock and key; but somehow it became known, and was handed down until it became the property of the present owner of the shop, who claims that his cakes are still made by the same recipe as those eaten by king henry hundreds of years ago. by this time the little girls were driving past the “green.” every town and village in england has an open grass plot which is either our little english cousin called the “ green ” or the “ common,” which means that it is common property, and it is here that the young people play games. “there is all that is left of richmond palace,” said miss green, pointing to an ancient gateway with a part of a dwelling attached. “once it was a favourite residence of the great queen elizabeth. “ many great men lived during the reign of ‘good queen bess,’ as she was called, but you must not forget the greatest of them all — shakespeare.” “ oh, yes,” said edith, “ papa and mamma are going this summer to visit the village where he lived, and they have promised to take me. what is the name of the place, miss green? i have forgotten it.” “stratford-on-avon, and you must never forget the name of the town where lived the greatest english poet, my dear,” replied miss green. a drive to richmond “did not a great many kings and queens live in richmond, besides queen elizabeth?” asked adelaide. “yes, it was a favourite home of royalty, and that is why it was called ‘ royal richmond,’ and the town has always been proud of the numbers of great people who have lived here, poets and writers and painters as well as kings and queens. “i will have the cart put up at one of the little inns near the big gates,” said miss green, as they drove up to the entrance to kew gardens. soon our party were strolling over the soft grass and among the lovely flower-beds, for here people can walk and play over the grass as they like, for there are no horrid “ keep off the grass ” signs.. if you want to know what any plant or tree in the whole world looks like, you have only to come here and you will find a specimen of our little english cousin it, either growing out in the open, or in the museum, which makes these gardens of great value. they were begun first by a certain king george, whose palace is still standing in one corner of the gardens, and who after- ward made it a present to the nation. our party made straight for the pond where they were to meet their little friends. “there they are now,” cried edith, “and clarence is feeding that funny old bird that follows everybody around.” “i have given this old fellow two buns already, and he is still begging for more,” said clarence, as the two little girls ran up. it is a great treat for the children to watch the queer water-birds from all parts of the world whose homes are in and around this pond. on saturday afternoons especially, numbers of young people of all ages gather there at the hour when the birds are fed. the birds are a drive to richmond petted and fed so much that they are very tame, and the gray gull that clarence was talking about, follows every one about begging like a kitten or a dog. there are ducks of all kinds, and all colours, that scoot over the water, swallowing the unwary flies and water- bugs who stray in their path, and dive for the bits of cake and bread which are thrown to them by the children. there are beautiful red flamingos, and storks that stand on one leg with their heads under one wing, and all kinds of queer birds with long, stick-like legs. but the funniest of all are the big white pelicans. “ do look at them,” cried adelaide, “ they know their dinner is coming.” the five pelicans had been huddled up in a bunch in one corner, with their eyes tight shut, one might think fast asleep. just then the keeper came down to the water’s edge with a big basket of fish. such a flapping of wings! the pel— our little english cousin icans were instantly wide-awake, and, rushing forward, crowded about the keeper, opening their enormously long beaks, to which is attached a kind of natural sack or bag which they use for holding their food until they can better masticate it. as each one’s share of the fish was tossed into its big mouth, it disappeared like light- ning. meanwhile, all the other birds, big and little, had rushed up demanding their share. such “ quacks ” and “ gowks " and “ squeaks ” ! you never heard such a funny lot of voices. the greedy old gull hopped right under the keeper’s feet, until he got the biggest fish of all, and dragged it off into a corner all by himself. our young people watched the birds for some time, then went through some of the big greenhouses full of palms, and all sorts of tropical plants, and finally drove back home through the quaint little village of kew. a drive to richmond “in this churchyard is buried one of our most famous painters,” said miss green, as they passed the quaint church which stands on one side of the kew green,—“ gainsborough, who was especially fond of painting portraits of beautiful women. but we must not stop longer, as it is growing late,” she continued, so touching up tony, they went along all in high spirits, though adelaide confessed she did feel a bit tired, and both the little girls were quite ready for their tea when they reached the manor. chapter iv. with tom at windsor castle and eton “when do we start, papa, and which way are we to go, and are we to see tom first, or the castle?” asked edith, all in one breath, as soon as she had kissed her mamma and papa good morning in the breakfast-room. “oh, you little fidget!” said colonel howard, good—naturedly, “sit down and eat your breakfast and we will try and answer one question at a time. now, which would you rather see first, tom or the castle?” “tom, of course,” cried edith, without hesitation, for she and her brother were great chums, though she was only a little girl, while in her eyes, as well as in his own, master tom was quite a man. at windsor castle and eton “well, then, tom first, and we will take him to the castle with us. though he has been there before, he will enjoy the day with us. “we will drive along the river road, for that is the prettiest way, though the longest, and we will start as soon as mamma is ready. now, miss, all of your questions are satis- factorily answered, and it only remains for you children not to keep us waiting.” there was no danger of that. the young people were in the carriage before colonel and mrs. howard came down-stairs, and soon they were bowling along the shady road, the hawthorn hedges on either side per-fuming the air with their white blossoms. they passed through several quaint little riverside villages with queer little inns, where those who want to fish or boat on the river go for a lunch or tea, which they can enjoy on a gallery, or in a garden overlooking the water. “there’s windsor castle,” cried edith. our little english cousin “i knew it from the pictures; it is a real story-book castle.” and, sure enough, high up over the trees rose the great gray towers and walls at whose very base flowed the thames. “there is one of the most historic spots on our river,” said colonel howard, pointing to a small island covered with trees. “it does not look very important, but tradition says a great event took place there. way back in the early history of our country the kings had such absolute power that they could do almost anything they liked, and if they were not good men this led them to oppress their subjects and take away their liberties. so the great barons of the country forced king john to give them their ‘charter,’ on this little island, called runnymede. all this is difficult for you little girls to understand, but some day you will read more about it in your history.” at windsor castle and eton “you can see, edith, over those meadows yonder, where tom lives. that is eton, and this is one of the prettiest views of the college,” said mrs. howard. in a few minutes they were among the old buildings of the most famous of boys’ schools, and found tom ready for them, full of en- thusiasm at the prospect of a day off in com- pany with his family. the howard family was a very devoted one, and no wonder they were proud of tom. he was a fine, healthy, rosy-checked boy with frank, blue eyes and short-clipped brown hair.‘ he had on a suit like that worn by all the eton boys, which has now become the proper dress for english boys of certain ages, espe- cially schoolboys. it consists of long gray trousers and a short black jacket, coming just to the waist, known as the “eton jacket”; over this is a broad white collar, and they wear with this costume a high silk hat, just our little english cousin like the one your papa wears, except of course it is smaller. “i wrote to you that i was in the ‘eights’ that is to row at henley, papa; well, we are working hard to beat them. by jove! we have got a strict coach; he is keeping the fellows up to the mark,” and tom talked on with enthusiasm about the boat-races at hen- ley-on-thames, at which their crew of eight was to compete for one of the prizes known as “the ladies’ plate.” as he talked, he led them through the colleges and into the chapel, pointing out everything to the little girls with a lofty air of proprietorship which greatly impressed them with his importance, and when he showed them the “playing fields ” where cricket was going on, and spoke in an off- ,, hand manner of “our men, the little girls looked at him' with great awe and admiration. it was all new to edith and adelaide, so at windsor castle and eton tom took them through some of the old class-rooms, where many celebrated men had learned their lessons. the rough, wooden benches and desks had been hacked and cut up by the knives of schoolboys for many hundred years. it used to be the fashion for the boys to cut their names somewhere on the oak- panelled walls of their schoolrooms, and many names that have since become famous can be seen there to-day. the boys liked to do it all the more, because it was forbidden, but gradu- ally it became the custom, and the proper thing to do. after tom had duly impressed the glories of his school upon his sister and cousin, the whole party set out for windsor castle, just across the river from eton. in a few minutes they were climbing the hill on which the castle stands, and the car- riage stopped at the big entrance gate, on either side of which stands a sentry in a bright red our little english cousin coat and a great bearskin helmet on his head. “now, my dears, you are really inside the ! king's home,’ said colonel howard, as with some other visitors they followed the guide through the handsome rooms, with their ele- gant furniture and valuable pictures. from the windows was a fine view extending many miles over the great park which surrounds the castle. “ on certain days of the week," said colonel howard, “a band plays on the terrace below, and then the grounds and\ terrace are free to all who wish to come, while the royal family often sit at these windows and enjoy the music.” they also visited the beautiful chapel, where the king and his family attend service when they are at the castle. soon our party came to meet the carriage again outside the great gateway. “drive to the we! “n a v.“ .- irr- ~ ,‘ . windsor castle at windsor castle and eton ‘white swan,’ john,” said colonel howard, “we are going to lunch there.” “that’s good,” said tom. “it’s a jolly nice place; they will give us a good dinner. look, papa,” he continued, excitedly, “ there is prince eddie and his brother in that carriage coming toward us. i knew they were staying at ‘ frogmore house.”’ the two boy princes, manly-looking young boys, dressed in sailor suits, were chattering gaily with their tutor, 'who accompanied them, and smilingly returned the bows of colonel howard’s party as they passed. they are the two oldest sons of the prince of wales; they are fine-looking little fellows, and enjoy nothing better than their home life in the country, cycling around windsor park, or fishing and boating on the river. our little party enjoyed a bountiful dinner in the cool dining-room of the “white swan inn,” with its dark, oak—panelled walls, and at windsor castle and eton and were seated in the garden of the inn, from tom, who was eager to show his skill in handling the oars. “i am sure your mother and i prefer to rest awhile; we are not so keen for exertion just after dinner,” said colonel howard, “ but you can take the two girls, only don’t go too far, for we have a long ride before us.” so the young people enjoyed a half-hour’s row; then tom was driven back to his school, all promising to meet again at henley. it was the cool of the evening when john drove through the manor gates, and needless to say our two little girls slept that night like tops. somehow this toy has the reputation of being a very sound sleeper. can somebody explain why? chapter v. london--hyde park and wistminster abbey adelaide’s visit to oldham manor was at an end, and edith was to return with her to spend a week in london. you can imagine how excited she was at the thought of all she would see in the great city. adelaide was so much improved by her stay in the country that she seemed quite another little girl who waved good-bye to her good uncle ~ and aunt as the train pulled out of the little railway station. miss green was to see them safely to the end of their journey and return again the same day. “ does not london look smoky and dark? ” london exclaimed edith, as their cab took them swiftly through the crowded streets. “and this, too, is a very fair day for lon- don,” said miss green, “ but here we are in langham gardens,” as the cab turned into a square with a small park,or garden, in the centre, around which were substantial houses. much of london is built around such little squares. soon the cab stopped before a comfortable brick house of four stories with white stone trimmings. in front of each window was what is called a window-garden, an ornamental box full of bright flowering plants. all the better class london dwellings have these window-gardens, which do so much toward brightening up the gloomy rows of houses. the front door was a rich green in colour and in the centre was a big brass knocker. a few hard raps brought the maid, and adelaide was soon in her mother’s arms, who was greatly pleased at seeing her looking so well. our little english cousin “ take edith to your room, my dear,” said mrs. stamford, “ and do not be long, for lunch will soon be ready.” adelaide’s room was a very nice one, but one could not see the flowers and river from its windows, as from edith’s in surrey. they looked over endless roof-tops and smoking chimneys. opening out of it was a sort of play-room and schoolroom combined. here adelaide had her lessons with her teacher, who came every day for that purpose. “oh, fluff, lazy fellow, there you are,” cried adelaide, as a beautiful white persian cat slowly uncurled himself from the depths of an armchair and came toward them with great deliberation, like the aristocratic pussy that he was. he knew his own value, and had evi- dently made up his mind that he would not show his little mistress how delighted he was to get her back again, for fear of compromising his dignity. london “ is not he a beauty, edith? ” said adelaide, stroking his long, silky, white fur. f luff, hav— ing at last given in, mounted to her shoulder, and settled there with a soft murmur of purrs. “ he comes of a fine family, i can tell you, and at the last royal cat show, at the crystal palace, he took a gold medal; there it is hang— ing up in the cabinet.- there is no use trying to keep it tied on fluff, he only tries to lick it off all the time; besides, it would spoil his beautiful ruff.” the two little girls had lunch with mrs. stamford, for adelaide had all her meals in the big dining—room, except tea, which she had with her teacher, miss winton, in the schoolroom. mrs. stamford was a widow and adelaide her only child, so she and her mother were much together and were real companions to each other. “ how would you and edith like to go with me to hyde park this afternoon? ” asked our little english cousin mrs. stamford. “the king is to open the new royal hospital, and as the procession passes through the park you will be able to see it well.” “how splendid! we will really see the king and queen, aunty? do let’s go,” and edith jumped up and down in her chair with excitement. “ be ready, then, so that we can leave directly after lunch, for he is to pass albert gate at three o’clock, and we must be early to get a place.” the park looked gayer than usual this after- noon, with plenty of well-dressed people in fine carriages drawn by well—groomed horses and driven by pompous coachmen; some of the handsomest carriages had coachmen and footmen in bright-coloured liveries and pow— dered wigs. a carriage like this you may be sure held some grand person. all along the edge of the drives were rows of chairs; toward london these mrs. stamford made her way and selected three in the front row. presently one of the men who have the seats in charge came up, and mrs. stamford paid him a penny for the use of each seat. the crowd grew more dense and the big policemen were now keeping the driveway clear. edith had noticed in the two chairs next to her a little girl, apparently but little older than herself, and a boy evidently younger. they had been talking eagerly together, and edith could tell that everything was new and strange to them. presently the little girl, who had been glanc- ing at edith, leaned over and said, eagerly: “they will soon be here, won’t they? i so much want to see a real live king and queen. you know we don’t have kings and queens in our country. we are americans. my mamma’s name is mrs. white and i am carrie white our little english cousin and henry is my youngest brother. i have two brothers at home in new york older than myself, and we are staying at the hotel cecil." the little girl poured out-her information rapidly, before edith had time to say a word. “ we have a ‘ president’ in our country ; he drives around in processions, too, but he does not wear a crown like your king," chimed in the little boy. “i wish he was going to have it on to-day, but i suppose he only puts it on for grand occasions.” “ yes,” said adelaide, joining in the conver- sation, “ he wears it when he goes to open parlia- ment. i saw that procession once. it was a fine sight, better than this will be, because he and the queen rode in the great gilded coach that cost ever so much money. they both had on their crowns and rich red robes trimmed with ermine, and they smiled and bowed as they drove along. the coach was drawn by london eight beautiful cream-coloured horses with harness of red and gold, and each horse was led by a groom dressed in a red uniform with a powdered wig and black velvet cap. behind were two footmen, also in red and gold, and on either side of the carriage walked the ‘beefeaters,’ as the yeomen of the guard are called.” “oh, those are the men who take care of the crown jewels in the tower of london. we saw them,” broke in the little boy. “yes,” hurriedly went on adelaide, “and before the coach rode a detachment of the royal horse guards. oh, they are splendid! and behind rode some more horse guards; then followed lots of carriages.” mrs. stamford had been listening to the children with some amusement. “are you alone, my dears?” she finally asked the little american girl. “ oh, yes, henry and i came all by ourselves our little english cousin from the hotel. poor mamma had such a bad headache she could not come, but she did not want us to be disappointed, so she got the hotel porter to put us on the right ’bus, and he told the conductor where to let us off, and all we have got to do when we want to go back is to ask the big policeman at the gate to put us on the same ’bus again.” “ oh,” gasped edith in amazement, “ aren’t you afraid ? ” she could not imagine adelaide and herself crossing several miles of the busiest part of london without mrs. stamford, the governess, or a maid accompanying them. “why, no, of course not,” laughed henry. “ it i: rather hard to find the right ’bus, because they have got so many names all over them, but a policeman will always set you right; they are right good fellows, your policemen; they take a lot of trouble for one.” “ here they come,” some one called out, as london cheering was heard, and the children jumped up on their chairs. first came a number of mounted policemen, and then many carriages containing great people, and members of the royal family. then the royal horse guards, the finest regiment of soldiers in the kingdom, whose duty is always to escort the king. they did make a fine showing in their white trousers and red coats, their glittering breastplates and helmets, swords clanking by their sides, and sitting so straight on their black horses. “they are fine,” said henry. “i wish billy could see them.” “ hush, here is the king,” said adelaide. an open carriage passed swiftly. on the high box sat the coachman and footman in the royal liveries of a bright red, powdered wigs on their heads, and on the lapel of the coachman’s coat was a huge rosette. at the back of the car- riage stood two footmen, also in the red livery. our little english cousin king edward vii. was dressed in a field- marshal’s uniform, and kept his hand in salute a greater part of the time. queen alexandra was seated on his right, and looked very sweet and pretty in a violet- coloured dress and hat to match. she carried in her hand a big bouquet of flowers. in a moment they had passed, followed by more soldiers. the children had waved their hand- kerchiefs, and henry and carrie cheered with the rest. “ we are going in your direction, and i will see you safely on your ’bus, or perhaps you had better take a cab,” said adelaide’s mother, to their new friends, as they walked to the big gateway of the park. “ thank you, ma’am,” said the little ameri- can children, “ but we would rather go on top of the ’bus; it is more fun, and we can see more.” “ good-bye,” the young americans shouted, london as they climbed on their ’bus. “you must come and see us when you come to new york,” called out carrie, as with smiles and waving hands the clumsy ’bus rolled them away. “what would you like to show edith to- day?” asked mrs. stamford of her little daugh— ter, as they sat at the breakfast-table the next morning. “you will have a holiday from your lessons while edith is here, so miss winton will go with you to-day.” “of course she must see westminster abbey, and the tower of london, and ma- dame tussaud’s, and the zoo,” said adelaide, in one breath. “ not all in one day,” laughed her mother. “suppose you go to the abbey this morning and drive with me this afternoon to kensing- ton palace. then see the tower to-morrow.” the girls were soon ready. “ let us walk, miss winton,” said adelaide, as they crossed our little english cousin the gardens into the busy street. “there is so much we can show edith on the way to the abbey. see, edith, there is buckingham palace, where the king lives when he is in london.” it did not look as handsome as one imagines a palace ought to look; it seemed rather dark and gloomy, though it was a big building. “ you can tell that the king is there because the royal standard is flying over the roof,” explained adelaide. “ that is the royal family’s own flag. it is made of the three coat-of-arms of the three kingdoms which compose great britain,—the three golden lions of england, the one rampant red lion of scotland, and-the gold harp of ireland. it is different, you will see, from the ordinary flag of england, called the ‘union jack,’ and more elaborate and beautiful,” said miss winton. “the design of the ‘ union jack’ is made of the three crosses of the three london ancient patron saints of great britain,—st. george of england, st. andrew of scotland, and st. patrick of ireland.” they crossed st. james’s park, which is in front of the palace, and a few minutes’ walk brought them to the beautiful church of west- minster abbey, which is the pride of every englishman. here, in front of the great altar, the eng- lish kings and queens have been crowned, and many of them lie buried in the chapels which surround the choir. edith saw the coronation chair, which is very old, and on which the sovereigns sit when the crown is placed on their heads by the archbishop of canterbury. many monuments of good and great people, as well as of kings and queens, fill the abbey to overflowing; for englishmen consider it a great honour to be buried under the stone floor of the 'abbey. our little english cousin but perhaps the most interesting part is what is called the “ poets’ corner,” where most of the great english poets are either buried, or have monuments erected to their memory. our little american cousins will see there a marble bust of their poet longfellow, erected by admirers of his in england. “do you see that stone in the floor with the flowers on it?” said miss winton; “ that is the grave of the great author, charles dickens, who wrote the touching story i read to you, adelaide, of ‘ little nell’ and her grandfather, called ‘the old curiosity shop] “ ‘ the old curiosity shop ’ itself is still to be seen, which is the same house, it is claimed, that dickens took for the imaginary home of ‘ little nell,’ and where she took such good care of her grandfather.” as they left the abbey, miss winton london pointed out to edith the great houses of parliament, where the laws of the kingdom are made. “let us stop, miss winton, and have a glass of milk from the cows as we go through the park,” said adelaide, as they walked on. “do they have cows in london?” asked edith. “ well, it does not seem likely, does it,” smiled miss winton, “but these cows have very old rights to be in st. james’s park, not so very far from the royal palace, which you saw this morning. many years ago, before london became the biggest city in the world, as it now is, with its millions of people, there used to be a big ‘ milk fair’ at this end of the park. here were brought many cows, and their milk was sold to the good people or london. now all that remains of this ‘ milk fair’ are the two cows you see yonder, teth- our little english cousin ered under the trees eating grass as com- posedly as if they were out on a country farm. “the cows do not know how nearly they came to losing their comfortable quarters lately; for a new street is being put through to connect the park with trafalgar square, and those in charge of the work decided the poor cows were in the way and must go. this nearly broke the hearts of the two old sisters, who own the cows, and sell the milk. so they petitioned king edward that they and their cows might remain undisturbed. the king kindly gave them permission, only they will have to move a few hundred yards away from their present place so as not to interfere with the new street.” under a wooden shelter the children found the two old ladies filling glasses with milk for _ the boys and girls who are now about the only patrons of the “milk fair." perhaps the london sweetmeats and cakes that are also to be bought there attract them as well. “now, we must hurry home,” said miss winton, “ or we shall be late for lunch.” after lunch mrs. stamford drove with the little girls to kensington palace. this is another palace belonging to the king. you see royalty had plenty of homes scattered around, so when they got tired of one they could move into another. this palace is principally ofinterest because it was the first home of queen victoria. but what the children like to see are the toys she played with during her childhood in the old palace. they are all kept in the queen’s old nursery. edith and adelaide looked at them with a hushed reverence, though they were plain, simple little things,—some dolls and dolls’ house furniture, not half so fine as the toys they had themselves at home, for the queen had been brought up very simply. chapter vi. the tower of london “ let’s go to the tower on top of a ’bus,” clamoured the little girls, and it did not take long for them to scramble up on to the first one that came along. “it is so nice and wobbly,” they declared, “and the people in the streets seem so far below.” if one gets a seat just back of the driver, who is generally a jovial good fellow, he will tell you a lot about london, as he drives along, for these drivers are a sociable class of men. it is wonderful to see them guiding the big clumsy ’buses through the mass of people and vehicles of all kinds—costers’ carts, automobiles, big lumbering wagons, and hansom cabs flitting about like busy flies. as often as not you ! the tower of london will see a wagon, with a big load of hay, nearly blocking up the street, and next to it a stylish ~ carriage with footmen in livery. oh, you can see almost anything in the london streets. but the picturesque old omnibuses are soon to disappear, and automobile ’buses are to take their places. i must tell you what a coster is. costers are people who go to the great london market, called covent garden, and buy cheap vegeta— bles and fruits and flowers, and sell them in the poorer parts of the city. the coster men dress in velveteen suits trimmed with rows and rows of pearl buttons, which they call “pearlies.” they are very proud of these costumes. the women wear bright, gaudily coloured dresses, and very big hats, covered with feathers. they hawk their wares about in barrows or little carts, drawn by such a tiny donkey (a “ moke ” as the costers call it), that you wonder how he is able to pull awhole family of costers the tower of london “ are not the ‘ beefeaters ’ splendid ? ” said adelaide, as they passed through the old gateway into the tower of london. “there is the one, miss winton, who talked with mamma and me the last time we were here. i believe he remembers me and is coming this way. he had a tame raven which he showed us. see, edith, there are a number of ravens flying about; they make their home among the old buildings, and the keepers feed them.” “good morning, miss,” said the old man, as he came up. “i am very pleased to see you again,” and he bowed politely to the little girls. he was indeed as fine as a picture. the “yeomen of the guard ” hold a very exclu- sive and enviable position. they attend the king on all grand occasions. their dress is in the same style as that worn in the time of king henry viii.: all of' bright red, trimmed heavily with gold braid, a big white our little english cousin ruff around their necks, and a lovely black velvet hat. they carry a halberd, or sort of lance with a sharp blade at the end. this is the dress for grand occasions. their every- day costume is in the same style, but is not quite so fine. “ how is the raven?” asked adelaide. “ my cousin would so much like to see him.” “there he is now. come here, ‘ blackie,”’ and he whistled to the solemn bird that came hopping over the grass. “ does he not look wise, edith? and he can do all sorts of tricks.” the bird flew on to his master’s cap, and peered down over the rim of it at him, as much as to say “bo-peep,” and then leaned over and took a bit of sugar out of the old man’s mouth. after watching other antics our little friends bade the “beefeater” and his pet good-bye and continued their walk around the tower, which is really much more “after watching other antics our little friends bade the ‘ beefeater’ and his pet good-bye ” the tower of london than a single tower. it is a big group of buildings, with a square tower in the middle, a high wall around it all, and a deep moat which was once filled with water. the “tower” is very, very old; it was used for a prison, and whenever anybody did some- thing the king did not like, he was put on a boat and rowed down to the tower and locked up in one of the dungeons, and often many prisoners had their heads chopped off, and some of these were high-born ladies, too ! “i am glad i did not live in those days, when they could cut off people’s heads,” said edith, who shuddered as she looked at the block of wood on which a poor queen’s head was once cut olf. “ yes, the tower is full of dark memories,” said miss winton. “you know the sad story of the two little boy princes who lived in this gloomy tower, and how they were supposed to have been put to death by their cruel uncle, our little english cousin who was king richard i ii., and wanted them out of his way. “long afterward, in repairing one of the walls, the workmen found buried in a hole in the wall the bones of two small children, which were supposed to be those of the poor little princes, which had been hidden there after their untimely death. many dreadful things were done in those old days which could never happen now.” “now let us see something bright,” said miss winton, “ and leave these gloomy things behind.” “i know what you mean; now is the time for the ‘ crown jewels,’ ” cried adelaide. our two little friends quickly ran up the winding stone stairs of a small round tower where the crown jewels are always kept when the king and queen are not wearing them. edith was dazzled by the glittering things chapter vii.‘ madame tussaud’s and the zoo “ mamma is going herself with us to—day," said adelaide, as the two cousins went down- stairs to the breakfast-room, with their arms around each other. walking down a stairway in this manner is not easy, for one must keep step, but after much laughter they got there, and sat down to their toast and eggs and jam with a good appetite. “ what are we going to see to-day, aunty ?” asked edith, holding fluff while adelaide put down his saucer of milk, for his highness had a way of trying to lift it down himself with his paws, to the detriment of the rug. “suppose we make a day of it, that is, if you young people are not tired,” and mrs. madame tussaud’s and the zoo stamford smiled as the little girls broke in with a chorus of “ n , indeeds.” “then we will go to madame tussaud’s this morning, and from there to the ‘zoo,’ and have lunch in the gardens.” , “ oh, lovely! lovely . said the little girls, and, giving mrs. stamford a kiss, they ran up- stairs to get ready so that no time should be lost in getting off. perhaps you don’t know that madame tussaud’s and the “ zoo ” are the two attrac- tions that english children most enjoy seeing. madame tussaud’s wax-works are famous the world over, and though there are other wax—works in various cities, such as the eden musée in new york, which have been mod- elled on this one in london, madame tus- saud’s will always linger in one’s mind as the greatest show of its kind. “they look like real people,” said edith, as they walked through the big room with our little english cousin hundreds of wax figures in all kinds of cos- tumes. there were kings and queens and great people of a bygone time in rich court costumes, as well as great and notorious people of the present day. though adelaide had visited it many times, she was just as much interested as edith, who was seeing it for the first time. but when they came to the “chamber of horrors ” one look was enough for poor edith, and mrs. stamford had to take her out, pale and trembling. its realistic horrors were too much for her, and her aunt and cousin were quite worried, but in a minute she had recovered and laughed at herself for her fright. after this mrs. stamford declared that they must look at nothing more than the travelling carriage of the great napoleon. _ it was in this carriage that the great general drove to the battle of waterloo, where he met his defeat. it was like a small house on wheels, and mrs. madame tussaud’s and the zoo stamford pointed out how a desk was built in one corner and how a small table could be let down for the emperor to eat from. there was a bookcase with his favourite books, and the seats were so arranged that they could be used for a bed. of course it is much heavier and bigger than a carriage of to-day, but what did that matter with four horses to pull it? the “zoo” is the playground of london children, and in the afternoons, and on satur- day half-holidays, hundreds of children go there to see the animals and have tea under the trees. - “ we will have lunch first,” said mrs. stam— ford, as they left their carriage at the gate and walked through the beautifiilly kept grounds. “ there is a table in a shady nook under the trees where lunches and teas are served.” “oh, what is that?” said edith, and she gave a scream as something cold and slippery tame creeping over her shoulder. madame tussaud’s and the zoo their feeding-time; it is great fun to see them eat,” said adelaide. so she led her cousin into the house where the big lions and long sleek tigers were stalking about their cages. there was a general com- motion among the animals, for they knew that it was dinner-time. “there is the black panther. isn’t he a beauty? i believe he is the only one in cap- tivity,” said mrs. stamford. “he looks like a big black pussy, and i would like to stroke his head,” said edith, as she admired the black beauty. “you would never want to do it again,” laughed adelaide. just then the keepers came in with heaped—up baskets of raw meat. such a noise, you never heard. edith caught hold of her aunt as if she feared they would break through their iron cages. after this they visited the birds and the our little english cousin monkeys, and lastly the house where the big snakes lived. oh, such snakes! “ they are fascinating, but creepy,” adelaide said, as they watched the big boa-constrictors, such as you read about in “ the swiss family robinson ” — yards and yards long, with wicked eyes. the general impression is that children never get tired, but after these young people had partaken of their evening meal in the school- room, they were quite ready for bed. the next day was sunday, and, after a little later breakfast than usual, the two cousins, looking fresh and pretty in their delicate frocks and dainty flower-trimmed straw hats, each carrying a prayer-book, were ready to accom— pany mrs. stamford to church. after church they strolled through the park, as is the sunday custom in london. “ church parade” it is called; where everybody meets everybody else. they promenade up and madame tussaud’s and the zoo down the walks or sit in the “ penny ” chairs. friends gossip together, and make engage- ments for the coming week. it might be called an out—of—door reception. mrs. stamford sat talking with some friends while adelaide and edith watched the young people, who were out in full force with their parents or nurse-maids. everybody was in their prettiest clothes, and looked bright and gay. “ mamma will have visitors this afternoon, so let us take a book into the gardens and read,” said adelaide. every family who has a house in one of these garden squares pays something toward keeping up the garden, which is kept locked, and only those who live in the square have keys and can enter. there are seats and shady walks and a grass plot for tennis and croquet; so it is quite like having your own garden. this was edith’s last day in london. mrs. our little english cousin howard was coming the next day, and edith was to return with her. “you must come again; you have only seen a little bit of london,” said mrs. stam- ford. “there is much more to show you yet.” “remember you are coming up for lord mayor’s day,” were adelaide’s last words, and with kisses edith parted from her aunt and cousin with reluctance. our little english cousin and live on it during the week, then one is on the spot all the time. a house—boat is really a small house that is built on a flat boat, so that it can be towed from place to place at its owner’s pleasure. there is a big room with perhaps two or more small bedrooms. at the back is a tiny kitchen and a larder or pantry. “ it’s just like dolls keeping house; isn’t it lovely, mamma? ” declared edith. “well, yes,” said mrs. howard, thought- fully, as she looked in at the tiny larder. “it is all very well for henley, but i believe i do prefer the manor.” colonel howard’s house-boat was very i pretty and attractive. “the jolliest on the , river, torn declared, and as tom was an important person on this occasion, his good opinion was valued by his family. over the roof, which was used for a general open-air sitting-room, was a brilliant red and henley week white awning, and around the edge of the roof or deck was a border ofa solid mass of flowers, splendid red geraniums and big white daisies, while hanging down from these was a fringe of green vines, all of which looked very pretty with the brass railings around the deck, and the bright woodwork of the boat itself, which was painted white with green venetian blinds at the windows. the deck was covered over with rugs, and there were plenty of wicker lounging chairs and cushions. meals were served sometimes on desk; sometimes in the big room below. all the house-boats here were decorated in some such way, and made a pretty picture, tied up to the shore on one side of the river—a long line of them. their occupants entertained their friends on board, and there was much visiting done from one to another. the course of one mile, along which the races are rowed, is “ staked off” by “ booms " our little english cousin or logs tied together. on either side of this course lay thousands of small boats as tightly packed together as could be, for naturally every one wanted to get as near the racing boats as possible. the ladies were all dressed in the loveliest of dresses of all colours, —'pale pinks, blues, and lavenders, as well as white, with sunshades to match. if it happens to be showery weather, dear me! many a pretty hat and dress is spoilt. but this was a “dry” henley, with brilliant sunshine, so edith was right when she _ said the river looked like a garden of flowers. the men looked very cool and comfortable in their white flannel suits and straw hats. along both river banks were big tents, which were used as club-houses by the various boat clubs who were rowing in the races, while thousands of spectators lined either side of the river. english people take a great interest in all kinds of sports, but they are specially fond henley week of boating, and they cheer the winning crews at henley with the greatest enthusiasm. this afternoon the race in which tom was to row was coming off, and the howard family was in a great flutter of excitement. the crew of tom’s boat were to take dinner afterward on their house-boat, and if they should prove the winners they would have an especiallyjolly feast. friends of the howards from oxford had the house-boat next to theirs — their eldest son was in one of the competing boats for the “ ladies’ plate,” and their two little boys, the nine-year-old twins, edgar and will, held great discussions with edith and adelaide over the merits of the two rival boat crews. the little girls’ loyalty to eton never wavered, while the “ twins," as they were always called, had a great contempt for any boat crew that did not have their brother george in it. the “ twins ” were particularly arrogant this afternoon, for the rumour had gained our little english cousin ground that george’s boat would prove the best. however, the cry, “ they have started,” put an end to all talk. it was one of the favourite races of the. week, and everybody was wild. on they came, the young fellows straining, and the oars glittering as they flew in and out of the water. at first eton was left behind, but they drew up little by little on their rivals. side by side the rival crews kept, nearly up to goal, when with a supreme effort eton gave a spurt for— ward, and won by half a boat’s length. such, cheers as went up! the etonians were the heroes for the rest of the day. you may imagine the joy of tom’s family, who were prouder of him than ever, and in the eyes of the little girls he had grown sev- eral inches taller. don’t you think it was very good of the girls when they went over after- ward to take tea with the “ twins ” that they did not crow over them a bit? chapter ix. summer holidays it was the midsummer holidays. “no more lessons,” said edith, as she danced around the schoolroom. soon, however, she rushed up to miss green. “ but i will miss yau, dear miss green. i wish you were going with us,” and the warm-hearted little girl threw her arms around her governess. miss green was also to take a holiday, and visit her old home in the fine old town of canterbury, which is one of the most historic places in england, best known for its splendid cathedral, one of the grandest of the many cathedrals of england. edith herself was going to spend a part of the summer holidays in warwickshire, one our little english cousin of the prettiest parts of england,—a lovely rolling country of fields, farms, thatch-roofed cottages, and great country houses. while there they were to visit stratford—on- avon, the home of the great poet shake- speare. edith caught the first glimpse of the old church with a tall steeple, where the great poet is buried, as she walked down the path by the river avon. there were visitors in the church, as there always are, for there is no spot in the world more visited than this. people come to this church from all over the world, and the american cousins think as much of it as the english themselves. edith stood looking at the worn stone in the floor before the altar. it was difficult to realize that under this lay the ashes of the great shake- speare. they were alone in the church now; the other visitors had gone, and colonel and mrs. “she walked down the path by the river avon ” summer holidays howard were resting in a pew, when edith’s childish voice broke the silence of the old church, as she slowly spelled out the strange inscription on the stone. " good fluid for jesus sake forbeare, to digg the dust encloased heare: blese be y° man yt spares thes stones, and curst be he y' moves my bones.” “ how funny some of the words are, papa,” she said. “yes, that is the old way of spelling, as it was in shakespeare’s time,” answered colonel howard. they then walked through the neat little market-town to shakespeare’s house. it had been repaired many times, but always to look as nearly like the original as possible. then they went to the famous old inn, the red lion, for their dinner, where the ameri- can author, washington irving, stayed, while our little english cousin- he wrote some of his charming stories about english country life. from stratford, our friends went to war- wick, which is most interesting, not only on account of the picturesque old town with its ancient houses, but because of its great castle as well. edith’s papa and mamma wanted her to see this castle, which is one of the finest places in england, and one of the few examples of an old feudal castle which is still occupied and kept as it was hundreds of years ago. “ is not this a lovely old room, mamma? ” said edith, as they sat at breakfast in the coffee-room, or dining—room, of the quaint inn at warwick at which they were staying. it was a pretty room, with walls of dark oak panels. around the room were hung many plates and dishes of fine and rare old english china. 'a big, high sideboard stood at one end, on which were many pieces of antique our little english cousin great gateway into warwick castle, and were taken, with some other visitors, through many of the fine old rooms, filled with magnificent furniture, and pictures, and armour, and all kinds of valuable and ancient things. they saw the great cedars of lebanon, which were brought from the holy land, and planted in the garden about or years ago. that’s a long time, isn’t it? the beautiful, rare, white peacocks were also to be seen strutting about the courtyard, spreading their great white tails to be admired. edith had much to tell her mamma while they were eating lunch. colonel howard also told his little daughter of other beautifizll houses he had visited, among them haddon ‘hall and welbeck abbey, which has a num- ber of the rooms built under ground. the owners of most of these great houses in eng- land allow visitors to go through the principal apartments on certain days in the week. summer holidays ioi edith’s papa and mamma had spent the preceding summer on the “ norfolk broads.” the “broads” are really lakes or rivers, nearly all connected, so they had taken a sail- boat and sailed from one to another, living meanwhile on their boat. this is a most enjoyable way of spending some weeks, and they had promised to go again some time and take edith. near the “ broads ” is a spot of interest to little american cousins,-—the town of boston which gave its name to the american city. there is a great contrast between the great bustling city of boston and this little old eng- lish town. there is a tower there that is called the “ boston stump,” why, one cannot imagine, for it is a very nice church tower, and does not look at all like a stump, though it stands high up above the surrounding flat country like a mariner’s beacon. our party visited oxford as well, stopping our little english cousin just long enough for edith to see the gray, time-stained walls of the many colleges which go to make up the great university of oxford. “this is where tom is coming when he finishes at eton,” said colonel howard, as he pointed out to edith his old college build- ing set about with a beautiful green lawn. from here they returned to oldham manor, but in august edith went with her parents to cowes, on the isle of wight, where the yacht races take place. here are to be seen hundreds of sailboats, and big steam yachts as well. little girls do not often go to cowes, for yachting there is an amusement for “grown ups.” but edith’s parents wanted her to enjoy her holidays with them as much as pos- sible, so she usually went, too. her papa told her so much about the yachts, that she grew very wise and nautical, and they used to nickname her the “ little sailor.” chapter x. the lord mayor’s show one of the great events in the life of an eng- lish child is to be able to go to london to the “ lord mayor’s show,” which takes place every year on the th of november. thou- sands of families from all over the country come into london for that day, and bring the young folks. early in the morning of the great day, the howard and stamford families had taken up their position at two of the big windows ofa hotel, from which a good view of the parade could be had. eleanor and clarence had come up with the howards, so you can fancy what a merry party it was. all the children but edith had seen it our little english cousin before, but they were just as eager as if it were a brand-new sight. as for edith, she kept her little nose glued to the window-pane, and hardly winked her eyes for fear she might miss something. the “ lord mayor’s show,” like most cus- toms in england, is of very ancient origin. it has always been considered a great honour to be lord mayor of london, and live in the mansion house, as his home is called. all children remember the story of dick whittington and his cat, and how he heard the bells of london, which said to him that he would become lord mayor of london; and i believe it is a true story, too, not about the bells really talking to him, perhaps, but about the little country boy who struggled on, and did become the great lord mayor. the lord mayor’s rule only extends over what is called the “city, which is now only a small part of big london. long ago, when the lord mayor’s show the office was first created, what is now the “ city ” was all there was of london. it was enclosed at that time by walls. well, times have changed! london has spread miles away on every side from the “city,” but the lord mayor of london still holds almost an absolute sway ovsr his part of london. many of the old lawr still exist; such as the king cannot go into the “city” without the permission of the lord mayor, who must meet him at the city boun- dary, and present a sword which the king touches, and then he can pass in. of course this is only a form now, but it is still a pic- turesque ceremony which usually takes place at temple bar on the strand. every year a new lord mayor is chosen, and the “show,” which is a procession that passes through the principal streets, is to celebrate his incom— ing. our little folks were becoming impatient, our little english cousin though it was amusing enough to watch the vast crowd moved hither and thither by the good-natured policemen. companies of strolling minstrels amused the waiting people, singing songs and cracking jokes, while the vendors of the funny, coloured programmes did a large business. “i do believe they are coming at last.” these words of adelaide’s brought every head as far out of the windows as possible. yes, ther: were the gorgeous coaches of the aldermen, but nothing to compare to the one which followed,—the great, gilded coach of the lord mayor himself, with the sword of state sticking out of the window, because it is too big for the carriage. you never have seen, nor will ever see, anything more splendid than the coachman to the lord mayor. we have to talk about him first because he is seen first. he is a tremendous big fellow in red plush knee-breeches, with a our little english cousin their hands, and think nothing in the world could be so grand. as adelaide’s mother once said to edith, “ you have only yet seen a very small bit of london.” there is, indeed, much more to be seen in this great old city, and in england, for even if it is a very small country it holds a great deal. but we must for the present bid our little english cousins “good-bye” and give some other little cousin a chance. the end- selections from the page company’s books for young people the blue bonnet series each large m , cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . a texas blue bonnet by caroline e. j acobs. “the book’s heroine, blue bonnet, has the very finest kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness.”—ohicago inter-ocean. blue bonnet’s ranch party by caroline e. jacobs and edyth ellebbeck read. “a healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every 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cousin our little jewish cousin our little australian cousin our little jugoslav cousin our little austrian cousin our little korean cousin our little belgian cousin our little malayan (brown) our little bohemian cousin cousin our little brazilian cousin our little mexican cousin our little bulgarian cousin our little norwegian cousin our little canadian cousin our little panama cousin of the great northwest our little persian cousin our little canadian cousin our little philippine cousin of the maritime provinces our little polish cousin our little chinose cousin our little porto rican cousin our little cossack cousin our little portuguese cousin our little cuban cousin our little quebec cousin our little czecho-slovac our little roumanian cousin cousin our little russian cousin our little danish cousin our little scotch cousin our little dutch cousin our little servian cousin our little egyptian cousin our little siamese cousin our little english cousin our little south african our little eskimo cousin (boer) cousin our little finnish cousin our little spanish cousin our little french cousin our little swedish cousin our little german cousin our little swiss cousin our little crocian cousin our little turkish cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little welsh cousin our little hindu cousin our little west indian cousin @ur little hungarian cousin l. c. page & company (inc.) beacon street boston, mas.. yung pak our little korean cousin Ву h. lee m. pike illustrated by l. j. bridgman labor spe boston l. c. page & company publishers copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved made in u.s. a. published may, third impression, june, fourth impression, march, fifth impression, august, - introduction the prophecy of stirring times to come for the people of this little kingdom, made when this volume was first issued, has materialized. for in a treaty was forced upon them whereby they surrendered their liberty to be- come a dependency of the great and rising japanese empire. this is often the fate of small nations, when they find themselves in the path of powerful and grasping neighbors. the korean people submitted in silence, but their hearts were brave, and they but waited their time. for years they suffered, our little cousins, as patiently and courageously as their parents, under the cruel yoke of japan. after the world war, in which they were our allies, and when our president was preach- ing to europe the doctrine of freedom for all - vi introduction peoples, great and small, came their oppor- tunity. they set up a republic of their own, based on the form of our greatest of all re- publics, and presented their case to the league of nations. the whole world sympathizes with them, and it is to be hoped that these brave little cousins of ours will soon enjoy the peace and freedom they have so long craved. - is. preface until very recently little has been known of the strange land in which the subject of this tale lives. recent events have done much to introduce korea and its people to the world at large. for this reason the story of yung pak's youthful days may be the more interesting to his western cousins. these are stirring times in korea, and it may safely be prophesied that the little ko- reans of the present day will occupy a larger place in the world's history than have their fathers and grandfathers. their bright eyes are now turned toward the light, and, under the uplifting influences of education and civ- preface ilization, the old superstitions and antique customs are bound to give way. some famous americans and englishmen have had no small part in letting in the light upon this dark nation, and in years to come, when korea shall have attained to the full stature of national strength, the names of rodgers, blake, kimberly, and many others will be held in high esteem by the people of that country. this little volume gives just a glimpse into the mode of life, the habits and customs, the traditions and superstitions, of the koreans. if it awakens an interest in the minds of its young readers, and inspires them with a desire for further knowledge of their cousins in this far eastern land, its purpose will be well served. contents chapter pagb i i. some queer things . ii. yung pak's home . Ο iii. a glimpse of the king . . iv. yung pak at school v. a lesson in history vi. the monk's story . vii. a journey. viii. the monastery at chang - an - sa ix. a full - fledged top - knot list of illustrations page yung pak frontispiece a street in seoul io " all the boys sit upon the floor" . he must drop to his knees and make А profound salute . . on the upper part of each of these posts was a rude carving « the day was passed in much the same man- ner as the preceding one 一 ​ our little korean cousin chapter i. some queer things yung pak was the very queer name of a queer little boy who lived in a queer house in a queer city. this boy was peculiar in his looks, his talk was in a strange tongue, his clothes were odd in colour and fit, his shoes were unlike ours, and everything about him would seem to you very unusual in appear- but the most wonderful thing of all was that he did not think he was a bit queer, and if he should see one of you in or at school, or at play, he would open wide his ance. your home, i our little korean cousin slant eyes with wonder at your peculiar ways and dress. the name of the country in which this little boy lived is korea. one thing about yung pak, though, was just like little boys everywhere. when he first came to his home in the korean city, a little bit of a baby, his father and mother were very, very glad to see him. your father and mother gave you no warmer welcome than the parents of this little korean baby gave to him. perhaps yung pak's father did not say much, but any one could have seen by his face that he was tremendously pleased. he was a very dignified man, and his manner was nearly always calm, no matter how stirred up he might have felt in his mind. this was one of the rare occasions when his face expanded into a smile, and he immediately made a generous offering of rice to the household tablets. some queer things present offer- all koreans pay great honour to their dead parents, and tablets to their memory are placed in some room set apart for the purpose. . be- fore these tablets sacrifices are offered. yung pak's father would have been almost over- whelmed with terror at thought of having no one to worship his memory and ings before his tablet. it is to be feared that if, instead of yung pak, a little daughter had come to this korean house, the father and the mother would not have been so pleased. for, strange as it may seem to you who live in homes where little daughters and little sisters are petted and loved above all the rest of the family, in korea little girls do not receive a warm welcome, though the mothers will cherish and fondle them -as much from pity as from love. the mothers know better than any one else how hard a way the little girl will have to travel through life. our little korean cousin but it is yung pak we want to tell you about. as his father was a wealthy man, all the comforts and luxuries which could be given to a korean baby were showered on this tiny boy. one of the queer things, though, was that he had no little cradle in which he might be rocked to sleep. and you know that all babies, especially little babies, sleep a great deal. so how do you suppose yung pak's mother used to put him to sleep in this land where cradles were unknown? she put him on the bed and patted him lightly on the stomach. this she called to-tak, to-tak. as yung pak grew older he was given many toys, among them rattles, drums, flags, and dolls, just as you had them. some of the toys, though, were very peculiar ones — different from anything you ever saw. he had little tasselled umbrellas, just like the big one his father used when he walked out in the some queer things er sun. he also had little fringed hats and toy chariots with fancy wheels. one of yung pak's favourite toys was a wooden jumping- jack with a pasteboard tongue. by pulling a string the tongue was drawn in and a trumpet carried up to the mouth. another favourite toy was a tiger on wheels. tiger-hunting, by the way, was considered great sport by yung pak's father. it was a very dangerous one, too, and sometimes lives were sacrificed in his efforts to capture or to kill this fierce wild beast. sometimes the ani- mal was caught in a trap which was nothing less than a hut of logs with a single entrance. in the roof of the hut heavy beams would be placed on a forked stick. the bait a young lamb or kid — would be tied beneath the beams. the moment the bait was touched, down would come the heavy timber - smash - on the tiger's head. but yung pak's tiger was ferocious only in our little korean cousin looks. it was made of paper pulp and painted with bright stripes. this harmless image of a fierce beast yung pak would pull about the floor with a string by the hour. all his pets were not of wood and paper. real live animals he had. puppies and kittens, of course. his greatest pet, though, was a monkey. what little boy ever saw a monkey that he didn't want for his own? so when yung pak's father made him a present of a monkey - -a real monkey-alive - he just danced with glee. this monkey was not a very large one, — not over a foot high, — but he could cut capers and play tricks equal to any monkey you ever saw travelling with an organ-grinder. he was dressed in a scarlet jacket, and he was always with yung pak, except sometimes when he would try to plague him by breaking away and running - perhaps to the house-top or to the neighbour's garden. some queer things after a little while yung pak got used to these “monkey shines,” and he knew that his pet would not stay away long after meal- time. as yung pak grew older he was allowed to play with other boys of his own age. a favourite sport was hunting the ring. in this game the boys would get together quite a large heap of sand. in this sand one of them would hide a ring, and then the urchins would all get slender sticks and poke around in the pile trying to find the ring. whoever suc- ceeded in getting the ring on his stick won the game, and carried the prize home as a sign of victory. sometimes yung pak would be the win- ner, and then he would march home with great glee and show the trophy to his father. one of the first things yung pak was taught was to be respectful to his father. . our little korean cousin never was he allowed to fail in this duty in the least. this does not seem strange when we know what a sober, serious, dignified man yung pak's father was. it would not do to allow his son to do anything that would upset his dignity, though he loved him very much indeed. it was far different with the boy's mother. her little boy soon learned that her wishes counted for very little in the family, and she never ventured to rebuke him, no matter how seriously he might offend her or what naughty thing he might do. one queer thing about yung pak was the way he used to wear his hair. while still very young his head was shaved, except a little round spot on the very crown. here it was allowed to grow, and as years went by it grew quite long, and was braided in two plaits down his back. when yung pak grew to be a man the some queer things long hair was knotted up on top of his head, and for this reason many people call koreans “top-knots." but of this arrangement of the hair we shalı tell more farther on. chapter ii, yung pak's home ki pak, yung pak's father, was one of the king's officials. on this account his home was near the great palace of the king, in the city of seoul, the capital of the country. this city did not look much like the ones in which you live. there were no wide streets, no high buildings, no street-cars. instead, there were narrow, dirty lanes and open gutters. shopkeepers not only occupied both sides of the crowded streets, but half their wares were exposed in and over the dirty gutters. grain merchants and vegetable dealers jostled each other in the streets themselves. in and about among them played the boys of the city, not even half-clothed in most cases. there were a street in seoul yung pak's home ii no parks and playgrounds for them such as you have. often, too, boys would be seen cantering through the streets, seated sidewise on the bare backs of ponies, caring nothing for passers-by, ponies, or each other — laugh- ing, 'chatting, eating chestnuts. other boys would be carrying on their heads small round tables covered with dishes of rice, pork, cab- bage, wine, and other things. around the city was a great wall of stone fourteen miles in length. in some places it clung to the edges of the mountains, and then dropped into a deep ravine, again to climb a still higher mountain, perhaps. in one direction it enclosed a forest, in another a barren plain. great blocks were the stones, that had been in place many, many years. it must have taken hundreds and thou- sands of men to put them in position, and, though the wall was hundreds of years old, it was still well preserved. it was from twenty- i our little korean cousin five to forty feet high. the wall was hung from one end of the city to the other with ivy, which looked as if it had been growing in its place centuries before yung pak was born. in the wall were eight gates, and at each one a keeper was stationed at all hours of the day and night. no persons could come in or go out unless their business was known to those who had charge of the passage. every evening, at sunset, the gates were closed, and during the night no one was allowed to pass through in either direction. a curious ceremony attended the closing of these gates. they were never shut till the king had been notified that all was well on the north, on the south, on the east, and on the west. as there were no telegraph lines, another way had to be provided by which mes- sages might be quickly sent. the surrounding hills were used as signals. bonfires upon yung pak's home by these fires the king was told if all were well in his kingdom, and every evening, as soon as the sun was set, four beacon-fires on a hill within the walls told the news as it was flashed to them from the mountains outside. then four officers, whose business it was to report to the king the message of the fires, hastened to him, and with great ceremony and much humility announced that all was well. on this the royal band of music would strike up its liveliest airs, and a great bell would toll its evening warning. this bell was the third largest in the world, and for five centuries it had given the signal for opening and closing the gates of seoul, the chief city of the “ land of the morning radiance." at the stroke of the bell, with a great clang the gates were shut, and strong bars were placed across the inner sides, not to be re- moved until at early dawn the bell again gave its signal to the keepers. our little korean cousin to little yung pak, the loud tones of the bell meant more even than to the sentinels at the gates. he knew that not only was it a signal for the closing of the city gates, but it was also a warning that bedtime was at hand. the house in which yung pak lived was a very fine one, although the grounds were not as spacious as those of many houses in the outskirts of the city. but its walls were of stone, whereas many of the houses of seoul had walls of paper. yes, actually walls of paper ! but this paper was a very tough, fibrous substance, and would resist quite a heavy blow as well as keep out the cold. its slight cost brought it within the means of the poorer people. in some parts of korea the houses were built of stout timbers, the chinks covered with woven cane and plastered with mud. neat hedges of interlaced boughs surrounded them. yung pak’s home the chimney was often simply a hollow tree, not attached to the house. ki pak's house was not only built of stone, but about it were four walls of stone, about five feet high, to help keep out intruders. the wall was surmounted by a rampart of plaited bamboo. in this wall were three gates, corre- sponding to entrances into the house itself. one gate, the largest, on the north side, was used only by ki pak himself, though after he grew older yung pak could enter this gate with his father. the second gate, on the east, was used by the family and friends of ki pak. the third and smallest gate was reserved for the use of the servants. the roof of this house was not covered with shingles, but with clay tiles, coloured red. many houses in the city had simply a roof- covering of thatched straw. the house was but a single story high, but in this respect the king's palace itself was no our little korean cousin better. there were three divisions to the house. one was for the use of the men, a second for the women of the family, and a third for the servants. each division had a suitable number of rooms for its occupants. yung pak's own sleeping-room was a dainty affair, with its paper walls, tiger-skin rugs upon the stone floor, and the softest of mats and silk and wadded cotton coverings for his couch. this couch, by the way, was another queer affair. it was built of brick! beneath it were pipes or flues connected with other pipes which ran beneath the whole house. through these flues were forced currents of hot air from a blaze in a large fireplace at one end of the house. the chimney was at the other end, and thus a draught of hot air constantly passed beneath the floors in cold weather. on warm nights yung pak would pile his mats upon the floor and sleep as comfortably as ever you yung pak's home did on the softest feather bed your grand- mother could make. the windows of ki pak's house were not made of glass, but were small square frames covered with oiled paper. these frames fitted into grooves so that they could be slid back and forth, and in warm weather the windows were always left open. the doors were made of wood, though in many houses paper or plaited bamboo was used. when yung pak ate his meals, he sat upon a rug on the floor with his father and such male guests as might be in the house. the women never ate with them. their meals were served in their own rooms. a servant would bring to each person a sang, or small low table. instead of a cloth, on each table was a sheet of fine glazed paper which had the appearance of oiled silk. this paper was made from the bark of the mulberry- tree. it was soft and pliable, and of such . our little korean cousin ware. as a texture that it could be washed easier than anything else, either paper or cloth. on this were placed dishes of porcelain and earthen there were no knives or forks, but in their place were chop-sticks such the chinese used. spoons also were on the table. a tall and long-spouted teapot was always the finest piece of ware. on the dining-tables of the poorer people of korea the teapot was never seen, for, strange as it may seem, in this land situ- ated between the two greatest tea-producing countries of the world, tea is not in common use. all koreans have splendid appetites, and probably if you should see yung pak eating his dinner you would criticize his table manners. he not only ate a large amount of food, but ate it very rapidly — almost as if he feared that some one might steal his dinner before he could dispose of it. and you wouid yung pak’s home think that he never expected to get another square meal! but it was not yung pak's fault that he was such a little glutton. in his youngest days, when his mother used to regulate his food, she would stuff him full of rice. then she would turn him over on his back and paddle his stomach with a ladle to make sure that he was well filled! chapter iii. a glimpse of the king yung pak's earliest days were spent very much as are those of most babies, whether they live in korea or america. eating and sleeping were his chief occupations. when he grew old enough to run about, his father employed for him a servant, kim yong, whose business it was to see that no harm came to the child. for several years the two were constantly together, even sleeping in the same room at night. once when yung pak and his attendant were out for their daily walk their attention was attracted by the sound of music in the distance. “what is that music?” asked yung pak. a glimpse of the king “that is the king's band. it must be that there is going to be a procession,” was kim yong's reply. “oh, i know what it is,” said yung pak. “the king is going to the new temple of ancestors. my father said the tablets on which the king's forefathers' names are en- graved are to be put in place to-day.” “let us hurry so as to get into a place where we can have a good view of the pro- cession.” “yes, we will; for father told me that this is to be an extra fine one, and he is to be in it himself. i want to see him when he by this time yung pak and kim yong were running as fast as their flowing garments and their dignity would allow them. and everybody else, from the dirtiest street boy to the gravest old man, was hurrying toward the palace gate through which the procession was to come. yung pak and kim yong were goes by.” our little korean cousin fortunate enough to get a position where they could see the palace gate, and the procession would have to pass by them on its way to the temple. meanwhile the band inside the palace walls kept up its music, and the people outside could also hear the shouts of officers giving their orders to guards and soldiers. soon there was an extra flourish of the music, and the gate, toward which all eyes had been strained, was suddenly flung wide open with a great clang. hundreds of soldiers already lined the streets to keep the crowd back out of the way of the procession. first through the gate came a company of korean foot-soldiers, in blue uniforms. directly after them came a lot of palace attend- ants in curious hats and long robes of all colours of the rainbow. some were dressed in blue, some in red, some in orange, some in a glimpse of the king yellow, some in a mixture of colours. all carried staves bound with streamers of ribbons. following the attendants came a line of bannermen, with red flags, on which were various inscriptions in blue; then came drum- mers and pipe-players dressed in yellow cos- tumes, their instruments decked with ribbons. yung pak next saw more soldiers, dressed in the queerest of ancient costumes; afterward came men with cymbals and bells, cavalrymen on foot, and more palace attendants. through the whole line were seen many officials, gaudily adorned with plumes, gold lace, gilt fringe, swords, and coloured decorations of all sorts. many of the officials had on high-crowned hats decorated with bunches of feathers and crimson tassels. these were fastened by a string of amber beads around the throat. blue and orange and red were the colours of their robes. . then followed more bannermen, drummers, and servants carrying food, fire, and pipes. our little korean cousin all the time there was a tremendous beating of drums and blowing of horns and ringing of bells. the noise was so great that kim yong hardly heard yung pak when he shouted: “oh, i see papa!” “ where is he?" “don't you see him right behind that little man in yellow who is carrying a big blue flag?” “oh, yes,” said kim yong. "he has on a long green robe, and on his turban are long orange plumes.” “ yes; and on both sides of him, in green gauze coats, are his servants. i wonder if he will notice us as he “ indeed he will not. at least, if he does see us, he will give no sign, for this is too solemn and important an occasion for him to relax his dignity.” on state occasions ki pak could look as sedate and dignified as the most serious official goes by.” a glimpse of the king in all korea ; and that is saying a good deal, for in no country do the officials appear more solemn than in this “ land of the morning radiance.” now along came more soldiers, followed by the great nobles of the kingdom, and finally, amid a most terrific beating of drums, a fearful jangling of bells, and a horrid screaming of pipes, the guard of the king himself appeared. suddenly all was silent. drum-beating, pipe- blowing, and shouting all died away. the sound of hurried footsteps alone was heard. all at once into sight came the imperial chair of state. in this chair was the king, but not yet could yung pak get a glimpse of his royal master. yellow silken panels hid him from the view of the curious crowd, and over the top was a canopy of the same description, ornamented with heavy, rich tassels. this gorgeous chair was much heavier than those used by officials and ordinary citizens, our little korean cousin and it took thirty-two men to carry it quickly and safely past the throng to the entrance of the temple. only a few minutes were necessary for this journey, for the temple was but a short distance from the palace gate, and both were in plain sight of yung pak and kim yong. it was only a fleeting glimpse of the king that they got, as he passed from his chair to the temple gate; but this was enough to repay yung pak for the rushing and the crowding and the waiting that he had been obliged to endure. rare indeed were these glimpses of his majesty, and they afforded interest and excitement enough to last a long while. but the procession was not over yet. a chair covered with red silk, borne on the shoulders of sixteen chair-men, passed up to the temple. “who is in that chair?” asked yung pak of his companion. “the crown prince,” was kim yong's reply. a glimpse of the king “he attends his royal father in all these cere- monies of state." yung pak drew a long breath, but said nothing. he only thought what a fine thing it must be to be a king's son, and wear such gorgeous clothes, and have so many servants at his call. and then he had a second thought. he would not want to exchange his splendid father for all the glory and magnificence of the king's court. post. the after the king and the crown prince, with their attendant officials and servants and priests, had gone into the temple, yung pak and kim yong did not stay longer at their order of the procession had broken, and the king and his immediate retinue would return privately to the palace after he should pay homage and offer sacrifice to the spirits of his ancestors. chapter iv. yung pak at school little korean boys have to go to school, just as you do, though they do not study in just the same way. you would be surprised if you were to step into a korean schoolroom. all the boys sit upon the floor with their legs curled up beneath them. instead of the quiet, silent scholars, you would hear a loud and deafening buzz. all the pupils study out loud. they not only do their studying aloud, but they talk very loud, as if each one were trying to make more noise than his neighbour. the koreans call this noise kang-siong, and it seems almost deafening to one unused to it. you would think the poor teacher would be " all the boys sit upon the floor yung pak at school driven crazy, but he seems as calm as a daisy in a june breeze. the korean boys have to have “tests” and examinations just as you do. when a lad has a good lesson, the teacher makes a big red mark on his paper, and he carries it home with the , greatest pride, – just as you do when you take home a school paper marked “ .” but yung pak was not allowed to share the pleasures and the trials of the boys in the public school. one day, soon after he was six years old, his father sent for him to come to his private room, — perhaps you would call it a study or library. with yung pak's father was a strange gentleman, a young man with a pleasant face and an air of good breeding. “ this,” said ki pak to his son as he en- tered the room, "is wang ken. i have engaged him to be your teacher, or tutor. the time has come for you to begin to learn yung pak at school a room near ki pak's library, where yung pak would spend several hours each day try- ing his best to learn the korean a b c's. the first book he had to study was called “ the thousand character classic.” this was the first book that all korean boys had to study, and was said to have been written by a very wise man hundreds of years ago. a strange thing about it was that it was com- posed during one night, and so great was the wise man's struggle that his hair and beard turned white during that night. when yung pak was told this fact he was not a bit sur- prised. he thought it was hard enough to have to learn what was in the book, to say nothing of writing it in the beginning. at the same time that yung pak was learn- ing to read, he was also learning to write. but you would have been amused if you could have seen his efforts. the strangest thing about it was that he did not use a pen, but had our little korean cousin a coarse brush on a long handle. into the ink he would dip this brush and then make broad marks on sheets of coarse paper. you would not be able to understand those marks at all. they looked like the daubs of a sign- painter gone crazy. later on, yung pak had to study the his- tory and geography of his country. some of the names he had to learn would amuse you very much. the name of the province of haan-kiung, for instance, meant perfect mir- ror, or complete view province. kiung- sang was the korean name for respectful congratulation province, and chung-chong meant serene loyalty province. one part of korea, where the inhabitants were always peace- able and unwarlike, was called peace and quiet province, or, in the korean language, ping-an. under wang ken's instruction yung pak made rapid progress in his studies, and when the boy's father questioned him from time to yung pak at school time as to what he had learned, he was very much pleased, and commended his son for his close attention to his studies. 'sometime,” ki pak said to the boy, “if you continue to make such good progress in your studies, you will be able to hold a high position in the service of the king.” in explanation of this remark, you should understand that no young man was able to enter into the government service of korea until he could pass a very hard examination in many studies. many things besides book-learning did wang ken teach his pupil. in all the rules of korean etiquette he was carefully and per- sistently drilled. as you have already been told, yung pak had from his earliest days been taught the deepest reverence and honour for his father. this kind of instruction was continued from day to day. he was told that a son must not our little korean cousin play in his father's presence, nor assume free or easy posture before him. he must often wait upon his father at meal-times, and pre- pare his bed for him. if the father is old or sickly, the son sleeps near him by night, and does not leave his presence by day. if for any reason the father is cast into prison, the son makes his home near by in order that he may provide such comforts for his unfortunate parent as the prison officials will allow. if, by chance, the father should be banished from the country for his misdeeds, the son must accompany him at least to the borders of his native land, and in some instances must go with him into exile. when the son meets his father in the street, he must drop to his knees and make a pro- found salute, no matter what the state of the roadway. in all letters which the son writes to his father he uses the most exalted titles and honourable phrases he can imagine. ods " he must drop to his knees and make a profound salute chapter v. a lesson in history as you already know, yung pak's father intended that his son, when he grew up, should fill a position in the service of the king. to fit him for this work, it was im- portant that the boy should learn all that he could of his country's history. on this account yung pak's tutor had orders to give to the lad each day, during the hours devoted to study, some account of events in the rise and progress of the korean nation or of its royal families. you must know that korea is a very old country, its history dating back hundreds of years before america was discovered by chris- topher columbus. our little korean cousin now wang ken knew that dry history had very few attractions for his young pupil, or any lively boy for that matter, so as far as possible he avoided the repetition of dates and uninteresting events, and often gave to yung pak much useful information in story form. one day, when the time came for the usual history lesson, wang ken said to yung pak: “i think that to-day i will tell you the story of king taijo." at this yung pak's eyes sparkled, and he was all attention in a moment. he thought one of wang ken's stories was a great deal better than puzzling over korean letters or struggling with long strings of figures. the tutor went on: “when taijo was born, many, many years ago, our country was not called korea, but had been given the name of cho-sen.” yung pak had been told that cho-sen meant morning calm, so he asked wang ken a lesson in history how it came about that such a peaceful name had been given to his country. “why,” said wang ken, “ the name was given to our land years and years ago by the leader of some chinese settlers, whose name was ki tsze. in his native land there had been much violence and war, so with his friends and followers he moved to the east- ward and selected this country for his home. here he hoped to be free from the attacks of enemies and to be able to live a peaceful life. for this reason he chose a name which well expressed its outward position — toward the rising sun — and his own inward feelings, – cho-sen, or morning calm. this is still the official name of our country. “but to come back to our story of taijo. at the time of his birth, the rulers of the country were very unpopular because of their wickedness and oppression of the people. there was much suffering on account of the our little korean cousin misrule, and the people longed for a deliverer who should restore prosperity to cho-sen. “such a deliverer appeared in the person of taijo. it is said that even as a boy he sur- passed his fellows in goodness, intelligence, and skill in all sorts of boyish games.” wang ken improved this opportunity to tell yung pak how important it was that all boys should follow such an example. but while yung pak listened with apparent patience, he could hardly conceal his inward desire that the tutor would go on with his story. like most boys, of all races, he felt that he could get along without the moralizing. "hunting with the falcon was one of taijo's favourite sports. one day, while in the woods, his bird flew so far ahead that its young master lost sight of it. hurrying on to find it, taijo discovered a hut beside the path, into which he saw the falcon fly. entering the hut, the youth found a a lesson in history white-bearded hermit priest, who lived here alone and unknown to the outside world. for a moment taijo was speechless with sur- prise in the presence of the wise old hermit. seeing his embarrassment, the old man spoke to him in these words : «« what benefit is it for a youth of your abilities to be seeking a stray falcon? a throne is a richer prize. betake yourself at once to the capital.' “now taijo knew how to take a hint as well as any boy, so he immediately left the hut of the hermit, forsaking his falcon, and went to sunto, then the capital of the king- dom. “as i have already told you, taijo was a wise youth. he did not rush headlong into the accomplishment of the purpose hinted at by the hermit. had he done so, and at that time attempted to dethrone the king, he would certainly have been overpowered and slain. our little korean cousin “he took a more deliberate and sensible way. first he enlisted in the army of the king. as he was a young man of courage and strength, he was not long in securing advancement. he rapidly rose through the various grades, until he finally held the chief command of the army as lieutenant-general. “of course taijo did not reach this high station in a month, nor in a year, but many years went by before he attained such an ex- alted place. meanwhile he married and had children. several of these children were daughters.” wang ken did not say right here, what he might have said with truth, - that in korean families girls are considered of very little con- sequence. but in this case taijo's daughter proved to be of much help in making her father the king of cho-sen. “one of these daughters was married to the reigning king. thus taijo became father-in- a lesson in history . law to his sovereign. you can easily see that in this relationship he must have had a large influence both over the king and over the people. being a brave man and courageous fighter, taijo was idolized by his soldiers. he was also very popular with all the people because he was always strictly honest and just in all his dealings with them. “taijo proved his bravery and his reliance on the soldiers and on the people by attempt- ing to bring about a change in the conduct of the king, who abused his power and treated his subjects without mercy. “the king, however, refused to listen to the advice of his father-in-law, and, as a con- sequence, the hatred of the people for him grew in volume and force every day. “ meanwhile, the king was having other troubles. in former years, korea had paid an annual tribute or tax to china, but for some our little korean cousin time it had been held back by this king. consequently the chinese (or ming) em- peror sent a large army to enforce his demand for the amount of money due him. “ the korean ruler neglected the matter and finally refused to pay. he then ordered that more soldiers be added to his army, that the chinese forces might be resisted; but with all his efforts the enemy's army was much the larger. nevertheless, he ordered taijo, at the head of his forces, to attack the chinese. upon this, taijo thus addressed his soldiers : although the order from the king must be obeyed, yet the attack upon the ming sol- diers, with so small an army as ours, is like casting an egg against a rock, and no one of us will return alive. i do not tell you this from any fear of death, but our king is too haughty. he does not heed our advice. he has ordered out the army suddenly without cause, paying no attention to the suffering which wives and a lesson in history children of the soldiers must undergo. this is a thing i cannot bear. let us go back to the capital, and the responsibility shall fall on my shoulders alone.' “ the soldiers were quite willing to take the advice of their courageous leader, and resolved to obey his orders rather than the king's. they went to the capital, forcibly removed the king from his throne, and banished him to the island of kang-wa. “not yet, however, was taijo made king. the deposed ruler plotted and planned all kinds of schemes whereby he might be restored to his old position of authority. taijo heard of some of his plots, and finally did that which would for ever extinguish the authority of the old king or any of his family. he removed from the temple the tablets on which were inscribed the names of the king's ancestors. more than this, he ordered that no more sacrifices be offered to them. our little korean cousin “the king could have suffered no greater insult than this, for, like all koreans, he held as sacred the memory of his ancestors, and even to speak ill of one of them was an unpar- donable crime. but this time he was power- less to resent the indignity or to punish the offender, and consequently he lost what little influence he had been able to retain. “ taijo was now formally proclaimed king. he was able to make peace with the chinese emperor, and under his rule the koreans en- joyed freedom from war and oppression. his descendants still sit upon the throne of korea.' chapter vi. the monk's story this way. one evening, after yung pak had finished his supper, he sat talking with his father and wang ken. the early evening hour was often spent in it was a time of day when ki pak was generally free from any official duty, and he was glad to devote a little time to his son. he would inquire about the boy's studies as well as about his sports, and yung pak would regale his father with many an amusing inci- dent or tell him something he had learned during study hours. sometimes he would tell of the sights he had seen on the streets of our little korean cousin seoul, while on other occasions he would give account of games with his playmates or of his success in shooting with a bow and arrow. this latter sport was very common with the men and boys of korea. it was approved by the king for the national defence in time of war, and often rewards were offered by rich men for winners in contests. most korean gentlemen had private archery grounds and targets in the gardens near their houses. ki pak had an arrow-walk and target in his garden, and here it was that yung pak used to practise almost daily. he often, too, invited other boys to enjoy the sport with him. at regular times every year public contests in arrow-shooting were held, and costly prizes were offered to the winners by the king. the prizes were highly valued by those who se- cured them, and yung pak looked forward the monk's story with eager anticipation to the day when he should be old enough and skilful enough to take part in these contests. while yung pak was listening to the con- versation between his father and tutor on this evening, a knock was heard. on opening the door there was seen stand- ing at the entrance a man rather poorly clad in the white garments worn by nearly all the people of korea. but upon his head, instead of the ordinary cone-shaped hat worn by the men of the country, was a very peculiar struc- ture. it was made of straw and was about four feet in circumference. its rim nearly concealed the man's face, which was further hidden by a piece of coarse white linen cloth stretched upon two sticks and made fast just below the eyes. this method of concealing the face, together with the wearing of the immense hat, was a symbol of mourning. such a sight was not our little korean cousin uncommon in the streets of seoul, and yung pak knew well its meaning. with great courtesy and hospitality ki pak invited the stranger within the house. “i thank you for your kindness,” said the visitor. “i am a stranger in your city, a monk from a monastery in kong-chiu. your peculiar law not allowing men upon the street after nightfall compels me to seek shelter.” “to that you are entirely welcome, my friend,” said ki pak, whose hospitable nature would have granted the monk's request, even if sympathy for sorrow and reverence for religion had not also been motives for his action. “let me get the man something to eat," said yung pak as the monk seated himself upon a mat. certainly, my son ; it is always proper to offer food to a guest who takes refuge under our roof.” the monk's story quickly the boy sought his mother in the women's apartments, and very soon returned with a steaming bowl of rice, which he placed before the visitor. this gift of rice was, especially pleasing to the traveller, as no dish is held in higher honour in korea. it is the chief cereal, and the inhabitants say it originated in ha-ram, china, nearly five thousand years ago. yung pak called it syang-nong-si, which means marvellous agriculture. he had learned from wang ken that it was first brought to korea in b. c. to the monk the warm food was very re- freshing, and after he had eaten a generous amount he entered into conversation with his hosts. he told of the monastery where he made his home, and his account of the various religious ceremonies and their origin was very interesting to yung pak, who found that the our little korean cousin visitor not only knew a great deal of the history of the country, but was also familiar with its fables and legends. like many who live in retirement and dwell in a world apart from their fellows, this monk thought the people of former times were superior to the men of his own day. especially did he praise the kings of years long gone by. “do you think,” said yung pak," that the old kings were any better than our own gra- cious ruler?" yung pak was very jealous of the honour of his king. why, yes,” replied the monk. prove my statement let me tell you a story: many years ago there was in cho-sen a king named cheng-chong. he was celebrated throughout his kingdom for his goodness. it was a habit with him to disguise himself in ordinary clothing and then to go out and mingle with the common people. in this way " and to the monk's story he was often able to discover opportunities for doing much good to his subjects. “one night cheng-chong disguised himself as a countryman, and, taking a single friend along, started out to make a tour of inspection among his people, that he might learn the details of their lives. coming to a dilapidated-looking house, he suspected that within there might be miserable people to whom he could render assistance. desiring to see the inside of the house, he punched a peep-hole in the paper door. look- ing through this hole, the king perceived an old man weeping, a man in mourning garb singing, and a nun or widow dancing. “cheng-chong was unable to imagine the cause of these strange proceedings, so he asked his companion to call the master of the house. “in answer to the summons, the man in mourning made his appearance. the king, with low and respectful salutation, said: our little korean cousin «« we have never before met.' “true,' was the reply, but whence are you? how is it that you should come to find me at midnight? to what family do you belong?' cheng-chong answered: 'i am mr. ni, living at tong-ku-an. as i was passing before your house i was attracted by strange sounds. then through a hole in the door i saw an old man crying, a dancing nun, and a man in mourning singing. why did the nun dance, the bereaved man sing, and the old man weep? i have called you out on purpose to learn the reason of these things.' “for what reason do you pry into other people's business ?' was the question in reply. “this is little concern to you. it is past midnight now, and you had better get home as soon as you can.' «no, indeed. i admit that it seems wrong for me to be so curious in regard to your affairs, the monk's story ))) but this case is so very extraordinary that i hope you will not refuse to tell me about it. you may be sure that i shall not betray your confidence.' “ alas! why such persistence in trying to learn about other people's business ?' “ it is very important,' replied the king, that i should obtain the information i have asked of you. further than that i cannot explain at present.” yung pak wanted to interrupt the story- teller here and say that he did not blame the man for objecting to telling his private busi- ness, but he had early been taught that it was highly improper for a korean boy to break into the conversation of his elders. the monk continued : “. as you are so urgent in your desire to know the cause of the strange proceedings you have witnessed, i will try to tell you. poverty has always been a burden upon my family, our little korean cousin in my house there has never been sufficient food for a solid meal, and i have not land enough even for an insect to rest upon. cannot even provide food for my poor old father. this is the reason why my wife, from time to time, has cut off a portion of her hair and sold it for an amount sufficient to buy a bowl of bean soup, which she has generously given to my father. this evening she cut off and sold the last tress of her hair, and thus she is now bald as a nun.' yung pak already knew that korean women who devote their lives to religious service kept their hair closely clipped, so the monk did not need to explain his reference to a bald-headed nun. «« on this account,' said the man to cheng- chong, 'my father broke out into mourning in these words: "why have i lived to this age? why did i not die years ago? why has this degra- the monk's story now go away dation come to my daughter-in-law?” tears accompanied his words. my wife and i tried to console him, and, besides urging him not to weep, she danced for his amusement. i also danced and sang, and thus we diverted the old man's thoughts and caused him to smile. that is the true reason of our queer behaviour. i trust you will not think it strange, and will and leave us to our sorrow.' “the king was very much impressed by the man's story, particularly with the evidence of sạch great devotion to his father, even in the time of poverty and misfortune. so he said: * this is really the most extraordinary instance of filial love that i ever saw. should present yourself at the examination to-morrow.' ««. what examination ?' “why, there is to be an examination before the king of candidates for official position. you know that all officials have to pass an i think you our little korean cousin examination before they can receive an ap- pointment. be sure to be there, and you may be fortunate enough to secure a position which will remove all fear of poverty from your household.' “having thus spoken, cheng-chong bade the man good night and went at once to his palace. “very early in the morning he caused proc- lamation to be made that an examination would be held that day, at a certain hour. notwith- standing the brief time for preparation, when the hour arrived a large number of men pre- sented themselves at the king's palace as can- didates. “in the crowd was the poor man whom the king, in his disguise, had talked with the night before. though he understood little of the matter, he felt that his visitor of the previous night must have known perfectly about it. “when all had assembled, the following the monk's story was announced as the subject of the examina- tion : "the song of a man in mourning, the dance of a nun, the tears of an old man.' “with the exception of the poor man, not a single one of the candidates was able to make a bit of sense out of the subject. he alone knew it perfectly well, because of his own personal sad experience. consequently he was able to turn in a clear essay upon the subject, which, upon examination, the king found to be free from error. cheng-chong then bestowed the degree of doctor upon the man, and ordered that he be brought into his presence. upon the man's appearance, the king asked : 'do you know who i am ? it is i who last night advised you to be present at this examination. raise your head and look at me. “with fixed gaze the man looked at the king, and recognized his benefactor. he at our little korean cousin once bowed himself to the ground in gratitude, and in words of the most humble sort returned his thanks. “go at once,” said cheng-chong, sand return to your wife and old father. make them happy with the good news you have for them.' “ this story of royal generosity has been handed down from generation to generation, and i give it to you,” concluded the monk, as an example of the goodness of our ancient kings and the rich inheritance we have from them. true devotion to parents has never been unrewarded in korea.” his story concluded, the monk expressed a desire to retire for the night. at ki pak's command a servant led him to a sleeping- room. yung pak and the other members of the family also retired, and were soon burie peaceful slumber. chapter vii. a journey it sometimes happened that ki pak, in performing his official duties, was obliged to make long journeys to various parts of korea. one of yung pak's greatest pleasures was to listen to the stories which his father used to tell him about these journeys. when ki pak made one of these trips through the country he could not ride on the cars as you do, for there were no railways, with puffing engines and comfortable coaches ; neither could he take a carriage drawn by swift and strong horses, for they too were unknown by the koreans. even if he had possessed horses and carriage, there were few roads over winich they could have been driven. our little korean cousin the korean traveller's chair consists of a boxlike frame, of such height that one may sit within in turkish fashion upon the floor. the roof is of bamboo, covered with painted and oiled paper. the sides also are covered with oiled paper or muslin. in some cases a small stained glass window is set in the side or front, but only rich men can afford this luxury. the curtain in front can be raised or lowered. this serves the double purpose of shutting out the glances of the curious and keeping out the cold air. when the owner can afford it, an ample supply of cushions and shawls makes the clumsy vehicle more com- fortable for its occupant. the chair rests upon two long poles, which hang by straps upon the shoulders of four under ordinary circumstances these men can travel with their burden from twenty to thirty miles a day. sometimes, also, when yung pak's father stout men. a journey went about the streets of seoul, he rode in a chair very similar to the one just described. the only difference was that it rested on a framework attached to a single wheel directly underneath. this cross between a wheel- barrow and a sedan-chair was supported and trundled along the street by four bearers. on this journey, however, yung pak and his companions were to ride on ponies. the korean ponies are small, fine-coated animals, little larger than shetland ponies. they are very tough and strong, and can en- dure long marches with little food. they are sometimes obstinate and are desperate fighters, squealing and neighing on all occasions. they often attack other ponies, and never become friendly with each other on a journey. in their attacks upon one another loads are for- gotten and often seriously damaged. not- withstanding, they bear with much patience a great deal of abuse from unkind masters. our little korean cousin because of much beating and overloading, they are generally a sorry-looking lot of animals. ki pak had to engage ponies for himself, yung pak, and wang ken. he was also obliged to employ a cook for the journey, who had to have a pony to carry along the kettles and pans and other utensils. it was also necessary to hire body-servants and sev- eral ponies to carry luggage, and as each pony must have a mapu, or groom, it made quite a procession when the party started out of seoul on the journey to the northeast. it was a fine day when the start was made. it was not early in the morning, for, if there is anything a korean hates to do, it is to make an early start on a journey. if you had been in yung pak's place, you would have gone crazy with impatience. the servants were late in bringing around the ponies, and the process of loading them was a very slow one. a journey but yung pak had long before learned to be patient under such circumstances. in fact, he seemed to care little whether the start were made in the morning or at noon. he calmly watched the servants at their work, and, when at last all was declared ready, he gravely mounted his pony and fell into the procession behind his father, with wang ken immediately following a most comical sight was the cook, perched on top of his load of pans, pots, and pota- toes. as his pony trotted along with the others, it looked as if the cook was in con- stant danger of a fall from his lofty seat, but he sat as calm and unconcerned as one could imagine. you would laugh if you should see the strings of eggs hanging across this pony's back — yes, eggs. they were packed in bands of wheat straw, and between each pair of eggs a straw was twisted. thus a straw our little korean cousin rope enclosing twenty or more eggs, well protected, was made and thrown over the top of the load. other riders had more comfortable seats, for most of the ponies carried baggage in two wicker baskets, -- one strapped upon each side, — and on top of these was piled bedding and wadded clothing, which made a soft seat for the rider. the mapus who accompanied the procession were dressed in short cotton jackets, loose trousers, with sandals and cotton wrappings upon the feet. they had to step lively to keep up with the ponies. all the people in this company carried with them long garments made of oiled paper. you have already learned that the korean paper is very tough, and when soaked with oil it forms a splendid protection against the rain. many of these garments had a very peculiar appearance, because they were made of paper a journey on which had been set copies for schoolboys to use in learning to write. as yung pak and his companions passed along the dirty streets of seoul toward a gate in the great wall, a curious crowd was attracted by the unusual sight. this mob of men and boys were good-natured, but very curious, and it gathered so close as to impede the progress of the ponies. moreover, a watchful eye had to be kept on all the luggage, lest some over- covetous person might steal the provisions and supplies on the ponies' backs. notwithstanding the slow progress made by ki pak's company, it took only a short time to pass through the narrow streets and out by the great gate, leaving behind the noisy mob of men and boys who had followed them to the city's wall. once outside, upon the road which wound around and over the high hills that surround the city, the pure country air seemed very sweet our little korean cousin and refreshing to yung pak, who knew noth- ing of life outside seoul. this was his first journey into the country, and the many strange sights drew exclamations of surprise and won- der from him. the green waving grass and swaying foliage of the trees were ever new sources of joy and pleasure, and the delicate odours which the breezes bore to his sensitive nostrils were refreshing and life-giving. among the strange sights which attracted yung pak's attention, as they rode along through the country, were some very curious figures erected by the roadside. these were posts, one side of which was roughly planed. on the upper part of each of these posts was a rude carving of a hideous human face with prominent teeth. the cheeks and teeth were slightly coloured. a most fiendish appearance was presented by these figures, called by the koreans you-sal-mak-i, and if looks counted for anything, they ought well to serve their " on the upper part of each of these posts was a rude carving” a journey purpose, - the scaring away of evil spirits from the village near which the figures always stood. the mile-posts, or fjang-seung, along the way were often similarly decorated. another curiosity by the wayside which led to wonder on yung pak's part was an old trunk of a tall tree. for about thirty feet from the ground this was painted in col- oured stripes very much like a barber's pole. the top and branches of the tree had been trimmed off, and the upper end was rudely carved in a shape representing a dragon with a forked tail. from the head, which resembled that of an alligator, hung various cords, to which were attached small brass bells and a wooden fish. wang ken told yung pak that this was a monument to some famous korean “ doctor of literature.” on the first day's journey toward chang- an-sa the party made good progress. the plan was to get to yong-pyöng, about twenty our little korean cousin miles from seoul, before nightfall. to you this would seem a short day's journey, but when it is remembered that many of the serv- ants were on foot, and that the little ponies were heavily loaded, it does not seem so strange that more ground could not be covered in one day. in addition, in many places the roads were poor, though in the valleys there was a smooth bottom where the sand had washed down from the hills. on some of these hillsides little villages were perched. yung pak noticed that on the upper side of each of these hill-towns was a moon-shaped wall. “ what is that wall for?” he asked wang ken as they passed one. “that protects the village in time of rain- storms,” replied the tutor. « the soil here is of such a nature that it easily washes away, and if the town were unprotected the earth would soon be swept from beneath the houses. a journey - you. some have hung there so long that the wind and rain have torn them to rags. “yes, but why is this done?” asked yung pak. “because,” was the reply, "a man who is possessed by an evil spirit thinks that by thus tying a part of his clothing to the tree he may induce the spirit to attach himself to it instead of to his own person. yung pak’s curiosity satisfied, they returned to the road, mounted their ponies, and quickly caught up with the rest of the party. no further incidents of special importance marked this first day's journey, and shortly before nightfall they arrived at the town of yong-pyöng. they found the village inn to be a series of low, small buildings built on three sides of a courtyard. into low sheds in this yard the ponies were crowded and the luggage removed from their backs. ki pak's servants proceeded to build a fire in the centre our little korean cousin of the yard and the cook made preparations for getting supper. travellers had to provide a large part of their own meals, for, as already stated, these village inns were not hotels in the real sense of the word. they were simply rude lodging-places where travellers might be protected from the night air and have a chance to sleep while passing through the country. into the main waiting-room of the inn yung pak, with his father and tutor, entered. at the door they removed their shoes and left them outside. in the room were several other travellers seated upon the floor, which was covered with oiled paper and grass mats. there was absolutely no furniture. the walls were covered with clean white paper. each man in the room was smoking a pipe, which consisted of a brass bowl and a reed stem over three feet long. all wore long white robes, though one of the occupants had hung his hat upon the wall. a journey into this room after a time the cook brought supper for his masters. other servants brought in boxes which were used as tables, and though the style was not just what yung pak was used to, he managed to eat a hearty meal. the day in the open air had given him a hunger and a zest he rarely knew. after supper, for a short time yung pak and wang ken talked over with ki pak the events of the day. a servant soon announced that their sleeping-rooms were ready, and they gladly at once sought their beds. to get to their rooms they again stepped out into the courtyard. they found that each bedroom was one of the little buildings facing the yard. yung pak and wang ken occupied one room, while ki pak had a room by himself. through a narrow door about three feet high the lad and his tutor entered their room. the door was simply a lattice shutter covered with paper. the room was very small, — barely space for our little korean cousin the two mattresses which had been put there by the servants, and the ceiling was so low that even the short koreans could hardly stand upright. yet here our two friends managed to make themselves very comfortable for the night. outside in the courtyard the fire was kept burning, beside which two watchmen sat all night smoking and telling stories. it was necessary to maintain a watch till morning because the country districts of korea are infested with wild animals, particularly tigers, and the bright blaze of the fire served to keep them at a distance. otherwise the thin-walled houses would have been slight protection for the sleeping travellers. as it was, yung pak slept soundly the whole night, and did not awake until after daylight, when servants brought to his door a wooden bowl and a brass vessel full of water for his morning bath. quickly he sprang up, ve the day was passed in much the same manner as the preceding one a journey and with his companions made ready for the day's journey, for they were all anxious to be on their way. breakfast was served in much the same manner as the supper of the previous evening had been. of this meal all heartily partook, for a korean is never guilty of having a poor appetite. as usual, it took a long time to get the ponies properly loaded and ready to start, and the forenoon was about half-gone when the procession finally left the courtyard of the inn. a twenty-mile march would bring the party to rang-chyön, where it was proposed to spend the second night of the journey. the day was passed in much the same manner as the preceding one, though of course new scenes proved ever interesting to yung pak. during this day the party had to cross a river which was too deep to ford, and over our little korean cousin the men which there was no sort of bridge. for the assistance of travellers a ferry-boat had been provided. this boat was a broad, flat-bot- tomed, clumsy affair. it could carry but three ponies at a time, with several men. in charge of the boat were slow and obstinate, and consequently it took a long time for all to get across the river. it was right here that an unfortunate, yet laughable, accident occurred. as on the preceding day, the cook rode perched upon his pony's load of kettles, pans, and pots. when riding along a good road his position was precarious enough, requiring all his best efforts to maintain his balance. when his turn came to go upon the ferry- boat, ki pak advised him to dismount and lead his pony across the plank which covered the watery space between the bank of the river and the boat. but the cook was an obstinate korean, as well as a trifle lazy, and a journey refused to get down, thinking he could safely drive his beast across the gang-plank. ordi- narily this would have been possible, but on this particular occasion, just as the pony stepped upon the plank, the boat gave a lurch, the plank slipped, and overboard went pony, cook, and all. for a few moments there was enough bustle and excitement to suit any one. fortunately, the water was not deep, and quickly the drenched animal and man were pulled from the water. the only permanent harm was to some of the provisions that were a part of the pony's load. the cook was a wiser as well as a wet man, and made up his mind that the next time he would heed the advice to dismount when boarding a ferry- boat. the day's journey was completed without further special incident, and at night they rested in the inn at rang-chyön under condi- tions much the same as at yong-pyöng. our little korean cousin the third day's journey brought the com- pany to kewen-syöng. on the way thither yung pak was much interested in the sights of the country, which grew wilder and more strange the farther they got from seoul. on this day numerous highwaymen were met, but they dared not molest the travellers on account of the large number in the party. the cabins along the country roads were a continual source of curiosity to yung pak. they were built of mud, without windows, and no door except a screen of cords. in nearly every doorway would be sitting a man, smok- ing a long-stemmed pipe, who looked with wide-open eyes at the unusual procession passing his house. of course all the men who lived in these country cabins were farmers, and yung pak liked to watch them as they worked in their fields, for to the city-bred boy this is always an entrancing sight. what seemed most cu- a journey rious to him was the fact that women were also at work in the fields. at his home the women of the family nearly always stayed in their own apartments, and when they did go out always went heavily veiled. these country women not only assisted in the farm work, but they had to do all the spinning and weaving for the family, in addition to usual household cares. son. wang ken was able to tell yung pak much about country life, for, like most of the school- masters of korea, he was himself a farmer's he told how the korean farmer lived a simple, patient life, while at the same time he was ignorant and superstitious. he be- lieved in demons, spirits, and dragons, and in nearly every house were idols in honour of the imaginary deities. pigs and bulls are the chief animals on korean farms. the latter are used as beasts of burden, though occasionally a more pros- our little korean cousin perous man may own a pony or a donkey. the farming tools are extremely rude and simple, thus necessitating the labour of several men or women where one man could do the work with good tools. while travelling along yung pak met several hunters. they were not an uncommon sight on the streets of seoul. when in the city they wore a rough felt conical hat and dark blue cotton robe. the garments were ugly in appearance and inconvenient. when the hunters were after game the robe was discarded, and its place taken by a short wadded jacket, its sleeves bound around the arms over wadded cuffs which reached from wrist to elbow. in a similar way the trousers were bound to the calf of the hunter's leg, and light straw sandals over a long piece of cotton cloth were strapped to the feet and ankles. a huge string game-bag was slung over his back, and in an antelope's horn or a crane's bill bullets a journey were carried. powder was kept dry in a tor- toise-shaped case of leather or oiled paper. yung pak's father would have been glad to have taken time for seeking game with some of these hunters, but the business of his trip prevented any unnecessary delay on the journey. chapter viii. the monastery at chang - an - sa in the latter part of the afternoon of the fourth day, our travellers, weary and worn with the long journey, came in sight of chang- an-sa, the temple of eternal rest, one of the oldest monasteries of korea, where hundreds of monks devoted their lives to the service of buddha. the temple buildings, with deep curved roofs, are in a glorious situation on a small level lot of grassy land crowded between the high walls of a rocky ravine. yung pak was delighted at his first sight of the great temple and the surrounding buildings. through the swaying branches of the forest- the monastery at chang-an-sa trees he caught brief glimpses of the granite walls and turrets reddening in the sunset glow. the deepening gloom of the gorge was lighted by the slant beams of the setting sun, and on the water in the stream below flecks of foam sparkled and danced in the light of the dying day. at first conversation was out of the question in the presence of such a majestic display of nature's wonders combined with the handiwork of man. coming to a gate of red stone, yung pak asked the meaning of the carved arrow in the arch overhead. “that arrow,” replied his father, “ signifies that the temples to which this gate is the outer entrance are under the patronage of the king. wherever you see that sign, you may know that the king has a special interest, and his messengers will be treated with respect and hospitality. consequently we may expect to our little korean cousin be well cared for during our visit to this place.” passing through the gate, our friends found themselves at once in the midst of the chang- an-sa monastery buildings. in addition to the great chief temple, there were many smaller places of worship, with bell and tablet houses. there were also cells and sleeping-rooms for the monks, servants' quarters, stables, a huge kitchen, and an immense dining-room, together with a large guest-hall and a nunnery. in addition there were several buildings devoted to the care of the aged, the infirm, and the sick. all these places, during his stay, yung pak visited in company with wang ken and guided by one of the monks. besides the buildings already mentioned there were several houses that had been erected by the king on purpose for the use of his officials, and it was to one of these that ki pak and his son and wang ken were led our little korean cousin one of the first things he noticed was the large number of boys about the place. he learned from the guide that these lads were all orphans who were being cared for by the priests, and who, later in life, would themselves become priests of buddha. they were all bright and active, and were kept busily employed as waiters and errand-run- ners when they were not at work on their. studies. like most boys, however, they managed to get a generous share of time for play. it would be impossible to tell in detail about all the strange things yung pak saw at this monastery. the chief temple was an enor- mous structure of stone and tile and carved wood, all decorated in gorgeous combinations of red, green, gold, and white. within this temple was one room called the “chamber of imagery.” inside its darkened walls a single monk chanted his monotonous the monastery at chang-an-sa prayer before an altar. during the chant he also occupied himself by striking a small bell with a deer-horn. bells played a great part in the worship at chang-an-sa, and all the prayers were emphasized by the clanging of bells great or small. along the shadowy walls of this room could be seen the weapons, as well as the eyes and teeth, the legs and arms, of gods and demons otherwise invisible. these had a ghostly effect on yung pak, and made him cling closely to the side of his tutor. above the altar before which the priest knelt was an immense carving in imitation of an uprooted tree. among the roots thus exposed were placed fifty-three idols in all kinds of positions. beneath the carving were represented three fierce-looking dragons, on whose faces were signs of the most awful tor- ment and suffering. “ about this altar-piece," said yung pak's our little korean cousin guide, “there is a legend you might like to hear.” “oh, yes,” was the reply,“ tell us the story.” “many years ago," began the guide, “fifty- three buddhist priests came from india to korea for the purpose of converting the people to their belief. when they reached this place they were very tired, and sat down by a spring beneath the wide-spreading branches of a tree. they had not been there long when three dragons appeared and attacked the priests. during the contest the dragons called up a great wind which uprooted the in return, each of the priests placed an image of buddha on a tree-root, turning it into an altar. thus they were able to over- come the dragons, who were forced into the spring. on top of them great stones were piled, and afterward the monastery of chang- an-sa was built upon the site of the battle between the priests and the dragons.” tree. the monastery at chang-an-sa afterward yung pak visited the great kitch- ens, the dining-rooms, the stables, the private rooms of the monks, and every place which might be of interest to an inquisitive boy of his age. during the time he remained at chang-an-sa he made several excursions into the surround- ing country, but always returning to the mon- astery at night. meanwhile ki pak had transacted the busi- ness for which he came to this region, and at the end of ten days was ready to return to seoul. of this journey it is not necessary to tell. no mishap marred the pleasure of the trip, and all returned safe and sound to their home in the capital city of korea. yung pak had enjoyed the journey very, very much, yet he was not sorry once more to be among the familiar scenes and surroundings of home. chapter ix. a full - fledged top - knot like all korean boys, yung pak wore his hair in two braids, and by the time he was twelve years old these had become very long, , and hung in black and glossy plaits down his back. on the day that he was thirteen his father called him to his room and told the lad that the time had come for him to assume the dig- nities of a man. in accordance with that statement, he had decided that on the next day his son should be formally “invested with the top-knot. in other words, the crown of his head was to be shaven, and his long hair tightly coiled upon the bare place thus made. this is called the “investiture a full-fledged top-knot of the top-knot,” and is always attended by solemn ceremonies. in preparation for this event ki pak had made careful and elaborate arrangements. he had provided for his son new clothes and a hat after the style of his own. he had also con- sulted an eminent astrologer, who had chosen the propitious day and hour for the ceremony after due consultation of the calendar and the stars and planets in their courses. generally, if the father is blessed with good fortune and a number of sons, he acts as his own master of ceremonies on such an occasion, but as ki pak had only this one son he de- cided to ask his brother, wu-pom nai, who had several sons and was a prosperous mer- chant of seoul, to fill this important position. yung pak could hardly wait for the morrow to come. so excited was he at the thought of the great honour that was to be his that he spent almost a sleepless night. however, like our little korean cousin compass revealed all nights, long or short, this one passed, and the wished-for hour at last arrived. all the male members of the family were present. korean women are reckoned of little importance and take no part in social and family affairs. on this occasion no men ex- cept relatives were asked to attend. yung pak was directed to seat himself on the floor in the centre of the room, facing the east. this was the point of by the astrologer as most favourable to the young candidate for manly honours. with great deliberation and much formality wu-pom nai proceeded to loosen the boy's heavy plaits of hair. then with great care, while the onlookers watched with breathless interest, he shaved the crown of the lad's head, making a bare circular spot about three inches in diameter. over this spot he twisted all the remaining hair into a coil about four inches long, pointing slightly forward like a horn. a full-fledged top-knot over the top-knot thus made the master of ceremonies placed the mang-kun, which was a crownless skull-cap made of a very delicate stiff gauze. this was tied on very tightly, - so tightly that it made a deep ridge in yung pak's forehead and gave him a severe headache; but he bore the pain heroically and without flinching — for was he not now a man? the regular korean man's hat, with its flapping wings, was next put on, and this part of the ceremony was complete. yung pak now rose from his position, and made a deep bow to each one in the room, beginning with his father, and then in regular order according to relationship. afterward, accompanied by his relatives, he proceeded to the room where were placed the tablets in memory of his ancestors. there he offered sacrifice before each one in turn. lighted candles in brass candlesticks he placed in front of each tablet, and beside the candles he put selections from the page company's books for young people per volume the blue bonnet series each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, $ . a texas blue bonnet by .caroline e. jacobs. “the book's heroine, blue bonnet, has the very finest kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness.” — chicago inter-ocean. blue bonnet's ranch party by caroline e. jacobs and edyth ellerbeck read. a healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every chapter.” — boston transcript. blue bonnet in boston by caroline e. jacobs and lela horn richards. “ it is bound to become popular because of its 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impression, may, eighteenth impression, april, nineteenth impression, january, twentieth impression, june, twenty-first impression, february, preface are the japanese boys and girls are very happy and contented. they are very cleanly and polite. they dislike harsh words and quarrel- ing. they take great delight in the beautiful things god has given, — the green fields, the trees, and the flowers. they are ever ready to join with their parents in making festivals when the peach and plum-trees burst into bloom. then, away with all care as they go out in gay processions into the country, where they sing songs and write little poems to the trees that give them so much pleasure. the japanese take delight in simple things. but there is another side of their nature, we are now discovering. they are very brave. they love their country as themselves. they are willing to give up their lives for her, and they do it gladly. when the japanese sol- diers go forth to battle, their wives and chil- dren do not weep. they cheer them onward with all their hearts, for these men whom they preface vii love so dearly are going in defence of the country that is the mother of them all. at this very moment, it may be, the japa- nese are in battle with their powerful enemies. their number is small when compared with the great russian army, but they are brave and fearless; they think little of themselves, and much of the country they are eager to save. thousands of their american cousins watch eagerly for news and daily send love and greetings to the dauntless japanese. ws list of illustrations page lotus blossom . . . . . . frontispiece . " she is soon sound asleep” . . . . toyo feeding the pigeons the candy man . . aunt ocho's garden . a lesson in arranging flowers . . our little japanese cousin never she cry? papa and mamma are always kind and ready to play with her. she is never sent to bed alone in the dark, for she goes to sleep, and gets up in the morning when her parents do. she does not play so hard as to get tired out and cross with everybody. she takes everything quietly, just as the big folks do, and is never in a hurry. her play- mates do not say unkind words to make her sad, for the children of japan are taught to be polite above everything else. why, i have heard that once upon a time one little yellow boy so far forgot himself as to call a lady bad names. his parents were terribly shocked. they felt that they had been dis- graced, and at once sent for a policeman to go to the lady's house and ask for their child's pardon. as for him! well, he was severely punished in a way you will hear about later on in my story. besides all these things which help to make our little japanese cousin nen going inside. that is one reason why every building can be kept so clean. the little japanese girl's clothes are pretty as well as comfortable. it is not possible for pins to prick her tender flesh, because they are never used about her dress. in summer she wears a silk or linen garment made very much like your papa's dressing-gown, except that it has immense sleeves. beautiful scarlet flowers are embroidered all over it, and a wide sash is wound around her waist and tied in a big, flat bow behind. she is very fond of red, so she has a bow of red crape in her hair, and a small red bag is fastened to her belt in front. what do you suppose she carries in the bag? paper handkerchiefs ! not linen ones like yours, which are washed when they get soiled, but rather of soft, pretty paper. as soon as each one is used it is thrown away. don't you think that is a very nice and cleanly custom ? indeed, there are many things about our little japanese cousin enough to make an american boy's heart fill with envy. he may boast of six pockets, but what of that? they could all be filled and stowed away in one of lotus blossom’s sleeves, and room would be still left. the little girl's life is like a long playtime. in the first place, she lives in a sort of play- house. there is nothing to get out of order; no chairs in the way, no table-scarfs to pull down, no ink-wells to tip over. there is only one big room in the house, but there are many beautiful paper screens, so her mamma can divide the house just as she pleases by moving the screens about. if be no question whether there is a guest-room or not. one can be made with screens in a moment. even the front of the house is made of screens, which can be closed at night, and folded away in the morning to open up the whole house to the fresh air and sunshine. our little japanese cousin has only to get a fire-box, light some charcoal, and sit down beside it. and when lotus blossom goes to breakfast, she has a fire-box beside the lacquered table, so that water for her tea can be kept hot. tea! you say. that little girl, nine years old, drinking tea? yes, we have to admit that the japanese child drinks tea at a very early age ; and with no milk or sugar, either. but then the cups are so tiny they do not hold inuch. they are no bigger than those in a doll's china set. how quickly the little tea-table is set at meal times. each member of the family has one all to himself. there is no table-cloth, no knife, or fork, or spoon; instead of these one sees a pair of chop-sticks, a small cup and saucer, and a plate from which he eats the steaming rice and the minced fish. but suppose that the tea or rice should be spilled on the beautiful table? please don't imagine such a thing japanese re our little japanese cousin nare children are too carefully trained by their kind mammas to be so careless. they handle their chop-sticks so daintily that no grain of rice nor bit of fish falls as they lift the food to their pretty mouths. where does our little japanese cousin sleep in this funny house? there are no bedsteads, or mattresses, or blankets, or sheets. when bedtime comes, her papa and mamma move the screens around so as to shut themselves off from the rest of the house. then they go to a cupboard and take down some wadded quilts and queer wooden blocks, whose tops are slightly curved. a quilt is spread on the floor, and a wooden block serves as a pillow. some paper is laid on it so that it may be kept clean. and now, you think, lotus blossom may get into her bed after she has undressed and put on her night-dress. not so, however. she must bathe in a tub of such hot water that it would turn your body our little japanese cousin very red, if you were only to hop in and out again. the whole family bathe in the same tub of water, one after the other, and it is kept hot by a tube which runs to a fire-box. the little girl puts on her day-dress after her bath is finished, and, lying down on the quilt, she rests her head on the hard pillow. mamma covers her with another quilt, and she is soon sound asleep. when lotus blossom was two years old her brother toyo was born. how the family rejoiced at having a little son! when he was only seven days old a very important cere- mony was performed. he had to receive a name. his papa, who believes in the religion of shintoism, fully wrote out five of his fa- vourite names on pieces of paper. then he took his baby in his arms, and, carrying the papers, he went to the temple where he wor- shipped. the papers were handed to the priest, who placed them in a bowl. after " she is soon sound asleep." ----- --- - our little japanese cousin so some ceremony, the priest began to fish in the bowl with a sacred wand. the first paper he lifted out bore the name of toyo. this was the way that lotus blossom's little brother received his name. when he was about four weeks old he was again carried to the temple by his father and nurse. the japanese believe in one great power, or god, but under him there are many others; as, a god of flowers, a god of art, and so forth. this time he was put under the care of his special god, who was then expected to protect him for the rest of his life. all this time toyo's head was kept per- fectly smooth. in fact, his first visit to the barber was very important, for all his hair was shaved off then except a little fringe at the back and sides. when he was four months old another important ceremony was held. toyo left off baby clothes and was given his first solid food. that was rice, of course, our little japanese cousin which he would continue to eat at every meal for the rest of his life. toyo and lotus blossom are always happy together. his sister was the first one to help toyo squat on his little heels. japanese babies never creep. the little brother had no baby-carriage or cradle, but he never missed them. he was always such a happy little fellow; never perched up in a high-chair with his body fastened in by a wooden tray, but always moving around, sometimes on the floor, sometimes fastened on mamma's or nurse's back, again on the older children's backs, when lotus blossom was out playing in the garden with them. when he got tired he would simply go to sleep, while the chil- dren would keep on with their play. but when he woke up, he would look about with a dear little smile, as much as to say: “ i'm all right, thank you, don't fret about me.” it was a most important time when he cut our little japanese cousin son new forget all about it, mamma would bring a new doll from the cupboard. but perhaps lotus blossom is tired of playthings, so she and toyo run out in the garden to have a frolic with their pets. they have new ones nearly every day, for they are fond of every creature that is alive. to-day they are going to hunt for some big beetles, as toyo has planned a little carriage which he will make out of paper, with pasteboard wheels and reins of silk thread for the paper doll. the beetles will be harnessed, and the children will train them to draw the carriage. jolly fun! the whole afternoon is spent in finding some black beauties and playing with them. another day the children will catch some grasshoppers and tame them. toyo will make a pretty paper cage to hold them, while both he and lotus blossom will be very care- ful to feed them regularly on the dainties om our little japanese cousin they like best. when night comes the turtles must be looked after and fed, for toyo has some beauties. he likes to fasten a string through the shell and take them walking, just as his american cousins do, but he would not willingly torture them. lotus blossom has a globe full of gold-fish different from any you have ever seen. their tails are fan-shaped, and are as long as their bodies. during the long summer days the globe of fish is set out on the broad balcony, and many children stop to watch them as they pass. toyo loves his little dog more than all his other pets. he is the dearest little fellow, and wishes to follow his young master wherever he goes. he looks somewhat like a spaniel, except that he is white. his nose is turned up at the end, so that he looks all the time as if he would say, “humph! i am very wise. you poor people don't know much.” and he looks all this in such a our little japanese cousin way as to make you wish to laugh. toyo's mamma has made a big scarlet ruff for the dog's neck, and it makes him feel very fine, i dare say. his master has fastened a wooden label on his collar to tell where he belongs. i know you will be disappointed when you learn that lotus blossom's dear little kitten cannot play with her tail. no fun for her, poor kitty, you are thinking. but why is it? because she has no tail, or at least only the stub of one. so of course she is quite calm and solemn — that is, for a kitten. but then she lives in japan, and so she ought to be more dignified than kittens of other lands. don't you think so ? we must leave all these pets now and go to church, or rather to the temple, with toyo, lotus blossom, and their parents. there is no set day for worship, for there is no such thing as sunday in japan. the temples are always open, and the children are fond of our little japanese cousin going to them to offer prayers, and also to have a good time. as they near the temple they see stands of sweetmeats and good things of all kinds. the way is lined on both sides with these stands. great numbers of people, rich and poor, high and low, are coming and going. pigeons are flying in and out of the sacred building, and no one harms them. toyo stops and buys a yen's worth of corn and scatters it for the birds to eat. they flock around him without fear. they are so tame that the children could catch them with no difficulty. but lotus blossom and toyo pass on to the entrance, and, bowing low, take off their clogs. the inside of the building is almost bare. there are no statues of gods or goddesses, no ornaments, — nothing except an altar with some queer sticks standing upon it. festoons of white paper hang from these wands, or “gohei,” as the japanese call them. a priest toyo feeding the pigeons. our little japanese cousin stands behind the altar, and a large cloth is spread out on the floor in front of it. lotus blossom and toyo clap their hands. this is to call the attention of the gods. then they say a little prayer and throw some money upon the cloth. if they are very good and devout children, perhaps the gods will descend into the temple. the queer papers on the wands are to be the clothing of these great beings. no images are needed, you see, only plenty of paper. rather hard to understand this, and yet all that is necessary for toyo and lotus blossom is to worship their ances- tors properly, and believe that the great spirits are working everywhere in nature. this is the reason they are taught to obey their parents at all times, and never to harm any- thing living. the children are also taught to believe that the mikado, the emperor of japan, is descended from god-kings who once ruled over the country. this is why such our little japanese cousin ve great honour is paid him wherever he goes. until a few years ago the people thought him so sacred that they ought not to look at him, so he was obliged to stay inside his beautiful palace like a prisoner. but times have changed, and his subjects have a little more common sense nowadays. after our little cousins have said their prayers and given their money, they go to a dance-hall in another part of the temple. you know by this time that the japanese like to enjoy themselves. but isn't it a strange idea to have dancing, praying, and feasting in the same place? the dancers are dressed like butterflies. they have beautiful red and gold wings. they are very graceful, but the music is unpleasant to us. toyo thinks it is fine, and wishes he could play as well. now for a good dinner in the restaurant in the next hall, for the boy's father has prom- ised to treat his family to all the dainties of our little japanese cousin the season, — candied lotus-leaves, and every- thing they like best. it is a happy day, and the children wish they could go to the temple oftener. one morning not long after this, poor little lotus blossom woke up with a bad pain in her stomach. her face and hands were hot. she was not able to get up and go to school. mamma felt very sad, and at once sent to ask the priest for something to make her little daughter well. you say at once, “is the priest in japan a doctor? and will he pre- pare medicine marked in some such way as this: • one teaspoonful to be taken each hour?'” no, indeed. lotus blossom’s mamma re- ceived from her queer physician two “moxas,” with orders that one of them should be placed on the back of the sick child, and the other on her foot. the direction of the priest was followed, although it made lotus blossom very unhappy. i think you would not like our little japanese cousin it, if you were in her place, for a moxa makes a burn far worse than a mustard plaster does. you know the punk that you use on the fourth of july to light your firecrackers and fireworks? the moxas are made of a cer- tain kind of pith, and burn slowly just as the punk does. the japanese believe in the use of moxas for many things, — bad children, sickness, and i can't tell you what else. the impolite boy i told you about, at the begin- ning of the story, was burned with a moxa, in such a way that he never forgot himself again. as for fevers, why, the moxa is cer- tain to drive away the bad spirits that cause them. no doubt you wonder at it, as i do myself, but lotus blossom got well enough in two or three days to sit up and be dressed. but she did not care for her dolls or games ; she felt tired all the time. her loving and most honoured father said a change of air would our little japanese cousin do her good. it would be well for her to spend some days at the house of an aunt who lived several miles out in the country. toyo was allowed to go, too. how were they to get there? in steam or electric cars ? what can you be thinking of to ask such questions? two jinrikishas were brought to the door; one was for lotus blossom and one for her brother. strong men were hired to draw them. i wonder if you ever saw anything like a jin-riki-sha, or man-power-car- riage, for that is what the word means. they are very comfortable, much like baby-car- riages, and are lined with soft cushions. the men look strong and kind. they are nearly naked, so that they can run easily and rapidly. it will take only an hour to carry the children to their aunt's, if they do not stop on the way. but there are so many things to see to-day that lotus blossom forgets all about her sickness and burns, and wants her our little japanese cousin een. runners to stop every few minutes to rest. the children spend at least five minutes bid- ding their mother a proper good-bye. then, at the word, off they go, down“ dog” street into “turtle” street. there are no side- walks, but they are not needed, for horses and wagons are rarely seen. , but look! here is a man standing in the middle of the street, dancing and singing a funny song. the sober japanese who are passing stop and laugh. the man has a little stand by his side, and on this stand are a dish of wheat-gluten and a bamboo reed. as lotus blossom and toyo draw near, the man ends his song and calls out, “now who wants me to blow him a candy dog? or shall it be a monkey eating a nut? you, my most honoured little lady, want one surely.” this he said to lotus blossom, who was sitting up straight in the jinrikisha, full of interest. she thought a moment or two, and k xx se sos conces the candy man. our little japanese cousin then asked for a stork with wings spread out to fly. she had hardly stopped speaking be- fore the man seized a bamboo reed, dipped it in the sticky paste, and blowing now this way, now that, fashioned the graceful bird. pinching it here and there to make it more perfect, he put on some touches of colour from a box of paints. it was wonderfully done. lotus blossom gave him five yen for the candy toy, the runners took hold of the jinrikisha, and away the children went on their journey. they came soon to another crowd of boys and girls gathered about a batter-cake man. he had a little stand on which a pan of char- coal was burning. a large griddle rested over the coal, and a tiny little urchin was standing on his tiptoes and baking cakes. the man cut them out for him in pretty shapes. see the pleasure on the youngster's face! all this fun for ten yen, or one cent. the other children m our little japanese cousin a man with one of them over his shoulders, and a queer mushroom-shaped hat on his head, you would feel like laughing, i know, – that is, if you had not already acquired some of the politeness of the japanese themselves. but let us return to turtle street and find out what is now attracting the attention of our little cousins. would you believe it? they can't be in very much of a hurry to get to aunty's, for they have stopped again. you would also stop if you saw what they do. a travelling street show is entertaining num- bers of men, women, and children. babies are on the backs of some of them, laugh- ing and crowing, too. see that clever fellow in the middle. he is making butterflies of coloured paper and blowing them up into the air. he keeps them flying about, now in one direction, now in another, by waving his fan. it seems as though they must be alive, he does this so cleverly. that yellow butterfly eems our little japanese cousin is made to alight on a baby's hand. hear the little fellow crow with delight. another flies over lotus blossom’s jinrikisha, and then, by the dexterous waving of the show- man's fan, goes off in another direction before she can catch it. after the butterfly show another man per- forms some wonderful tricks with a ladder. he places the ladder upright on the ground without any support; he climbs it, rung by rung, keeping its balance all the time. finally he reaches the very top and stands on one foot, bowing and gracefully waving a fan. there is not time to tell you all the wonderful feats of the japanese. toyo and lotus blos- som are delighted, although they have seen performances like these many times before. but they must really hasten on their jour- ney, for aunty will be expecting them, and it will soon be sunset. in a few moments they leave the city behind and are out in the beauti- our little japanese cousin ful country. they pass tea plantations. the glossy green leaves are almost ready to pick. see the man in that field, running wildly about, making hideous noises. is he crazy? our little cousins do not seem disturbed as they pass by, for he is only a hired scarecrow. you remember that the people in japan think it wrong to kill any living thing. but there are great numbers of birds in the country which are likely to eat the crops and do much dam- age. so men are hired to act as scarecrows and make noises to frighten the birds away. at last uncle oto's rice plantation is reached. the children draw up in front of a large, low house with wide verandas. it is more beautiful than their own home. the roof is magnificent with carvings, and must have cost a great deal of money. it is the pride of aunt ocho. the gardens contain the choicest plants and trees, besides a pond and an artificial waterfall. lotus blossom and our little japanese cousin toyo are sure of a good time and much fun. they will have a great deal to tell their mamma when they return to their home. ise time passes by. the children have been back in their own home a long time. they are now looking forward to new year's day. everything is excitement about the house. mamma has hired an extra servant to help clean the house from right to left; not from top to bottom, as we say, for there are no stairways or rooms overhead. everything is on one floor, remember. the screens are carefully wiped, the mats receive an extra shaking, and then mamma brings out her choicest vase from the storehouse and places it on a beautiful, ebony stand in the place of honour. the japanese are not at all like us. they are so simple in their tastes, and love beautiful things so much, that they have only one or two pieces, at the most, on view at a our little japanese cousin more son time. they think they can enjoy them more fully in this way. the most honoured father orders some workmen to come and set up some tall pine branches in front of the gateway. one is of black, the other of red pine, and tall bamboo reeds are placed beside them. a grass rope is stretched from one reed to the other, and some funny strips of white paper are hung on it. you saw many of these papers at the temple where the children worship. this work is very important to the childlike people. they think that the rope, with papers fastened to it, will keep away all the evil spirits that are ever ready to spoil the happiness of human beings. they are demons, who take the shape of foxes, badgers, and wolves, and are frightful enough to the imagination of lotus blossom and her brother. of course, the children are glad that the evil spirits are to be surely kept saw away. our little japanese cousin other things are hung on the rope for good luck. there is a piece of charcoal and some seaweed, and a “lucky bag” filled with chest- nuts, a bit of herring and sume dried fruit. all these things will make the gods under- stand they are not forgotten. the day before new year's some men come to the house with an oven and pro- ceed to make the grand new year's cake. it must not be eaten, however, until the rith of january. the children stand around and watch the men pound the sticky rice-paste with a heavy mallet. at last it is smooth enough, and then it is cut into rounds and built up into a pyramid. i hear you say, “well, i'd rather have my mother's plum- cake, any time.” but not so with lotus blossom and toyo. they watch their mother anxiously as she places it with great care on a lacquered stand, to remain until the time comes to eat it. our little japanese cousin now they are allowed to put on their clogs and go to buy the “ harvest ship,” which they will hang up in the house instead of the holly and evergreens you like to see at christmas time. the japanese believe that on new year's eve a wonderful ship comes sailing into port. of course, it is sent by the gods. no one has ever really seen it. that does not matter; there are pictures of it, nevertheless, and no new year's decorations are complete without a miniature harvest ship. the shops are as full of them as our markets are of ever- green trees at christmas time. they are made of grasses and trimmed with gaily col- oured papers. the selection of this ship is a very exciting event, not only for lotus blossom and toyo, but also for their mother. how anxiously they look at one after another as the shopkeeper shows them. finally one is chosen that suits the children's mother as to price and beauty. but the shopping is by our little japanese cousin no means ended, for presents must be bought for friends and playmates. and now, children of america, please don't get envious of all the pretty things which your cousins can buy for a few pennies. lotus blossom and toyo have been saving money for a long time. each has a number of square copper coins strung on a string. they are not like our pennies, for they are larger and thinner, and each one has a square hole in the centre. ten of these are equal in value to one of our cents, and there are many pretty things that japanese children can buy for a yen, as this piece of money is called. such pretty picture books made of the lovely japa- nese paper! dolls that are dressed in the same fashion as the two children, only the dresses are of paper ; pictures of the japanese gods and goddesses ; games and tops and can- dies. at length the shopping is over and the last yen has been spent. the family are glad can our little japanese cousin to go home and take a hot bath and nap, for they are very tired. on new year's morning lotus blossom and her brother receive their own presents, and although they do not shout and jump up and down as you do when you are very happy, they are much pleased. toyo has a drum, some lovely books and a new game of battle- dore and shuttlecock, which is the game of all games to be played at new year's. the shuttlecock is a large gilded seed with feathers stuck all around it; the battledore is a bat, flat on one side to strike with, while the other side has a raised figure of a beautiful dancing-girl. lotus blossom has, among other things, a doll which her mother has dressed in flowered silk, keep her ornaments. but the greatest surprise to the children is a white rabbit. these little creatures are the dearest of all pets in japan, because they are so rare. it cost the loving our little japanese cousin pretty japanese women spoil their good looks as soon as they are married by colouring their teeth black! isn't it a shame? i'm glad we don't have this custom in our country, aren't you? and now the new year's calls begin. what a bowing and bending! men, women, and children are all calling and lavishing many - worded compliments on each other. refreshments are passed, and then there is a “show” to amuse everybody. some men have been hired to come to the house. they dance and sing many songs. after this comes the funny part of the entertainment. one man puts on a mask and makes believe he is an animal. he rolls around on the floor at the ladies' feet, makes queer noises, and every- body laughs and is delighted. the big folks like it as much as the children. perhaps the funny man will now put on two masks and represent different things at the same time, – : our little japanese cousin when they arrive at their schoolroom, they are met by a quiet, kindly man with big glasses over his eyes. the children instantly bow down to the ground before him, for he is their teacher. of course the low bow is to show great respect. japanese children are taught to treat their instructors, as well as their parents, with honour and regard. and now they enter the schoolroom. but what a schoolroom! no desks, no platform, no seats ! the teacher sits down upon a mat with a small lacquered stand beside him. the children squat on the floor around him and begin to study. what queer letters in the books! you would not be able to read one word. lotus blossom and toyo have already learned their alphabets. you smile, perhaps, and think, “h’m! that isn't much.” well, just wait till i tell you there are forty-seven different characters in one alphabet, while in another there are several times as many. the our little japanese cousin easy alphabet is the only one that girls must know, while boys learn both. but lotus blossom is a very bright child, so she studies the more difficult characters as well. japanese books are printed very differently from ours. the lines run up and down the page, and keep the eyes of the reader busily moving. the children don't have many examples to perform, for the japanese do not consider arithmetic so important as ameri- cans do. do you sigh now, and wish you could get your education in that far-away land where long division is not a daily trial? but wait till i tell you about the writing, or rather painting, lessons. you will certainly be en- vious. when the schoolmaster gives the signal, the children take the brushes and the cakes of india ink from their satchels. they mix a little of the ink with water, and then are ready to paint their words on the beautiful paper made in their country. many people our little japanese cousin nese the cat or kill a fly. his parents would be shocked beyond expression. “how about punishment in the japanese school ?” i hear a little boy ask. my dear child, it is hardly ever needed, but when it does come, it is not being kept after school; it is not a whipping. the child is burned ! the teacher takes a moxa, which i told you is a kind of pith, and sticks it on the naughty child's hand. he then sets the moxa on fire to burn slowly. it is a long, sad punishment for any one who is so bad as to deserve it. it does not need to be given every day. lotus blossom and toyo, as well as their little schoolmates, are very attentive to their work, and try their hardest to please the teacher. when school is done, what will the children do throughout the long afternoon ? lotus blossom must work a certain time in embroid- ery, and take a short lesson with her mamma a lesson in arranging flowers. our little japanese cousin es was a fine new one, but he wouldn't show his grief, at any rate. toyo sometimes wrestles with the other boys, but they are not rough and noisy about it. they wrestle gently, if you can imagine such a thing. they have often seen the trained wrestlers at the shows; such big, fat men. they must weigh at least three hundred pounds. the fat fairly hangs upon them. the japanese people are generally slim and rather small, but if a man is going to train himself to be a wrestler, he eats everything that will help to make him fat. i should think they could not get hurt, for they look as though they were cushioned in fat. the boys of japan have marbles and tops, just as you do ; in fact, nearly all the games which you like best were played by your far- away cousins long before there was a white child on this great continent of ours. « blind re our little japanese cousin man's buff,” “hide the thimble,” and “ puss in the corner,” are great favourites with the japanese. instead of hiding the thimble, however, they use a slipper, and instead of puss in the corner, they play that it is the devil. you must not forgot that the japanese believe there are many devils, or bad spirits, as well as good ones who are ready to help. they even think of them in their games. how many holidays have we in a whole year? stop and count. not a great number, we must admit. lotus blossom and toyo have so many that they can count on their fingers the number of days between any two of them. next best to new year's, our little girl cousin likes the feast of dolls. it comes on the third day of the third month. at that time the stores are filled with dolls, – big dolls, little dolls, dolls dressed like princesses with founced silk gowns, dolls made up as servants, as dancing-girls, and cen a our little japanese cousin dolls the very image of the mikado, the ruler of japan, — nothing but dolls and dolls' furni- ture. when the great day arrives, lotus blossom’s mamma makes a throne in the house. she brings out the two dolls that she herself received when she was born, be- sides those of her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother! they have been carefully packed away in soft papers in the family storehouse. what a sight they are, with all the new ones that have been bought for lotus blossom. the mikado doll is first placed on his throne, surrounded by his court, and then the soldiers and dancers and working people are made to stand at either side. they are dressed in the proper clothing that belongs to their position. but this grand array is not all. there are all kinds of doll's furniture, too, — little tables only four inches high, with dolls' tea-sets, the tiniest, prettiest china dishes. there are the our little japanese cousin wadded silk quilts for the dolls to sleep on, and wooden pillows on which the doll-heads can rest. yes, there are dolls' fans, and even dolls' games. on this great occasion there is a dinner- party for the whole family of dolls. lotus blossom and her little friends, as well as her father and mother, are quite busy serving their guests with rice, fish, soup, and all kinds of sweet dainties. somehow or other, all these nice things are eaten. what wonderful dolls they have in japan, don't they? toyo enjoys the day as well as lotus , blossom, but still he is looking forward to the fifth of may. that will be his favourite time of all the year. by that time the girls' dolls will be put away, and the stores will be filled with boys' playthings, — soldiers, tents, armour, etc. toyo's father will place a tall bamboo pole in front of the house, and hang an immense paper fish on the top of it. the our little japanese cousin ns. a festival which everybody loves is the feast of lanterns. it is in the summer time, and the children are dressed in their gayest clothes. they form processions and march through the streets singing with all their might. every child carries a large paper lantern and keeps it swinging all the time. it is such a pretty sight in the evening light, - the bright dresses, the graceful figures, the gorgeous lanterns. oh, japan is the land of happy children, young and old. one pleasant summer afternoon, as lotus blossom and toyo were playing on their veranda, they noticed some one stopping at the gateway and then coming up the walk to the house. it was the man-servant who worked at the home of a friend of theirs, whose father was very rich. toyo whispered, “oh, lotus blossom, i believe he's bringing us an invitation to chrysanthemum's party. you know she is going to have one on her ve our little japanese cousin birthday.” sure enough, the man came up to the children, and, making a low bow, pre- sented them with two daintily folded papers and then departed. they hastened to open them, and found, with delight, that they were really and truly asked to their friend's party. it was to be at three o'clock in the afternoon of the following thursday. lotus blossom ran to her mother, just as her american cous- ins might do, and cried, “oh, mamma, my precious, honourable 'mother, what shall i wear? see this; do look at my invitation.” it was a rare thing indeed to see the child so excited. her mother smiled, and answered, “my dear little pearl of a lotus blossom, i have almost finished embroidering your new silk garment. it shall be finished, and you shall have a new yellow crape kerchief to fold about your throat. a barber shall arrange your long hair about your head; and i will buy you white silk sandals to be tied with in our little japanese cousin some hired performers represent one of their loved fairy stories in a play. the actresses have lovely gowns, and are very graceful. it is a very enjoyable occasion. the time to leave comes all too soon. the jinrikisha men arrive, and after assur- ing their hostess that they never had had so lovely a time before, lotus blossom and toyo make two deep bows and return home very happy. i believe you would not object to a party like that yourself, would you? caso among all the joyous festivals of the year, i must not forget to tell you of the plum- viewing. the winter season is very short in japan, and the houses are not built to keep out the cold very well, as you must have already perceived. when the spring days arrive and the blossoms begin to appear, the child people are very happy. if they are happy, of course they must show it. how ari te our little japanese cousin could desire were on sale: cakes, tea, fruit, fans, sweets of all kinds, toys, etc. no wonder lotus blossom and toyo wanted to save up their money. but the orchard ! was there ever a lovelier sight? hun- dreds of trees loaded with fragrant pink blossoms ! the people write poems about them, and pin them on the branches, to show how much they appreciate the beautiful sight which na- ture has given them. tea-drinking, story- telling, and the entertainments of travelling showmen take up the day. sunset bids them leave the beautiful scene and go back to home and work. and now, children, we must bid these dear cousins good-bye for a little while. al- though they worship in strange ways, and read their books upside down, besides doing many other things in a manner that seems strange to us, yet we can learn much from their our little japanese cousin simple, childlike natures. and, after all, isn't one reason why we live in this big world and are so different one from another, that we may learn from each other? the end. selections from the page company's books for young people the blue bonnet series each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . · • . . $ . a texas blue bonnet by caroline e. jacobs. “ the book's heroine, blue bonnet, has the very finest kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness.”—chicago inter-ocean. blue bonnet's ranch party by caroline e. jacobs and edyth ellerbeck read. 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"• asa holmes' is the most delightful, most sympa- thetic and wbolesome book that has been published in a long while." — boston times. travelers five: along life's high- way by annie fellows johnston. with an introduction by bliss carman, and a frontis- piece by e. h. garrett. mo, cloth decorative. . • $ . “mrs. johnston broadens her reputation with this book rich in the significance of common things.” —- boston advertiser. joel: a boy of galilee by annie fellows johnston. mo, cloth decorative, illustrated “ the book is a very clever handling of the greatest event in the history of the world.” — rochester, n. y., herald. : : $ . a- chin mary hazelton blanchard wade, lewis jesse bridgman kd- . t.' our little siamese cousin chin. * * | chin § % our little siamese cousin -j. * * * * by f £t marv hazelton wade *}. * * * ^" f * ///i.. ;v ^ l. j. bss.- ..in * * *; * bos i,n * f ^- l. c. page c ( ..\ipany *j» * publish, .- ^ i . * . | chin | % our little siamese cousin % * * i by % * mary hazelton wade ^ * * ? illustrated by ▼ ^ l. j. bridgman ^ * * x x * * ^ boston *f" + l. c. page dr company *^ publishers ▼ v; <, ; . * . * . . * * * ,. * * * * * * preface many years ago there came to america two young men who were looked upon as the greatest curiosities ever seen in this country. they belonged to another race than ours. in fact, they were of two races, for one of their parents was a chinese, and therefore of the yellow race, while the other was a siamese, belonging to the brown race. these two young men left their home in far-away siam and crossed the great ocean for the purpose of exhibiting the strange way in which nature had joined them together. a small band of flesh united them from side to side. thus it was that from the moment they were born to the day of their death the twin v vi preface brothers played and worked, ate and slept, walked and rode, at the same time. thousands of people became interested in seeing and hearing about these two men. not only this, but they turned their atten- tion to the home of the brothers, the won- derful land of siam, with its sacred white elephants and beautiful temples, its curious customs and strange beliefs. last year the young prince of that country, wishing to learn more of the life of the white people, paid a visit to america. he was much interested in all he saw and heard while he was here. now let us, in thought, return his visit, and take part in the games and sports of the children of siam. we will attend some of their festivals, take a peep into the royal palace, enter the temples, and learn something about the ways and habits of that far-away eastern country. contents chapter pagb i. the first birthday .... ii. little chie lo iii. night on the river iv. work and play v. new year's vi. white elephants vii. in the temple viii. the legend of the peace - offering . ix. queer sights x. the queen's city xi. the monsoon list of illustrations page chin frontispiece chin's home the great temple at bangkok . . . . "they carried some of their flowers to the statue of buddha" "' they would pick up the logs with their trunks'" siamese actors our little siamese cousin chapter i. the first birthday if you had seen chin when he was born, you would have thought his skin yellow enough to suit anybody. but his mother wasn't satisfied, for the baby's nurse was told to rub him with a queer sort of paste from top to toe. this paste was made with saffron and oil, and had a pleasant odour. it made chin's skin yellower and darker than ever. it did not seem to trouble him, however, for he closed his big brown eyes and went io our little siamese cousin to sleep before the nurse had finished her work. after this important thing had been done, the tiny baby was laid in his cradle and cov- ered over. this does not appear very strange until you learn that he was entirely covered. not even the flat little nose was left so the boy could draw in a breath of fresh air. it is a wonder that he lived, for his home is very near the equator and the weather is extremely warm there all the time. but he did live, and grew stronger and healthier every day. each morning he was rubbed afresh and stowed away under the covers of his crib. he had one comfort, although he did not realize it. the mosquitoes could not reach him, and that was a greater blessing than you can, perhaps, imagine. there are millions of these insects in siam, — yes, billions, trillions, — and the people of that country are not willing to kill one of them! the first birthday "destroy the life of a living creature! it is a dreadful idea," chin's mother would ex- claim. "why, it is against the laws of our religion. i could never think of doing such a thing, even if my darling boy's face were covered with bites." if she were to see one of chin's american cousins killing a fly or a spider, she would have a very sad opinion of him. she was only fourteen years old when chin was born. people in our country might still call her a little girl, yet she kept house for her husband, and cooked and sewed and spun, and watched over her new baby with the most loving care. the father was only a little older than the mother. he was so glad that his first baby was a boy that he hardly knew what to do. he was quite poor and had very little money, but he said: "i am going to celebrate as well as i can. our little siamese cousin rich people have grand parries and entertain- ments at such rimes. i will hire some actors to give a little show, at any rate." he invited his friends, who were hardly more than boys themselves, to come to the show. the actors dressed themselves up in queer costumes, and went through with a play that was quite clever and witty. every one laughed a great deal, and when it was over the guests told the new father they had enjoyed themselves very much. after a few months, chin had grown strong enough to walk alone. he did not need to be covered and hidden away any longer. his straight black hair was shaved off, with the exception of a round spot on the top of his head, and he was allowed to do as he pleased after his morning bath in the river was over. the bath did not last long, and was very pleasant and comfortable. there was no the first birthday rubbing afterward with towels, for the hot sunshine did the drying in a few moments. nor was there any dressing to be done, for the brown baby was left to toddle about in the suit dame nature had given him. it was all he could possibly desire, for clothing is never needed in siam to keep one from catching cold. chin's mother herself wears only a wide strip of printed cloth fastened around her waist and hanging down to the knees. some- times, but not always, she has a long scarf draped across her breast and over one shoulder. there are no shoes on her little feet, nor is there a hat on her head except in the hottest sunshine. there are many ornaments shining on her dark skin, even though she is not rich; and baby chin did not have his toilet made till a silver bracelet had been fastened on his arms, and rings placed on his fingers. our little siamese cousin after a year or two the boy's ears were bored so that gilt, pear-shaped earrings could be worn there. soon after that a kind rela- tive made him a present of silver anklets, and then he felt very much dressed indeed. few boys as poor as he could boast of as much jewelry. chin was born on the river meinam in a house-boat. there was nothing strange about that, for the neighbours and friends of the family had homes like his. it was cool and pleasant to live on the water. it was conven- ient when one wished to take a bath, and it was easy for the children to learn to swim so near home. yes, there were many reasons why chin's parents preferred to make their home on the water. perhaps the strongest one of all was that they did not have to pay any rent for the space taken up by the boat. a piece of land would have cost money. then, again, if they the first birthday should not like their neighbours, they could very easily move to a new place on the river. chin's father built the house, or the boat, just before he was married. he had some help from his friends, but it was not such hard work that he could not have done it all alone. a big raft of bamboo was first made. this served as the floating platform on which the house should stand. the framework of the little home was also made of bamboo, which could be got from the woods not far away, and was very light and easy to handle. how should the roof be protected from the heavy rains that fell during a portion of the year? that could be easily managed by getting quantities of the leaves of the atap palm-tree for thatching. these would make a thick, close covering, and would keep out the storms for a long time if they were care- fully cemented with mud. the broad, overhanging eaves would give our little siamese cousin shade to baby chin when he was old enough to play in the outdoor air, and yet not strong enough to bear the burning sunshine. of course, there were many windows in the little house, you would think. there were openings in the walls in the shape of windows, certainly, but they were openings only, for they were not filled with glass, nor any other transparent substance. chin's father would say: "we must have all the air we can get. at night-time, when the rain falls heavily, we can have shutters on the windows. they are easily taken down whenever we wish." why, the whole front of the house was made so it could be opened up to the air and sunshine, as well as the view of passers-by. the family have few secrets, and do not mind letting others see how they keep house. at this very moment, perhaps, chin's mother is sitting on the edge of the bamboo the first birthday platform, washing her feet in the river; his grandmother may be there preparing the vege- tables for dinner; or, possibly, chin himself is cleaning his teeth with a stick of some soft wood. the boy's mother has taught him to be very careful of his teeth. it is a mark of beauty with her people to have them well blacked. they will tell you, "any dog can have white teeth." but there is nothing they admire more than bright red gums showing plainly with two rows of even, dark-coloured teeth. how do they make their gums such a fiery red? it is caused by chewing a substance called betel, obtained from a beautiful kind of palm-tree very common in siam. many of chin's brown cousins chew betel, as well as the people of his own land. it is even put in the mouths of babies. betel- chewing grows to be such a habit with them our little siamese cousin that they become unhappy and uncomfortable if long without it. even now, although chin is only ten years old, he would say: "i can go without food for a long time, if need be, but i must have my betel." let us go back to the boy's home. if we should count the windows, we should find their number to be uneven. the siamese believe something terrible would be sure to happen if this were not so. they seem to think "there is luck in odd numbers," for not only the steps leading to the houses, but the stairs leading from one floor to another must be carefully counted and made uneven. there are three rooms in chin's home. first, there is the sitting-room, where friends are received, although there is much less visit- ing done in siam than in many other countries. it took little time and money to furnish the room. there are no pictures or ornaments here. there are two or three mats on which the first birthday one may sit, and there is a tray filled with betel from which every one is invited to help himself. if callers should arrive and the betel were not offered to them, they would feel insulted and would go away with the intention of never coming to that house again. the second room is that set apart for sleep- ing. very little furniture is found here, as well, for all that chin's father had to prepare was a number of long, narrow mattresses, stuffed with tree-cotton. some pillows were made in the shape of huge bricks. they were also packed full of tree-cotton, and were stiff, uncomfortable-looking things; but chin and his parents like them, so we should cer- tainly not find fault. you remember there are great numbers of mosquitoes in the country. how do they manage to sleep when the air around them is filled with the buzzing, troublesome creatures? our little siamese cousin coarse cotton curtains hang from the roof down over the beds. while these keep the mosquitoes away from the sleepers, they also keep out the air, so it is really a wonder that one can rest in any comfort. when chin is in the house during the day, he spends most of his time in the kitchen, which is also the eating-room. but, dear me! it is a smoky place, for the boy's father never thought of building a chimney. the cooking is done over a little charcoal stove and, as the flames rise, the smoke rises, too, and settles on the ceiling and walls. chin has had many good meals cooked over the little fire, and eaten as the family squatted around the tiny table. just think! it stands only four inches above the floor, and is not large enough to hold many dishes. that does not matter, for each one has his own rice-bowl on the floor in front of him. chin has been brought the first birthday up so that he is satisfied with one or two things at a time. the little table is quite large enough to hold the dish of curried fish or meat from which each one helps himself. chin is a very nice boy, yet i shall have to confess that he usually eats with his fingers! yes, not only he, but his father and mother and sister, and even grandmother, do the same thing. one after another helps himself from the same dish and thinks nothing of it. people who are a little richer use pretty spoons of mother-of-pearl; chin's mother owns one of these useful articles herself, but of course, that won't serve for five persons, so it is seldom seen on the table. as for knives and forks, she never even saw any. one of her friends once watched a stranger from across the great ocean eating with these strange things. she laughed quietly when she told of it, and said: "it must take a long, long time before one our little siamese cousin can get used to them. they are very clumsy." as chin squats at his dinner he can look down through the split bamboos and see the water of the river beneath the house. it does not matter if he drops some crumbs or grains of rice. they can be easily pushed through the cracks, when down they will fall into the water to be seized by some waiting fish. the good woman doesn't even own a broom. her house-cleaning is done in the easiest way possible. anything that is no longer useful is thrown into the river, while the dirt is simply pushed between the wide cracks of the floor. the dish-washing is a simple matter, too. each one has his own rice-bowl, and after the meal is over it is his duty to clean it and then turn it upside down in some corner of the kitchen. it is left there to drain until it is needed again. the first birthday chin's mother cooks such delicious rice that he wonders any one can live without it. he needs no bread when he can have that, for it is a feast in itself. when poured out, it looks like a mountain of snow; each grain is whole and separate from the others. it is cooked in an earthen pot with the greatest care, and, when it is done, never fails to look beautiful and delicate. chin's mother would think herself a very poor housekeeper if she should make a mistake in preparing the rice. when a dish of rat or bat stew is added to the meal, chin feels that there is nothing more in the world that he could wish. he knows that the rich people in the city often have feasts where twenty or thirty different dainties are served. but he does not envy them. a person can taste only one thing at a time, and nothing can be better than a stew with plenty of curry and vegetables to flavour it. we our little siamese cousin don't need to think of the rats and bats if it is an unpleasant idea. as for chin, if he had seen you shudder when they were spoken of, he could not have imagined what was the matter. chapter ii. little chie lo "chie lo! chie lo! come out quickly, or you won't see it before it passes," called chin to his sister. she was playing with her dolls in the sitting- room, but when she heard chin calling she put them down and came out on the platform where her brother sat dangling his feet in the water and holding his pet parrot. "chie lo! chie lo!" screamed the par- rot, when she appeared. he was a bright- looking bird with a shining coat of green feathers and a red tuft on his head. he must have loved chie lo, for he reached up for her to pat him as she squatted beside her brother. our little siamese cousin "look, look," said chin, "isn't that grand?" the boy pointed to a beautiful boat moving rapidly down the river. "it is the king's, you know," he whispered. "do you see him there under the canopy, with his children around him?" "yes, yes, chin, but don't talk; i just want to look." it was no wonder that chie lo wished to keep still, for it was a wonderful sight. the boat was shaped like a huge dragon, whose carved head, with its fierce eyes, could be seen reaching out from the high bow. the stern was made in the shape of the monster's tail. the sides of the royal barge were covered with gilded scales, inlaid with pearls, and these scales shone and sparkled in the sunlight. a hundred men dressed in red were rowing the splendid boat, and they must have had little chie lo great training, for they kept together in per- fect time. "isn't the canopy over the king the loveli- est thing you ever saw?" said chin, who could not keep still. "it is made of cloth-of- gold, and so are the curtains. look at the gold embroidery on the king's coat. oh, chie lo, it doesn't seem as though he could be like us at all. i feel as though he must be a god. "the young prince who took the long journey across the ocean last year is there with him," chin went on. "father told me that he visited strange lands where all the people have skins as white as pearls, and that he has seen many wonderful sights. but, chie lo, there is nothing in the world grander than our king and his royal boat, i'm sure." as the barge drew nearer, the children threw themselves face downward on the platform until it had passed down the river. it was our little siamese cousin their way of showing honour to the ruler of the land. in the olden times all who came into the presence of the king, did so in one way only. they crawled. even his own little children were obliged to do this. no one dared to stand in his presence. but such things have been changed now. the king loves his people and has grown wiser since he has learned the ways of other countries. when he was a little boy, an eng- lish lady was his teacher for a long time, and she taught him much that other kings of siam had never known. it is partly because of this that he is the best ruler chin's people have ever had. the royal barge was decorated with beautiful white and yellow umbrellas, many stories high. there was also a huge jewelled fan, such as no boat was allowed to carry except the king's. other dragon-shaped boats followed the chin's home. ; little chie lo royal barge, but they were smaller and less beautiful. they were the king's guard-boats, and moved along in pairs. many other interesting sights could be seen on the river this morning. vessels were just arriving from distant lands, while here and there chinese junks were scattered along the shores. chin and his sister can always tell such boats from any others. an eye is always painted on the bow. a chinaman who was once asked why he had the eye there, answered, "if no have eye, how can see?" it is so much pleasanter outside, it is no wonder that chin and his sister do not spend much time indoors. after the royal procession had passed out of sight, chie lo went into the house and brought out her family of dolls. of course they did not look like american dolls; you wouldn't expect it. our little siamese cousin some of them were of baked mud and wore no clothes. others were of stuffed cotton and made one think of the rag dolls of chie lo's white cousins. the father and mother dolls were dressed in strips of cloth wound around their bodies, just like the real grown-up people of siam, but the baby dolls had no more clothes than the children of the country. chie lo talked to her dolls and sang queer little songs to them. she "made believe" they were eating, just as other little girls play, far away across the great ocean. then she kissed them and put them to bed on tiny mattresses under the shady eaves of the house. perhaps you wouldn't have known that chie lo was kissing them, however, for the fashions of siam are quite different from those of our country. she simply touched the dolls' noses with her own little flat one and drew in a long breath each time she did so. that was little chie lo her way of showing her love, — gentle little chie lo. chin didn't laugh, of course. he was used to seeing his sister playing with her dolls, and as for the kissing, that was the only way of doing it that he knew himself. "chie lo, i saw some beautiful dolls in a store yesterday," he said, as he stopped work- ing for a minute. he was making a new shut- tlecock for a game with his boy friends the next day. "what kind were they, chin?" asked his sister. "they were lovely wooden ones. only rich children could buy them, for they cost a great deal. i wish i could get one for you, chie lo, but you know i haven't any money." "what else did you see, chin?" "there were doll-temples in the store, and boats filled with sailors, and lovely ivory fur- little chie lo and followed his sister into the kitchen a mo- ment later. every one was thirsty, and the jug was passed from one to another for each to help himself. there were no tumblers nor cups. chin had made small dishes for his mother by cutting cocoanuts in halves and scooping out the delicious cream from the inside; but they did not use them for drinking the water. nor did they put their lips to the jug. each one cleverly twisted a palm leaf into the shape of a funnel and received the water through this. it was done more quickly than i can tell you about it. chin and his sister thought it was a fine dinner. the evening dews were falling, and a gentle breeze came floating down the river. the terrible heat of the day was over and it was the very time to enjoy eating. in the first place, there was the dish of steaming rice. there was also a sort of stew our little siamese cousin made of meat chopped very fine and seasoned with red pepper. if you had tasted it, you would probably have cried: "oh dear, my mouth is burnt; give me a drink of water at once." but chin and chie lo thought it very nice indeed, and not a bit too hot. "isn't this pickled turnip fine?" said chin's mother. "i bought it this morning from a passing store." what could she mean by these words? it was a very common thing for these little brown cousins to see not only houses but stores moving past them down the river. the storekeepers were always ready to stop and sell their goods to any one who wished them. chin's mother never made bread, nor pies, nor cake, nor puddings. she bought most of the vegetables already cooked from the float- ing stores, so you can see she had quite an easy time in preparing her meals. little chie lo but to-day, after the rice and stew had been cooked, she laid bananas to roast in the hot coals, and these were now taken out and handed to her family as they squatted on the mats around the table. if the children had no bread with their dinner, they ought to have had milk, you think. but they never drink it. the cows of siam are not milked at all, and so the rich children of the country are brought up in the same way as chin and his sister. when the meal was finished, chie lo did not forget that her dear pussy must still be fed. it was an odd-looking little creature. although it was a grown-up cat, yet its eyes were as blue as those of a week-old american kitten. it had a funny little tail twisted up into a knot. it was better off than many other cats of siam, however, who go about with none at all. chapter iii. night on the river after chie lo had watched her pussy eat all the fish she could possibly wish, the chil- dren went outdoors again to sit in the cool evening air. the night was already pitch-dark, for there was no moon, and there is no long twilight in the tropics at any season of the year. but what a beautiful sight now met the children's eyes! it seemed almost like fairy- land, there were so many lights to be seen in every direction. their home stood just below the great city of bangkok, and along the shores of the river the houses and palaces and temples could be seen almost as plainly as in the daytime. night on the river floating theatres were passing by, each one lighted with numbers of coloured paper lan- terns. "look! look!" cried chin. "there are some actors giving a show outside. they want to tempt people to stop and come in to the play. see the beautiful pointed finger- nails on that one. what fine care he must take of them!" it is no wonder chin noticed the man's finger-nails, for they were at least five inches long. "see the wings on the other actor, chin," said his sister. "i suppose he represents some strange being who does wonderful deeds. i should like to go to the play. look! there is a party of people who are going on board of the theatre." the children now turned their eyes toward the small boat of a chinaman who was calling aloud to the passers-by: our little siamese cousin "come here and buy chouchou; it is a fine dish, indeed." a moment afterward he was kept so busy that he had no time to call. his canoe was fairly surrounded by other boats, for many people were eager to taste the delicious soup he served from an odd little stove in front of him. it is hard to tell how chouchou is made. many kinds of meat and all sorts of vege- tables are boiled down to jelly and seasoned with salt and pepper. he must have had a good recipe, for every one that tasted his chouchou seemed to like it and want more. "listen to the music, chie lo," said her brother, as he turned longingly away from the chouchou seller. it seemed more like noise than music. two men stood on a bamboo raft causing loud, wailing sounds to come from some queer reed instruments. a third player was making the our little siamese cousin of waters." it is well named, for many canals reach out from it in different direc- tions. if a person is going to a temple to worship, if he has shopping to do, or a visit to make, he does not take a car or carriage, nor does he often walk. he steps into a boat, and after a pleasant sail or row, he finds himself at his journey's end. "let's go down the river before we go to bed," said chin, who had grown tired of sitting still. he stepped from the platform into his own little canoe and chie lo followed him. the children looked very much alike. their faces were of the same shape, their eyes were of the same colour, and the two little round heads were shaved in exactly the same way. a tuft of hair had been , left on the top of each and was coiled into a knot. when chin grew a little older there would the great temple at bangkok. night on the river be a great celebration over the shaving of his tuft. it would mark his "coming of age," but that would not be for two or three years yet. he was only eleven years old now and was left to do much as he pleased. the little canoe made its way in and out among the big boats and soon left the city behind. tall palm-trees lined the banks of the river and waved gently in the evening breeze. suddenly there was a loud sound, like a big drum, in the water directly under the boat. "tom, torn! tom, torn!" it startled chie lo, and she exclaimed: "what is it, chin? what is it?" "it must be a drum-fish, chie lo. noth- ing else could make a sound like that." "of course, chin. it was all so quiet, and then the sound was so sudden, i didn't think for a moment what it could be." they had often seen this ugly-looking fish, our little siamese cousin which is never eaten by the people of their country. it is able to make a loud noise by means of a sort of bladder under its throat, and it is well called the "drum-fish." the children still went onward, keeping time with their sculls. suddenly the air around them blazed with countless lights, and a moment afterward the darkness seemed blacker than ever. then, again the lights appeared, only to be lost as suddenly, while chin and his sister held their oars and watched. "aren't they lovely?" said chie lo. "i never get tired of looking at the fireflies." it is no wonder she thought so. the fire- flies of siam are not only very large and bril- liant, but they are found in great numbers. and, strange to say, they seem fond of gath- ering together on certain kinds of trees only. there they send forth their light and again withdraw it at exactly the same moment. our little siamese cousin saw a crocodile ahead of us, lying close to the shore. his wicked mouth was wide open and his eyes were glittering. "all at once i saw what was the matter. a chain of monkeys was hanging from a tree- top above him. they were having sport with the monster. the lowest monkey would sud- denly strike out with his paw and touch the crocodile's head when he was off his guard. then the whole chain of monkeys would swing away as quick as a flash, and the croco- dile would snap too late. "oh, he did get so angry after awhile, it made me laugh, chie lo. the monkeys grew bolder after awhile, and chattered more and more loudly. "then the crocodile began to play a game himself. he shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. down swung the monkeys, straight over his head. his jaws opened suddenly in time to seize the little fellow who had been our little siamese cousin she raised a loud cry and started after the men. her friends and relatives joined her, crying and screaming. "but this was not all, for every other monkey in the forest seemed to get the idea of battle. on they came by the hundreds and the thousands. do you think those men weren't scared? they hurried along as fast as they could, stumbling over bushes and floun- dering in the mud. they were only too glad to reach the bank of the river, where they jumped into the canoes and paddled quickly away. the monkeys crowded on the shore and screamed at them. i wish i could have seen them." chin lay back and laughed as he finished the story. "we mustn't stop to talk any more, for it is getting late," said chie lo. "but i love to hear you tell these stories, chin. i hope you will remember some more to-morrow night. now we must paddle home as fast as we can go." chapter iv. work and play the next morning the children were awak- ened early by the cawing of large flocks of crows. these noisy birds were leaving their resting-places in the trees near by, and start- ing out to search for breakfast in the fields and gardens of the country. chie lo and her brother jumped out of bed, and a moment afterward were taking a refreshing swim in the waters of the river. the water felt cool and pleasant before the hot sunshine had warmed it. "come to breakfast," called their mother, as they were in the midst of a game of chase around the platform. "come and eat the our little siamese cousin fine hoppers i have just bought from the baker." the children did not need to be called twice, for they loved the delicious cakes made of rice flour and cocoanut milk. the break- fast was soon eaten, and then chin and his sister made haste to load chie lo's boat with the fruit she must sell on the river. the mangosteens were placed in the first pile. they would surely be sold, because they were not only beautiful to look at, but fragrant to smell and delicious to taste. you may look for them in many parts of the world, but you will fail to find them unless you visit chin and chie lo in their own country, or go to the islands near by. the rind is of a brownish purple that changes its tints in the sunlight. cut the fruit carefully in halves and you will find a creamy, white pulp, with a dark-red rim. "they look too good to eat," you say. work and play but if you have once tasted them, you will long for more. chin and his sister are very fond of man- gosteens, and so is nearly every person who has the pleasure of eating them. but chie lo likes the durions better still. when she sorted the boat-load this morning, she was very careful to place this fruit so it should not touch any other kind. what an odour came from it! ugh! it makes one think of bad eggs and everything else unpleasant. but people who stop to-day to buy from the little girl will not consider that. if they have lived in the country for only a short time, they have grown to think of it as the finest of all fruits. picture the nicest things you have ever eaten, — walnuts, and cream and strawberries, and a dozen other delicious things, — they are all mingled together in the flavour of the durion. our little siamese cousin besides the durions and the mangosteens, there were great luscious oranges, noble pine- apples, mangoes and bananas, breadfruit and sour-sops. chie lo would certainly have no trouble in selling her goods. when she had rowed away from the house, chin went inside and got his shuttlecock. he must find his boy friends and have a game before the day grew too hot. you mustn't blame him for letting his sister work while he played. it is the way of his people, and the idea never entered his head that girls should have, at least, as easy a life as boys. yet this cousin of ours is gentle and good- natured and loving. an hour after chie lo had gone away, chin and his friends were having a lively game in the shade of some tall palm-trees, near the bank of the river. it was great sport. the shuttlecock was made of bamboo and was very light and easy to toss. but it work and play took great skill to keep it moving through the air for ten minutes at a time. the boys did not once touch it with their hands. as it came bounding toward chin, he held the sole of his foot to receive it, and kicked it off in another direction. perhaps the next boy struck at it with his heel, and the next with the side of his ankle or his knee. forward and back it flew from one to another. these naked boys of siam were wonderfully graceful in their play. they must have spent many days of their short lives in gaining such skill as this. there was little noise about it. there are places in the world where children think they are not having much fun unless there is a good deal of shouting and yelling. siam is not such a country, and chin is not that kind of a boy. he has many good times and many pleasures, although he enjoys them in a quiet manner. our little siamese cousin how was chie lo getting along with her load of fruit this morning? she paddled down the river among the vessels which had come to anchor there. "fine oranges! ripe durions!" her sweet voice called. and the people on the decks of the english steamers and the queer chinese boats looked down at the little girl in her canoe. many of them smiled at the tiny fruit- seller, and beckoned to her to bring some of her fruit on board. by noontime her wares were all sold and chie lo started homeward with a bag of odd- looking coins to give her father. it was very hot and the sunlight was so bright as it sparkled on the river that the little girl kept shutting her eyes. all at once she felt a tremendous thump and the next moment she found herself far down under the surface of the water. the our little siamese cousin all that chie lo thought of was her pre- cious coins, and those were safe in the little bag hanging around her neck. the next day would be a holiday and she knew her father would wish the money to spend. chapter v. new year's it was the th of march, but to chin and his sister it was the first day of a new year. they woke up happy and smiling, for they would have much fun for three whole days. it is all very well for some people to be satis- fied with a festival which lasts only twelve hours, but it is not so with the siamese. they think they cannot do justice to such a joyful time unless they frolic and feast three times as long as that, at least. on the first day the children must go to the temple and carry offerings. this duty should certainly not be forgotten. but before they left home that morning they helped their mother give dishes of rice to the yellow-robed our little siamese cousin priests who rowed slowly down the river as the sun was rising. these priests in their long yellow gowns looked alike. each one held before him a begging-bowl. he did not ask for food or money. it was the duty of the people to feed him and give what was needed to keep him from want. this was what chin and those of his coun- try believed. and so, when each night was over, the priests left their cells and entered their boats. they passed along the river and through the canals. some people gave to one, and some to another; some gave money, and some, food. but each one thought as he gave, "i am gaining merit by this deed of kindness." and he felt better for doing so. when the priests had passed along, chin and his sister began to think of their friends. they had presents of sweetmeats for them. they had saved all their spare coins for many new year's days to buy them. these sweetmeats looked very tempting as they divided them up and placed them in tiny baskets they had woven out of grasses. some of them were made of sugar and cocoanut. others were rich with glutinous rice and peanuts. their friends would be delighted with their gifts. before the day was over, chin and chie lo had received many presents themselves, for the poorest people in the country manage to remember the new year's festival. the day was noisier than usual. the chil- dren laughed and shouted more than siamese children commonly do. they danced and they sang. they went into the country and gathered flowers. they made wreaths and garlands. they carried some of their flowers to the statue of buddha and placed them in the open palms of their saint. they played tricks on each other. chin our little siamese cousin and chie lo were both caught by their play- mates before the day was over and their faces blackened, and then they were shoved into the river. but they took the joke with perfect good nature, and laughed over it as merrily as their friends. the best sport of the day was with their dear old grandmother. as she sat on the platform by the water's edge, chin came up suddenly and dashed water all over her. after that, he sprinkled her with perfume and a sweet-smelling powder. but this was not all, for he ran into the house and brought her out a new waist-cloth and a scarf to throw over her old shoulders. at the same time chie lo pressed two silver coins into her hand, and shouted with delight at the smile on the dear grandmother's face. without doubt the new year's festival was very merry. best of all, the children were allowed to do just as they pleased for the three new year's long, happy days. it is no wonder they were sorry when it was over. "it is even better than the swing days," chie lo said to her brother, as they settled themselves for a good night's rest. "yes, i think so, too, yet we have a great deal of fun then," answered her brother, sleepily. girls never take part in the exercises of the swing days, but chin had been training for two or three years to try his skill when he should be a little older. a part of the city is set aside for the enter- tainment, and it is there that the swings are set up on high poles. a short distance away stands another pole marked with a waving banner. just below this banner hangs a purse filled with gold. each person who enters the swing is allowed to work it back and forth till he brings him- self near the precious purse. he has one o our little siamese cousin chance given him to reach out and seize it in his mouth. if he succeeds, it is his to keep, and he goes down to the ground on a rope ladder by the side of the pole, while the by- standers greet him with shouts and cheers. if he fails, however, he is obliged to jump from the swing and slide down to the ground on the pole, while every one joins in a laugh at his awkwardness. on swing days there are many processions through the streets. banners and flags are waving everywhere, no work is done, and every one is gaily dressed and full of joy. our little siamese cousin the bamboo top keeps off the hot sun nicely. doesn't it ever slip on the elephant's back, chin?" "of course not. it is fastened behind by a crupper that goes under the tail, while it is held in front by a band of rattan passed around the neck. so it is perfectly safe." "elephants are very wise animals, and i love them. mother told me that a long time ago there was an elephant in the city that used to ladle out rice to the priests as they came out of the temple. he did it every morning, and was as careful about it as any person could be. he made no mistakes, for he never gave the rice to any people unless they were priests. wasn't that wonderful, chin?" "it was very wise, at any rate, chie lo. but, of course, he could tell the priests be- cause of their long yellow robes. i've heard more wonderful stories than that, though. "i've watched elephants at work in a lum- 'they would pick up the logs with their trunks.'" white elephants ber yard, myself. they would pick up the logs with their trunks, and carry them to the place where they were to be piled up. then they would lay them down, one on top of another, and each time they would place them in such good order that the ends of the pile would be kept perfectly even. they are very careful workers; men couldn't do any better." "weren't you afraid when you crossed the river on the elephant's back, chin? i heard you speaking about it to father when you got home." "not the least bit. the water grew deeper until at last only my howdah and the animal's head were above the surface. but he went on slowly and surely, and as he felt safe, i did, too. in a few minutes we were on dry land again, and climbed up the steep bank without stopping to rest. "it was great fun whenever we went down hill. the big clumsy fellow knelt on his fore our little siamese cousin legs, and actually slid down, with his hind legs dragging behind him." "what good times you have, chin. i wish i were a boy !" and chie lo sighed again. "they say that the white elephants are going to march through the streets to-day. let's go up in the city to see them," said chin. he was always glad to have his sister go about with him. the home of our siamese cousins is a strange country. it is often spoken of as the "land of the white elephant." you shall hear the reason. whenever a white elephant is seen in the forests, word is at once sent to the king, and parties of hunters go forth to secure him. he is looked upon as a sacred animal, for many of the people believe that the soul of some great and wise person has come back to dwell for , while in his body. white elephants in the olden times there was a great cele- bration after a white elephant had been caught and was brought into the city. the king and his nobles, as well as hundreds of priests, went out to meet him with bands of music. he was led to the royal stables, and large pictures of the forests were hung around him, so he should not grow lonesome and long for his home in the jungle. it is even said that he was fed from golden dishes, and that only the sweetest sugar-cane, the ripest bananas, and the tenderest grasses were given him as food. he was loaded with gifts. the ways of the people are changing now, however, and both the king and his people are wiser than they used to be. yet the white elephants are still treated with honour, and kept in the royal stables, while on great days they march in state through the streets of the city. our little siamese cousin it is hardly right, however, to speak of them as white. some of them are of a pale, pinkish gray colour. others are ashy gray. their eyes look washed-out and dull. they are not nearly as grand and noble-looking as their brothers, for it seems as though mother nature were tired and had not finished her work, when one looks at them. chapter vii. in the temple after the children had watched the proces- sion of white elephants, chin said: "let us go to the temple, chie lo. it will be a pleasant walk. and, besides, father said we ought to go to-day. he gave me these coins to carry there." chin held up two pieces of silver. "one of them is for you, chie lo, and the other is for me." the place where the temple stood had been set apart from the rest of the city. it was divided up into large fields surrounded by walls. in each of these fields there was at least one large temple, and several small ones, besides the buildings where the priests lived with their pupils. such a place is called a wat. in the temple but his own honest little heart and good deeds would bring him happiness and success. and now the children passed through the gateway and into the beautiful grounds. stately trees grew on every side, and flower- ing plants were to be seen in every direction. here and there stood large stone statues. they were ugly-looking figures, but were sup- posed to be the guardians of this holy place. "after we come out, let's have a game of hide-and-seek with those children," said chin. he pointed to some boys and girls playing among the trees and statues, and having a merry time. as the children turned toward the buildings, they passed under some trees from whose branches hung pieces of wood, stone, and porcelain. "people hung those offerings there because they are going to build a home," said chin. our little siamese cousin the pictures now. they joined one of the groups sitting cross-legged upon the floor. a moment afterward their heads were bent, and their small hands were pressed together in prayer. from time to time, one of the worshippers rose and stepped over to a big bronze bell, and rung it violently. this was because he felt that his prayers were not heard, and he wished to call attention. listen! a priest is reading from a palm- leaf book; and now he chants a prayer with his face hidden behind a big fan. he keeps time by striking a bell, or beating on a block of wood. the people rise upon their knees and bow to the ground as he chants. there is no music in the strange service. as chin got up to go away, he turned to chie lo and whispered: "i love to look at the bronze elephants carved on the walls. they look very wise in the temple and strong. they are the symbols of the buddha, who taught men to be patient and faithful." "i always love to look at the flag of our country, too," answered chie lo. "the great white elephant pictured on the red cloth makes me think of the same thing." "i believe i shall like it when i am old enough to come here to study with the priests," her brother went on. "i shall like to serve them, and they will teach me many good things. but i don't believe i shall ever be a priest myself." it is the custom of chin's country for all the boys to live awhile in the wats, as soon as they are old enough to have their heads shaved. they help the priests in the temples, and serve them in different ways. they are also taught to write and cipher. after they have stayed a certain time, they may choose for themselves what they will do. they may in the temple know an odd number of pieces when she has finished. you remember the siamese seem to be afraid of even numbers in anything what- soever. as for geography, or history, or any other pleasant study, such as you have, very few of the children of that country have even heard of them. i doubt if chin and his sister know anything about the great, beautiful country on the other side of the world, where their amer- ican cousins are living. but siam is slowly changing, and, as i have already said, the king who now rules is wiser than those before him. he will help his people to become wiser, too. as the children went on their way home, they fell to talking about their ruler. they spoke of him as "the lord of the celestial elephant," and other queer titles. "he worships in the temple of the emerald chapter viii. the legend of the peace - offering it was a beautiful moonlight night. the stars shone faintly in the clear sky. "they do not look as though they felt as happy as usual," said chin to chie lo, who sat beside him on the platform of the house. "they are jealous because the moon is hiding them by her brightness. here comes father; now we can ask him." "father, will you tell us the story of rosy dawn?" said his son, as the boat drew up beside the platform and the man jumped out. "as soon as i fill my betel-box, chin," was the answer. legend of the peace - offering five minutes afterward, the family gathered around the story-teller by the side of the quiet river. "once upon a time," he began, "father sun was much nearer the earth than he is now. he was ever ready to advise his younger brother, the king of our country, and would even order his officers, the stars, to do any- thing which might help this blessed land. "it was long, long ago that all this happened. everything was so different then from what it is now, that there was no sickness nor sorrow in the land. people lived to be hundreds of years old. why, my children, the king of siam himself was looked upon as a very young man, although he was at least one hundred and sixty years old. "his father, the old king, was still alive, but had grown tired of ruling after two hundred years of such work. he had given it into his son's hands, and now took his ease. our little siamese cousin "his only daughter, a beautiful maiden named rosy dawn, spent most of her time in cheering him and making his life happy. no one had ever looked upon her sweet face except her own family. she was as good and simple as she was beautiful. her days must have passed very quietly, for her only amuse- ments were singing her old father to sleep and wandering alone through the fields and woods. "a sad thing happened about this time. the naughty stars grew jealous of their lord, the sun. they did not like it because he chose to keep awake all the time, and was having such pleasure with the earth and its people that he never thought of sleeping. "day and night, summer and winter, he gave his bright light to the world; he seemed afraid that something ill might happen to his young brother the king, if he left him for a moment. of course, the stars had no chance of showing legend of the peace - offering "the sun's great chariot flew through the heavens as his noble steeds were spurred on- ward. it seemed as though he could not wait a moment longer before he should come to the charming girl he had just seen. "you ask me if he won rosy dawn's love in return. ah, yes! and, sad to say, trouble followed after. "you remember that the jealous stars were watching their lord's movements. after a while they discovered that he was making love to rosy dawn. they followed him one day when the two were fondly talking together in their favourite resting-place, the cavern. "alas ! the chariot was outside. the wicked stars seized it and carried it off", and the fright- ened steeds ran away. they did not turn their heads until they had reached home. "the angry stars did not stop here. they raised a great shout against their ruler, and our little siamese cousin declared they would be his subjects no longer. the poor old sun began to tremble, and shed tears of gold. "the mountains were truly sorry for him. they opened up a passageway through which he might return home. they promised him that he might drive through this cavern every day and be perfectly safe. again he wept, and more plentifully still. "at last he started on his way homeward, and, as he journeyed along, his tears fell and formed pools of gold. those pools are now the gold mines of siam. "it took twelve hours for old sol to reach home, after which he went out every day; but he came back regularly at night-time by way of the cavern that the mountains had given him. "after this poor rosy dawn wandered sadly about through the caves and mountains. she, too, wept, and her tears were very plenti- our little siamese cousin and fire off guns at such times," said the chil- dren's mother. "it is to shame the sun, and to make him stop such conduct at once. of course it takes some time for the sounds to reach him, but as soon as he hears, he seems to be ashamed, for the eclipse soon passes by." "when i was a boy, i went on a pilgrim- age to the very cavern where the sun first met rosy dawn," said the father. "i was careful to carry both a silver coin and a gold one. when we reached the place, i threw the money into the cavern. every one else did likewise. we offered these coins in hopes of making merit for ourselves." our little siamese cousin might float away, — or, at least, the people inside would be flooded, unless they had been careful to build high enough to prepare for such times. the fine houses were of brick or wood, but the poorer ones were much like chin's house- boat, woven of bamboo and thatched with leaves. the boy and his father soon left the main part of the river and turned into one of the canals. they were now in a part of the city where a good deal of business was going on. they left the boat, after fastening it to the bank, and walked along through the narrow street. the fronts of the houses here were ail open and everything within could be plainly seen. in this one was a big counter, almost filling the room, and the merchant himself sat cross- legged upon it with his goods around him. there was a bakery where the cakes and queer sights bread were made and baked in sight of every- one who passed. chin liked to stop and look at the various workmen. there was much to see and learn. the metal-workers were pound- ing and hammering away, and, as the boy watched them, he could see bracelets and ank- lets shaped, and sheets of copper formed into various dishes. in many places the families of the store- keepers lived in the one room that was both store and dwelling, but they did not seem to be troubled when they noticed chin's black eyes following them. in one store a hammock hung from the ceiling and a baby was swinging there. what did he care if he was brought up on the street, as one might say? care! he seemed to think the coming and going of so many people was meant all for him, and he laughed and crowed at each new face. "do look, father," said chin, as they queer sights "we will have great sport in flying it this afternoon," said chin. "chie lo must enjoy it with us." he had finished speaking when he caught sight of a procession coming in that direction. a moment before there had been so many children, dogs, and cats in the street they seemed to block the way of everything else; but now the children quickly turned aside and ran into the doorways. as the procession drew near, a great shout- ing and beating of drums could be heard. "father, look quickly," said chin. "the men are carrying a statue of buddha on a litter. isn't it beautiful? it is all covered with gilt. i wonder where they will carry it. oh, now i see; they have stopped at that open place and are going to have a play. there are the actors themselves." "some rich man is doing this," said chin's father. "he has probably hired the actors, queer sights the place they soon entered was different from any dry-goods store you ever saw. the room was fitted with pigeonholes, in each of which was folded a strip of cloth one yard wide, and three yards long. some of these pa-nungs, or waist-cloths, were of silk, and others of cotton. some were striped, and others figured. they form, as you know, the principal part of the dress of both men and women in siam. after chin's father had looked at a number of the cotton waist-cloths, he finally decided on one that was gaily striped. it was of no use for him to examine anything made of silk. it would cost more than the poor man could afford. "now, for the tailor's," he said. "i must buy thread and needles." a few steps brought them to the tiny shop where the tailor sat, working busily, but on the watch for customers at the same time. he our little siamese cousin held the cloth on which he was sewing be- tween his toes! that did not seem strange to chin. he had often watched carpenters use their toes to hold boards in place. as to himself, his own toes were put to every possible use, so that you would almost call him four-handed. as his feet were always bare, why shouldn't he make them useful in other ways than walking and running, swimming and playing games? there was no reason at all. "i'm getting hungry, and we are a good ways from home, father. i wish we could buy some cakes." chin looked longingly at a stand under a stone archway where two men stood in front of a movable furnace. square griddles were on the furnace, and the men were busily bak- ing cakes. each one was made in the shape of the figure . curlicue cakes, they were called. queer sights it is much like an open buggy on two wheels and is drawn by men. it is more common in the land of chin's japanese cousins, however, than in his country. then, again, if any of chin's people are in a great hurry (but that very seldom happens), they may hire gharries, which are very light and have canvas tops. these are drawn by small horses brought from china. "the gharries are strange things," thinks chin's father; "the idea of using them must have been given by those queer white people, who do not seem to enjoy life as we siamese do. they move so much faster, and are not satisfied to do things in the quiet, happy way of my countrymen." the queen's city her real name was almost forgotten, but, poor child, she didn't enjoy hearing herself called pome yik any more than if it had been "double-toe" or "hunchback," or the name given to any kind of deformed person by the people of her country. "we went several miles before we stopped," chie lo went on. "we passed that big rice plantation, chin, where you often go on errands for father. then we came to a field flooded with water and covered with lotus blossoms. they had been raised for market and the people were busy gathering them. "see, chin, they gave me these to bring home. aren't they beautiful?" chie lo held up a bunch of the great, deli- cate lilies for her brother to admire. their hearts were golden; the petals, which were of a faint pink near the centre, were of a deep, bright red toward the tips. the flower had a great meaning to these the queen's city buy the seeds, which they grind and make into cakes. the stems could be cooked and served as a delicious vegetable; the fibres of the leaf-stalks would furnish lamp-wicks. the plant has many uses in the country where it is raised. "father says the king has beautiful lotus ponds in the grounds near the palace," said chin, as he smelled the flowers. "he has seen them, as well as the fountains and statues and lovely gardens." "it must be a grand thing to be a king," replied chie lo, thoughtfully. "they say that the palace is even more wonderful than the grounds around it. "just think of it! the floors are paved with marble and the tables are also of marble. there are all sorts of couches to lie and sit on. these are covered with silks and satins of beautiful colours, and there are pictures on the walls that have been painted to look just like io our little siamese cousin people the king has known. ah! what a sight it must be!" chie lo shut her eyes, as though she might then be able to see what she had been describ- ing. "the city of the royal women is inside all the rest of the king's grounds," said chin. "you know that one must pass through three walls before one can enter it. no man can go there except the king and the priests." "yes, mother has told me about it," an- swered chie lo. "it is a real city, too, for it contains stores and temples, theatres and mar- kets. there are all sorts of lovely trees and plants, ponds and summer houses. the chil- dren must have a fine time in such a lovely place. it must be a grand thing to be born in a king's family." chie lo sighed. "tell me what else you saw beside the lily- fields this morning," said chin, who was quite the queen's city satisfied to be a free, careless, happy boy, and envied nobody. "when we were still quite a distance from home, we saw some men fishing in the river. they were filling their boats very fast, for they had a wheel set up near the bank. as one of them turned the wheel, their nets were spread out and sunk in the water. the other men darted right and left in their boats, shouting and beating drums, and making a great noise.- the frightened fishes must have been driven into the nets in great numbers, for the men were obliged to pull hard to lift them into the boats." "that is an easy way," said chin. "there is a good deal of sport in it, too, for father and i fished with a wheel once, and i liked it for a change. but see, there's father now. let's go to meet him." our little siamese cousin deep forests. they had chased the wildcat, and had had narrow escapes from the rhinoc- eros and the deadly cobra. "did you ever see a cobra yourself, father?" asked chin, as he listened to the stories with wide-open eyes. "yes, indeed. it was only the other day that i watched a snake-charmer, who wound a cobra around his arm." "please tell us about it," cried his son. "i wish i could have seen him. wasn't he the least bit afraid?" "if he had been, he would probably have lost his life," was the answer. "he charmed the creature with music, while he swayed his body back and forth as he played. the ser- pent followed his motions as it listened to the strange sounds. of course the man played with only one hand. he seized the cobra's neck with the other, after which he took out its teeth and venom-bag. when this was no our little siamese cousin nut and a cup containing pieces of money. music will come next." "it will be the great time of my life, father. i must think about it and get ready for it." "there are many kinds of people in our city, chin. there are the chinese, who live here in great numbers; there are hindus with pride in themselves; there are the white peo- ple who come here on business, or to teach their religion to those who will listen. but chin, we are siamese, and we like the ways of our own country. we hear of different fash- ions, but ours are still the best to us." the end. the little cousin series the most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures. each one vol., mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or more full-page illustrations in color. price per volume $ . py mary hazelton wade (unless otherwise indicated) our little african cousin our little alaskan cousin by mary f. nixon - roulet our little arabian cousin by blanche mcmanus our little armenian cousin our little brown cousin our little canadian cousin by elizabeth r. macdonald our little chinese cousin by isaac taylor headland our little cuban cousin our little dutch cousin by blanche mcmanus our little english cousin by blanche mcmanus our little eskimo cousin our little french cousin by blanche mcmanus our little german cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little hindu cousin by blanche mcmanus our little indian cousin our little irish cousin our little italian cousin our little japanese cousin our little jewish cousin our little korean cousin by h. lee m. pike our little mexican cousin by edward c. butler our little norwegian cousin our little panama cousin by h. lee m. pike our little philippine cousin our little porto rican cousin our little russian cousin our little scotch cousin by blanche mcmanuf our little siamese cousin our little spanish cousin by mary f. nixon-roulet our little swedish cousin by claire m. coburn our little swiss cousin our little turkish cousin cosy corner series it it the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature,— stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well- known artists, and each volume has a separate attrac- tive cover design. each i vol., i mo, cloth .... ( . by annie fellows johnston the little colonel. (trade mark.) the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its hero- ine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. the giant scissors. this is the story of joyce and of her adventures in france. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful ex- periences of the " house party" and the " holidays." two little knights of kentucky. who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the " two little knights." mildred's inheritance. a delightful little story of a lonely english girl who comes to america and is befriended by a sympathetic american family who are attracted by her beautiful speaking voice. by means of this one gift she is en- abled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy happy one. l. c. page and company's by annie fellows johnston (c*ntinuid) cicely and other stories for girls. the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people. aunt 'liza's hero and other stories. a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls. big brother. a story of two boys. the devotion and care of steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale. ole mammy's torment. "ole mammy's torment" has been fidy called "a classic of southern life." it relates the haps and mis- haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. the story of dago. in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis' haps is both interesting and amusing. the quilt that jack built. a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished. flip's islands of providence. a story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and fib final triumph, well worth the reading. l. c. page and company's by ouida (louise de la ramie) a dog of flanders: a christmas story. too well and favorably known to require description. the nurnberg stove. this beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price. by frances margaret fox the little giant's neighbours. a charming nature story of a "little giant" whost neighbours were the creatures of the field and garden. farmer brown and the birds. a little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best friends. betty of old mackinaw. a charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little readers who like stories of " real people." brother billy. the story of betty's brother, and some further ad- ventures of betty herself. mother nature's little ones. curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or " childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors. how christmas came to the mul- vaneys. a bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor chil- dren, with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. the wonderful never-to-be forgotten christmas that came to them's the climax of a series of exciting inci- dents. jl c. page and company's by will allen dromgoole the farrier's dog and his fellow. this story, written by the gifted young southern woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style. the fortunes of the fellow. those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of " the farrier's dog and his fellow "will welcome the further account of the adventures of baydaw and the fellow at the home of the kindly smith. the best of friends. this continues the experiences of the farrier's dog and his fellow, written in miss dromgoole's well-known charming style. down in dixie. a fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of alabama children who move to florida and grow up in the south. by marian w. wild man loyalty island. an account of the adventures of four children and their pet dog on an island, and how they cleared their brother from the suspicion of dishonesty. theodore and theodora. this is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mis- chievous twins, and continues the adventures of the interesting group of children in " loyalty island." books for young people the little colonel books (trade mark) by annie fellows johnston each i vol., large i tno, cloth decorative, per vol % . the little colonel stories. (trade mark) illustrated. being three "little colonel" stories in the cosy corner series, " the little colonel," " two little knights of kentucky," and "the giant scissors," put into a single volume. the little colonel's house party. (trade mark} illustrated by louis meynell. the little colonel's holidays. (trade mark) illustrated by l. j. bridgman. the little colonel's hero. (trade mark) illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel at boarding (trade mark) school. illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel in arizona. (trade mark) illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel's christmas va- (trade mark) cation. illustrated by e. b. barry. the little colonel, maid of honour. (trade mark) illustrated by e. b. barry. books for young people asa holmes j or, at the cross-roads, a sketch of country life and country humor. by annie fellows johnston. with a frontispiece by ernest fosbery. large mo, cloth, gilt top . . . ji.oo "' asa holmes; or, at the cross-roads' is the most de- lightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while." — boston times. the rival campers; or, the adventures of henry burns. by ruel perley smith. square i nio, cloth decorative, illustrated . $ . here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy reader. it is the story of a party of typical american lads, coura- geous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an isiand off the maine coast. "the best boys' book since ' tom sawyer."' — san fran- cisco examiner. the rival campers afloat; or, the prize yacht viking. by ruel perley smith. square mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $ . this book is a continuation of the adventures of "the rival campers " on their prize yacht viking. an accidental collision results in a series of exciting adventures, culminat- ing in a mysterious chase, the loss of their prize yacht, and its recapture by means of their old yacht, surprise. the rival campers ashore. by ruel perley smith, author of "the rival campers," "the rival campers afloat," etc. square l mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $ . "the rival campers ashore " deals with the adventures of the campers and their friends in and around the town of benton. mr. smith introduces a new character, — a girl,— who shows them the way to an old mill, around which the mystery of the story revolves. the girl is an admirable ac- quisition, proving as daring and resourceful as the campers themselves. l. c. page and company's the young section-hand; or, the ad- ventures of allan west. by burton e. ste- venson, author of " the marathon mystery," etc. square i mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by l.. j. bridgman $i-so mr. stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as a section-hand on a big western railroad, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling. the young train dispatcher. by bur- ton e. stevenson, author of "the young section- hand," etc. square i mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $ . the young hero has many chances to prove his manliness and courage in the exciting adventures which befall him in the discharge of his duty. captain jack lorimer. by winn stan- dish. square l mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by a. b. shute . $ . jack is a fine example of the all-around american high- school boy. he has the sturdy qualities boys admire, and his fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic youths. jack lorimer's champions; or, sports on land and lake. by winn standish, author of "captain jack lorimer," etc. square i mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $ . all boys and girls who take an interest in school athletics will wish to read of the exploits of the millvale high school students, under the leadership of captain jack lorimer. captain jack's champions play quite as good ball as do some of the teams on the large leagues, and they put all opponents to good hard work in other summer sports. jack lorimer and his friends stand out as the finest ex- amples of all-round american high school boys and girls. this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine of five cents a day is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. our-little-irish: cousin uc-nrlf b j mary hazelton:wade library university of lifornia our little irish cousin the little cousin series (trade mark) each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in tint. cloth, mo, with decorative cover per volume, list of titles by col. f. a. postnikov, isaac taylor headland, edward c. butler, and others our little african cousin our little indian cousin our little alaskan cousin our little irish cousin our little arabian cousin our little italian cousin our little argentine cousin our little japanese cousin our little armenian cousin our little jewish cousin our little australian cousin our little jugoslav cousin our little austrian cousin our little korean cousin our little belgian cousin our little malayan (brown) our little bohemian cousin cousin our little brazilian cousin our little mexican cousin our little bulgarian cousin our little norwegian cousin our little canadian cousin our little panama cousin of the great northwest our little persian cousin our little canadian cousin our little philippine cousin of the maritime provinces our little polish cousin our little chinese cousin our little porto rican cousin our little cossack cousin our little portuguese cousin our little cuban cousin our little quebec cousin our little czecho-slovac our little roumanian cousin cousin our little russian cousin our little danish cousin our little scotch cousin our little dutch cousin our little servian cousin our little egyptian cousin our little siamese cousin our little english cousin our little south african our little eskimo cousin (boer) cousin our little finnish cousin our little spanish cousin our little french cousin our little swedish cousin our little german cousin our little swiss cousin our little grecian cousin our little turkish cousin our little hawaiian cousin our little welsh cousin our little hindu cousin our little west indian cousin our little hungarian cousin l. c. page & company (inc.) beacon street boston, mass. norah. ********************** our little irish cousin by mary hazelton wade yufsefs afsifs its off ifs afsifs et of us cfi cfs its afsiffs efs afts ofs as ofs of* i f s ifs * illustrated by l. j. bridgman or spb visuz boston the page company publishers gafsafsafs af afsafs afsafs afts of its afsafs af afsafs atsafs of copyright, by l. c. page & company (incorporated) all rights reserved made in u. s. a. published june, fifth impression, august, sixth impression, november, seventh impression, september, eighth impression, august, ninth impression, october, tenth impression, april, the colonial press c. h. simonds co., boston, u. s. a. w introduction رہ with the home of our irish cousins we are not very familiar, but with our irish cousins themselves we have a better acquaintance, for many of them have come over to settle in america, and they were among the bravest of the american troops in the world war. of the part in the war taken by their people in ire- land we do not know so intimately, but we do know that they sent many men to france to help england defeat the germans. they took our boys to their homes, and fed and clothed them; they nursed them back to health and strength, and by so doing the people of ireland won their way into the hearts of the people of america. since the end of the war the bond between the two countries has grown even closer, for, under the leadership of america, the nations m introduction of europe began to listen to ireland's plea for home rule. this plea was backed up by active revolution, as was our own struggle for inde- pendence. finally the imperial british gov- ernment, with the interests of the irish people at heart, granted them home rule, to control their own destinies within the british empire. unfortunately, however, even this did not prove a complete solution of ireland's diffi- culties, for some of the irish people wished to remain attached to england, and enjoy the ad- vantages of her wise and just rule. these were the people of northern ireland, called ulster. so it has been agreed that they shall remain under english rule, leaving home rule for southern ireland. preface you have often heard people speak of the emerald isle. when you have asked where it is and why it is so called, you have been told it is only another name for that small island to the northwest of the continent of europe called ireland. the rains there fall so often, and the sun shines so warmly afterward, that mother na- ture is able to dress herself in the brightest and loveliest of colours. the people there are cheerful and good-natured. they are always ready to smile through their tears and see the funny side of every hardship. and, alas ! many things have happened to cause their tears to flow. they have suffered from poverty and hunger. thousands of them have been forced to leave parents and cau usa preface friends, and seek a living within the kindly shores of america. america is great, america is kind, they may think, but oh! for one look at the beautiful lakes of killarney; oh! for a walk over the green fields and hills of the emerald isle. and oh! for the chance to gather a cluster of shamrock, the emblem of dear old erin. the little irish cousin, who has never left her native land, may be poor, and sometimes ragged, but her heart is warm and tender, and she loves her country and her people with a love that will never change, no matter where she may travel or what fortune may befall her. contents chapter pagb . . . . . . i. norah . . . ii. the thunder - storm iii. st. patrick . . iv. daniel o'connell v. killarney vi. hallowe’en . . vii. fairies . . . viii. blarney castle , . , . . list of illustrations page rah norah . . . . . . . frontispiece " the driver stopped his car and asked norah how far it was to the lakes of killarney” . . . . . . norah's home . . . . . . . the monument to daniel o'connell . . norah and mollie at lough lean . . . mollie and her father visit blarney castle our little irish cousin chapter i. norah “ londonderry, cork, and kerry, spell that to me without a k.” “can you do it now?” said norah, laughing. “can i do it? yes, easy enough, for i've heard the riddle before. t-h-a-t. there, norah, you didn't catch me this time.” molly laughed, too, as she spoke, and the little girls went on dressing their rag dolls. they were great friends, these two children of ireland, and, although they were ragged and dirty most of the time, and neither of our little irish cousin them owned hats or shoes, they were happy as the day is long. and, when i say this, i mean one of the longest days of ireland, which are very long indeed. norah had beautiful blue eyes and dark auburn hair. her teeth were like pearls and her cheeks were rosy as the brightest sunset. “she is a true daughter of erin,” thought her mother, as she looked at the child. “ may god will that she grow up to be as good as she is beautiful,” she said to herself, making the sign of the cross on her breast. as for molly, norah's little playmate, her hair was black as night. many other lads and lasses of ireland have hair like that. it is because, long years ago, before even the christ-child dwelt among men, spaniards came to the west coast of ireland and settled among the people there. they gave their black hair and dark eyes to the people already in the country, most of our little irish cousin as possible, and the ten babies followed her example. then norah had to feed the ducks and chickens, and her precious goat. “i love it. oh, i love it, next to father and mother and the children,” thought the little girl. “how much it knows, and how gentle it is! and what should we do without the sweet, rich milk it gives us !” she said, turn- ing to molly, who was helping her in her work. “it is a dear little creature” (molly pro- nounced it crayther), “but i love our pet cow better. i suppose the reason is because it is ours. but, good night till ye, norah. i must be after getting home.” molly went running down the lane, while norah entered the house. house! it would hardly be fair to give it such a grand name. it was a small stone norah hut, not much taller than norah's father, with a roof covered with mud and straw mixed together. such a roof is said to be thatched. there was only one window in the hut, and that was a small one. the door was divided across the middle, and the upper part of it stood wide open. yet, as norah stepped inside, the air was thick and heavy with smoke. over in one corner was a fireplace, and in it cakes of dried peat were slowly burning. it was the only kind of fuel norah's mother had to burn, so it was no wonder the air of the room was smoky. do you know what peat is ? in norah's country there are many square miles of marshy land covered with moss and grasses. if it could speak to us, this land would tell a wonderful story. “ ages and ages ago," it would say, “great forests of oak stood here. the trees grew our little irish cousin large and strong. but the rain fell often and the air was very damp. this is the reason mosses and other plants gathered on the trunks and branches of the trees. they sent their roots into the moist bark and fed on the sap that should have nourished the trees. “the great trees became weaker and weaker as the years passed away, until at last they sickened and died, and fell to the ground. “fir-trees began to grow in the places of the oaks. but they were treated in the same manner. their life-giving sap was taken by a new growth of mosses. the fir-trees died, and added to the great masses of decaying wood which now covered the damp ground. “then plants grew up. but they met with the same fate as the trees. “thousands and thousands of years passed by. the beautiful forests that once covered the land were slowly changed into peat.” norah the peat-bogs are now so thick and heavy that the poor of ireland can dig twenty-five feet into them and cut out squares of the solid peat. after drying them in the air and sunshine, the people burn them in place of coal. this queer fuel does not make as bright and clear a fire as coal, but it is cheap, and keeps the poor from suffering. “be patient and wait only a few more thousands of years,” the bogs would say to us if they could, “and you may have coal instead of peat. father time will make the change without any work on your part.” but the people of ireland cannot wait. most of them are very, very poor. they live from day to day, glad if they have a roof to cover their heads and food enough to keep them from starving. norah's father hires the land for his little farm from a rich lord who lives most of the е our little irish cousin year in england. the irishman built the little hut on this land for himself and wife, and his family of growing children. “what use would it be to spend much time on it?” he would say. “the better i make the place, the more rent i shall have to pay.” every year he planted his patch of potatoes and cabbages for himself, besides oats and turnips and other things for his fowls and pigs and goat. he mended the thatched roof when it leaked too badly for comfort, and they all tried to be happy. they succeeded pretty well. when each new year came around, the home looked about as usual. it was no better, and no worse, unless, perhaps, it was a wee bit more shabby. but the children grew fast. they were merry and rosy, and thought very little about the shabby stone hut they called “home.” norah “sivin of us there are,” norah would tell you, “and baby pat is the dearest and best of us all.” as she came in to supper that night, her mother lifted the kettle that hung by a hook over the smoky fire and made a pot of tea. then she placed a dish of steaming potatoes and a plate of dark, heavy bread on the table. “a good supper, indade,” thought the hun- gry children, and in a few minutes not a sign of anything to eat could be seen. “here chick! chick!” called norah, drop- ping crumbs to her pet chicken. it had kept close beside her during the meal, and once had grown so impatient that it flew up into the little girl's lap. an old hen had already gone to roost on the rung of a stool in a dark corner of the room, while the much-loved goat stood munching grass at norah's elbow. the child's mother did not seem troubled our little irish cousin in the least by these things. she was busy as busy could be, giving hot potatoes and slices of bread to mike and joe, norah and katie, while she trotted baby patsy on her knee. but when the whole flock of geese came running and flying into the hut for their share of the family supper, it was a little too much. “away with you, noisy creatures !” cried the busy mother. “away with you! mike, take the broom and drive them out. joe, lend a hand and help your brother.” when the room had been cleared of the greedy geese, every one went on eating, until not even a crumb was left on the table. the girls cleared away the dishes ; the boys brought a load of peat into the house, and placed it before the fire to dry for burning; the mother rocked patsy to dreamland, and the father smoked his pipe. then, when the work was all done, he told the children there was good news. lw norah ii own “what is it, what is it?” they all cried together. “a letter from our own maggie, in ameriky. sure, what else could the good news be?” said their father. “listen, and you shall hear it. ther “dear father and my own sweet mother:- first of all, how are yoursilves and the pigs and all the children? i have a good place, and my mistress is very kind to me. my work is not hard, and i am fast learning the ways of this great country. my wages is now two dollars and a half the week. in the money of good ould ireland, that is just ten shillin's. by beincareful since i last wrote ye, i have saved enough to send you two pounds. my master got the money changed for me, he was that kind. what will the money buy yez now? mother darlint must have two pounds of the best our little irish cousin tay, and a new red woollen petticoat. you, father, will have some grand leather boots, and aich of the children must buy something for the remimbrance of the sister maggie far across the great say. “-good-bye, and may the blissings of hiven fall upon ye. « maggie o'neil.'” mo as he came to the end of the letter, every one was silent for a moment. the mother wiped away some tears which had fallen upon her cheek, and her husband cleared his throat. two pounds! it seemed like a fortune to the little family. it was nearly enough to pay the year's rent. “but the pigs are doing well, and, if they keep on, there will be no trouble when rent time comes,” said the father, as they sat talk- ing the matter over. “the price of the pigs will be enough for the rint, i'm thinkin'. it norah shall be as maggie said. let the childer go to bed and dream of the fine things they will see in the town when they go shopping." somehow or other the children were all stowed away for the night in the small room next the kitchen, and norah was soon sound asleep, and dreaming a most wonderful dream. it seemed in her dream that the goat was harnessed to the jaunting-car belonging to the father of her friend molly. he was a very, very big goat in the dream, and he looked really handsome, as he capered down the lane, carrying the whole family to market. norah's pet chicken was going to see the sights, for he was perched on the goat's head. the old mother pig ran by his side, and the baby pigs, with their curly tails high up in the air, were trying their best to keep up. every- body was laughing and singing to the tune of an irish jig that norah's father was playing on the bagpipes. chapter ii. the thunder - storm “whisht, now! the fairy folk are pass- ing along. we must get out of their way, and greet them politely,” said norah to her little sister kate, as she made a bow, and whispered, “god speed ye.” the children were out berrying, and were quite a distance from home. they had wan- dered down the lane running through their little village, and were now on the road to killarney. “why, norah?” “when you see a cloud of dust sweeping along, you may know the fairies are travelling. it might bring something bad to us if we stood in their way. we want them to be our friends, of course." e the thunder - storm “oh, yes, yes, norah. i'll be careful next time. but i'm tired. tell me a story about the fairies.” “ i'm tired, too, katie darlint. but i'll tell ye this much. there once was a man who did not care for the fairies as he should. per- haps he did not believe they used arrows and shot them at the cattle of those people with whom they were angry. oh, katie, it is the living truth that the fairies can bewitch any one whom they please. “well, the man of whom i was tellin' ye bought a farm. it was close to a beautiful valley where the fairies had their home. he built himself a house; he ploughed the land; and then he made a lime-kiln on the very borders of the fairies' home. “they were so angry that they punished him in many ways. but not all at once, katie darlint. first, they killed his horse; next, three of his cows; and, as our little irish cousin though that wasn't enough, nine of his pigs died. “the farmer knew well enough what was the matter. he took down his lime-kiln, and was careful after that to keep clear of the borders of fairy-land.” “ look, look, norah! i hear a carriage. it may be people travelling through the country. put on your sweetest smile and maybe they will give us a penny.” the two children stood still on one side of the road. as the carriage passed them, little kate held out her chubby hands, saying, “a penny, kind lady, if ye plaze.” she was quick to notice that, besides the driver, three gentlemen and a lady filled the seats of the jaunting-car. “take this, little one, for your rosy cheeks and smiling face.” the lady threw out a three-penny piece, as the driver stopped his car and a ra wa sa sun " the driver stopped his car and asked norah how far it was to the lakes of killarney.”. the thunder - storm asked norah how far it was to the lakes of killarney. “four miles, sir, if ye keep straight on this road,” was the answer. “do you mean four irish miles?” asked one of the gentlemen. “for, if you do, we have an hour's good drive before us.” “sure, and i always supposed a mile is a mile,” answered norah, with a perplexed look in her eyes. the gentleman laughed, and said, “ if you go to america when you grow up, you will find that two of our miles will almost make one of yours.” the car passed on, and the children stood watching the travellers out of sight. “isn't it grand to be travelling like that, katie?” said her sister. “a jaunting-car is one of the finest things in the world.” but the people who were in the carriage did not agree with her. our little. irish cousin .“ it is going to rain, katie. we must hurry, for i fear it will thunder and lighten,” said norah. the children began to run. although they did not mind the rain, they were both afraid of thunder-storms. “there! hear that, and that !” sobbed katie, beginning to cry. a streak of light- ning had darted across the sky, followed almost instantly by a loud peal of thunder. down came the rain in torrents, just as the children turned from the road and entered the lane leading to their own little village. as they did so, the sound of wheels could be heard behind them. they were in too great a hurry and too much frightened to turn around. but as they reached their own door, the very jaunting-car they had met on the road to killarney drove up. the children's mother had been watching from the doorway. the thunder - storm “come in, children, as fast as you can. i was near beside mesilf, i was that worried about ye.” then the good woman, turning with a wel- come smile to the people in the carriage, asked them to shelter themselves from the storm in her poor little cot. the two drenched children rushed to the fireplace and stood there with the water drip- ping from their skirts and making little puddles on the floor of the cabin. in the meantime, their mother was making her visitors as comfortable as she could. two of the gentlemen took seats on the edge of a big feather bed, for there were not chairs enough to go around. the lady was given the best chair, after norah's mother had dusted it with her apron, and placed it near the fire. the flock of geese had somehow managed to follow the visitors into the house, and the our little irish cousin kcuse u big apron was next used to drive the poor wet creatures out into the storm. it was plain to see they did not enjoy it any more than the people themselves. “you must excuse us for taking you by surprise in this way,” said the lady, as soon as it was quiet enough for the kind irishwoman to hear her, “but we saw the storm sud- denly coming up, and we knew we were too far from killarney to get there before it should break upon us.” she smiled as she went on, “indeed, it overtook us before we could even reach your village.” as she finished speaking, there was a blind- ing flash of lightning. it was almost instantly followed by a peal of thunder which shook the little cabin again and again. norah's mother made the sign of the cross upon her breast, and her lips moved in prayer. every one was silent as flash after flash of bright light came through the window, and the thunder - storm one peal of thunder followed close upon another. it was a good half-hour before the storm began to die away. “yes, the rain comes often in these parts, and thunder-storms are a common matter in the summer time,” said mrs. o'neil, when they fell to talking again. “that is one of the reasons why i don't like jaunting-cars,” said her lady visitor. “ they have no covering, and in a sudden rain there is no way of keeping dry.” “wheniver the lightning comes as it did a few minutes ago,” said mrs. o'neil, “it makes me think of a story told by me father, god rest his sowl. “there was once a man working in his garden. it began to thunder, and the man was scared. he put his head through a hole in the wall. “god save whativer is out of me. that is what he prayed. co our little irish cousin “he had no sooner said those words than the wall fell and his head was taken off en- tirely. “you see, he didn't pray for the whole of him. “now, my good father said that was just right. the man was selfish to think only of himsilf. he should have prayed large, for all the folk around him, and not small, just for him- silf. it was the judgment of hiven upon him. “but, dear me! i must tend to my baking. i had clean forgot it in the storm.” mrs. o'neil turned to the fireplace and lifted a round, low pot out of the ashes. when she had set it on the table, she took off the cover. then, turning the pot upside down, a dark, heavy loaf of bread fell out upon the table. the visitors rose to go, thanking the good woman for her kindness in giving them shelter during the storm. the thunder - storm but mrs. o'neil would not hear of their leaving so near supper-time, with killarney a good hour's drive away. she told them she had a nice pat of butter in the cupboard. the wild berries picked by the children had been covered over, so they were not softened by the rain while on the way home. with a pot of good tea and the newly-baked bread, she proudly thought her visitors might satisfy their hunger. after looking at her husband and the other gentlemen, the lady sat down again, saying: “you are very kind and generous, mrs. o'neil, like the rest of your people. wher- ever i have travelled in ireland i have met just such kindness. i shall never forget my visit here. “and what a beautiful country it is! i never saw such green grass anywhere else in the world. no wonder it is called “the emerald isle.'” our little irish cousin mrs. o'neil smiled her happiest smile. she loved to hear her country praised. “ah! ireland was a great place once," she cried. “but times have changed, and many of the days have been sad ones since the rule of our own kings. did ye ever hear tell of the famine?” she asked. “yes, indeed,” said one of the gentlemen, as mrs. o'neil bustled about the table. “i shall never forget a story i read at the time. i was a little boy in school. it was about a family who were suffering terribly from the famine. their supply of potatoes had come to an end and the new crop was killed by the blight. there was no money to pay the rent, and the poor little children with their parents were turned out of their home by the hard- hearted landlord. “but at this dreadful moment, help came from a kind friend in america, and they were saved from further suffering.” the thunder - storm was when he had finished speaking, mrs. o'neil told of the suffering people who be- came homeless and starving, and who died before help reached them. norah crept close to her mother's side as she listened to the story. her big blue eyes were full of tears. this dreadful famine happened before mrs. o'neil was born, for norah's grandmother was herself a child at the time. the potato crop had been poor for several years, and many were the families who were obliged to beg from those who were a little better off than themselves. but at last there came a season when all the crops failed. it was the dreadful year of , when the blight fell upon every part of ireland. stop for a minute and think of the thou- sands of little children who lived almost entirely on potatoes up to this time. some wa our little irish cousin of them, it is true, had bread every day, and meat once or twice a week. but there were many many homes where the only food of the family was potatoes. then you can picture what happened when there were no more potatoes. the smiles soon gave place to tears. the roses faded away from the cheeks. the bright eyes grew dull and heavy. poor little children of ireland! think what became of them when the last piece of furniture had been sold to buy bread! alas! many of them were soon without even shelter. for they were driven with their parents out of their small homes, be- cause there was no possible way of paying the rent. then what? fever and sickness travelled from place to place. death followed in their pathway. there were many days of cruel suffering before the rest of the world waked ere m the thunder - storm up and sent help to the sick and the starving in ireland. america showed herself a kind friend in that sad time. it was some of the very food she sent to ireland that saved the life of norah's grandmother. she and her brothers were nearly starving when the help came. they lived on the seashore and had been try- ing to keep themselves alive by eating sea- weed and moss. those were dreadful times, indeed. mrs. o'neil stopped to pat norah’s head, which was in her apron. the child was crying softly. “there, there, those hard days are over now, my child,” said her mother, tenderly. “the sky is brighter for ireland than it has been these many years. you must not let this fine lady see you cry. enough water has fallen outside to-day without our adding to the shower.” our little irish cousin norah began to laugh, while she wiped away the tears with her mother's apron. the visitors once more rose to go. at the same time one of the gentlemen stepped to mrs. o'neil's side and said in a low tone, “we would not think of offering pay for your kindness to us this afternoon, but it will give me a great deal of pleasure if you will take this and buy a little kid with it for norah.” he pressed some money into the good woman's hands. “ but we have one goat now, as you must have seen,” she said. “ two goats will give the children twice as much milk as one,” he answered, with a laugh. “and, besides, i want norah to have the new goat for her very own.” mrs. o'neil could not refuse such a kind offer. “thank ye entirely, and may hiven send its blessing on ye all.” x bs norah's home. the thunder - storm by this time the driver had brought the horse and the jaunting-car from the little shed, and the party drove off in the direction of killarney. chapter iii. st. patrick ls “sure and it's father tom himself,” said norah's mother. she was in the midst of the family washing. katie was rocking baby patsy, and norah was brushing up the rough mud floor. every one stopped work at once and ran out of the cabin, the mother wiping her hands on her apron, and norah lifting patsy and carrying him along in her strong young arms. the whole village had by this time turned out into the lane and gathered around the kind fat priest, who had a smile for each and all. there were old people hobbling along with the help of sticks, men who had stopped work for the sake of a blessing from the priest, st. patrick mothers with babies in their arms, and children big and little. it was a glad day when father tom came to the village to see how all were getting along. there were so few people that the village had no church of its own. they went four miles every sunday to the nearest service. almost every one had to walk, for there were only two or three donkeys and one or two rough carts in the whole place. a visit from the priest was a great honour, a very great honour. the children knelt in his pathway that he might lay his hands on them and bless them. the men took off their hats and bowed their heads low as he passed by. the old women made as good curtsys as their stiff backs would let them. norah put little patsy down on the ground, whispering, “patsy, dear, touch the good man's robe with your little hands. it will make ye a better boy." our little irish cousin father tom must have heard the whisper. he turned around and placed his hands on the baby's curly head. then he made a short prayer and blessed him. "i will take a sup of tea with you, mrs. o'neil,” he said to norah's mother. “i am quite tired, for i have walked all the way from my home this morning.” mrs. o'neil was much pleased. she hur- ried home, while the priest and children fol- lowed her more slowly. as she hung the kettle over the fire and set the table for the priest's lunch, he gathered the children around him and told them stories of st. patrick, the dearest of all saints to the irish people. it was a long, long time ago that the king of ireland was holding a festival in the hall of tara. “put out all the fires,” he had commanded his people. “let no light be seen till a blaze bursts forth from the hill of tara.” st. patrick not one of his subjects would have dared to disobey the king's command. you may judge, therefore, how surprised he was when he looked out into the darkness and saw a light. it grew stronger and stronger every moment. a great fire was blazing near by on the top of a hill ! who could have dared to disobey the king? what was the meaning of the fire? the druid priest for whom the king sent in haste said: “o king, if that fire is not put out to-night, it will never die in this country.” now it happened that the festival which the king and his people were celebrating was held on the night before easter sunday. few people of erin had at that time heard of easter sunday. they knew nothing of the life of the christ child. they were druids, and had a strange. belief of their own. their chief priests dwelt in the dark forests our little irish cousin of oak-trees, and taught their followers to worship fire as the symbol of the sun. but a new teacher had come into their country. he had a message to the people. he wished to tell them of the christian relig- ion and of jesus, who had lived and suffered and died to help all mankind. the name of the new teacher was patrick, and scotland was his early home. when he was sixteen years old, he was surprised by a band of robbers. they made him their pris- oner and took him with them to ireland. after he had been with them six months, he managed to get free and went back to scotland. but he was carried off a second time, and again he escaped. after he reached his own home once more, he said to himself, “i should like to help the people of ireland. i should like to tell them of jesus and his religion." he began to study and prepare himself for teaching. at last he was made a bishop. st. patrick after many years, he was able to go back to ireland. it was what he had long wished to do. it was the eve of easter sunday when he lighted that great fire on the hilltop and sur- prised the king by his daring. “i will send for the man who kindled that fire. let him come before me at once,” com- manded the king. patrick was brought in haste, but he was not frightened in the least. when the king and the princes, the nobles and the druid priests were gathered together, he told them he had come to erin to put out the fires of the druids. he wished to stop the making of the pagan sacrifices in which the people then believed. he had brought some- thing better in their place. it was the chris- tian religion. what do you suppose the king replied ? he was very angry, of course. but still he asked patrick to meet the wise men of the . our little irish cousin came country the next day and talk the matter over. then he could explain his belief to them. on the next day he did meet them. he talked so well and so wisely that many of the listeners thought he knew a great deal more than they did. they became christians then and there. the king then gave patrick the right to preach all over ireland. as he went from place to place, he spoke so well that all those who listened to him felt his great power. in a short time the whole of the people became christians, and the strange worship of the druids came to an end. father tom told norah and her sister many wonderful stories of the life of st. patrick. he told of a spring of water he had visited. this spring worked miracles. it happened that st. patrick and st. bridget were one day taking a walk. she said she was thirsty. st. patrick struck the ground with his st. patrick staff. water instantly began to bubble up through the earth, and a spring has been there ever since. father tom went on to tell of strange wrig- gling things called snakes. he had seen them in other countries. they were something like big worms, and were of different colours. the bite of some of them was poisonous. “but we have none of them in our own beautiful ireland,” he said. “you may thank the blessed st. patrick for sending them out of this country.” norah and katie both shivered when they thought of the snakes. how good st. patrick was to drive the horrid creatures out of ire- land! “ there is a grand church in the city of dublin called st. patrick's cathedral. when you grow up, norah, you must surely visit it,” said the kind priest, as he finished his story- telling. “it stands on the very spot where st. our little irish cousin e e e patrick himself once built a church. it is a fine building, and its spire reaches higher up toward heaven than anything you have ever seen made by men. “but, my dear little children, your mother has prepared me a nice luncheon. i must eat it, and then visit poor widow mcgee, who is very ill.” a half-hour afterward, father tom had left the little home, and mrs. o'neil was once more hard at work over her wash-tub. norah was out in the yard amusing baby patsy. “mother, mother,” she called, “ mrs. ma- loney is on her way here. she has just stopped at mrs. flynn's.”. “come in and get some petaties ready for her, norah. i don't want to stop again in my work.” (mrs. o'neil pronounced it “ wurruk.”) mrs. maloney lived in a lonely cabin about two miles away. you would hardly believe it, our little irish cousin another a loaf of bread, a third a cabbage, and a fourth a little butter. in this way she was kept from starving, or from going to the workhouse, which she dreaded nearly as much. as norah dropped the potatoes into her apron, the old woman blessed her heartily. as she turned to leave, mrs. o'neil called after her to ask how she got along in yester- day's bad storm. “sure and i was that feared i dared not stay in the cabin. it was so bad i thought it would fall down on me shoulders. so i wint out and sat on the turf behind it. i was wet indade when the storm was over.” “too bad, too bad,” said mrs. o'neil, in a voice of pity. “we must see what can be done for you.” she did not forget. that very night she asked her husband if he could not find time to mend the old woman's hut and make it safe st. patrick to live in. he promised her that as soon as the potatoes were hoed he would get his friend mickey flynn to help him and they would fix it all right. “ah! tim, tim,” said his wife, with her eyes full of tears, “of all the eight children mrs. maloney has lost, there is none she grieves over like her boy john, that went to ameriky and was never heard of again. “maybe he lost his life on the way there. maybe he died all alone in that far-away land, with no kind friends near him. no one but god knows." mrs. o'neil crossed herself as she went on, “think of our own dear girl in ameriky, and what might happen to her!” chapter iv. daniel o'connell “o paddy, dear, and did you hear the news that's going round? the shamrock is forbid by law to grow on irish ground.” ah was norah was sitting by her father's side as the family were gathered around the fireplace one chilly evening. she was singing that song they loved so well, “the wearing of the green.” “i picked some shamrock leaves this morn- ing, and i put them in the big book to press. can they go in the next letter to maggie, mother?” asked the little girl, as she finished singing. she jumped down from her seat and went to daniel o'connell a shelf, from which she took the treasure of the family. it was the only book they owned besides their prayer-books. it told the story of a man loved by every child of erin, — the story of daniel o'con- nell. es opening the leaves carefully, norah took out a spray of tiny leaves. they looked very much like the white clover which is so common in the fields of america. it was a cluster of shamrock leaves, the emblem of ireland. “yes, it shall go to maggie without fail,” said norah's mother. “it will make her heart glad to see it. the fields behind our cabin will come to her mind, and the goat she loved so well, feeding there. oh, but she has niver seen patsy yet!” “father, please tell us the story of that great man,” said norah. “i am never tired of hearing it.” norah pointed to the big book as she our little irish cousin spoke. the first money maggie had sent from america had bought it, so it was doubly precious to every one in the little home. daniel o'connell! what a friend he had been to ireland! the face of norah's father grew brighter as he began to tell the story of the brave man who had worked so hard to help his people. but the story-teller first went back in the history of ireland to a time long before the birth of o'connell. the irish had at last been conquered by england. they had fought against her for four hundred years. it was hard now to have english rulers in the country and to have eng- lish lords take their lands away from them. it was harder still to have these rulers say, “you must worship as we worship. if you remain catholics, we will punish you.” the hard-hearted cromwell came to ireland, bringing a large supply of bibles, scythes, and firearms. the bibles were for those who were daniel o'connell wu om arms willing to become protestants. the firearms were used for killing those who would not give up their religion. the scythes cut down the crops of those who did not happen to get killed and yet held to their faith. “they shall be starved into obeying my orders,” said the stern cromwell. as though this were not enough, forty thou- sand of the irish people were driven to the seacoast. they were put on board ships and sent to spain. never more should they see the emerald isle they loved so well. weeping and moaning could be heard all through ireland. but a still more pitiful sight followed. it was a procession of children who had been taken from their homes. they, too, were driven on board ships which were waiting for them. these poor helpless boys and girls were to become slaves on the tobacco planta- tions of the west indies. how their mothers' hearts must have ached ! our little irish cousin what sobs and groans must have filled many a lonely cottage of ireland ! one hundred and fifty years passed by. they were hard years, and full of trouble. then the people began to whisper to each other, “a real helper has come at last.” it was the young irishman, daniel o'con- nell, who lived the life of a country boy in a quiet place in kerry. it was scarcely twenty- five miles from norah's home. an old schoolmaster taught daniel his let- ters in a little village school. no one noticed the brightness of the boy's mind until long afterward, when he was sent to a college in france. after he had been there a year, the principal began to see he was not like most boys. “he will be a great man, unless i am much mistaken,” he thought. he was not disap- pointed. daniel studied hard and became a lawyer. daniel o'connell his chief thought was always, “ireland! poor ireland! how can i help my country?” he worked early and late. he studied far into the night. he would have little chance as a lawyer unless he became very wise, and was keen and quick in his wits. for he was a catholic. that was much against him. the judges in the courts were protestants and were ready to favour protestant lawyers. but o'connell's heart was full of courage. he did not lose hope for a single moment. when he began to practise law, he showed every one what a bright mind he had. he was quick to see little mistakes and point them out. he stayed in the court-room during the whole of a trial. he would not leave it for a minute, even if he had been there many hours. he had lunch brought in to him. he was afraid if he left the court that something might be said he ought to hear. our little irish cousin “he is very bright.” “he sees every blunder.” “he is a sharp-witted fellow.” people began to say things like these. or, perhaps, some bold irishman would tell his friend, “england can't have it all her own way much longer. dan o'connell will see to that.” now, while this clever young lawyer was busy in the courts in the daytime, he was doing just as important work in the night. evening after evening he met with the friends of ireland. he talked with them of the best way to help their country. “but no blood must be shed,” he would say again and again. “ no blood must be shed. that would be too high a price to pay. be- sides, it has been fully tried for hundreds of years, and nothing but bitterness and misery has come of it. and yet the catholics must have equal rights with the protestants.” he saw only one way of bringing this about. daniel o'connell n it was by getting all the people to vote alike. then the english rulers would see how strong and how much in earnest the irish people were. there were years of hard work before daniel o'connell was able to bring about any change. at last, however, the government of england was obliged to pass a law giving catholics the right to vote and hold office the same as protestants. it is said that when the king signed the law he was so angry he broke the pen with which it was done, and stamped upon it. but he knew he had to do it, and there was no way out of it. daniel o'connell had won. he was the great liberator of his religion in great britain. he now tried to gain a separate government for ireland. but he did not live to finish his work. he was seized with illness. this very time was the beginning of the dreadful famine. our little irish cousin o'connell could not keep his mind from thinking of the sufferings of his people, and so, of course, he gained no strength. his doctors gave up hope. the great lawyer and liberator had but one wish now. he would like to die in rome under the blessing of the pope. he did not live long enough to reach the religious capital of the catholic world, but his heart was preserved and sent there, by his own wish. his body was sent to ireland, where there was a grand funeral. a great monument stands to-day in the city of dublin. it was built in honour of ireland's brave helper and true lover, daniel o'connell. it is shaped like the round towers still stand- ing here and there throughout ireland. they are so old that no one knows when or why they were built. they stand tall and straight and strong and silent. but it seems as though daniel o'connell they would say, “ look at us and think of the grand old days of erin !” some people think they were watch-towers from which the enemy could be discovered far away. when the people wished to build a monu- ment to daniel o'connell, they thought noth- ing would be more proper than a copy of the old watch-towers still standing in the country and reminding every one of the old glories of ireland. as norah's father finished the story, the little girl got up softly and went to a drawer, from which she drew a picture. it was that of a white hound, the dog daniel o'connell loved so much. “father,” she said, putting her arms around his neck, “if you ever see a white hound at the fair in killarney, please buy it for your little norah. i will love it tenderly for the sake of that great man.” u ev ca chapter v. killarney duse “mother, mother! mollie says can i go with her for a day at killarney?” cried norah, rushing into the house quite out of breath. and, indeed, it was no wonder. she had run every step from her friend mollie's, which was a good half-mile away. mollie's father seemed quite rich in norah's eyes. he had a farm, where he kept three cows and twenty sheep. yes, and a horse besides. not a donkey, mind you. two of norah's neighbours owned donkeys, but mol- lie's father was so well off that he had a real live horse, and a jaunting-car of his very own. when the work was not heavy, the farmer sometimes took his family for a day's pleasure. killarney “ if it is fine weather to-morrow,” he prom- ised mollie,“ you shall ask norah to go with us. it will be a rale treat for her.” how norah's eyes sparkled as she told her mother of the invitation! her cheeks were more rosy than ever, and as she laughed over the good news, her teeth looked for all the world like the loveliest of pearls. the next morning she was out-of-doors at sunrise, to see what signs there were of good weather. dame nature was very kind to the little girl, and made the sun spread his loveliest colours over the eastern sky. there was a great scrubbing and cleaning before norah was ready to start. her mother combed and brushed her thick, long hair, and made it into two glossy braids. what did it matter if there was no hat to wear! she was so pretty, she did not need straw or ribbon to make people stop to look at the bright, happy face, with eyes ever ready to laugh or cry. our little Írish cousin when she was dressed in her pink cotton gown (it was the only one she had, and her mother had washed and ironed and mended it the night before, after norah had gone to bed), she ate her breakfast, and slipped over the fields to mollie's, as happy as a lark. the horse and car already stood waiting at the door. mollie and norah, and mollie's sister bridget, sat together on one side of the car, while the jolly farmer, with his wife and baby, filled the other seat. mollie's big brother tim was the driver. as they jogged along through the beautiful country, the party sang “killarney,” and other favourite songs. after awhile, mollie's mother started “the harp that once thro' tara's halls,” and every one joined in with a will. when the song came to an end, the farmer told the children about an old harper who used to go wandering through the country. killarney he stopped at every place to play the tunes the people loved so well. but that was before mollie and norah were born. yes, before even the farmer himself was born. he had heard his mother tell about the old man, and how bright his eyes grew as his fingers drew out the tunes from the harp. once upon a time there were many such harpers in the country. those were the days of the irish kings and lords. there were feasts and dancing and music in many a stone castle in those times. but now, alas, most of the castles are only ruins, where the kindly ivy covers the piles of stones, and the wind howls through the empty door and window places. one castle was the grandest of all. it was called the hall of tara, and was built on the top of a high hill. mollie and norah had are our little irish cousin often heard of the doings in that grand building. it was the place where the irish princes met together to choose their king. it was there that he was crowned, upon an upright stone that actually roared during the ceremony. at least, so the story runs. the laws of the country were made in the hall of tara, and a great feast was served there before commencing business each day. three loud blasts were sounded by the trum- peter to call the people together in the great dining-room. not only princes and nobles met in tara's hall. there were also poets and wise men. for those were the days when ireland had places of learning where many scholars gath- ered, to study history and poetry, the move- ments of the sun and stars, and many other things. those were great days for old ire- land. killarney “oh, see! see !” cried norah. mollie's brother stopped the horse to let every one see the beautiful sight before them. the lovely lakes, shut in by high mountains, were ahead of them. “they are the jewels of erin,” cried mol- lie's mother. “they are diamonds sparkling on the breast of our country.” it was no wonder she spoke as she did. it would be hard to find any spot in the world more beautiful than the lakes of killarney. as the horse started up once more, they passed high stone walls covered with moss and ferns and ivy. the branches of tall trees met together over their heads, with vines wound lovingly about their trunks. the whole view was so beautiful that even the children became quiet. no one felt like talking. “we will not spend any time in killarney town,” said mollie's father. “this is going our little irish cousin to be a day outdoors, childer. we'll have a rale picnic.” mollie and norah clapped their hands. “we must go to ross castle, that's sure. and of course you want to visit muckross abbey and hear the echo below the eagle's nest,” the farmer went on. “ castle lough and glenna bay, mountains tore and eagle's nest; still at muckross you must pray, though the monks are now at rest.” so sang the girls in answer. you must know that killarney is the most beautiful part of the beautiful country of ire- land. one day is not enough to see all that is worth seeing. no one could blame the children for not wanting to spend any of their time in the little dirty town at the end of the lakes. the horse was driven close to the shore of lough lean, or the lake of learning. this killarney is the name given it by the people of the country because two universities once stood near its shores. the party got out of the jaunting-car and sat down at the water's edge to eat their lunch. there were no cakes or pies, but nothing could have tasted better to the hungry chil- dren than the thick slices of bread and butter, the home-made cheese, and the rich goat's milk. and then, every time they lifted their eyes they could see the green meadows on one side, and on the other the mountains covered with purple heather and thick forests. out on the clear waters of lough lean were many little islands, looking like so many emeralds set in the silvery bosom of the lake. “what lovely homes they would make for the fairies,” whispered norah to mollie. she always spoke of the fairies in a whisper. per- haps she felt they might be provoked if she mentioned them in her usual voice. our little irish cousin “i believe they choose just such places to live in,” answered mollie. “i think there · must be hawthorn-trees growing there." both norah and mollie believed in fairies. they had as much faith in them as many little boys and girls in america have in santa claus. they thought hawthorn-trees the favourite places for the midnight parties of the fairies. it was in the shade of the hawthorn-trees that these beautiful sprites feasted on dew, and danced to the music of fairy harps. as the children sat whispering together, molly's father began to tell the story of lough lean. the little girls were only too glad to listen. he told the old legend of the time when there was no lake at all. a fine city stood here in its place, and in the city there lived a brave warrior, whose name was o'donaghue. everything one could wish for was in the city except plenty of water. there was one was was one sta ber . norah and mollie at lough lean. killarney small spring, to be sure. a great magician had given it to the people. but he had made one condition, which was this: whoever drew water from the spring must cover it with a certain silver vessel. it happened one day that the brave o'don- aghue drank more wine than he should. it made him very bold. he ordered his serv- ants to go to the spring and bring him the silver bowl that covered it. “ it will make a good bathtub for me,” he said, and he laughed merrily. “pray don't make us do this,” cried his frightened servants. he laughed all the louder, and answered : “ don't be afraid. · the water will be all the better for the fresh night air.” the silver bowl was brought to the daring warrior. but as the servants entered the house, they imagined they heard terrible sounds about them. our little irish cousin sv was they shook with fear as they thought, “we are going to be punished for breaking the magician's command.” one of the servants was so frightened that he left the city and fled to the mountains. it was well for him that he did so, for when the morning came, he looked down into the valley and saw no city at all. not a sign of a house or living being was in sight. a sheet of water was stretched out before his astonished eyes. it was the beauti- ful lough lean. as mollie's father repeated the legend, the children bent over the lake. "perhaps they could see the roofs of palaces, or the tops of towers, still standing on the bottom of the water. they had heard of people who said they had seen them. but the children were disappointed. perhaps when they went rowing in the killarney afternoon, they might yet catch a glimpse of the hidden city. who could tell ? mollie's father had more to tell of another man, whose name was also o'donaghue. he pointed to a little island not far from the shore. it was ross island, and an old, old castle, called ross castle, was still standing there. the stone walls were now in ruins. they were overgrown with moss and ivy. but hun- dreds and hundreds of years ago it was a great stronghold of ireland's bravest warriors. the chief of them all was the daring o'donaghue. even now he cannot rest easy in his grave. every seven years he rises up, and, mounting a white horse, rides around ross castle. and as he rides every stone goes back into its old place, and the castle is once more as strong and grand as in its best days. but this is only for the one night. when n no one our little irish cousin the sun shines the next morning, a heap of ruins is standing there, where the owls and bats may keep house in comfort. “how i should like to see the knight on his white horse!” said norah. “yes, but i should be afraid, i'm sure,” said mollie. “after all, the day is the best time to be outdoors, and my bed at home is the safest place after dark.” when the lunch was eaten, the whole party crossed a bridge that spanned the water to ross island. the children played games over the smooth lawns, picked flowers, and told fairy stories. then mollie's brother rowed the girls out on the lake. many a time he rested on his oars while the children called out and then listened for the echo to answer them. “there it is, hark!” said tim. a party of travellers came rowing toward them. they had hired an irish piper to go es oars killarney with them. as he played a slow tune, the answer came back. tim whistled, and the echo repeated it. then norah sang the first line of “come back to erin,” and the echo sang it back again. but the afternoon was going fast, and the children could now hear mollie's father calling to them from the shore. they must get back to land as soon as possible. when they reached the car, they jumped in, and all started at once for muckross abbey, at the other end of the lake. it had once been a great place of learning, but it was now in ruins. ah! but such beau- tiful ruins, covered with mosses and creeping vines. how the ivy seemed to love the old stone walls ! some of ireland's greatest men were buried here. poets and soldiers and wise men lie in their tombs. norah and mollie stepped killarney . she might have said, also : “ i live in the most beautiful part of beauti- ful ireland. i can look to my heart's content at the lovely hills and lakes, the fields filled with aowers, and the cascades rippling down the mountainsides.” yes, let glory be to god that the poor can enjoy these blessings, and it costs them nothing. chapter vi. hallowe'en “it's jumping wid joy i am,” said norah. it was the eve of the first day of november, and the little girl was putting on a new dress. her father had been to the pig fair at kil- larney. he had sold his pigs for a good price, and had brought home enough blue cloth to make gowns for both norah and katie. but what is a pig fair? perhaps you are wondering. it is like any other fair in the old countries, except that little else is sold besides pigs. pigs ! pigs ! pigs ! big pigs and little pigs. pigs rolling in fat and weighing a good three hundred pounds. little baby pigs, pink and white, and too young to leave their mothers. hallowe'en streets full of men and pigs. everybody talking, and many of them laughing and tell- ing each other funny stories. and all along the sides of the roads were horses and donkeys fastened to queer-looking wagons, in which the pigs had been brought to market. oh, a pig fair is a jolly sight, as norah's brother would tell you. the two blue dresses were made in a hurry by the mother, and now the whole family were going to a party at mollie's house. it was to celebrate hallowe'en. patsy had to go, too, for there was no one to leave him with at home. there was no baby-carriage for him. but that did not matter. he could go on his mother's broad back, after she had wrapped a big shawl over her shoulders. the father led the procession. he felt very grand in a coat with long tails and a tall hat. our little irish cousin of course, norah and katie felt fine in their new gowns. they walked behind their mother, looking from time to time at her new red petticoat, and then at their own dresses. it seemed a longer walk than usual, because they were so anxious to get there and join in the sport. “hear the piper, hear the piper !” shouted katie, as they at last drew near the farmhouse. and her little bare feet began to dance along the path. a minute more, and the house door opened wide, and the visitors were made welcome. the kitchen was not large, and it was already well filled. the big bed had been moved over into a corner to make room for dancing. the older people, who did not dance, sat on the edge of the bed, while the children nestled together on the floor against the wall. the turf fire was glowing in the big fire- oi was hallowe'en wa place, and giving a pleasant welcome to all. on the rafters overhead, some hens were fast asleep, not seeming to mind the music and laughter in the least. the piper was playing his jolliest tunes, and two young people were dancing a jig when norah arrived. “good ! good !” cried the rest of the com- pany, as the young girl went around and around the young man, her partner, never once losing the step. her heavy shoes made a great clatter as they came down on the paved floor. her face grew redder and redder. her breath came harder and harder, but she would not give up dancing till the piper himself left off playing. “let us bob for apples now,” said the host. “we will give these young folks a chance to get their breath.” a big tub of water was brought in, and our little irish cousin ce at some apples were set floating in it. who would duck for the apples? every one who had a chance. it did not matter how old or how young they might be. it was such fun! one head after another went down into the water to see who could seize an apple between his teeth without using his hands to help him. when the company grew tired of this sport, there were other games and more lively dances. then there were refreshments. there was plenty of tea for the big folks, and bread and cheese and potato cakes for all. as they sat eating, the piper began to play a soft, sad tune. “they do say he learned it of the fairies,” whispered mollie to norah. just then, the children's school-teacher came and sat down beside them. he heard the word “ fairies.” hallowe'en “do you believe in fairies?” he asked norah. she lifted her blue eyes in surprise. “sure, sir. they live in the hills and caves. and there be some, i have heard, who have their homes under the waves of the sea. this night they are more lively than at most times. “mother was careful this morning not to drain the milk-pail. she wanted to leave a drop in case the fairy folk should come along and wish for a sup. and sure, sir, father never puts the fire out at night. he says maybe the fairies might like to rest a bit on our hearth before the morn- ing." the schoolmaster smiled, but did not con- tradict the little girl. he thought it would only trouble the child. norah's father had once said, “ the teacher is a man of great larnin'. and, strange to cas om our little irish cousin say, i have heard that people of larnin' have little belief in fairy folk.” “would you like me to tell you a story?” asked the teacher, after a moment or two. “oh, plaze do, indade!” said norah and mollie together. they loved their teacher dearly. their school was kept in a plain, bare little room with rough benches and desks. there was nothing bright or pretty about it. but their teacher was kind, and tried to help them learn. they were always glad to be with him and hear him talk. “you have never been to the north of ireland, have you ?” he asked. « oh, no, sir. we've never been farther from home than the lakes of killarney," answered mollie. “but you know, of course, that this is an island, and if you travel to the northeastern hallowe'en shore of ireland you must cross the sea if you want to go to scotland.” “yes, indeed, you showed that to us on the map at school.” “i will tell you of a giant named finn mccool, who is said to have lived on that rocky shore. do you know what a giant is ?” “oh, yes. he's like any other man, only he's ever and ever so much bigger," answered norah. “very well, then. this particular giant wished to fight another giant who lived in scotland. he invited him to come across the sea to ireland. but the scotch giant was not able to swim. so he answered : “i would gladly come if i could, but i cannot get across.' “ it's an aisy matter to make a road for you,' said finn. it is hardly worth speaking about.' hallowe'en schoolmaster, thoughtfully. “but come, let us join in the songs. we know more about them.” how sweet and clear the voices sounded, as the favourite tunes of ireland rang through the farmhouse. · then came fairy stories and jokes, and the party broke up just as the little wooden clock on the mantel struck the hour of midnight. chapter vii. fairies s was “wake up, me darlint. you have been dozing by the fire long enough,” said norah's father. it was a cold evening in winter. patsy was sound asleep in his bed. the good mother sat knitting socks for her husband; mike was whittling a hockey stick to play with the next day. little katie was singing her rag doll to sleep, while norah lay on the floor by the fireplace with eyes shut tight and breathing softly. when her father touched her cheek and spoke to her, she sprang up with a sudden start. “ i've been dreaming. oh, it was such a beautiful dream!” she exclaimed. “i was with fairies t . tere the fairies in a big cave. they were having a party, and they looked just lovely. indade, it was the sweetest dream i ever had.” “do tell us about it,” cried katie. “oh, do, norah. and don't forget a single thing.” norah’s cheeks were rosy red, and her blue eyes sparkled as she painted the dream picture to the listening family. she had been in the grand hall of a cave. it was like no other hall she had ever seen. the walls were shining with precious stones. shining pendants hung from the ceiling and glistened in the light given by hundreds of fairy torches. but the fairies themselves were the loveliest sight of all. oh, they were such tiny crea- tures! the young lady fairies were all in white, and their soft, fair hair hung far down over their shoulders. the young gentlemen fairies wore green jackets and white breeches. en fairies p after that, she could only think of the fairies, and long to be with them. she died a short time afterward. but, of course, norah had only been dream- ing of the fairies. that was quite different. “tell us some fairy stories, father dear. it is just the night for them,” begged katie. her father liked nothing better. he began at once to tell of a battle between two bands of fairies. it was in the night-time, and not far from the very place where they were living. norah's father had seen with his own eyes the man who told the story of the strange battle. the fairies were no more than nine inches tall, but there were millions of them. they marched along in rows just like any other soldiers. the men of one army were in green coats, and the men of the other in red ones. when they had drawn up and faced each other, the signal was given to begin the battle. fairies all that day her friends watched her closely, so she might not leave them again. it was of no use. as soon as the twilight settled down over the castle, there was the sound of soft music outside the walls. instantly the beauti- ful ethna closed her eyes and sank to sleep. every means was tried to wake her, but in vain. her nurse was set to watch her, but for some reason she could not keep awake, and before the night was over, she, too, fell asleep. when she awoke, she discovered that her charge was missing. ah! where had she gone? every place about the castle was searched, but it was of no use. people were sent now in one direction, now in another, but every one brought back the same word, - there was no sign nor trace of the fair bride. then the young lord said : “i know where she must be. she has fairies far as he is concerned, she is like one dead.” as soon as this voice became silent, an- other could be heard, saying : “there is one way to break the fairy spell. her husband must take off her girdle and burn it. then he must scatter the ashes before the door. he must not forget to take the enchanted pin by which the girdle is now fastened and bury it in a deep hole in the earth. this is the only way of regaining the spirit of his wife.” at these words the young lord was filled with new hope. he hurried home as fast as his swiftest horse could carry him, and went at once to the room of his sleeping wife. he hastened to her side, and began to do exactly as the voice had directed. he drew out the enchanted pin. he re- moved the girdle. he burned it in the fire. our little irish cousin then, carefully gathering the ashes, he scat- tered them before the door. the enchanted pin was buried in a deep hole. he went anxiously back to ethna's room. she was already coming back to life. as her husband stood at her side, she began to smile at him in her old, sweet way. and now she moved and spoke, and took up her life as in the days before the fairy spell was cast upon her. her husband and all others in the castle were filled with happiness. there was great rejoicing. the beautiful ethna was safe, and king finvarra never again tried to win her to the fairy realm. is it a true story? some one asks. if you do not believe it, you need only go to the hill through which the tunnel was dug. it can be seen, even now. and people still call it the fairies' glen. when norah's father finished the story, the fairies children begged him to tell “just one more, plaze.” but he pointed to the clock. “late, late it is for you childer to be up,” he said. “it is to bed ye must go this very minute.” a quarter of an hour afterward, every one in the little cabin was settled for the night. chapter viii. blarney castle norah's friend, mollie, had just got home from a long journey. at least it seemed a long one to norah, who had never been farther away from home than the lakes of killarney. mollie had been all the way to cork and queenstown with her father and mother. they went to see mollie's uncle start for america on a big steamer. queenstown is at the mouth of the river lee. it used to be called the cove of cork, but the name was changed to queenstown in honour of queen victoria. it seemed a very big place to mollie. as she described the queer cars running through the city, and the great steamers at the docks, ou our little irish cousin door and let out those who were going no farther. others then got in, so the company was changing all the time. the compartment in which mollie rode was a third-class one, and the floor and seats were quite bare. but these things did not trouble the little girl. her parents could not afford to buy tickets to go first or second- class. they were glad enough to be able to go at all. cork was reached at last, and mollie could hardly sleep nights after going about the city in the daytime and seeing the strange sights. when her uncle had gone away on the big steamer, she went with her father and mother into some of the mills and factories. she saw glass spun into beautiful shapes, woollen cioths woven by huge machines, and many other things made as if by magic. saw “sure, it seems as if these big wheels must be turned by the fairies,” she said to wove seems our little irish cousin walls on the outside, you will see a certain stone. it is a magic stone, you may be told. it has a great charm, for, if you kiss it, you will be blessed ever after with the power of eloquent speech. your words to charm and wheedle will never fail you. you will always be able to say the right thing in the right place at the right time. you will say it so well you will make yourself very pleasing to your listeners. but how is anybody able to kiss the blarney stone? it is too far down to be reached from the top, and too far up to be reached from the bottom. there is only one way. you must have a rope tied to your waist, and trust some one to let you down over the wall till you reach it. there are some people foolish enough to do this very thing. as mollie stood looking and wishing she mollie and her father visit blarney castle. our little irish cousin st mon 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"it possesses a plot of much merit and through its pages it weaves a tale of love and of adventure which ranks it among the best books for girls.”—cohoes american. a- books for young people famous leaders series by edwin wildman famous leaders of industry.-first series “are these stories interesting? let a boy read them; and tell you. he will pick out the best machine gun in the world;' the man who worked eighteen to twenty hours a day; the man who kodaked the earth; the inventor who died in debt; the case in which lincoln earned his first fee; the secret of woolworth's success and the man who says “i can't be bothered eating.'”- boston transcript. famous leaders of industry.-second series “as fascinating as fiction are these biographies, which emphasize their humble beginning and drive home the truth that just as every soldier of napoleon carried a marshal's baton in his knapsack, so every american youngster carries potential success under his hat.”—new york world. famous leaders of character: in america from the latter half of the nine- teenth century “an informing, interesting and inspiring book for boys.”—presbyterian banner. '... is a book that should be read by every boy in the whole country. ...”-atlanta constitution. “opportunity beckons every boy, and this book may suggest the route to be followed. it is well worth reading."-cortland standard. a- the page company's works of evaleen stein the christmas porringer mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by adelaide everhart ............... $ . this story happened many hundreds of years ago in the quaint flemish city of bruges and concerns a little girl named karen, who worked at lace-making with her aged grandmother. gabriel and the hour book small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by adelaide everhart . . $ . “no works in juvenile fiction contain so many of the elements that stir the hearts of children and grown-ups as well as do the stories so admirably told by this author.”—louisville daily courier. a little shepherd of provence mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by diantha h. marlowe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $ . “the story should be one of the influences in the life of every child to whom good stories can be made to appeal.”—public ledger. the little count of normandy mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by john goss $ . “this touching and pleasing story is told with a wealth of interest coupled with enlivening descriptions of the country where its scenes are laid and of the people thereof."-wilmington every evening. when fairies were friendly cloth decorative, mo, illustrated ..... $ . “ these stories are written for children in the believ- ing years, but their literary value is so distinct that any book lover is enriched by their possession.”—the herald, lexington, ky. “the stories are music in prose-they are like pearls on a chain of gold-each word seems exactly the right word in the right place; the stories sing themselves out, they are so beautifully expressed.”—the lafayette leader. a- books for young people mr. do something; of the island of make believe by blanche e. wade. with plates in full color, and many other illustrations, cloth decorative, mo . . . . $ . the pervading genius of the story is “do some- thing," à roly-poly fairy, who is the embodiment of all that is bright and sunshiny. he wears a continuous smile and is forever on the move, making up new games and stories for boys and girls. no child can fail to be entranced by the story; and, once imbued with the spirit of “do something," the tedious hours of inaction, caused by lack of pleasing methods of play, will be for- ever banished. denise of the three pines by edith a. sawyer. cloth decorative, mo, illustrated . . . . . $ . denise is a modern heroine, brave and laughter- loving, with all the appeal and charm which go to make a fascinating character. love me, love my dog by carolyn verhoeff. cloth decorative, mo, illustrated . . . . . $ . imagine yourself in this position,--a little girl, mov- ing with your family to a new community, where the boys and girls are strange and unfriendly; then to your house come a little orphan and her dog, billy. this is the story of the blossoming of little constance's charac- ter under the loving influence of the little orphan. and billy, the dog, is quite an important character, as you will see. little glad heart by linda stevens almond. cloth decorative, mo, illustrated . . . . . $ . this story is marked by a timely point of view. the story tells of the warwick family, father, mother, vir- ginia and joan. mr. warwick has sent virginia to school at a great sacrifice, and the association with girls of wealthy parents has made her dissatisfied with the simplicity of her home. in contrast to virginia's hauteur and selfishness are the kindly deeds of joan, * little glad heart.” a- the page company's ideal books for girls jach, one volume, cloth decorative, mo, . $ . a little candy book for a little girl by amy l. waterman. “this is a peculiarly interesting little book, written in the simple, vivacious style that makes these little manuals as delightful to read as they are instructive.” – nash- ville tennessean and american. a little cook-book for a little girl by caroline french benton. this book explains how to cook so simply that no one can fail to understand every word, even a complete novice. a little housekeeping book for a little girl by carolinu french benton. a little girò, home from school on saturday mornings, finds out how to make helpful use of her spare time, and also how to take proper pride and pleasure in good housework. a little sewing book for a little girl by louise frances cornell. “it is comprehensive and practical, and yet revealingly instructive. it takes a little girl who lives alone with her mother, and shows how her mother taught her the art of sewing in its various branches. the illustrations aid materially.” — wilmington every evening. a little preserving book for a little girl by amy l. waterman. in simple, clear wording, mrs. waterman explains every step of the process of preserving or “canning fruits and vegetables. a little gardening book for a little girl by peter martin. this little volume is an excellent guide for the young gardener. in addition to truck gardening, the book gives valuable information on flowers, the planning of the garden, selection of varieties, etc. a- boors for young people the hadley hall series by louise m. breitenbach each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume . . . . . . . $ . alma at hadley hall “the author is to be congratulated on having written such an appealing book for girls.” - detroit free press. alma's sophomore year “ it cannot fail to appeal to the lovers of good things in girls' books." — boston herald. alma's junior year “ the diverse characters in the boarding-school are strongly drawn, the incidents are well developed and the action is never dull.” — the boston herald. alma's senior year “a healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every chapter.” -- boston transcript. doctor's little girl series by marion ames taggart each large mo, cloth, illustrated, per volume, $ . the doctor's little girl “a charming story of the ups and downs of the life of a dear little maid.”—the churchman. sweet nancy: the furtheb adventures of the doctor's little girl. “just the sort of book to amuse, while its influence cannot but be elevating."--new york sun. nancy, the doctor's little partner “ the story is sweet and fascinating, such as many girls of wholesome tastes will enjoy.”-springfield union. nancy porter's opportunity “nancy shows throughout that she is a splendid young woman, with plenty of pluck.”—boston globe. nancy and the coggs twins “ the story is refreshing.”—new york sun. a- books for young people $ . hildegarde-margaret series by laura e. richards eleven volumes the hildegarde-margaret series, beginning with “queen hildegarde” and ending with «the merry- weathers,” make one of the best and most popular series of books for girls ever written. each large mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume the eleven volumes boxed as a set . . . $ . list of titles queen hildegarde hildegarde's holiday hildegarde's home hildegarde's neighbors hildegarde's harvest three margarets margaret montfort peggy rita fernley house the merryweathers a- day use return to desk from which borrowed loan dept. renewals only—tel. no. - this book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. renewed books are subject to immediate recall. . due end of falt quarter - surec'do " sep -dam ld a- m- ,' ( ) -a- general library uaiversity of california berkeley trade mark reo. us ofer