f - 
 
 '
 
 MAY; 
 
 OR, 
 
 GRANDPAPA'S PET 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. F. B. SMITH, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " FAJfFAN STORIES," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 
 
 FRANKLIN STREET
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, 
 
 BY D. LOTHROP & CO. 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MAY AND HER GRANDPAPA, 5 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BLACKBF.RRYING, 22 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE COUSIN'S VISIT, 35 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GRANDPAPA'S LESSION 46 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DINNER AT GRANDPAPA'S, 58 
 
 CHAPTER VI. . 
 
 THE LUMBER-YARD, 66 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CHICKEN'S FUNERAL, 76 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S PURCHASES, . 86 
 
 2004084
 
 4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OLD ROAN .......... . 91 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 GRANDMAMMA'S TALK. . . , . 97 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ROB, ........ ..... iS 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 H-ORD'S DAY MORNING, . ...... ua 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 THE SUNDAY SCHOOL, ....... m 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF GOD, ....... 125 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HELPING DORCAS ......... 138 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 VISIT TO SALLY FAGAN ....... 150 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GRANDPAPA'S SICKNESS ....... 159 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE WALK TO THE HILL, ...... i6j
 
 MAY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MAY AND HER GRANDPAPA. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, grandpapa !" 
 
 " Well, run, get your bonnet." Little 
 May gave a hop skip and jump up the 
 portico steps, through the long north 
 entry to the kitchen. 
 
 " Please reach it for me," she said to 
 Dorcas, as she pointed to the clean, white 
 sun-bonnet that hung upon a high nail. 
 
 Dorcas was baking. She stood by the 
 table rolling dough, and cutting long nar- 
 row strips, which she twisted and put to- 
 gether and laid aside to fry. 
 
 She was half Indian, and was queenly in 
 her figure. May thought her splendid in
 
 MAY. 
 
 her clean print gown and checked apron, 
 and her head covered with a bright 
 kerchief, tastefully arranged turban fash- 
 ion. 
 
 " Making doughnuts, eh ? I believe I'd 
 almost rather stay and help you," said 
 May, thinking of the good times she had 
 often had, when Dorcas allowed her to 
 bring her little rolling-pin, and occupy one 
 corner of the table. 
 
 "Another day, grandpa's waiting now," 
 said Dorcas, handing the child's bonnet as 
 she heard a call from the north door. 
 " Somebody's sick, you know, and 'twont 
 do to loiter." 
 
 May only stopped to kiss her grand- 
 mother good-bye, as she sat sewing in the 
 west parlor, and to let her know where 
 she was going. 
 
 "Grandpapa" was the village doctor. 
 He carried a blessing every where. Even 
 when God denied healing through his
 
 MAT AND HER GRANDPAPA. 1 
 
 means, the people felt that all that human 
 skill could do had been done, and they 
 bowed to the Almighty will, and still bles- 
 sed the kind hand that had so faithfully 
 ministered to the sick and dying. 
 
 May got into the old-fashioned chaise 
 that stood by her grandfather's gate. The 
 square medicine trunk was on the seat, 
 but grandpapa put it down at his feet, to 
 make room. 
 
 Roan pricked up his ears, and started 
 off at a brisk pace. He was a spotted bay. 
 
 " Whoa ! I've forgotten my specs," said 
 the doctor. " They're on the entry table ; 
 can you hold the horse, while I get them ? " 
 
 " Let me go ; I'll be back in half a 
 minute," and before grandpapa had time 
 to wink, almost, the little girl was out and 
 back again with the silver-bowed glasses 
 in her hand. 
 
 "That's what comes of having a dear 
 tittle maid to wait on me," said the doctor.
 
 8 MAY. 
 
 " 'Tis a great saving to my old limbs ; 
 now, Roan, get up ! " 
 
 " How fat he is, grandpapa." 
 
 " Yes, he feels his oats, too, this morning, 
 and is brisk, for a wonden Roan is get- 
 ting old like his master ; he can not do 
 such active service as he used to." 
 
 May looked up at the fresh face beside 
 her. It did not seem old to her. There 
 was not a wrinkle upon the brow, and the 
 cheeks were ruddy and the eyes sparkling. 
 A life of temperance and cheerfulness had 
 preserved it from furrows, and other marks 
 of decay. " I hope I'll be old, too, one of 
 these days," she said. 
 
 " Better put. it off as long as you can ; 
 it will come soon enough. Little children 
 are nearest God and heaven." 
 
 May did not answer at once, she seemed 
 to be thinking ; then she said, " Old people 
 are the nearest, 'cause its almost time for 
 them to die."
 
 MAT AND HER GRANDPAPA. 9 
 
 Grandpapa whipped up the horse ; he 
 did not quite like the suggestion. He was 
 not ready for such an event as death. 
 Although he had seen so many breathe 
 their last, he thought very little of his own 
 time to come. 
 
 " Where are we going ? " asked May. 
 
 "Down to the Pines, I'm going. I 
 think I'll leave you at the old Glebe, to 
 amuse yourself till I come for you. You 
 can go black-berrying, if you like." 
 
 The child was accustomed to driving 
 about the country with her grandfather. 
 She didn't mind being dropped here and 
 there at his convenience. She always 
 managed to have such nice times, that his 
 absence seemed short. 
 
 This July day was very warm ; but the 
 air fanned little May pleasantly as the 
 chaise moved on, and she did not mind 
 the heat. The farmers were making hay, 
 all along the road. Some were tossing
 
 10 MAT. 
 
 the newly-mown with pitchforks, others 
 were loading the wagons with the dried 
 grass, and others were upon the up-heaped 
 carts, going towards the barn. 'What a 
 busy time it was for the men, and for the 
 oxen ! 
 
 May liked to see the great, patient an- 
 imals that yield so submissively to the 
 yoke, and are such helpers in this work- 
 a-day world. 
 
 Grandpapa pointed out to her with his 
 whip every thing of interest that he ob- 
 served, that was all the use he had for 
 the whip ; he was too tender of Roan to 
 touch him with it, except to dislodge some 
 tormenting fly from his back or ears. 
 Roan went well enough without any spur- 
 ring other than the gentle " Come, old fel- 
 low ! we must jog on a little faster." 
 
 The human voice has great power over 
 a horse. The animal seems to understand 
 a tone as well as people do.
 
 MAY AND HER GRANDPAPA. 11 
 
 May's eyes were open to all beautiful 
 things in nature. She noticed the flowers 
 by the wayside that never "waste their 
 sweetness," because the bees and the but- 
 terflies sip of their nectar, and the poor, 
 who have no cultivated gardens, enjoy this 
 free garden of the Lord. The little birds 
 charmed her by their wild melody. The 
 squirrels ran nimbly across the road, just 
 before the horses' feet, or sat upon a stone- 
 wall, or a wooden fence, to look at the 
 famous spotted animal that had passed 
 them so often. They held their bushy tails 
 in the air, as if they were waving plumes, 
 to do honor to the good doctor whose face 
 the squirrels had come to know. 
 
 "It's such a nice ride, isn't it, grand- 
 papa ? " 
 
 Little May was very happy. Only one 
 thing she missed. 
 
 " I wish Rob were here," she said. 
 
 Rob was her brother, and quite a pet,
 
 12 MAT. 
 
 though two years older, and always a 
 genial, pleasant companion. 
 
 "There is room enough, but I hadn't 
 the time to go for him," said grandpapa. 
 
 'It is but a short distance to fa- 
 ther's." The little girl was visiting grand- 
 papa's. 
 
 "But you're good enough company," 
 said May, thinking perhaps her grandpapa 
 might feel that she didn't appreciate him. 
 
 "Thank you. We are almost at the 
 Glebe. I'll take you into the house and 
 introduce you to Mrs. Matson, and you 
 must try to content yourself till I get 
 back. It will be a long time ; at least two 
 or three hours." 
 
 They drove up to some high, stone 
 steps, and getting from the chaise as- 
 cended them. There was an embankment 
 above an embankment, with steps leading 
 to each level, and then a broad, low farm- 
 house.
 
 MA F AND HER GRANDPAPA. 13 
 
 . " Your father and mother lived here be- 
 fore you were born," said the doctor to May. 
 
 The child looked about her. It was 
 such a lonely old place, but for the bright 
 hollyhocks that lined the walk to the front 
 door, and other gay flowers that took from 
 the dreariness. 
 
 " I am glad they don't live here now," 
 said May. 
 
 " Can you be happy here for a few 
 hours?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; longer than that. I want to 
 see where my father and mother lived. 
 I am not sorry to stop for a little while ; 
 but I shouldn't like to have you forget me, 
 and leave me here all night." 
 
 " Forget you ! " said grandpapa ; " that 
 would not be such an easy matter." 
 
 The little girl smiled. " I don't believe 
 you could very well, grandpapa." 
 
 The doctor opened the door; he did 
 not wait to knock It would have been
 
 14 MAT. 
 
 strange for him to use that ceremony in 
 the country, where every door was as his 
 own familiar one to him. Even the house- 
 dog came wagging his tail, instead of bark- 
 ing as he entered. 
 
 " I don't like the dog," said May ; " he's 
 good enough, I s'pose, but he looks 
 dirty." 
 
 The creature was covered with leprous- 
 looking sores, and grandpapa sent him 
 away. A deaf old man, and a deaf old 
 woman, shuffled forward to meet their 
 guests. May shrank from them for a 
 second, but remembered that her grandfa- 
 ther would not leave her with unworthy 
 people, and she put her hand frankly into 
 each old, withered palm. Every body 
 likes confidence and trustfulness. There 
 is nothing equal to them to draw one's 
 heart out favorably towards us. The old 
 people were at once pleased with little 
 May.
 
 MAT AND HER GRANDPAPA. 15 
 
 " Will it trouble you to take care of her 
 for me for a few hours ? " asked the doctor. 
 
 " Not a bit ! " they both said earnestly. 
 
 " I thought perhaps you would show her 
 the blackberry fields, and lend her a tin 
 pail to fill for her grandmother. We don't 
 have such famous berries near home as 
 you do about here." 
 
 " I'll go with her," said the old woman. 
 " We must give her something to eat 
 first. It is a long ride from Wickdale, 
 and little people are always hungry." 
 
 " Well, good-bye ; I must be off, or my 
 patient will get well before I see him. 
 Give me a kiss, daughter." 
 
 May put her arms tightly about her 
 grandfather's neck, and kissed him two or 
 three times. 
 
 " He is such a good grandpapa ! " she 
 said, as she and her new friends stood 
 in the door, and watched him going down 
 the walk to his carriage. She felt a cer-
 
 16 MAY. 
 
 tain sense of loneliness as he drove away 
 and left her in that strange house with the 
 deaf old people ; but then she recollected 
 " Mamma and papa used to live here, and 
 it will be something to tell them, that I 
 have been in their old home." 
 
 So she began to look about her a lit- 
 tle, to see what she could lay up in her 
 mind to tell mamma when she should see 
 her. 
 
 It was a barren place enough. The 
 floors were uncarpeted, and the rooms 
 very scant of furniture, and the old folks 
 were shabbily dressed. " They must be 
 very poor," May thought. She pitied them 
 for the absence of every thing that makes 
 a house home-like. Grandmamma had 
 such a happy faculty of giving an air of 
 real comfort to a place, that she could not 
 be long in a barn, or a hovel, and not 
 transform it into a pleasant, agreeable 
 home. May often thought grandmam-
 
 MAY AND HER GRANDPAPA. 17 
 
 ma's fingers were like fairy fingers, mak- 
 ing every thing they touched beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 There was nothing fairy-like in old Mrs. 
 Matson or her house. Her thin, wrinkled 
 figure looked thinner still in the scanty 
 stuff gown. There was a black half-hand- 
 kerchief tied over her gray hair, and she 
 wore carpet slippers and no stockings. 
 Her husband was dressed in blue-gray 
 pantaloons, and a blue checked shirt, with- 
 out a coat or vest. 
 
 The man and the woman and the dog 
 altogether made rather a sad picture for 
 the little, bright eyes that were searching 
 for something pretty to carry home to 
 mother. But there was a cheery sound in 
 Mrs. Matson's voice, as she said, " I'll get 
 you something to eat this minute, little 
 dear. We've had our meal just before you 
 came. Mr. Matson was in a hurry to get 
 to his hay-making. There's something
 
 18 MAT. 
 
 left for you, though. Do you like custard- 
 pie ? " 
 
 May said, " Yes, " and the old woman 
 brought a piece on a large plate, with 
 some bread. 
 
 " The pie's made of quails' eggs," she 
 said. " Our hens don't lay very well, but 
 we have plenty of quails' eggs." 
 
 "Let me see one, please," said May. 
 "The pie's good. Are they as nice as 
 hens' eggs ? " 
 
 " Not quite, but we're very glad to get 
 'em for lack of something better. When the 
 good Lord doesn't send the best, he sends 
 something that'll answer, and it's a poor 
 heart that is not thankful for whatever he 
 gives, unworthy as we are of the least of 
 his mercies." 
 
 May felt safe and happy in the old 
 house, now that her hostess had spoken of 
 a kind heavenly Father as if she loved 
 him, and trusted in him.
 
 MAT AND HER GRANDPAPA. 19 
 
 May took the pretty, small, pure white 
 egg in her hand, as the old woman brought 
 her one. 
 
 "Shall I have it to take home with 
 me ? " she asked. 
 
 " If you like. I'll give you more than 
 one, a basket-full, we have such quan- 
 tities. The quails lay fifteen or twenty be- 
 fore they set. We find nests full all about 
 on the ground, and in the thick tufts of 
 grass." 
 
 " Is the quail pretty ? " asked May. 
 
 " I think so. The Master has given it 
 beautiful feathers. I'll show you ; there's 
 a stuffed one in the other room." 
 
 " Is this what used to be mother's parlor ? " 
 
 " I don't know, dearie, I s'pose so. It's 
 ours." 
 
 There was not much more in it to make 
 it pleasant than in the other apartment, 
 excepting that the broad fire-place was 
 filled with fresh asparagus branches, and a
 
 20 MAT. 
 
 bright " fly-catcher " of colored paper hung 
 in the center of the cross beams that were 
 in the ceiling ; and the stuffed quail was 
 upon the mantel-piece, as if to keep watch 
 over the place. 
 
 The old woman took it down, and put it 
 upon the table for May to examine. It 
 was about nine inches long, and had a 
 black bill, and a line over the eye, down 
 the neck and chin, of pure white, bordered 
 by a band of black, which descended and 
 formed a crescent on the throat. The 
 eyes were dark hazel. The crown, neck, 
 and upper part of the breast a reddish 
 brown ; the sides of the neck a reddish 
 brown, spotted with white and black ; the 
 back and shoulders a reddish brown mixed 
 with ash, and marked with black ; the 
 wings plain and dusky ; the lower part of 
 the breast and belly whitish, marked with 
 black arrow-heads, and the tail ash, spotted 
 with reddish brown.
 
 MAY AND HER GRANDPAPA. 21 
 
 "He is pretty," said May. "Is he 
 good to eat ? " 
 
 " Excellent ! We make many a meal 
 from these birds. You see we haven't 
 much other meat, and so God sends us 
 this. The hens and the quails make good 
 living." 
 
 May finished her bread and pie, and 
 took one more look at the feathered crea- 
 ture, before Mrs. Matson put it back upon 
 its high perch.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BLACKBERRYING. 
 
 " T 'LL get a pail now, and we'll go- for 
 JL the berries," said the old woman. 
 " The sun's hot, but there's breeze enough 
 to temper it." 
 
 May could not help noticing how Mrs. 
 Matson seemed to see and feel the best 
 side of every thing. She knew very well 
 that some natures look always at the 
 worst, and fret constantly over ills, when, 
 if they would, they could find the good, 
 and let it overbalance the evil. " I have 
 found something beautiful to carry home 
 with me," she thought. "Such a happy 
 disposition is worth more than fine furni-
 
 BLA CKBERR YING. 23 
 
 ture in a house. It doesn't look so bare 
 and lonely here as it did at first." 
 
 The old people were very poor indeed, 
 as the world estimates wealth. The farm 
 lands had run to barrenness from want of 
 enriching, and they only contrived to 
 scrape enough together to give them a 
 scanty subsistence. Besides, they had 
 passed the vigor of their youth, and were 
 not able to dig and delve, and so drag- 
 ged on, as best they could, content with 
 mere shelter and food. 
 
 May could see poverty written every 
 where, and it made her little heart sad. 
 Children like lavishness of living. They 
 take the whole world as their own, until 
 they come to such an age as begins to 
 see boundaries and limits and fixed land- 
 marks. This was one of May's first experi- 
 ences of want. 
 
 The old woman was washing when the
 
 24 MAT. 
 
 doctor appeared at the door with his little 
 grandaughter. 
 
 She put her tubs away, and with a royal 
 hospitality gave herself wholly to the en- 
 tertainment of her guest. 
 
 They went out together, leaving the dog 
 lying in the wide, open door. No need of 
 bolts and bars in that house. There was 
 nothing to tempt a robber, and it was so 
 solitary a place that few stragglers ever pas- 
 sed. The bees were buzzing in the holly- 
 hocks. They made pleasant music. 
 
 " I'll give you some gooseberries when 
 we come back ; see what large ones ! " 
 said Mrs. Matson, as they went down the 
 walk. 
 
 , " As big as the gooseberry-balls at the 
 vcandy-store," said May. "I never saw 
 larger ; they're elegant ! " 
 
 They passed Mr. Matson in the hay- 
 field, across the road from the house. He
 
 EL A CKBERR TING. 25 
 
 was alone, raking up the crisp grass into 
 little mounds. There was a wheelbarrow 
 near, in which he brought his hay to the 
 barn. There was but one cow to eat it 
 now. She was enough for their need. 
 She gave them milk in plenty for their 
 butter. 
 
 " Would you like a ride ? " asked the old 
 man, putting some fresh hay in the bottom 
 of the barrow for May. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " and the little girl seated 
 herself on the sweet cushion, and was trun- 
 dled along, till her carriage was stopped by 
 a stone wall. 
 
 " The berries are over here," said Mr. 
 Matson. " There are acres upon acres of 
 them." 
 
 " Thank you for my ride," said May. 
 " I like it even better than grandpapa's 
 old chaise." 
 
 Mr. Matson smiled. "That's because 
 it's something new," he said. "If I am
 
 26 MAT. 
 
 here when you come, I'll take you and 
 your berries to the house." 
 
 "That'll be grand," said May. 
 
 He lifted her over the low wall, and took 
 the stones down to let his wife through, 
 putting them up again in a minute, for 
 they were small, picked up about the 
 place. It was such rocky, stony land, that 
 it was no wonder the soil was poor. 
 
 The ground beyond the wall was cov- 
 ered with vines, black with the luscious 
 fruit large and dripping with rich juice. 
 
 " I never saw such blackberries," said 
 May. " We shall fill our kettle in a min- 
 ute." 
 
 The old woman stooped and picked as 
 diligently as could be, and her hands and 
 May's were stained with the red juice, and 
 the briers clung to their dresses, and 
 scratched the poor old stockingless legs. 
 May did not feel the brambles, for her 
 boots were high, and her stockings were a
 
 BLACKBERRTING. 27 
 
 good protection. She did not dare to say 
 any thing about the wounds her kind 
 friend was getting, for that would show 
 her that she noticed her poverty ; but 
 she made haste to fill the pail, so as to get 
 out of the field as quick as she could. 
 
 The old man was waiting for them when 
 they came to the wall with their treasure 
 of fruit, and it was quite comical to hear 
 the child insist upon the old woman's 
 riding while she walked by her side. She 
 did look very tired, and her husband, with 
 a funny twinkle of the eye, joined May, and 
 got the old woman into the wheelbarrow. 
 
 Grandpapa appeared in sight just as the 
 little party were coming toward the house, 
 and he was fairly convulsed with laughter ; 
 but he suppressed it as well as he could, 
 and alighted from his chaise, and ran to 
 help Mrs. Matson and May over the other 
 wall. 
 
 The old woman got a sly chance to say,
 
 28 MAT. 
 
 " I knew it would please the little girl, and 
 it was really a great lift for me. I'm not 
 so young as I used to be, doctor ; but I 
 have strength enough for my day, I reckon." 
 
 Grandpapa had brought some fresh 
 loaves of baker's bread, and some smoked 
 salmon from the Pier, under pretense that 
 he wanted some for himself, but really that 
 he might be sure of giving a treat to these 
 poor people. He left half, and took the 
 rest to the carriage, and when the black- 
 berries and the gooseberries and the 
 quails' eggs were stowed away in the box 
 under the seat, he and May drove off, 
 shaking their hands at the good old people 
 until they were quite out of sight. 
 
 May was thoughtful. 
 
 " Have you had a good time ? " asked 
 the doctor, scanning her little, quiet face 
 curiously, to see what impression her visit 
 had made. 
 
 "Ye s, grandpapa."
 
 BLACKBERRJINO. 29 
 
 " Not a very hearty yes. I'm afraid it 
 was dull for you, daughter." 
 
 " It is hard to be old and poor, isn't it, 
 grandpapa ? " 
 
 " I should think so." 
 
 "But then " 
 
 The little girl did not finish her sen- 
 tence. 
 
 " Did you find any thing to relieve it 
 there, at the old place ? Any thing to make 
 it seem less hard than you at first 
 thought ? " 
 
 " Yes, grandpapa." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Oh, I think Mrs. Matson didn't seem 
 to feel so poor as I should if I lived there ; 
 she made the best of every thing." 
 
 " That's the true philosophy," said 
 grandpapa, as if to himself. 
 
 His view of the case did not satisfy the 
 child. She had come to a deeper sense of 
 the thing.
 
 30 MAT. 
 
 " Isn't it religion, grandpapa ? " 
 The doctor looked at the child with sur- 
 prise. Twice already during this drive, her 
 little grave remarks had touched his in- 
 most soul. Old people were nearer heaven 
 than children, because it was almost time 
 for them to die, and it was religion 
 that enabled one to bear with patience and 
 cheerfulness all the ills and vexations of 
 this life. Had any philosopher ever ad- 
 vanced such sentiments as these ! Grand- 
 papa forgot little May's presence for 
 a while, and fell to pondering what she had 
 said. He was very old, between seventy 
 and eighty. Was he near to heaven, or 
 near to the grave without this other near- 
 ness ? That would be dreadful ! It made 
 him uncomfortable to think of it. 
 
 And was there any mere worldly phil- 
 osophy that could help him when illness 
 should try his utmost patience, and the 
 open tomb should be close before him ?
 
 BLACKBERRYING. 31 
 
 " Who's sick at the Pier ? " asked May, 
 abruptly, little conscious of what was 
 passing in her grandfather's mind. 
 
 " Old Mr. Peters." 
 
 " Very old ? " 
 
 " About sixty-five." 
 
 The doctor's own words impressed him 
 strangely and forcibly, sixty-five, so 
 much younger than himself, and yet he 
 had said, " old Mr. Peters." 
 
 " Must he die ? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Is he afraid ? " 
 
 The child looked up so earnestly to get 
 the answer to this question ! 
 
 " Afraid of what ? " 
 
 "Why, I thought maybe he had not 
 loved God, and had not obeyed him, and 
 so would dread to meet him. You know, 
 grandpapa, that I do not like to meet papa 
 when I have done any thing that he has 
 forbidden me to do. It is like that, isn't it? "
 
 32 MAT. 
 
 Children make strange appeals to us 
 older people, appeals that we can not 
 always meet with composure. 
 
 Grandpapa, however, was very glad to be 
 able to say, " I do not think Mr. Peters is 
 afraid to die ; I believe he is a good man, 
 and has tried to do his duty." 
 
 " I'm glad ! " said May. 
 
 She gave such a little sigh of relief, as if 
 the matter was settled to her satisfaction, 
 and then turned her attention wholly to 
 the things about her. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, and the 
 clouds were piling up dark, with silver 
 edges that betokened a thunder storm. 
 Here and there a deep blue patch showed 
 between, but gradually all was being ob- 
 scured. 
 
 " You shall reach home before the rain 
 falls," said the doctor. 
 
 The thunder rumbled. " I don't mind 
 it," said May. " I love to hear it. Mother
 
 BL A CEBERR TING. 33 
 
 says it is the voice of God. When I have 
 been naughty, then I am afraid of the 
 thunder, as Adam was afraid of God's 
 voice in the garden when he had done 
 wrong, remember, grandpapa ? " 
 
 The doctor touched Roan gently with 
 the end of the whip. " We must get up, 
 old fellow," he said. " Grandmamma will be 
 worried about May if she isn't under 
 shelter soon ; that sun-bonnet is a very 
 slight protection." 
 
 Just as the old chaise-box was emptied 
 of its contents, and Roan was in his stable, 
 and grandpapa and May were safely 
 housed, the heavens opened, and torrents 
 of rain poured down upon the thirsty earth. 
 
 " I've had a happy day," said May, as 
 her grandmother folded her in loving 
 arms ; " but I'm so glad to get home 
 again. It isn't like this home, at the 
 Glebe." 
 
 " No little girl there, I suppose," said 
 
 3
 
 34 MAT. 
 
 grandmamma. "That would spoil it for 
 me ; I've missed a little girl very much to- 
 day." 
 
 "And I've missed my grandmother 
 more than very much," said May.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE COUSIN'S VISIT. 
 
 ROB had come to spend the day. It 
 was Saturday, the day following 
 May's visit to the Glebe. Three little 
 cousins came also. It was a gala time 
 for the children. They had the range of 
 the house and of the gardens, south, east 
 and west. Such fun everywhere. Lily 
 Kent, and Ruth Rice were the cousins. 
 
 It was about ten o'clock, and the sun 
 was too hot to play out of doors just yet. 
 
 " Let us go up to the garret," said 
 May. " There are the swings, you know. 
 There's always a breeze when we are 
 swinging." 
 
 Grandmamma called them into the din-
 
 6 MAY. 
 
 ing-room. " I've something nice for you," 
 she said. 
 
 They knew what that meant. It wasn't 
 the first time in their lives. Every Sun- 
 day they had some such experience. Their 
 little feet were nimble to obey. 
 
 Grandmamma broke a large, light cake 
 into pieces, and gave it to them. It was 
 almost fresh from the oven, and scarcely 
 cool. 
 
 " I don't suppose it is quite as health- 
 ful as if it were a day old," she said, 
 "but children have so much exercise 
 their digestive powers are not easily in- 
 jured. It isn't so much what people eat 
 that hurts them, as the lazy life that many 
 of them lead. Now run." 
 
 How cool and pleasant grandmamma 
 looked, in her purple muslin and nice 
 white cap ! She was such a perfect 
 old lady, that was what the children 
 thought, and they loved to take refuge
 
 THE COUSIN'S VISIT. 37 
 
 with her when tired, heated, or troubled. 
 It did not matter what was the cause of 
 worriment, under grandmamma's wing were 
 rest and peace. There are some people 
 who have this influence, but the instances 
 are rare. 
 
 This good grandmother had so many 
 resources when the inventions of the little 
 folks failed them. She knew how to set 
 their tiny faculties at work, so that they 
 could feel that they were doing something, 
 and not that they were mere puppets 
 whose wires she was pulling. 
 
 " When you have nothing better to 
 amuse you, come to me, little dears," she 
 said, " and I'll see what I can find." 
 
 " Yes, grandmamma," and away they 
 went, up, and up. Only two flights in the 
 country before the top is reached ! 
 
 That makes me think, Are our every- 
 day home-lives in the country nearer to 
 the celestial hights than in the city ? I
 
 38 MAT. 
 
 believe we do have to overcome more that 
 is material and earthy in our pinched city 
 existence before we can ascend and look 
 from an open roof into God's beautiful 
 heavens. 
 
 The sky-light was raised in grand- 
 mamma's attic, and the sun streamed in 
 and played upon the floor. Kent perched 
 himself upon the topmost stair of the 
 short flight that led to the scuttle. 
 
 "Take care!" said May. "You're 
 such a little boy, and it isn't quite safe 
 for you to be there alone." 
 
 " Come down, and I'll swing you," said 
 his sister Lily. 
 
 " It is prettier here. I want to see all 
 over the village ; " and he stood and 
 bobbed his little round head above the 
 edge of the oblong opening. 
 
 " I'll stay with him till he is satisfied," 
 said Lily, whispering to May. " He 
 doesn't like one thing long at a time, and
 
 THE COUSIN'S VISIT. 39 
 
 will get tired in a minute if we don't insist 
 upon his coming down. Just as sure as we 
 tease him to come, just so sure will he 
 want to stay up there." 
 
 " Isn't it queer ? " said May. " I always 
 feel that way myself." 
 
 " And I, too," said Lily. 
 
 " And I," said Ruth. 
 
 I do not believe that little children are 
 singular in this disposition. I think many 
 grown people show the same obstinacy. 
 We are all of us but older children, and it 
 is well for us that we have an all-wise 
 Parent, whose will we must obey, if we 
 would have real comfort and joy. 
 
 " Isn't it buful up here ? " said Kent, as 
 Lily put her arm around him to hold him 
 steadily upon his feet. 
 
 " Where's Rob ? " called May. " Oh ! I 
 know ; he's in Tom's room, rummaging 
 the old sea-chest." That brought Kent 
 down, and they all went into the inner
 
 40 MA Y. 
 
 room, in which was a strong smell of 
 tar. 
 
 "It's like being in a ship," said Ruth. 
 
 Rob pulled some bits of rope from a 
 corner of a large, wooden chest. " This is 
 full of it," he said; "only smell!" And 
 each one of them took a sniff. 
 
 " It carries me over the sea," said May. 
 " I wonder where Tom is ! It is splendid 
 to have him at home winters ! He tells 
 such long 'yarns,' as he calls his sea- 
 stories." 
 
 Tom was Dorcas' only son, and grand- 
 mamma had taken him to live with her 
 when he was a mere lad, but he wanted to 
 go to the fishing-banks in the season, and 
 so she had him only now and then at 
 home. He was cook on board the vessel, 
 and nobody's chowders and clam-fritters 
 tasted like those the sailor-boy made when 
 he came for his short sojourn on land. 
 The children were delighted whenever
 
 THE COUSIN'S VISIT. 41 
 
 they heard the quick step coming round 
 to the south door, and could see Tom's 
 face peeping in upon them. 
 
 Kent put his fat hands into the chest, 
 and began to dive about among the 
 sailor's relics. 
 
 " Take care ! There are fish-hooks close 
 to Kent's fingers. Better take him away, 
 Lily." 
 
 "Don't you think we had better let 
 Tom's things alone ? " said May. To be 
 sure there is nothing but old, tarred ropes, 
 and fishing-tackle, and pipes, and a few 
 such things there, but then he prizes 
 them." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Here are little covered rings, 
 and needle-boxes, and a good many other 
 knick-knacks. I like to look at them," 
 said Rob. 
 
 " Well, put them all back where you 
 found them, and he won't mind yom 
 touching them."
 
 42 MAT. 
 
 " I want to play keeping house," said 
 Ruth. " My dolly's tired of roving about 
 with no home. I'll choose this place by the 
 window." 
 
 "And I this," said Lily, "beside the 
 chimney ; I can cook better." 
 
 May thought she had rather be grand- 
 mother, and Rob grandfather, with a place 
 for the rest of the children to visit on 
 Saturday ; and Kent was to be Lily's lit- 
 tle boy. So it was nicely arranged, and 
 the different houses went up like magic, 
 and were furnished with the articles from 
 under the eaves. Many an old chair 
 and table and cricket figured in the new 
 parlors where the little housewives sat in 
 their matronly dignity. 
 
 " What are you doing up there, chil- 
 dren ? " 
 
 The young people started for the head 
 of the stairs, but before they could reach it 
 grandpapa was half way up, eating hi?
 
 THE COUSIN'S VISIT. 43 
 
 portion of the cake that had been 
 broken. 
 
 " Will you play with us, grandpapa ? " 
 asked Kent. 
 
 " For a minute ; while Roan swallows 
 his hay. Miss Hitt is very sick, and has 
 sent for me, so I must not wait long." 
 
 A minute from an old person is a great 
 pleasure to little people. It counts so 
 much more than the time of young play- 
 mates. 
 
 " I'll swing you," said Rob, as grand- 
 papa seated himself with Kent on one 
 knee, and Ruth on the other. " It is lucky 
 the rope is good and strong." 
 
 Ruth hugged her grandfather so tightly 
 that she almost choked him, and he was 
 forced to beg off soon, and go visiting 
 instead of swinging. 
 
 " Come to my house." 
 
 " And to mine." 
 
 " And mine."
 
 44 MA T. 
 
 The little voices besieged him, and the 
 little hands held him captive. 
 
 "Will you be content if I give just a 
 peep at each home ? " 
 
 " Yes, grandpapa." 
 
 "Well, you must go to your houses, 
 then. Of course I can't get in if you are 
 not there." 
 
 So there was a scampering to get home 
 and be in state for their guest ; and a 
 starched and formal time the doctor made 
 of these calls, quite unlike his free manner 
 in visiting those under his care. 
 
 It would have been strange if he left no 
 blessing. This time it was in the shape 
 of a silver coin, placed in each little palm 
 as he uttered the mystic words, " Open 
 your mouth and shut your eyes," and 
 when the eyes opened again, there was a 
 great shout of joy from all the voices. 
 
 After this they could not let him go 
 alone, but accompanied him down-stairs,
 
 THE COUSINS' VISIT. 45 
 
 a "guard of honor" they said, and went 
 with him to the barn to get Roan. 
 
 The hay was sweet in the loft, and 
 there was a hen's nest in an unused man- 
 ger, with two or three eggs in it, and 
 four little kittens in the chaise-house, two 
 white, and two black with white marks 
 upon them. So many things to make the 
 children happy ! 
 
 Rob helped to saddle Roan, and led him 
 round to the store door, the whole proces- 
 sion following at his heels.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GRANDPAPA'S LESSON. 
 
 THE store was across the street from 
 the house, and was the place where 
 grandpapa kept drugs and compounded 
 his medicines ; for his was very different 
 from a city practice, where a doctor writes 
 his prescription on a slip of paper, and 
 sends to an apothecary for it to be 
 supplied. 
 
 There was the oblong trunk filled with 
 bottles and powders. This was for the 
 old chaise ; but now that the doctor was 
 to go on horse-back, he had another 
 contrivance. 
 
 "What's that?" asked Kent, as the 
 doctor brought out a strange-looking
 
 GRANDPAPA 'S LESSON. 47 
 
 leathern apparatus, and slung it over the 
 saddle. 
 
 Kent and his sister were city-bred, and 
 had never seen this sort of a contrivance. 
 
 " Saddle-bags ; don't you know ? " said 
 May. 
 
 " But what are they for ? " asked Ruth. 
 " What queer-looking things they are ! " 
 
 "Grandpapa says they are to carry 
 babies in, sometimes," said May " and 
 when there are no babies, why, he fills 
 them with medicine." 
 
 The doctor was fumbling in a drawer 
 behind the counter just then, and lost the 
 conversation. 
 
 " Like liquorice ? " "he asked, handing 
 each of the little people a stick. 
 
 " I'd rather have ball, if you please," 
 said May. 
 
 Grandpapa would have given the chil- 
 dren a piece of his nose, if they had asked 
 for it, and it had been a feasible thing ; he
 
 48 MAI 
 
 loved so much to wait on them, and 
 gratify them. To be sure the giving stick 
 or ball-liquorice was not very much, but he 
 would have done great things just as 
 readily. 
 
 " When I come back," he said, " I shall 
 expect you to tell me what the difference 
 is between the two kinds of liquorice that 
 I have given you. I shall be gone an* 
 hour ; for Miss Hitt's is only a mile away. 
 Get up, Roan." 
 
 " Grandmamma is coming ; let us ask 
 her," said May, as the dear, old figure 
 emerged from the house door, and made 
 its way over to the store. 
 
 "It is nice and cool here," she said, 
 sitting between Kent and Lily upon the 
 brown, wooden settle that had been there 
 since the year one, I should think. 
 
 "You are wise little people to keep 
 under shelter till the scorching heat is 
 over."
 
 GRANDPAPA 'S LESSON. 49 
 
 "And we want to be wiser, grand- 
 mamma," said Rob. " Grandpapa has 
 been putting lessons to us in our play- 
 time, and we can't do them without your 
 help." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked grandmamma. 
 
 " Liquorice ; liquorice ball, and stick," 
 said the many voices. 
 
 " Oh ! you want to know about them. 
 That is like grandpapa, to wish to teach 
 you something. 'Tis a way he had with 
 his own children. They must always know 
 about the things that they handled." 
 
 She took a piece of each sort in her 
 hand, the one black and solid, the other 
 a yellowish brown, and fibrous, or stringy, 
 so that it could be pulled apart in threads. 
 
 " You don't know where it grows, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " We know nothing about it, grand- 
 mamma, except that it is very good," 
 said Rob.
 
 50 MAT. 
 
 " Have we any growing in our coun- 
 try ? " said May. 
 
 " In North America there is one kind. 
 There are six or seven other species that 
 belong to the northern and temperate 
 parts of the eastern continent. The leaves 
 are pinnated " 
 
 " What's that ? " 
 
 " Like wings," said grandmamma ; " and 
 the flowers are small ; some blue, some 
 violet, and some white. The roots are very 
 sweet. This is the root I have in my 
 hand," and she showed them the fibrous 
 bit. 
 
 The common liquorice grows wild in the 
 south of Europe ; and in many places pe**- 
 ple cultivate it for the sake of the root, 
 which is sold sometimes in its natural 
 state, and often the extract of it. In Spain 
 a great many tuns of the extract are 
 annually sent to London and used by 
 the brewers in making porter. Physicians
 
 GRANDPAPA'S LESSON. 51 
 
 give it in their medicines for coughs, and 
 lung complaints, and in all the European 
 cities liquorice-water is sold as we sell 
 lemonade. People esteem it a very re- 
 freshing beverage." 
 
 " Let us try it," said Rob, who wanted 
 proof and illustration for every thing. 
 
 A pitcher of water and a tumbler were 
 on the table, and Rob took out his jack- 
 knife and cut a little piece from the ball. 
 It was not exactly a ball, but a large 
 roll. He stirred it in the water, and when 
 it was pretty well colored he offered it to 
 grandmamma to taste. 
 
 " Very good," she said. 
 
 May liked it " ever so much." 
 
 Lily puckered up her face ; she never 
 cared for sweets. 
 
 Ruth and Rob thought it excellent, and 
 rejoiced that they had found it out ; and 
 little Kent smacked his lips, and said, 
 '"iicious!"
 
 52 MAT. 
 
 " Where does the liquorice grow in 
 America ? " asked May. 
 
 " On the plains of the Missouri, from 
 St. Louis upwards ; and it reaches even 
 to the bounds of the Pacific ocean," said 
 grandmamma. " It requires a deep, light 
 and sandy soil in order to grow well. 
 Yourgrandfather tried the experiment of 
 cultivating it, and succeeded in making a 
 a little grow upon his wood-lot, one 
 stunted plant." 
 
 " How do they get this hard, black sub- 
 stance ? " asked Rob, tossing his ball in 
 the air, and catching it again. 
 
 "They boil the extract, or juice, until 
 it thickens and hardens." 
 
 "As one would boil cane-juice, or 
 maple-sap for sugar, I suppose," said Rob. 
 
 " Exactly," said grandmamma. 
 
 " How many things grandpapa has in 
 the drawers ! " said May. " It is danger-
 
 GRANDPAPA'S LESSON. 53 
 
 to come here often ; we should have 
 lessons all the time ! " 
 
 " Don't you like to learn them ? " asked 
 grandmamma. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; when we have so good a 
 teacher ; but when we go to the books, 
 and puzzle out things alone, it is not quite 
 so pleasant." 
 
 " What is learned in a difficult way, 
 with some effort on your own part, you are 
 more certain to remember ; do you know 
 that ? " 
 
 " Yes, grandmamma." 
 
 " Well, now that you have learned the 
 lesson that grandpapa set, I think Rob 
 had better climb the cherry-tree and 
 bring down something to reward and re- 
 fresh you." 
 
 Rob was ready enough for that pleasure. 
 He got out of the south window into the 
 tree that was close by, touching the panes 
 with its branches. The thick foliage shel-
 
 54 MAT. 
 
 tered him from the sun, and the large, 
 red cherries hung temptingly about him. 
 
 " What beauties they are ! " he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Come round through the gate, and 
 hold your aprons under the tree." 
 
 The children ran to get the cherries. 
 
 "The robins have pecked some of the 
 best," said Rob, "but then they deserved 
 them for keeping the worms off. Grand- 
 papa says the birds do more good than 
 harm." 
 
 " Give me some of the very nicest you 
 can find, for grandmamma," said May. 
 
 " Such a comfort, to have so many dear 
 little grandchildren to think of me ! " said 
 grandmamma, as the young folks gathered 
 about her and heaped her lap with clus- 
 ters of red and green. 
 
 Just at this moment old Roan came 
 clattering up to the door, with soft, green 
 branches of birch waving over his ears.
 
 GRANDPAPA' 8 LESSON. 55 
 
 " The flies are so troublesome ! " said 
 grandpapa, as the children pressed about 
 him. "The poor fellow was grateful 
 enough when I gave him this adornment ; " 
 and the kind old gentleman took out 
 the branches, and threw them into the 
 middle of the street. 
 
 " Have you learned your lesson ? " he 
 asked, taking a survey of the merry little 
 group. 
 
 " Yes, grandpapa ; we know all about it." 
 
 " I can account for it," said he, catch- 
 ing a glimpse of another figure inside the 
 store, seated upon the old settle. " Rob- 
 bie, you lead Roan to the stable, and I'll 
 be along in a minute to give him some 
 water. There's hay enough left in the 
 rack for him to nibble upon until his full 
 meal-time comes again." 
 
 " How is Miss Hitt ? " asked grand- 
 mamma, as the doctor brought his saddle- 
 bags in, and put them upon the counter.
 
 56 MA T. 
 
 " Not much the matter, I should think 
 I caught sight of her climbing into the bed- 
 room window as I approached the house." 
 
 " What could be her motive in pretend- 
 ing to be sick ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Strange freaks possess 
 some people. Doctors have to deal with 
 singular specimens sometimes." 
 
 " Couldn't she get in through the house 
 door ? " 
 
 " Not quickly enough to escape me. It 
 was laughable to see her covered up in 
 bed, and waiting for me to feel her pulse 
 and prescribe for her. I gave her two 
 bitter pills, though, that will cure her of 
 this sort of pastime." 
 
 " But she will throw them away." 
 
 " I made her swallow them while I sat 
 by," said grandpapa. 
 
 " It seems to me as if there were real 
 ills enough in life without feigning any," 
 said grandmamma.
 
 GRANDPAPA'S LESSON. 57 
 
 " Morbid people will take almost any 
 means to create sympathy," said the doctor. 
 
 " What is morbid, grandpapa ? " asked 
 May, who had been listening attentively, 
 while the other children went with Rob. 
 
 " Did you hear, puss ? Why it means 
 diseased, or really unsound ; but we often 
 say one is morbid when one has all sorts 
 of whims and fancies about one's self." 
 
 " I was a little morbid, then, the other 
 day, when I thought I was going to die 
 because I had a gum-boil. Wasn't I, 
 grandpapa ? " 
 
 " Precisely so ; but you are bravely over 
 that ;" and the doctor pinched and kissed 
 the rosy cheeks that were full of life and 
 health.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DINNER AT GRANDPAPA'S. 
 
 THE dinner was so nice ! Grandpapa 
 at the head of the table, and grand- 
 mamma at his right hand, and the little 
 people all around, and queenly Dorcas 
 in her turban standing near to help. 
 
 " Shem, Ham, and Japheth," said Rob, 
 as he noticed the beautiful brown hip, with 
 the pinches of pepper here and there, and 
 the garniture of green parsley. 
 
 Lily looked reprovingly at him. 
 
 "Mamma says there is nothing that 
 shows one's good or bad breeding like 
 manners at table," she said, in a half 
 whisper, as ahe sat next her brother. 
 
 Grandmamma encouraged the children
 
 DINNER AT GRANDPAPA'S. 59 
 
 to talk about pleasant things. She always 
 liked meal-time to be made a very 
 genial, social occasion. " The act of eat- 
 ing is so animal," she said, " that we ought 
 to season our food with sprightly con- 
 versation." 
 
 So the little people were full of lively 
 chat, and the knives and forks kept time 
 to the merry tongues. 
 
 Rob made no more remarks with re- 
 gard to the dishes, except when dessert 
 was brought on, and Dorcas's splendid 
 apple-dumplings were served. The old 
 n egress showed her teeth for joy. She 
 liked praise, as we all do ; and besides, 
 Master Rob was an especial favorite with 
 her, since he was so frank and out-spoken. 
 
 The children all clung to Dorcas. She 
 was one of the belonging^of the old 
 house. It would have not have seemed 
 grandmamma's without her. How nice her 
 kitchen was ! No speck nor spot of dust
 
 60 MAY. 
 
 any where on wall ' or floor ; no article 
 out of place, to give an air of discomfort 
 if any body looked about. The tables 
 were as bright as soap and sand could 
 make them ; and even the wooden steps, 
 leading from the south door to the yard, 
 were scrubbed clean enough to eat off. 
 
 " Let us help Dorcas to clear the 
 table," said Lily to May, as they arose 
 from dinner. 
 
 Children like self-imposed tasks. If they 
 set themselves to work, they feel inde- 
 pendent and happy. 
 
 May took a japan tray, and placed the 
 knives and forks upon it, and Lily gath- 
 ered up the spoons in a tumbler. The 
 children saved many steps for the old ser- 
 vant. Ruth got a small broom and dust- 
 pan and swept the few crumbs from under 
 the table. 
 
 " Kent is growing very tidy," she said. 
 " He doesn't drop his crumbs as he used to.'
 
 DINNER AT GRANDPAPA'S. 61 
 
 The little fellow was delighted. " I try 
 hard, sister," said he. "You see I'm a 
 bigger boy than I was." 
 
 Lily put the leaves of the old-fashioned 
 table down, and spread the woolen cloth 
 upon it, and she and Ruth moved it to the 
 wall, between the windows. Grandmamma 
 looked on approvingly. She was glad to 
 see this busy, helpful spirit in the little 
 ones. 
 
 " Would you like to make pincushions 
 while the sun is still hot ? " she asked. 
 " I am going to lie down for an hour. 
 You can go to the garden when you please ; 
 but it is wiser to stay in the house and be 
 quiet for a little while." 
 
 " Yes ; let us sew on the cushions," 
 said Ruth. 
 
 Grandmamma got the basket of flannels 
 and ribbons and gay colored silks, and 
 showed the children how to work. She 
 set Rob and Kent rolling list, and pink-
 
 62 MAT. 
 
 ing flannel leaves. The list was put round 
 and round a thimble as tight as possible 
 until it formed a roll about twelve or 
 fourteen inches in circumference. This 
 was neatly covered with bright silk, and a 
 piece of pasteboard of the same size was 
 also covered, and fastened with a bow ut 
 ribbon to the cushion at one point, and 
 tied with ribbons at the opposite point. 
 Between this lid and the cushion, the 
 leaves of flannel were put for the needles, 
 and the pins were stuck around the 
 edges, while the thimble-nest was lined 
 prettily. 
 
 May and Lily were quite expert at their 
 needles and Ruth was improving very fast. 
 Grandmamma said it was " such an ac- 
 complishment to be a good needle-woman, 
 that no girl's education should be con- 
 sidered complete if. she were not able to 
 cut and make every sort of household 
 garment, as well as to contrive many
 
 DINNER AT GRANDPAPA 'S. 63 
 
 a little, tasteful article for her work-box 
 and for her toilet." 
 
 " If I could have grandmamma's fin- 
 gers," said May, "I should feel proud 
 enough ! My ringers are so clumsy ! 
 all thumbs when I want to do any thing 
 especially nice." 
 
 Kent wound with all his might, and Lily 
 slyly did his work over again. She wished 
 him to feel that he was helping. " Dear 
 little fellow ! " she said aside to May. 
 " He looks so satisfied when he hands me 
 a roll that is all askew ! I wouldn't trou- 
 ble him for the world." 
 
 Grandmamma was asleep in the bed- 
 room leading from the dining-room. The 
 door was partly open; and before she fell 
 into a doze the little voices came pleas- 
 antly to her ears. She recalled the time, 
 long ago, when her motherly cares began 
 to thicken around her, and her own little 
 children made the days glad and merry
 
 64 MA Y. 
 
 She thought of all the years wherein God 
 had led her gently : helping her when she 
 came to a steep that could not be other- 
 wise overcome, and encouraging her when 
 her heart and strength would have failed. 
 Now she could lie quietly and listen 
 to her children's children, and feel the 
 confidence that the same Divine hand that 
 had brought her so far safely on her 
 way, would also guide them onward and 
 upward till the end should be reached. 
 
 And so she fell asleep with this sweet 
 trust in her heart. Of course her dreams 
 were peaceful. 
 
 Little Kent's head drooped over his 
 work, and Lily took him in her arms and 
 laid him on the sofa. The young people 
 kept very quiet, in order not to awaken 
 him or grandmamma. 
 
 How drowsy the summer air was ! The 
 stillness affected the children almost like 
 night-time. The tall clock in the cornei
 
 DINNER AT GRANDPAPA'S. 65 
 
 seemed to tick lazily ; and the bees in the 
 vines outside the windows hummed a sort 
 of lullaby. Ruth was overcome, and drop- 
 ped needle and thimble, and curled her- 
 self up in grandmamma's chair for a nap. 
 
 " We shall all be asleep in two minutes, 
 at this rate," said May. "Supposing we 
 three go to the lumber yard for a saunter, 
 and shake ourselves up a little." 
 
 Lily and Rob were pleased with the 
 idea, and off they went. Grandpapa sat 
 writing in his study up-stairs. He put 
 his head out of the window and called 
 as they went from the gate, "Don't 
 go far away, I like to hear your voices 
 about the house" and garden." 
 
 The children kissed their hands to him, 
 and promised to stay within sight of the 
 premises. 
 5
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE LUMBER-YARD. 
 
 THE lumber-yard was only a few 
 rods distant, where many a ship 
 had been built in former years. Piles 
 upon piles of boards were seasoning for 
 use. Some were long and some short ; 
 forming little shady nooks where the 
 young people could be sheltered from the 
 sun, while they went gently up and down 
 with the pleasant motion of the see-saw. 
 
 " I like the scent of the wood," said 
 May ; " it is so fresh and clean." 
 
 " Do you know what sort of a tree these 
 planks are made of, cousin May?" asked 
 Rob. 
 
 " Pine. You can tell that by the smell.
 
 TEE LUMBER-YARD. 67 
 
 can't you ? Grandpapa says that kind of 
 wood is used more for houses and common 
 furniture than any other. There comes 
 grandpapa now ! I thought he could not 
 stay long in his study, without hunting us 
 up." 
 
 Rob went to meet him. " We want you 
 to sit in one of the ' cubby-houses ' and 
 tell us something about the pine-trees," he 
 said. " Will you ? " 
 
 " What about them ? " 
 
 " All you know, grandpapa." 
 
 May gave place to him between herself 
 and Lily, and Rob sat on the end of a 
 board at his feet. 
 
 "You've all seen pine-trees. I believe 
 you can tell me a great many things 
 about them ; think." 
 
 " They're evergreen," said May. 
 
 " Yes ; and therefore form a beautiful 
 winter tree, making us glad with summer
 
 68 MA7. 
 
 memories when the snow has covered the 
 earth." 
 
 " They belong to the fir family, do they 
 not ? " said Lily. 
 
 "That is true," replied grandpapa; 
 " and a great family it is, too. Pines, firs, 
 cypresses, hemlocks, junipers, larches, 
 yews, and spruces. They inhabit all parts 
 of the world. They grow where nothing 
 else will ; in the cold regions where the 
 Esquimaux live, and in hot countries also. 
 To be sure they have a stunted growth 
 where the cold is intense, but some of 
 our New England white pines are nearly 
 two hundred feet high." 
 
 " What pretty cones the pine bears ! " 
 said May. 
 
 " The cone is shaped like a pine-apple," 
 said grandpapa ; " or, rather, the pine-apple 
 is shaped like a pine cone, and takes its 
 name from this fact, I suppose. This cone
 
 THE LUMBER-YARD. 69 
 
 has little wooden scales, one row below 
 the other, and at the bottom of each scale 
 lie two seeds. When quite ripe the scales 
 open, and the seeds drop out and sow 
 themselves in the ground." 
 
 " That's nice," said Rob. " It keeps the 
 young trees growing as fast as the old 
 ones are cut down." 
 
 " The white pine is used for a greater 
 variety of purposes than any other," said 
 grandpapa, " because it is soft and easy to 
 work, and is a cheap wood. Carvers can 
 ornament it without much trouble, and 
 pictures and looking-glass frames are 
 made of it, it receives gilding so well. 
 But the yellow, or spruce pine, is consid- 
 ered much more valuable, and what is 
 called the ' long-leaved ' is worth still 
 more. All our resin, tar, pitch, and tur- 
 pentine come from this species." 
 
 " Where does the long-leaved pine 
 grow ? " asked Rob.
 
 70 MA Y. 
 
 " It is first found about Norfolk, Vir- 
 ginia, and thence it extends through the 
 Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida, in great 
 forests." 
 
 " How sweet the odor from the leaves 
 must be ! " said May. " I think it is per- 
 fectly refreshing to be near pine woods." 
 
 " There are various names given to this 
 long-leaved species," said grandpapa. " In 
 the places where it grows it is called 
 'yellow/ and 'pitch,' and 'brown pine;' 
 and in the North we speak of it as ' south- 
 ern' or 'red pine ; ' and in England, and 
 the West Indies, they say ' Georgia pitch 
 pine ' and ' deal.' It grows nearly as high 
 as our white pine and has a very thick 
 trunk and large cones. Wounds are made 
 in the trunk, and the turpentine runs out. 
 Some of this hardens before it reaches the 
 ' boxes/ as the incisions are named which 
 receive it, and this is called ' scrapings.' 
 
 " Resin, tar, and pitch have to undergo
 
 THE LUMBER-YARD. 71 
 
 the action of fire to change their nature. 
 Large quantities of these products of the 
 long-leaved pine are sent to the northern 
 states, and also to Great Britain and 
 France." 
 
 " You say this, that we are sitting on, 
 is white pine, grandpapa ? " 
 
 " Yes. Our lumber used to come prin 
 cipally from Maine, and the shores of 
 Lake Champlain, but the north-west fur- 
 nishes an immense quantity now." 
 
 " Isn't it hard work to get it ? " asked 
 Rob. 
 
 " Pretty severe. The lumber-men have 
 to leave home comforts, and suffer a good 
 many hardships. They go to the forests 
 in the beginning of winter, and live in log 
 huts covered with bark. When the trees 
 are felled and cut into logs, they are 
 marked with the owner's name and drawn 
 to the nearest river. As the ice breaks
 
 72 MA Y. 
 
 up, the logs float down the current to 
 their destination. There is one thing I 
 wish you to remember, and that is, logs 
 should be stripped of their bark in order 
 to remain long uninjured ; otherwise, 
 worms destroy them." 
 
 " That's worth knowing," said Rob. 
 " Perhaps I shall be a lumber-merchant 
 one of these days, and then I'll have all 
 my logs peeled." 
 
 The Champlain lumber goes down the 
 St. Lawrence, doesn't it ? " asked May. 
 
 "Yes ; to Quebec some of it ; and some 
 is conveyed through the canal to New 
 York. It is not very difficult to transport 
 the lumber. The logs are the main trou- 
 ble. They are generally floated singly, 
 though sometimes large rafts are made of 
 them, and men float upon them. I have 
 seen many on the Mississippi. If they get 
 wedged in too narrow a part of the river,
 
 THE LUMBER-YARD. 73 
 
 the men divide the sections, for they are 
 put together in certain widths, and thus 
 f he difficulty is overcome." 
 
 " What is the best wood for shingles ? " 
 asked Rob. 
 
 " Cypress," leplied grandpapa. " I want 
 to tell you of one species of pine that 
 grows west of the Rocky Mountains, and 
 then I must be about my business. I 
 believe I should like to be a child again, 
 and forget all my sick people, and think of 
 nothing but to sit here on the lumber all 
 day." 
 
 The children liked that in grandpapa. 
 It made them think more of their privil- 
 eges to know that he valued them. 
 
 " But you've had your day, grandpapa," 
 
 " That's true ; and a merry day, too," 
 said the doctor. "I was a lively lad 
 enough, they say." 
 
 "What about the Rocky Mountain 
 pine ? " asked Lily.
 
 74 MAT. 
 
 " I was thinking of the pure amber-col- 
 ored resin said her grandfather. " When 
 the trees are partly burned it acquires 
 a sweet taste, and the natives use it for 
 sugar. The coarse seeds they eat, either 
 roasted, or pounded into coarse cakes, and 
 it is saved for the winter season. There is 
 on the borders of the Mediterranean 
 another species of pine, singular on ac- 
 count of its seeds, which have a flavor 
 like almonds, and which frequently make 
 their appearance on the table. Now I 
 must go ; for I see Mr. Magill coming up 
 the road to the house, and I know what 
 that means. Hannah has another of her 
 spasms. Good-bye to you all," and grand- 
 papa hopped from level to level of the 
 lumber-pile as springy as if he were only 
 of Rob's age. 
 
 The children had a clear view of the 
 back door, and May espied Dorcas stand- 
 ing with her hand over her eyes, and
 
 THE LUMBER-YARD. 75 
 
 looking eagerly out. They waved their 
 handkerchiefs to attract her notice, and 
 she beckoned them home.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE CHICKEN'S FUNERAL. 
 
 KENT was crying for Lily. He 
 thought she had gone to New 
 York and left him, and Ruth could not 
 pacify him. Only Lily's face could make 
 him sure that he was not deserted. 
 
 The little fellow sat in the old arm- 
 chair sobbing as though his heart would 
 break, and Rrth ana grandmamma, re- 
 freshed bv sle. p, were trying their best 
 to comfort him. 
 
 He had been away in dream-land, ana 
 was in that misty sort of state that chil- 
 dren often feel when they first awake from 
 a day nap. It is neither murning nor 
 night with them. Their world has had i
 
 THE CHICKEN'S FUNERAL. 77 
 
 certain break in it, and they are puzzled 
 how to put it together again. Lily sup- 
 plied the missing piece. Kent looked up 
 smiling as soon as she appeared. She 
 held him gently upon her lap, and told 
 him pleasant stories until his sorrow had 
 passed away, and then she washed his 
 flushed face, and brushed his tumbled hair, 
 and went with him and Ruth into the 
 garden. 
 
 The breeze came freshly from the 
 water, and, laden with the sweet odors 
 from the garden, it floated around the 
 children. 
 
 Grandmamma was walking about, bend- 
 ing over her plants, which were her pride 
 and joy. They seemed to know and love 
 her, and to give back in precious fragrance 
 a recompense for all her Care of them. 
 
 Lily seated Kent on the green grass on 
 the top of the bank by the big willow, 
 where he could look from between the lilac
 
 78 MA r. 
 
 bushes at the white sail-boats gliding over 
 the waters. She gave him some larkspur 
 blossoms, and showed him how to make 
 a wreath by putting one flower inside 
 another. They are so pretty when pres- 
 sed ! 
 
 May and Ruth were as busy as they 
 could be, constructing a burial ground. 
 They had formed mounds and covered 
 them with grass, and put up headstones, 
 and stuck bits of bushes in the ground for 
 trees, and scattered flowers upon the lit- 
 tle graves. They seemed to have no 
 somber views with regard to the last 
 sleeping-place, but were talking pleasantly. 
 
 "It will be just as if we were in our 
 own snug bed at home," said May. " God 
 will be watching over us, and in the morn- 
 ing we shall awake glad and happy, and so 
 rested ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Ruth, " and we shall never 
 be tired any more; that's a good thing.
 
 THE CHICKEN'S FUNERAL. 73 
 
 Whatever we have to do, it will be such 
 work as will not tire. Sometimes my 
 bones ache here, if I only stoop down for 
 a little while to weed the strawberry bed." 
 
 " You know that dead chicken we saw 
 in the hen-house to-day ? " said May a 
 sudden thought coming to her mind. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, let us bury it under the lilac 
 bush. I've got a tin box that siedlitz- 
 powders were in. We'll put it in that. 
 You get the chicken, while I get the box, 
 please." 
 
 Ruth brought the little, yellow, downy 
 thing tenderly in her apron. She sat and 
 held it till May came. She thought of it 
 sorrowfully. The tiny creature, so full of 
 life in the early morning, pecking its food., 
 and running hither and thither at tho 
 mother hen's call, now so limp and cold 
 and dead. 
 
 ' It is a pity," she said to May, as they
 
 80 MAY. 
 
 placed it in the midst of the cotton ; " it 
 might have grown up to be a speckled 
 hen, and lay whole nests full of eggs." 
 
 " Yes," said Rob, coming up at this 
 moment, and seeing and hearing, " and 
 the end would have been to have its head 
 cut off, and be eaten for somebody's 
 dinner." 
 
 The boy took a practical view of the 
 case, and it comforted Ruth greatly. 
 
 " I didn't think of that," she said. " I 
 believe I am rather glad, than otherwise, 
 that it died. We'll make a nice little 
 grave here under the lilac, and, Rob, you 
 get a board and print the name with your 
 pencil." 
 
 So Rob ran to the lumber-yard and 
 brought a narrow shingle, which one of 
 the men gave him, and printed on it, 
 " OUR PET CHICKEN." 
 
 The old mother hen went often to the 
 place afterwards, and scratched all round
 
 THE CHICKEN'S FUNERAL. 81 
 
 the little mound, but she never once 
 dreamed that one of her own offspring 
 was there. 
 
 " If these creatures felt their loss, and 
 lamented it as people do, what a sad world 
 this would be ! " 
 
 May was apt to moralize over little 
 things. She said this solemnly, as the 
 unconscious hen came with her surviving 
 brood to pick the bugs and worms from 
 the earth that had been freshly dug. 
 
 Lily had strolled away to have a quiet 
 talk with grandmamma, who was sitting on 
 a rustic bench with her herbarium on her 
 lap. The old lady had a fine collection of 
 pressed flowers and leaves, to which she 
 was adding from new plants lately culti- 
 vated. She had a way of keeping the 
 colors fresh by covering the blossoms 
 with sand until all the moisture was 
 absorbed, and then she would remove 
 6
 
 82 MA T. 
 
 them and put them in her book, or else 
 tie them in tasteful bouquets for vases. 
 
 " I don't think I could ever have your 
 patience, grandmamma," said Lily. " I 
 like beautiful things, but I don't want very 
 much trouble to get them." 
 
 " When the heart is in any work, one 
 does not think it a task," said grand- 
 mamma. " It is so pleasant to me to have 
 the productions of nature about me that 1 
 am impelled to seek them, and while I am 
 preparing my leaves and flowers I think 
 of nothing but the joy that they will bring 
 in the season when the earth is covered 
 with frost and snow, and I have no blos- 
 soming garden to walk in." 
 
 " Did you like this sort of pleasure when 
 you were as young as I am ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear. My room was full of spe- 
 cimens from forest and dell and garden. 
 I lived amidst nature."
 
 THE CHICKEN'S FUNERAL. 83 
 
 "It is more sensible than wax-work," 
 said Lily. 
 
 " I have seen some exquisite imitations 
 in wax-work," replied her grandmother ; 
 " but they do not satisfy me. God's ringer 
 is not in them as in these." 
 
 " Who made the fruit that is in the 
 glass case in the parlor chamber ? " 
 
 " That's your Aunt Hannah's work. It 
 was a sort of mania among the young folks 
 at one time." 
 
 " The peaches and cherries and bar- 
 berries are very natural." 
 
 " Yes ; but I never fancied any thing 
 of the kind shut up within four glass walls. 
 I should prefer them on branches, hung 
 about the room, if at all." 
 
 " Hark ! " said Lily, bending her head to 
 listen more intently, "we can hear the 
 Newport Beach." So the children called 
 it when the sound of the great ocean waves 
 reached them from the distant shore.
 
 84 if AT. 
 
 "We are going to have a storm," said 
 grandmamma. " * The sea and the waves 
 roaring,' that always betokens it. I 
 never knew it to fail when that sound is 
 heard." 
 
 Lily looked across the cove, beyond the 
 green strip of land with the white light- 
 house on the point, to the bay, that seemed 
 agitated. It tossed the boats as if impa- 
 tient to get them to their haven. Above 
 it the gulls flapped their wings and went 
 wildly to and fro. It looked like a crazy, 
 bewildered flight, so restless. 
 
 " I wish they would stop," said Lily. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The birds, their flying. It makes 
 my heart flutter to see them. What weary 
 time Noah's dove must have had before 
 it returned to the ark." 
 
 " We all have a weary time when we go 
 out from our sure refuge," said grandmam- 
 ma. "We wander over cheerless waters
 
 THE CHICKEN'S FUNERAL. 85 
 
 for a while, and then are glad to return 
 unto our rest." 
 
 " You mean when we go away from 
 God, and seek our pleasure in the world, 
 and are never satisfied nor happy till we 
 come back to him ? " 
 
 " Yes, darling."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S PURCHASES. 
 
 "T "\ TE haven't spent our money yet," 
 
 V V said Rob, whose ten-cent piece 
 burned in his pocket. " Let us ask grand- 
 mother if we can go down street." 
 
 Mary and Ruth and he had finished 
 rounding the chicken's grave, and were 
 tired of their play in the garden, and time 
 began to drag wearily. 
 
 Rob had put his hand into his pocket to 
 get a string for little Kent to make a 
 whip-lash, and so was reminded of the 
 silver piece which his fingers touched. 
 
 Grandmamma was willing the children 
 should go as far as the store by the 
 bridge.
 
 THE CHILDREN'S PURCHASES 87 
 
 " Can't we go to Uncle Noah's, just 
 round the* corner ? " asked Ruth. " He 
 has the prettiest things ! and we will be 
 careful of Kent, and keep hold of his han d 
 all the way." 
 
 It is not easy to resist the pleadings of 
 little children, when they are good, if they 
 ask any thing reasonable ; so grand- 
 mamma said, " Yes. But do not stay long. 
 The afternoon is drawing to a close, and 
 you must go home before dark, and I want 
 you for a little while all to myself in the 
 portico. You must get cooled and calmed 
 after the heat and tumult of the day." 
 
 It was the good old lady's habit to 
 gather her grandchildren around her, and 
 talk to them before parting. Not in a dry, 
 sermonizing way, but in a degree after the 
 manner of the Perfect Master, who taught 
 his disciples from the natural objects 
 before him. 
 
 " What shall you buy ? " was the ques-
 
 88 MAT. 
 
 tion that the children asked each other 
 as they went down the villag? street, a 
 rich and merry party ; but nobody knew 
 until the store was reached, and the 
 beautiful goods were displayed. 
 
 Uncle Noah peered at the young folks 
 over his spectacles, and waited upon them 
 with as much patience and politeness as 
 if his fortune depended upon their pur- 
 chases. He handed up tops and balls, and 
 witches and beads, and tiny smelling-bot- 
 tles, and ducks in little boats that would 
 float on the water, and fishes 'with a 
 magnet to make them seem alive as they 
 followed it in a full basin. 
 
 May bought a perfume-bag to send to 
 her mother by Rob, and a bunch of beads 
 for her new needle-book. She wanted to 
 work her name on the covers. Lily got 
 some pencils, and a small drawing-book. 
 She could copy very well from leaves and 
 flowers, and it was a real delight to her.
 
 TEE CHILDREN'S PURCHASES. 89 
 
 Rob hesitated between a top and a slate, 
 but finally decided that he should soon get 
 tired of a top, that could only do one thing, 
 and that a slate would be a constant 
 source of pleasure, because he could vary 
 the delight by all sorts of games, as well 
 as by drawing and ciphering. " It was 
 a wise choice," Lily told him. 
 
 Ruth chose a witch for a little lame girl, 
 who lived next door to the place where 
 she was boarding for the summer, and 
 for herself some beads ; for she meant 
 to work a needle-book like Cousin May's. 
 It was so kind of her to think of poor 
 Mattie Dinker, who had to sit in an easy- 
 chair all the time, and could never go 
 down to Uncle Noah's, even if she had 
 any pennies to buy things with, which was 
 very seldom the case. 
 
 Kent liked the fishes, and that was his 
 his purchase. He took out his coin with 
 the air of a nabob, and felt that he had
 
 90 MAT. 
 
 swelled Uncle Noah's coffers very much 
 by his ten-cent patronage. Dear little 
 fellow! I doubt if a thousand dollars, now 
 that he is a grown man and prosperous 
 in business, are as precious to him as that 
 ten-cent piece was ! 
 
 When we are young, and full of the 
 sweet simplicity and artlessness of child- 
 hood, every good and every pleasure are 
 magnified. We make the most of them ; 
 but when we are older, and have seen 
 much of the world, our estimate of things 
 is changed. Great things seem small, and 
 our eyes and hearts are constantly looking 
 out and reaching toward larger and better. 
 
 The contentment of our early years is 
 very beautiful. We go back to it and 
 live in it after we have grown up, and 
 we are born again, and become as little 
 children.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OLD ROAN. 
 
 GRANDPAPA overtook the merry 
 party as he was returning from 
 Hannah Magill's. He saw the purchases 
 in their hands, and knew very well how 
 much happiness his morning's gift had 
 conferred. 
 
 " Hop in," said he to Ruth, as she 
 turned her head at the sound of old 
 Roan's hoofs, and stood waiting until the 
 carriage stopped beside her. 
 
 " Rob, put your cousin Kent in, and you, 
 Lily, and Mary can walk." 
 " Roan smells his hay, doesn't he, grand- 
 ? " asked Ruth, as the cunning fellow
 
 92 MAY. 
 
 pricked up his ears and went briskly to- 
 wards home. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. It would be well to tie 
 a bundle of it to his nose, when his face is 
 in the other direction, and I am in a hurry 
 to get to my patients." 
 
 That amused Kent very much. "Try 
 it, grandpapa," he said. 
 
 " I am afraid he knows too much to be 
 cheated," replied grandpapa. " He has 
 gone over the road, back and forth, so 
 many times in his life, that every house is 
 familiar, and you couldn't make him be- 
 lieve his barn was in any other place than 
 exactly where it stands." 
 
 " Roan has been a faithful servant to 
 you, grandpapa, hasn't he ? " said Ruth. 
 
 " Yes ; and a good friend. Many a dark 
 night, when I could not see my hand be- 
 fore me, I have given him the reins, and 
 he has guided me safely home."
 
 OLD ROAN. 93 
 
 " How nice that was ! " said Ruth. 
 
 " I have heard of a horse's taking a blind 
 musician from house to house for the pur- 
 pose of giving lessons, and always setting 
 him down at the right place," said grand- 
 papa ; " and I know a teamster who fas- 
 tens his bridle around his arm and goes to 
 sleep, walking along beside his horses, 
 who lead him without guidance to his 
 proper destination." 
 
 Ruth looked at Roan with more respect 
 than she had ever done before, and patted 
 him gently, as grandpapa lifted Kent and 
 her from the chaise. 
 
 " He's a noble did fellow," she said. " I 
 didn't know horses could do so much." 
 
 "A horse is man's best friend among 
 the animals," said grandpapa. " A dog 
 is more like an inferior. He will fawn 
 upon you, and fight for you, and watch 
 and defend your property. He is a worthy 
 and valuable creature ; but the spirit of a
 
 94 MAY. 
 
 horse is not a fawning one. He is more 
 a companion than a servant. He erects 
 his ears, and arches his neck, and neighs 
 in such a hearty, grateful way when you 
 approach him, that you are almost as glad 
 of his welcome greeting as of a human 
 being's joy at your coming." 
 
 " Let me give Roan his supper ? " asked 
 Rob, who had come up to the gate, and 
 been listening to his grandfather. 
 
 " You can go with me, if you like. I 
 have to crush some corn for him." 
 
 " Why do you not give it to him whole ? " 
 
 " His teeth can not chew fine grain very 
 well, and if it gets into his stomach whole 
 it gives him little or no nourishment." 
 
 " What a beautiful tail Roan has ! " said 
 
 
 
 Rob, as the horse was detached from the 
 chaise and led into the stable. 
 
 " Yes. The sultan would give a gooc> 
 deal for such a tail as that," said grand 
 papa
 
 OLD ROAN. 95 
 
 " What would he want of it ? " 
 
 "The Ottomans and the Tartars use 
 the horse's tail for a standard," replied 
 grandpapa. " It is a sign of distinction, 
 also for their commanders ; the number 
 of horse-tails carried before them and 
 planted before their tents being in propor- 
 tion to their rank. The sultan, or highest 
 ruler, has seven horse-tails in war, the 
 grand vizier three, two, or one." 
 
 "Why do they chose such a funny 
 standard ? " 
 
 " The reason is said to be this. Once 
 they lost all their ensigns in battle, and 
 the commander fastened a horse's tail to 
 his lance, rallied his troops, and conquered, 
 and after that it was always honored and 
 used. The Turkish horse-tail consists of 
 a pole with one or more tails attached, and 
 other ornaments of horse-hair surmounted 
 by a crescent." 
 
 " I should like that," said Rob.
 
 96 MAY. 
 
 "Better than the stars and stripes ?" 
 " Oh, no ! Nothing better than our own 
 dear old flag! Hurrah for the 'red, 
 white, and blue ! ' " shouted the patriotic 
 boy, throwing his cap high in the air, to the 
 great excitement of Roan, upon whose 
 head it fell as he was quietly eating his 
 supper.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 GRANDMAMMA'S TALK. 
 
 AFTER the children had enjoyed 
 their nice meal of white bread and 
 butter, and fresh berries and little cakes, 
 hearts and rounds, which Dorcas had 
 baked for them the day before, they 
 went to the portico for their quiet talk 
 with grandmamma. 
 
 It was almost a room, it was so large 
 and square, with seats on two sides, and 
 green blinds to keep out the sun ; and with 
 the " twivel-twine " clasping one pillar 
 and running up with a wealth of foliage 
 to spread out in beautiful and graceful cur- 
 tains over the lattice work, and to cover 
 the roof and keep it cool. The jessamine 
 
 7
 
 98 MAT. 
 
 too, with its delicate blossoms, clustered 
 over another pillar, and wooed the insects 
 to sip from the little cups. 
 
 Close by, a summer pippin, full of 
 green apples, cast its shadow ; and the 
 fence that shut off the road leading to the 
 water was lined with rose-bushes and 
 syringas. The sound of the roaring waves 
 over the bay was more and more distinct 
 as the night drew on and other sounds 
 were stilled. There was a quiet, subdued 
 air over the village, and it came upon the 
 little ones as well ; nothing sad or solemn, 
 but restful and very pleasant after the 
 warm, busy hours of the day. 
 
 "Almost time to go home, isn't it, 
 grandmamma ? " said Kent, leaning heav- 
 ily on the old lady's knee, and looking up 
 into her face. 
 
 "Yes, dearie. Have you had a happy 
 time?" 
 
 " Buful ! 'Specially the kittens."
 
 GRANDMAMMA'S TALK. 99 
 
 The little fellow never tired of the two 
 household pets, that allowed all sorts of 
 liberties from him, even the harnessing of 
 them into a tiny wagon to draw grass and 
 earth. 
 
 " Then you like grandmamma's house ? " 
 
 "Pretty much," returned Kent. "I 
 should wish to stay here always." 
 
 Lily lifted him upon the bench beside 
 her, and put her arm around him. 
 
 " Grandmamma," said she, " it is very 
 nice for us to come here every Saturday 
 and enjoy ourselves so much. Is it pleas- 
 ant for you, too ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, child. What makes you 
 ask? Grandparents and mothers and 
 fathers live in their grandchildren and 
 children. It would be a dull world with- 
 out them." 
 
 " I'm glad you think so. I was afraid 
 we had all the fun, and you nothing but 
 the trouble."
 
 100 if AT. 
 
 She was a thoughtful child, and was 
 wondering if they had given any thing in 
 return for the joy they had received. 
 
 " I think we are square in our accounts," 
 said grandmother. " I'll agree to tell you 
 when you are in my debt. That will be 
 only when you go contrary to my wishes ; 
 I mean, knowingly. Sometimes you may do 
 things that I would not approve of without 
 being aware of it ; that, of course, I should 
 forgive, and not count ; but when you are 
 sure I would disapprove of a thing, and 
 yet should do it, then we will talk about 
 what you owe me. You have given me a 
 great deal of pleasure to-day, so that I shall 
 look forward to next Saturday with impa- 
 tience, and shall be very glad when it is 
 here." 
 
 " I believe I'm in debt to you, grand- 
 mamma," said Ruth. "I went over to 
 Polly's this morning without leave. I 
 didn't think, till I got upon the door-step,
 
 GRANDMAMMA'S TALK. 101 
 
 that you had told us always to ask, and 
 then I slipped in as quick as I could, so as 
 to forget all about it ; but I couldn't for- 
 get, and didn't stay long, and I haven't 
 been quite happy about it all day." 
 
 " I am glad you told me, daughter. I am 
 sure you will not do it again. I have all 
 confidence in my grandchildren, and since 
 you have been so frank in confessing your 
 fault, it is already crossed out of my 
 book." 
 
 " Then I owe you something still," said 
 Ruth, with an intelligent face that seemed 
 to sparkle with a gleam of light and joy. 
 
 " What ? " asked grandmamma. 
 
 " Plenty of love and kisses," said Ruth. 
 " That is a debt that we all like to pay ; " 
 and she hung around her grandmamma's 
 neck, and almost smothered her with 
 caresses. 
 
 " I hope our life's day will end as happily 
 as this," said the dear old lady, " and that
 
 102 MAY. 
 
 you and I will be gathered in the pleasant 
 Home above ! " 
 
 " No night there ! " said May. 
 
 "No going away from each other to 
 separate homes to see no more of each 
 other for days and days. That's the worst 
 of it here. Just as we begin to have a 
 good time, the darkness comes, and we 
 must go home, or to bed and to sleep." 
 
 " Look at the sun," said grandmamma. 
 " How clear he is setting. The storm 
 will not come to-morrow, I think, but it 
 can not be far off." 
 
 There was a white-sailed vessel coming 
 round the light-house point into the haven 
 which it designed to reach. The wind 
 puffed out its sails and sent it along like a 
 bird. Nearer and nearer it drew, until 
 it reached the wharf, and the passengers 
 began to disembark. 
 
 " They are glad to get upon land," said 
 grandmamma. "The waves have been
 
 GRANDMAMMA'S TALK. 103 
 
 boisterous to-day. The sea has always 
 its rough moments ; and it is good to feel 
 the ground under one's feet after tossing 
 to and fro." 
 
 " There's no danger on that boat," said 
 Rob. " She has a splendid captain and 
 a good helmsman." 
 
 "The sea is a mighty power to over- 
 come," said grandmamma. " There is but 
 One who can tame it." 
 
 The children knew that she meant God, 
 and that he holds the winds and the waves 
 in the hollow of his hand. 
 
 " Now I think we shall have to say 
 good-night," said grandmamma. " There 
 goes the sun down into the blue waves, 
 and the night will soon be upon us ; but 
 the twilight is so long that you can reach 
 home safely before dark, and I preferred 
 you should wait till it became cool. Lily, 
 get Kent's hat from the high nail, please, 
 and reach Ruth's bonnet for her."
 
 104 MAT. 
 
 Grandpapa had been reading his news- 
 paper by the sitting-room window, which 
 overlooked the portico. He had not been 
 unmindful of what was going on there, and 
 he came out to give the children a parting 
 kiss, and to caution them about crossing 
 the bridge, as was his custom. 
 
 " Don't go near the railing," he said. 
 
 He and grandmamma and May went to 
 the gate and watched them as they set 
 off. 
 
 " Rob," said May, " give mother the 
 perfume-bag the first thing when you get 
 home, and a thousand kisses for me ! "
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ROB. 
 
 ROB went as far the corner with his 
 cousins, and then they turned to 
 the left and went up the hill, and he to 
 the right, going down towards the water. 
 Ruth saw Mattie Dinker sitting in her 
 easy-chair by the window. The child's 
 face was very pale, and she looked as if 
 she would like to be one of the little group 
 that tripped along with such free footsteps. 
 She was thinking how nice it must be to 
 have joints that would move in their sock- 
 ets, and obey when their owner said I will 
 go hither or thither; for she spoke her 
 thoughts aloud.
 
 106 MAY. 
 
 " Mother, if I could only walk as other 
 littJe children do ! " 
 
 "And so you will, Mattie, in God's 
 good time. Perhaps not in this life. We 
 must have patience." 
 
 Just then Ruth came close to the win- 
 dow, and handed her the witch. " It turns 
 a splendid somersault; see!" said she, 
 setting it down on the window-sill. 
 
 The bright, little thing gave a leap, and 
 went over into Mattie's lap, and amused 
 her very much. 
 
 " Thank you," she said. " How good 
 you are ! " 
 
 Ruth had a little struggle with herself 
 for a second. Something said, " Give the 
 lame girl a string of your beads. She 
 will like them better than the witch, and 
 will take real comfort with them." 
 
 " I want them all for myself," said Ruth 
 to the voice that had spoken. Yet she
 
 BOB. 107 
 
 slowly undid the paper, and took out a 
 string and held them up. 
 
 Mattie's eyes glistened. " For me ? " 
 she said. 
 
 Ruth was so glad she didn't resist the 
 voice ! Her own beads seemed a great 
 deal prettier now. That is true. What- 
 ever we have to enjoy has twice the 
 beauty and value in our eyes when we 
 share it with some body who is not able 
 to get it otherwise. If any body tries it, 
 he will know that it is not a superstitious 
 fancy, but a glorious reality. 
 
 Mattie slept with the witch and beads 
 under her pillow, and was up by daylight 
 to look at them again. Poor children have 
 so few playthings that they have very 
 great enjoyment with the little that is 
 given them ; and I think this is one thing 
 in which God has made the rich and the 
 poor equal. The little that 'the poor have 
 is as great in its worth to them as the
 
 108 MAT. 
 
 much that comes to the rich and palls 
 upon them by its very lavishness. 
 
 Lily hastened home with Kent, who was 
 sleepy, and wanted his little, white cot- 
 bed, and Ruth followed with a face beam- 
 ing with joy. 
 
 Rob's mother had the baby in her arms, 
 and was looking out of the door, as her 
 little son went down the street. She did 
 not like to have her boys out late. She 
 thought the home-roof to be the best 
 place for them after sunset. 
 
 " Is May homesick ? " she asked, as he 
 gave his sister's present and message. 
 
 " Not homesick, mother ; but I think 
 she wants to see you very much. I should 
 not wonder if she came down to-morrow 
 for a little while. Grandmamma will bring 
 her, perhaps." 
 
 " It is such a pretty little gift ! " she 
 said, as she took the perfume-box from the 
 paper. " Mothers like to be remembered.
 
 ROB. 109 
 
 I shall have very happy thoughts of my 
 dear little daughter to-night, as I lay my 
 head upon my pillow." 
 
 The babe put out its hands to go to 
 Rob. It loved its big brother dearly, 
 and clung to him, and laughed and 
 crowed, and pulled his curly hair to its 
 heart's content. 
 
 " Where are all the girls ? " asked Rob, 
 as mother took her pet again. He found 
 them, without waiting for an answer. A 
 whole day is a long time to be away from 
 home. One seems to think great doings 
 have come to pass, when one has been 
 nght or ten hours absent. 
 
 " Has any thing happened ? " asked 
 Rob, as he met half a dozen young people 
 coming in from the barn, flustered and 
 excited. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! oh, yes ! There are ten lit- 
 tle pigs in the sty ; and the old hen has 
 come off with only three chickens ! Four-
 
 110 MAY. 
 
 teen eggs under her, and only three chick- 
 ens, Rob ! Isn't it a shame ? " 
 
 " Let's go and see." And the whole 
 troop went off to poke the grunter, and 
 exclaim over her " beautiful litter," and to 
 rouse the recreant hen, and sec the three 
 little, yellow heads peeping from under the 
 wings, between the feathers. 
 
 " Better than none ! They're as cunning 
 as they can be," said Rob. of the scanty 
 brood. It is wisdom to make the best of 
 mischance. 
 
 Mother called her brood from the back 
 door. " Saturday night," she said, " and 
 such a general bathing yet to be done. 
 Come, children. I want } r ou younger ones 
 early in bed ; you must be up in time for 
 Sunday-school, you know." 
 
 May had watched her brother and her 
 cousins from her grandmother's gate until 
 they were out of sight, and then had 
 gone in-doors to read the evening psalms
 
 ROB. Ill 
 
 to grandmother, before she should be too 
 weary to take the full sense of them. She 
 missed her little companions very much, 
 but somehow she liked now and then 
 to be alone with older people. Grand- 
 mamma was better company than any 
 body in the world, so May thought ; and 
 grandpapa petted her so kindly, and 
 stooped ?o gently to meet her small capa- 
 city, that she was very happy, and seldom 
 wished to gc home except to see if mother 
 and all the family were just as she had 
 left them, and then s.^e was ready to 
 return ami lengthen her visit at gr-ud- 
 mamma's 1
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LORD'S-DAY MORNING. 
 
 THE Lord's-day sun found all the 
 windows in grandmamma's house 
 wide open, and it entered with the per- 
 fume of the sweet brier that was climb- 
 ing up to peep in, and the honeysuckle, 
 and all the breath of the flowers that 
 semed passing sweet when the Sunday 
 came round. 
 
 There was such a hush over the village, 
 a holy quiet such as one feels when he 
 thinks of paradise. There was no sound 
 of rattling wheels, no calling of voice to 
 voice about the market prices of worldly 
 goods ; no bustle of preparation for busi- 
 ness, or excursions of pleasure.
 
 LOKD'S-DAY MORNING. 113 
 
 The vessels lay at the wharves with their 
 sails lashed neatly to the yards, and the 
 water made a soft, pleasing ripple about 
 their keels. Little boats were anchored 
 here and there upon the placid deep. The 
 birds had shaken themselves from their 
 sleep, and, bathed in the early dew, were 
 singing their Sunday songs. They were 
 ready for their Sunday-school long before 
 the little children opened their eyes to 
 God's beautiful light. 
 
 In the old apple-tree near May's room 
 a bright robin sat trilling out his blith- 
 est notes. The little girl heard him in 
 her dreams, and thought it was angel 
 music. The bird cocked its head and 
 looked through the leaves, past a greening 
 that was growing larger and larger with 
 every hour's ripening, into the chamber 
 where the child lay. He liked the pretty 
 rpom with its wall-paper of vines and 
 flowers ; leaves creeping up to reach 
 8
 
 114 MAT. 
 
 the ceiling, and little " nosegigs," as Dor- 
 cas called them, of carnations and rose- 
 buds tied with ribbon. He could get a 
 fine glance of every thing within the four 
 walls. The oak bedstead with the thistle, 
 and gallipot, and acorn, and butter-biscuit 
 on the posts at the foot, and the white 
 counterpane with a star in the middle, and 
 the wide pillow with a tumbled brown 
 head and a rosy cheek upon it. There 
 were May's Sunday-clothes lying over the 
 chair by the bed-side, a neat, white 
 dress and blue sash, and little black pru- 
 nella boots. The closet door was partly 
 open, and there hung a straw hat with a 
 blue ribbon around the crown, and a par- 
 asol to keep off the hot summer sun. 
 
 The robin gave a loud, loud trill as he 
 saw the brown head move upon the pillow, 
 and the heavy lids part slowly and show 
 the blue eyes. So May knew, as she saw 
 the old apple-tree, and the pretty bird
 
 LORD 'S-D AY MORNING. 115 
 
 gazing at her from a bough, that it was 
 not yet paradise, nor angel music, but that 
 if she would have the next best thing, 
 which was Sunday-school, the church, and 
 hymns of praise and holy worship, she 
 must be up and dressed and ready to fol- 
 low the dear, old bell when it should ring 
 cheerily to call her. 
 
 She sprang out of bed at once, and put 
 her head out of the window to take a 
 Sunday breath. The air was delicious, and 
 worth a thousand morning naps. 
 
 Grandmamma was walking in the south 
 garden, and talking with God. May knew 
 what she was about, as she saw her face 
 upturned toward the heavens with such 
 an expression of peace and sweetness upon 
 it as only the holiest communion gives. 
 Every little while the dear old lady would 
 stop and look round her at the blue 
 waters, and at the sunlight sparkling 
 every where, and at the injects flitting
 
 116 MAT. 
 
 hither and thither. Then she would clasp 
 her hands and look toward the skies 
 again with a wistful face that said plainly 
 as words could say, " I have found Him, 
 him the Author of all this glory ! Blessed 
 be his holy name ! " 
 
 May knelt by the window and said her 
 morning prayer. It seemed as if she 
 could bring God nearer by being in the 
 open air, though she knew very well that 
 he is always close beside those who call 
 upon him. 
 
 She asked him to make her more and 
 more thankful for his loving care, that had 
 brought her to the beginning of so beau- 
 tiful and holy a day, and to keep ,her with- 
 out sin through the sacred hours, and help 
 her to improve every minute to his glory. 
 She spoke to him in very simple words, 
 such as any little child would say to its 
 father. " I thank you for so pretty a gift, 
 and I hope I shall be very good and make
 
 LORD 'S-DA Y HORNING. 117 
 
 you love me." And to be sure that she 
 had forgotten nothing that she ought to 
 ask, she used the prayer that Jesus taught 
 his disciples ; for mamma and grandmam- 
 ma had often said, " There is every thing 
 that any body needs in this prayer of our 
 JxOrd Jesus, and that is why I wish you 
 always to make use of it with your other 
 devotions." So May never failed to sum up 
 her petitions with the Lord's prayer, and 
 then she felt there was nothing more to 
 ask. 
 
 Dorcas had a great deal to do, and was 
 old and often stiff with rheumatism, and 
 grandmamma had taught the children 
 whenever they came to visit her to make 
 their own beds, and keep their room in 
 perfect order ; and they felt a certain 
 pride when they had accomplished this, 
 especially when the dear old lady said, 
 " That is a finely shaped bed," or, " I 
 can not see a speck of dust any where in
 
 1 18 MA Y. 
 
 the room ; and how neat the drawers and 
 closets are ! " 
 
 Grandmamma wanted the young people 
 to form such habits in their youth as 
 would make their maturer years easy and 
 happy. " A shiftless woman is a misery 
 to herself, and to her household," she said. 
 
 " I wouldn't be that for any thing in the 
 world," thought May. So she stripped 
 the bed, and hung the clothes by the 
 window to air ; and after she was all rea- 
 dy, except her frock, she put it together 
 again before she went down stairs this 
 morning, because there would be little time 
 after breakfast before Sunday-school. She 
 and grandmamma had their pleasant time 
 in the garden, and May spent a few min- 
 utes with grandpapa in the portico before 
 Dorcas was ready with her hot johnny- 
 cake, hoe-cake, she called it, for it was 
 made in the old-fashioned way, and baked 
 before the fire. Stoves were not in fashion
 
 LORD'S-DAY MORNING. 119 
 
 in May's time, at least, not at May's 
 grandmother's, and things had a rare 
 taste then, an individual taste. One 
 thing did not get the smack of another, as 
 in the stove where every thing is cooked. 
 
 " Going to church, little daughter ? " 
 said grandpapa after breakfast, eyeing the 
 neat figure in white and blue. 
 
 " Yes, grandpapa." 
 
 " How will you keep your eyes open all 
 the long summer morning ? " 
 
 " Oh, easy enough. I never go to sleep ; 
 and if I do, Mr. Parsons says God will for- 
 give me sooner for sleeping in church 
 than for staying at home to take a nap." 
 
 " Is that so ? Then it is no matter 
 about keeping awake to hear the ser- 
 mon ? " 
 
 Grandpapa was trying to puzzle the lit- 
 le girl, but she recollected the minister' s 
 words. 
 
 "Yes, it is matter to try," she said
 
 120 MAT. 
 
 " Mr. Parsons told us that God would not 
 be angry with us if we tried to keep 
 awake, but dropped asleep because we 
 were tired or weak." 
 
 " He did not mean, then, that we should 
 arrange our cushions comfortably, and 
 compose ourselves for a quiet snooze, like 
 Mr. Catsby ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. Mr. Catsby seems to think 
 church is his bed-room," said May. 
 
 " And what do you think, little girl ? " 
 
 I think it is just as mamma says, that it 
 is the house of prayer, and the gate of hea- 
 ven. She tells us that we go there to meet 
 God and the angels, and that if we learn to 
 love his holy worship on earth we shall be 
 fitted to enjoy heaven and the presence of 
 the good and just. But there is the bell, 
 grandpapa, and I must run or I shall be 
 late."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 
 
 r I "'HE doctor sat thinking long after 
 _I_ May left him. His newspaper drop- 
 ped from his hand, and he held his specta- 
 cles between his ringers. He did not enjoy 
 Sabbath worship much. He had allowed 
 the necessary care of his patients to keep 
 him from many a service, until he had 
 gradually grown out of the use of the 
 means of grace. The child's words awoke 
 him to tho reflection, "What if one does 
 learn to enjoy these things, prayer and 
 praise, and communion with God, and with 
 the saints here below. What will be his 
 position when he is taken away from 
 earth ? Does one really need this training,
 
 122 MAT. 
 
 this cultivation of the spiritual nature, to 
 fit him for the enjoyment of heaven ? " 
 
 He had to corns to the conclusion that 
 the child was right, and that a mother's 
 teachings were wise, and certain guides 
 when she founded them upo-i the princi- 
 ples of a holy Bible faith. "I wish I had 
 never departed from the simplicity of a 
 child's heart ! " said the doctor to him- 
 self. " A little child that trusts and obeys 
 God's word without reasoning or question- 
 ing is the happiest of mortals." 
 
 He thought he had said it quite softly ; 
 but grandmamma heard him as she pas- 
 sed through the long entry, and it made 
 her heart leap for joy. She was yearning 
 so much for his salvation ! 
 
 May went over the bridge, and down 
 the long main street to the right, about 
 half-way. Then she could have turned to 
 the left, and gone along a green lane, and 
 to the right again, and along another
 
 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 123 
 
 green lane until she reached the church ; 
 but it was no farther to go a few steps 
 down the street, and kiss mother and 
 baby, and then up through the mulberry 
 avenue to Sunday-school. She did not 
 stop a minute to think. Mother and baby 
 were pulling so hard at her heart-strings 
 that she got over the road in double-quick 
 time. 
 
 " Oh, there is sister May ! " exclaimed a 
 glad voice, in tones that could only come 
 from the lips of a mother. She was speak- 
 ing to little "puss," as they called the 
 baby, though its name was Rebecca. 
 
 " The children have just gone to Sun- 
 day-school through the garden," she said, 
 as May hugged her and the little sister 
 together. " I am so delighted to see you ! 
 But you must not stop now, for the bell 
 will not ring a minute longer. You will 
 catch your brothers and sister if you run 
 fast."
 
 124 MAT. 
 
 Rob heard May's voice, though she did 
 not call very loud. The children had been 
 taught that all noises ought to be subdued 
 on God's holy day, and it jarred upon their 
 ear to hear a boisterous sound, or a loud 
 laugh or call. 
 
 " We've got ten pigs and three little 
 chickens," whispered Rob, as he turned 
 back to meet her. " I'll show them to you 
 after church." 
 
 The home news could not be kept a 
 minute. All the children had to repeat it 
 to May, as they reached the gate where 
 they stood waiting for her. 
 
 " Such cunning pigs ! " said Emma. 
 
 The minister coming up by the way 
 of the lane just then brought their minds 
 away from pigs and chickens, and the 
 little ones passed through the gate of 
 their father's field into the "gate of 
 heaven," which May had been talking to 
 grandpa about.
 
 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 125 
 
 " Have you learned your lesson ? " asked 
 Helen, in a low voice, as she stood by 
 May. 
 
 " Yes, indeed. Grandmamma makes me 
 begin Monday morning, and read it over 
 every day, and by Saturday I know it per- 
 fectly. She says that is so much better 
 than to leave it till the last minute to 
 study hard and worry over." 
 
 " It is so quiet at grandmamma's," said 
 Helen ; "but the children are so trouble- 
 some at home, and we older ones have so 
 much care of them, that I had not much 
 time to myself for study, and I am afraid 
 I don't half know my chapter." 
 
 The children separated and went to the 
 different classes. May saw Cousin Lily 
 across the gallery in Miss Essie's class, 
 and Ruth was on the seat just below her 
 sister, and Kent behind the organ in the 
 infant class. 
 
 There was a disposition to nod and
 
 126 MAT. 
 
 beck at each other, but Mr. Parsons rang 
 the little bell and called the school to 
 prayer. Then the young voices swelled 
 through the old church and out into the 
 sunshine and up toward heaven, in the 
 sweet words, 
 
 "Saviour, who thy flocks art feeding 
 With a shepherd's kindest care, " 
 
 and nearly all the children had the reJ 
 consciousness that they were in the pres- 
 ence of God, and that he was pleased whh 
 their heartfelt worship. 
 
 The buzz and hum of the Sunday-school 
 were the most delightful melody to the 
 good minister. He watched the little 
 heads bent over the Word of God, and the 
 little fingers busily turning the sacred 
 leaves, and his heart was full of joy. 
 
 "Thank God for the Sunday-school!" 
 he said to his Superintendent, as they 
 stood together by the desk looking upon 
 the earnest faces of teachers and scholar^
 
 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 127 
 
 " It is here that the true foundation of a 
 Christian life is laid. Home is the right- 
 ful place for earliest religious teaching, but 
 too often fathers and mothers have no 
 care for the souls of their children. The 
 Sunday-school supplies this want to such 
 little ones as have no other Christian nur- 
 ture, and to such as have, it but impres- 
 ses the home instruction more deeply."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF GOD. 
 
 WHEN the church-bell rang, May 
 saw her grandmother enter the 
 door below, and walk round the aisle to 
 the square pew by the east window. She 
 knelt down quietly, and covered her face 
 with her hands, and May knew that she 
 was asking God to bless the services of 
 the day to her, and not to let her forget 
 for a moment his holy presence in his holy 
 temple. The little girl always felt the 
 influence of grandmamma's devout spirit 
 and manner. It was so different from that 
 of most people, who go to the house of 
 God as if it were some place of amuse-
 
 THE HOUSE OF GOD. 129 
 
 raent, where one can chat and laugh until 
 the performance commences. 
 
 How nice the villagers looked in their 
 Sunday attire ! It was pleasant to see 
 them come in, and glide away to their 
 seats, and compose themselves for wor- 
 ship. 
 
 Old Aunt Mason, verging towards a 
 hundred years, yet strong and active, and 
 quick to obey the call to prayers. Miss 
 Natty, with her simple, Quakerly garb, 
 that seemed to accord so well with her 
 sweet, placid face. May loved her dearly, 
 and was delighted when she caught a 
 glimpse of the plain, white 'kerchief pinned 
 over the bosom, and the white straw bon- 
 net, with the band of white lutestring that 
 was the only trimming. She followed Miss 
 Natty's figure until it reached its wonted 
 corner, and her eyes dwelt upon the kind, 
 
 loving face. She thought Miss Natty 
 9
 
 130 MAY. 
 
 would make a beautiful angel. Little 
 children have a sort of worshipful feeling 
 towards older people who lead saintly lives. 
 They always think of them in a spiritual 
 sense, which induces the sweetest and 
 best kind of love ; the love that is based 
 upon the highest virtues, and so has 
 reason to reverence and exalt the object. 
 
 How the good people sang ! As if their 
 very souls were in the music, and in the 
 words ! It lifted them up toward the skies, 
 this heartfelt singing ! It was so much bet- 
 ter than great art, and perfect harmony. 
 Every thing was soulful in the old church 
 where little May went on the Lord's day to 
 pray and praise. When the child went out 
 from the hallowed place, holding her 
 grandmamma's hand, she felt as if they 
 had indeed been to meet the King of 
 Glory ; and the sunshine that lay in a 
 great, golden flood upon the door-step
 
 THE HOUSE OF GOD. 131 
 
 and upon the grass, seemed as if it 
 streamed from within, and were part of 
 the King's brilliance. 
 
 " We will go to mother's to dinner, and 
 I shall be near for the afternoon service," 
 said grandmamma. " I suppose you want 
 to see the children by this time ? " 
 
 That was exactly what May was wish- 
 ing ; for however dear and pleasant it was 
 at grandpapa's, home was home, and noth- 
 ing could take its place ; and to-day, espe- 
 cially, there was the additional attraction 
 of the new pigs and chickens. 
 
 There were May and cousin Lily, Rob, 
 and Helen, Emma, Harry and Louise, 
 and Carrie such a pretty company go- 
 ing down the Mulberry avenue. Grand- 
 mamma looked upon them with pride. 
 She felt quite important, heading the little 
 troop. Father stopped to fasten the gate. 
 It was apt to swing upon its hinges and 
 let in the stray cattle, that liked the
 
 132 MAY. 
 
 church-lane grass, and were always graz- 
 ing there, ready to trespass upon the 
 adjoining corn-fields, if an opportunity pre- 
 sented itself. 
 
 May was in state. She was a guest 
 as well as grandmamma, and was made 
 much of, and escorted to the pig-pen and 
 hen-coop, before she could think of such a 
 thing as eating. She was in ecstacies over 
 the new-comers. " God makes such beau- 
 tiful creatures," she said, as she watched 
 the ten little pigs poking their little pink 
 snouts into the old grunter's sides, and 
 saw the three chickens running around the 
 mother hen. 
 
 " ' He multiplieth them exceedingly, 
 and sufFereth not their cattle to de- 
 crease,' " said grandmamma, who was a 
 child among children in her love of young 
 animals. She had always some appropri- 
 ate Scripture passage in her mind for 
 every occasion. It was not brought in ab-
 
 THE HOUSE )F GOD. 333 
 
 ruptly or irreverently, but while she stood 
 thinking, and when there was a proper 
 time, and every body seemed ready for just 
 such precious pearls as she cast before 
 them. 
 
 " It was almost like preaching, to have 
 her come on Sundays," mother said. " She 
 brought a gospel with her, and made those 
 who had to stay at home with baby miss 
 less the great feast that was spread at 
 the church." She was thankful to get 
 such crumbs as grandmamma brought 
 from the Master's table. 
 
 Grandpapa came down to afternoon ser- 
 vice, and stopped at mother's to pet the 
 children for a while, and to be one of the 
 little party on the way to church. He 
 never felt better than when surrounded by 
 his grandchildren. " It makes a man of 
 consequence in the world, to count up his 
 childrens' children, as I can," he said. 
 
 " ' A hoary head is a crown of glory if
 
 134 MAY. 
 
 it is found in the way of righteousness/ " 
 said the clergyman. 
 
 May looked at the sunlight that fell 
 upon grandpapa's brow, and he caught the 
 child's earnest, thoughtful expression. The 
 warmth of the sun was a little oppressive, 
 but he would not move away from the 
 rays just then. They seemed to him a 
 welcome omen that God's grace would 
 some time rest upon him ; for although 
 lie was not a Christian, he hoped and 
 expected to be one at some future day, 
 as almost every body does. He was 
 willing to be saved if God would save 
 him without any effort of his own. It 
 was such striving, such a continual war- 
 fare with sin, that he was not quite ready 
 to take up the weapons and enter the 
 combat. 
 
 May crept closer to him, and put her 
 little hand in his, and listened attentively 
 to the sermon. It was such as a child
 
 THE HOUSE OF GOD. 135 
 
 could understand. It told of the beauty 
 of a godly life from the cradle the grave, 
 when the old man may look back to his 
 very infancy and see the light of the Holy 
 Spirit upon the whole pathway ; never 
 shut off, although here and there slightly 
 obscured by some grievance not power- 
 ful enough to darken it wholly. 
 
 The sermon spoke of the beautiful fruit 
 of that spirit which even a little child may 
 bring forth. " Love, joy, peace, long-suf- 
 fering, meekness, gentleness, goodness, 
 faith, and temperance." 
 
 May set to thinking whether she had 
 shown any of this precious fruit to day. 
 It was a happiness to remark that mother 
 had said to her at dinner, when she denied 
 herself a second piece of pudding, " That 
 is my temperate little girl ! " And when she 
 had answered lovingly and quietly some 
 rough remark of Harry's, her .father put
 
 136 MAY. 
 
 his hand jipon her head and said, " Love 
 and meekness are very sweet virtues." 
 
 She knew very well, that without help 
 from above she could never think a good 
 thought, nor do a good deed ; and she was 
 glad to get down upon her knees in the 
 corner of the old-fashioned pew, as the 
 sermon ended, and ask for this help to 
 govern and sanctify her all the days of her 
 life. 
 
 " Haven't we had a nice day, grand- 
 papa ? " she asked, as they reached home 
 and took their favorite seat in the portico 
 to watch the sunset 
 
 " Tolerable," replied the doctor. 
 
 But this did not satisfy May. " No more 
 than that ? " she said. " I think it's been 
 splendid ! " . 
 
 Then, after a minute, "I should like 
 to have Sunday last always ; shouldn't 
 you ? It will in heaven, mother says,
 
 THE HOUSE OF GOD. 137 
 
 that is, worship and praise, and the things 
 that good people love here. Of course 
 people must be good before they can 
 enjoy it. Sunday is such a dear day ; I 
 love it ! " 
 
 No body could doubt little May's ear- 
 nestness. Her whole face was a-glow, and 
 it touched her grandfather's heart even 
 more than the sermon had done. 
 
 The twilight came gradually, and the 
 twittering of the birds was so different 
 from that of the early dawn ; a sober, 
 dreamy, lulling sound, with none of the 
 brightness of the awakening ; yet very 
 peaceful and satisfying after the many 
 events of the day, and the call and the 
 need for rest. It is sweet to lay down to 
 sleep, and the awakening is very sweet 
 also. The awakening, I mean, when we 
 shall see God in his glory.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HELPING ' DORCAS. 
 
 TV /I" AY I help you to-day ? " 
 
 J.VJL Dorcas was in her element. 
 Butter, and sugar, and eggs, and spices, all 
 around her. The tin oven before the fire, 
 and the iron bake-kettle over it upon one 
 of the crane-hooks, and such a large bed 
 of live coals ready to heap upon the cover 
 when needed. She had on a neat, clean, 
 blue homespun dress with short sleeves, 
 and her fat arms protruding. Her turban 
 was just from the ironing, and her checked 
 apron showed the fresh folds. It was a 
 great day with Dorcas, and May felt it 
 The little girl was very meek as she asked 
 the favor, " May I help you ? " for some-
 
 HELPING DORCAS. 139 
 
 ames Dorcas had moods in which she 
 would not allow a foot in her kitchen 
 until the cooking was accomplished. There 
 was one certain indication that May un- 
 derstood. If the waist of Dorcas' gown 
 was hitched she knew what to expect ; 
 but to-day it was pulled smoothly down, 
 and it set snugly to the figure ; and as she 
 noticed that, she ventured over the thresh- 
 hold ; for she was standing in the little 
 entry-way at the foot of the stairs, with 
 one hand on the knob of the dining-room 
 door. There was a refuge within that 
 door, with grandmamma, when, all else 
 failed. 
 
 " Bring your rolling-pin." 
 
 That was a welcome sound ; and May 
 took the little roller from the nail in the 
 pantry, and Dorcas made room for her at 
 the end of the table. 
 
 " Is it hearts and rounds, to-day ? " 
 asked May.
 
 140 MAT. 
 
 " No. Loaf-cake, with plenty of plums 
 in it." 
 
 " May I beat the eggs ? " 
 
 " You'll spill 'em all over your apron." 
 
 "I'll be careful," said May. "Don't 
 you think it is time I learned to cook ? " 
 
 " Well, maybe," said Dorcas. " You 
 an't very old yet ; but I could put a cake 
 together before I was nigh as tall as you 
 be." 
 
 " You were a smart little girl," said 
 May. 
 
 " Your grandmamma taught me." 
 
 "Then I do not wonder," said May 
 " Grandmamma has a way of making 
 every body smart. I should not know 
 half as much as I do without her." 
 
 " Your ma hasn't time to bother with 
 you." 
 
 " I don't think she'd call it bothering," 
 said May. " She goes round with the baby 
 on her arm, and does her work and hears
 
 HELPING DORCAS. 141 
 
 our lessons all at once ; but she can't take 
 such pains to teach us to sew and to cook 
 as grandmamma can." 
 
 " No ; poor cretur ! Such a raft of young 
 ones ! " said Dorcas. 
 
 " Ten of them," said May ; her mind 
 intent upon the pigs. 
 
 Dorcas did not hear. She was intent 
 upon her scales, weighing out " gredences" 
 as she called ingredients, or the different 
 parts of any compound. The raisins had 
 been stoned the day before, and it did not 
 take long to get the mixture into the pan 
 and the pan into the bake-kettle with the 
 blaze underneath, and the coals and hot 
 ashes on the cover. .It requires great skill 
 to temper the heat properly ; but Dorcas 
 had had long experience, and better bread 
 never came from any oven than the 
 bright, brown loaves that peeped from the 
 old iron kettle as the cover was raised. 
 
 " What's in the tin oven ? " asked May.
 
 142 MAY. 
 
 " That's a roast for dinner ; it's lamb, 
 and we're to have peas and sparrer grass." 
 
 " Can't you say asparagus ? " 
 
 " It'll taste jest as good 'tother way," 
 said Dorcas. 
 
 " But if there's a right way, we ought to 
 try to get it, oughtn't we ? " 
 
 " In more things than sparrer grass ; 
 yes." 
 
 Dorcas had the dough ready for cookies. 
 She cut a piece as big as a turkey's egg, 
 and gave it to May. 
 
 " You can roll it thin, and cut 'em out 
 with my thimble, and I'll bake 'em for 
 you." 
 
 The thimble was ^teel, and open at 
 the top, and it stood on the window-sill 
 close by. May wiped it with a piece of 
 blotting-paper that was beside it, and then 
 with a dish-towel, and cut the dough that 
 she had rolled. She put her tiny cookies 
 into a round pie-pan, and sat down to
 
 HELPING DORCAS. 143 
 
 wait till they were baked. They puffed up 
 to twice their original size, and tasted so 
 much better for the hand that she had had 
 in the making. We always prize most that 
 which costs us some personal effort and 
 labor. I would never do any thing for a 
 child which it can do for itself. I should 
 wish it to derive the greatest possible 
 pleasure from every good, and that can 
 only be when it comes to know and use 
 its own powers. 
 
 " You can peel the potatoes for me, if 
 you've a mind to," said Dorcas, as May 
 had finished her part of the cookery, and 
 was watching the putting together of 
 apple-pies. 
 
 " Oh yes ; any thing," said May. " I 
 should like to cook if I could only be as 
 skillful as you are when I grow up." 
 
 " You might be skillfuller." 
 
 " More skillful ? No, I don't believe 
 any body could be."
 
 144 MAT. 
 
 That was such praise that it kept the 
 old negress in good humor all the morn- 
 ing, and May might have ridden upon her 
 head, and mashed her best turban after it 
 without giving her offense. 
 
 " Don't cut away quite so much of them 
 pertaters," said the frugal cook. "It's 
 wicked to waste." 
 
 " Yes ; I know. I'll peel the next 
 thinner. What beauties they are ! So 
 long and pink ! " 
 
 Grandmamma came into the kitchen at 
 this moment. " What an industrious little 
 girl ! " she said. 
 
 " I'm helping Dorcas." 
 
 " That's right ! You will learn to be- 
 come a good housekeeper. What are you 
 doing now ? " 
 
 " Peeling potatoes ; see." And the 
 child held up a long pink-eye that was 
 ready for the steamer. Dorcas always 
 steamed her potatoes rather than boil
 
 HELPING DORCAS. 145 
 
 them. " They're so much nicer and meal- 
 ier," she said. 
 
 "I wonder what people did without, this 
 vegetable three or four hundred years 
 ago ? " said grandmamma. 
 
 May looked at her with big eyes. 
 
 " Hasn't every body always eaten pota- 
 toes ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, no. In South America the po- 
 tato grows wild, and from that country it 
 has been introduced into other parts of the 
 world. Sir Walter Raleigh found it in our 
 Virginia, and carried it to England, where 
 it was at first cultivated in gardens as a 
 curiosity. You know what a pretty blos- 
 som it has ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and pretty little clusters of 
 green seed-balls. Rob and the children 
 and I play with them, and string them 
 for necklaces." 
 
 "We plant the tubers rather than the 
 
 seeds," said grandmamma, "because they 
 10
 
 146 MAT. 
 
 produce fruit at once, while it takes three 
 years for the seed to bring forth tubers." 
 
 May knew well enough what grand- 
 mamma meant by tubers. "They are veg- 
 etable roots," she said to Dorcas ; " such as 
 this" (holding up a potato), "and onions, 
 and artichokes, and tulips, and dahlias, 
 and hyacinths, and such things ; bulbs, 
 you know." 
 
 " People did not learn to eat . potatoes 
 until long after they were first known," 
 said grandmamma. "The French, partic- 
 ularly, had a great prejudice against them 
 until the Revolution, when a scarcity of 
 food forced them to live upon this root, 
 and then they became fond of it. A gen- 
 tleman in Ireland had a present of some 
 potatoes, and that is the way they made 
 their entrance into that country." 
 
 " The Irish live almost wholly on them, 
 don't they grandmamma ? " 
 
 " Pretty nearly. It is an easy vegetable
 
 HELPING DORCAS. 147 
 
 to cultivate, and yields a large increase, 
 and is generally cheap and nutritious ; so 
 that it is a real blessing to the poor as well 
 as the rich. No table is complete without 
 it. The Spaniards call it ' ba-ta-ta', ' of 
 the earth,' and the French, 'pomme de 
 terre,' 'apple of the earth,' or 'ground 
 apple.' Come to think of it, the English 
 have only eaten it for about two hundred 
 years. It was not sold in their markets 
 until a hundred and fifty years after its 
 introduction to the country, so it is com- 
 paratively a new vegetable with them and 
 with us." 
 
 Dorcas cut short the subject, by drop- 
 ping the tubers into the steamer, and 
 sending May to the dining-room to lay 
 the cloth, while she herself had a little 
 talk with her mistress concerning Tom. 
 
 " I'm worried about him," she said, 
 hitching her waist almost to her armpits. 
 
 " I haven't heern a word yet. I'm afeerd
 
 148 MAY. 
 
 them icebergs has got hold on him. His 
 capting promised to write. Tom's all I've 
 got in this world, and what should I do ! 
 what should I do " 
 
 Dorcas didn't finish her sentence, but 
 broke down entirely, and hid her face in 
 her checked apron to have a good cry. 
 
 "He's in the hand of the Lord," said 
 grandmamma. " It's a mighty and a ten- 
 der hand, and it has always led Tom safely 
 home to us, has it not ? " 
 
 " So it has," said Dorcas, brightening 
 up at the thought, and beaming out from 
 behind her apron. " I won't think nothin' 
 more on it, but '11 leave him in that hand, 
 bless it ! It always has fetched him home 
 safe ; that's true." 
 
 "Who is that? Tom?" said May; 
 catching the last sentence. " Oh, he'll be 
 here in October, when the frost begins to 
 turn the leaves all sorts of beautiful col- 
 ors, and the nuts shake from their sheila
 
 HELPING DORCAS. 149 
 
 down to the ground. Only two months, 
 Dorcas, and he'll come." 
 
 It was so like a sure prophecy that 
 Dorcas was jubilant, and trod upon air 
 the rest of the day. "Children sees so 
 fur," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 VISIT TO SALLY PAGAN. 
 
 MAY went to the door to watch for 
 grandpapa. He was pretty cer- 
 tain to be at home by dinner-time, unless 
 some urgent case kept him away ; and 
 there was not much severe illness just 
 now. 
 
 " There he comes," she said, as Dorcas 
 was dishing the peas and the "sparrar 
 grass." " He likes his dinner piping 
 hot." 
 
 Grandpapa called to her from the gate, 
 where he had stopped. " Run, get this 
 jug of milk," he said. "Aunt Anstis 
 handed it to me as I drove by her house ; 
 and here are pats of butter, yellow as gold, 
 and sweet as can be. I'll let Roan stand in
 
 VISIT TO SALLY FAG AN. 151 
 
 the harness and eat his hay outside the 
 barn, for I must go to see little Sally 
 Fagan after dinner. You may come with 
 me, if you like." 
 
 "I should like it dearly, grandpapa/' 
 said May. 
 
 Grandmamma displayed the yellow pats 
 with a pretty impress upon them. "Aunt 
 Anstis is so thoughtful," she said. " She 
 is always sending some good thing to her 
 doctor." 
 
 " Doctors are the next best to minis- 
 ters, an't they, grandmamma ? " asked 
 May. 
 
 " If they are Christian men, they are 
 almost ministers to the souls as well as to 
 the bodies of their patients, and so do as 
 much as clergymen," said grandmamma. 
 " Doctors gain much love ; your grand- 
 father especially." 
 
 " I'm glad my father's a minister," said 
 May, decided in her own mind that there
 
 152 MAY. 
 
 was a glory in that profession that noth- 
 ing else could give ; " but if not, I should 
 like him to be a doctor." 
 
 She almost came to the conclusion that 
 doctors were quite equal to clergymen, as 
 she noticed grandpapa's tenderness at the 
 sick beds, after dinner. He lifted old Mr. 
 Ray in his arms as if he were a baby, 
 and gave him his cough-mixture, and put 
 the pillows easier under his head, and 
 wiped the moisture very gently from his 
 brow, and fanned him, and said cheering 
 words to him. There was only one thing 
 grandpapa had lacked, and that was the 
 Gospel message, which every physician 
 ought to be abfe to speak to the sick. 
 This he had not received into his own 
 soul, and so could not impart it to others. 
 
 Sally Fagan had been meddling with 
 the swamp sumach, or "dog-wood," and 
 she had a high fever, with great, red 
 blotches on her skin, which were very un-
 
 VISIT TO SALLY FAGAN. 153 
 
 comfortable. The poor girl tossed upon 
 her bed in agony, but the doctor gave her 
 a soothing ointment which soon allayed 
 the irritation. 
 
 " You must never touch strange plants, 
 or berries, or blossoms," said grandpapa 
 to May, as they left the poisoned girl. 
 
 " I've handled sumach many a time," 
 said May, " and it never poisoned me." 
 
 " That's another sort," said grandpapa. 
 "There are several varieties. There is a 
 kind in the countries about the Mediter- 
 ranean, the branches of which were dried 
 and powdered, and used by the ancients 
 in tanning leather. In Sp^in and Italy 
 they prepare the black morocco with this 
 plant. The roots contain a brown, and the 
 bark a yellow dye. The seeds are used 
 before meals to provoke an appetite. Phy- 
 sicians prescribe both leaves and seeds in 
 medicine as an astringent and styptic." 
 
 " What's that ? " asked May.
 
 154 MAY. 
 
 " I forgot that I am not talking to my 
 fellow-doctors. Astringent means to draw 
 together, or to bind ; and styptic means 
 the same thing, only more so. Styptic 
 is very astringent." 
 
 " That isn't my kind of sumach, is it ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, though yours has the same 
 properties. Yours grows in rocky places, 
 and by the roadside, and has seeds like 
 tiny balls of crimson velvet, very close 
 together. They cultivate it in the Euro- 
 opean gardens as an ornament. The 
 leaves turn the same beautiful color as the 
 berries, before they fall off in the autumn, 
 and make the woods seem on fire as the 
 sun streams upon them." 
 
 " I know ; I've often seen it," said 
 May. 
 
 " The berries dye red," said grandpapa ; 
 " and the branches, mixed with the berries, 
 afford a black,. -inky tincture. There is 
 also another species on the Alleghany
 
 VISIT TO SALLY FAG AN. 155 
 
 mountains, and in the Western States, 
 with hairy, red berries. It is a low shrub. 
 The Japanese have a kind that furnish- 
 es their varnish. This oozes from the 
 wounded tree, and grows black and thick 
 when exposed to the air. It is beautifully 
 transparent or clear, and shows every vein 
 of the wood upon which it is put. The 
 Japanese use it for almost every thing ; 
 even their tea-cups, and soup-dishes, as 
 well as the woodwork of their houses and 
 their furniture." 
 
 " How mucl^jj, you know, grandpapa ! ' 
 said May. " I hope I shall know half as 
 much, when I come to be as old as you 
 are ; If I come to be as old, I mean." 
 
 " Why if, little daughter ? " 
 
 " You know people die younger than I, 
 sometimes, and nobody is sure of to- 
 morrow, mamma says." 
 
 " Do you always think f that ? " 
 
 " Not always, excepting when I go with
 
 /56 MAT. 
 
 you among sick people ; then I always 
 remember." 
 
 " It doesn't make you unhappy ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; why should it ? I don't 
 believe any thing ever could make me very 
 unhappy, grandpapa. Mamma says I was 
 born under a rainbow, and shall see it all 
 my life. I s'pose she means because I am 
 such-a hopeful little girl." 
 
 " That's the best spirit to have. I am 
 glad God has given it to you ; it is better 
 than gold." 
 
 " So mamma says. And she says too, that 
 people can cultivate it by trying always 
 to look at the brightest side of things." 
 
 " There's a good deal of truth in that," 
 said the doctor. " Folks often make their 
 own misery." 
 
 Roan stopped at a cottage by the road- 
 side. 
 
 " He seems to know where to go, as 
 well as you do, grandpapa," said May.
 
 VISIT TO SALLY FAG AN. 157 
 
 " Yes ; he's been here very often lately. 
 The baby's quite sick, poor little thing ! " 
 
 The mother sat on the doorstep, holding 
 the child on a pillow. 
 
 " It can't seem to get a breath indoors, 
 doctor," she said. " Upon the whole, I 
 think it seems a trifle better to-day than 
 yesterday ; but it's slow work, sometimes. 
 I'm afraid it can't possibly get well." 
 
 "All things are possible." 
 
 Grandpapa said that, and May added, 
 " with God," so that the woman heard it, 
 and looked up at her with a quick, glad 
 glance. 
 
 " That is my only hope," she said. " I 
 know he can raise him up ; and I pray to 
 him to bless the use of the medicine." 
 
 The baby turned such a languid gaze 
 toward May. Its little arms hung helpless 
 by its side, and it had scarcely any flesh 
 on its bones. It made May sorrowful to 
 see it, and she knelt down and kissed it
 
 158 MAY. 
 
 softly, while a tear dropped from her eye 
 upon its forehead ; but grandpapa saw a 
 marked improvement. " The child is bet- 
 ter," he said, " We shall have it sprightly 
 again in a week or two." 
 
 " Please God ! " said the mother, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 All these things were sermons to the 
 doctor, though the preachers, May and 
 the woman, and the sick people, did not 
 know it. He was thinking over, and re- 
 volving in his mind, the faith and the 
 patience and the trust that met him here 
 and there as good angels in his pathway ; 
 and these were teaching him, and leading 
 him gradually to a like trust and patience 
 and faith. 
 
 Grandmamma's time of gladness was 
 coming, and the hour of May's joy.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GRANDPAPA'S SICKNESS. 
 
 THE doctor's patients were in great 
 trouble ; for their good physician was 
 himself sick, and old Roan stood idle in 
 the stable, instead of trotting up to the 
 well-known doors to leave his master and 
 the medicine chest, or saddle-bags. The 
 squirrels sat upon the stone-walls, watch- 
 ing in vain for the speckled horse, and 
 wondering what in the world had become 
 of him, and how long it would be before 
 they would have a chance to flourish their 
 bushy tails in honor of the dear old man 
 who brought blessing and healing and joy, 
 along with him. 
 
 Every thing on the roadside seemed to 
 miss the clattering hoofs, and the rumbling
 
 160 
 
 MAT. 
 
 wheels, and the voices of grandpapa and 
 little May, that had so often broken the 
 stillness. The trees stretched themselves 
 over the fences to look up and down the 
 road, and there was such a sighing among 
 the leaves, as if they were moaning to 
 each other, " What can the matter be ? " 
 The sick people tossed upon their beds, and 
 thought there was little chance for them if 
 the old doctor was to be taken away. 
 
 But God did not mean to remove him 
 yet from his work on earth. He only 
 intended to teach him that he was mortal, 
 and that he must prepare to meet his hour 
 of departure. 
 
 What thoughts grandpapa had on his 
 bed, as he hovered between life and death, 
 nobody knew ; for he was silent on that 
 point. Grandmama and May hung over 
 his pillow, and gave tender and earnest 
 prayers to God for the precious soul that 
 it cost so much to redeem.

 
 GRANDPAPA'S SICKNESS. 161 
 
 Mr. Parsons came often and sat by the 
 bed-side, and talked and prayed with the 
 sick man, and read short messages of en- 
 treaty from the Lord. " My son, give me 
 thine heart." " Come unto me, all ye that 
 labor and are heavy laden, and I will give 
 you rest." " Repent and be baptized." 
 "Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ." 
 " The blood of Christ cleanseth from all 
 sin." " Cease to do evil, and learn to do 
 good." " God so loved the world that he 
 gave his only begotten Son, that whoso- 
 ever believeth in him should not perish, 
 but have eternal life." 
 
 The minister did not know how these 
 things would be received ; but one day as 
 he sat writing in his study, he heard a 
 slight tap at the door. 
 
 " Come in," said he, and the latch lifted 
 and little May stood before him. 
 
 She loved the good clergyman very 
 much. He had come to take the place of 
 11
 
 162 MAY. 
 
 her own father, whose health would not 
 allow him to preach any more. He held 
 out his hand to her as she came with 
 a glad step to him. 
 
 " Grandpapa wants you. He has asked 
 for you ; please come," she said. 
 
 " Thank God ! he is better then, and 
 understands fully what he is about ! " 
 
 " Oh yes. He sat up for a half-hour this 
 morning, and looks so bright, I think he'll 
 get well now. I am glad for the sick peo- 
 ple ! They love him so." 
 
 " I'll go with you at once, little daugh- 
 ter," said the good man, wiping his pen 
 and getting his hat. 
 
 May was very proud to walk up the 
 street holding his hand ; and not only 
 proud, but happy. She felt the sweetness 
 of the holy influence that must flow from 
 the presence of the truly righteous. 
 The little children every where spoke 
 reverently to him, and every body's face
 
 GRANDPAPA'S SICKNESS. 163 
 
 wore a smile of pleasure, as they received 
 and returned his greeting. 
 
 " That man's as nigh like the Master, as 
 well could be," said Mr. Holwell, looking 
 after him from the door of his smithy 
 with a red-hot iron in his hand. 
 
 Grandpapa's face brightened as the 
 minister entered his room. " I'm glad to 
 see you," he said. 
 
 May staid outside with her grand- 
 mother. She knew that she would be 
 called, if wanted. 
 
 It was the doctor's way to approach a 
 subject at once, after thinking it over until 
 his own mind was settled about it ; and 
 Mr. Parsons knew that the Word of Life, 
 spoken from time to time when the sick 
 man had lain silent, had been doing its 
 work in his soul. He knew this the mo- 
 ment the doctor said, " I have sent for you 
 to ask what I must do to be a Chris- 
 tian?"
 
 164 MAT. 
 
 "'Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and 
 thou shalt be saved,' " said the minister. 
 " This faith implies sorrow for sin and re- 
 pentance of it, and an affectionate accept- 
 ence of Christ as our Saviour and Lord. 
 This is what we must all do, if we would 
 have his favor, and it is the reasonable 
 duty of all." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said the doctor." I have 
 been learning of many preachers, my 
 sick people, my good wife, little May, and 
 the other children. It needed only this last 
 preacher, my illness, to finish the lesson so 
 that I can say it by heart." 
 
 " Are you ready, then, to accept these 
 terms of salvation now ? " 
 
 " Yes ; with God's help I will. Pray for 
 me that I may do it rightly." 
 
 The clergyman knelt and offered a 
 fervent prayer, in which grandpapa joined 
 heartily. When he arose, a sweet calm 
 was apparent on the doctor's face, which
 
 GRANDPAPA'S SICKNESS. 165 
 
 showed the dawn of peace within, that 
 peace of God which passeth all under- 
 standing. 
 
 As soon as he was able to go out, 
 grandpapa showed to the world his new 
 hope by publicly uniting with the church. 
 It was a joyful time not only to him, but 
 to many of the people, who already loved 
 him so much for his kindness to them in 
 sickness, and who felt that he was bound 
 to them by new ties of Christian affection. 
 They felt now, more than ever, how true it 
 was, as the minister had preached, that 
 " the hoary head is a crown of glory, if it 
 be found in the way of righteousness." 
 
 It was a glad day when the doctor was 
 able to go again among his patients. Plow 
 many weary faces were brightened as they 
 saw him once more ! Even the old chaise 
 seemed refreshed as he got into it ; and 
 Roan cut so many antics, that nobody 
 would have supposed him to be the sam
 
 166 MAY. 
 
 dull, old horse, but for the spotted coat that, 
 could not be cast off, and so betrayed him. 
 He whisked his long tail, and pricked up 
 his ears, and whinnied for very gladness ; 
 and he made such leaps over the road that 
 the doctor's round of visits was ended 
 ever so much sooner than usual, and he 
 had time for a long rest in the afternoon, 
 and a game of chess with grandmamma, 
 and a walk to the hill, with May, and a 
 nice, quiet talk.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE WALK TO THE HILL. 
 
 THE hill was a lovely green slope, not 
 far away from the house, steep on 
 one side, and covered with trees all over, 
 and gently declining on the other side, 
 until it reached the water. It was a spot 
 that May loved above all others in the 
 vicinity ; it was so green, and shady, and 
 still. In the .spring-time the scent of violets 
 perfumed the air, and the green grass was 
 thickly studded with the blue flowers. 
 Here and there bright May-pinks greeted 
 the little children as they went in search 
 of wild-flowers ; and from some of the 
 old trees swings were always hanging to 
 invite the little villagers.
 
 168 MAY. 
 
 Grandpapa spread his silk handkerchief 
 on the turf, and sat down with May beside 
 him. He loved his grandchildren with 
 more tenderness, if possible, than he did 
 his own children when they were little. 
 Old people renew their own childhood in 
 their children's children, which accounts 
 for the peculiar pleasure they have in their 
 company. 
 
 Two little boys came up the slope from 
 the water-side. They had been pulling 
 ground-nuts. These are little bits of 
 roots, that have a sweet flavor, and the 
 tops are like narrow, tough, grass-blades. 
 The children liked the nuts very much. 
 The boys had rolled up their trousers to 
 prevent their getting splashed with mud 
 or water. They carried their shoes in their 
 hands, and their stockings were left at 
 home for holiday wear. Their faces were 
 glowing with health and good-humor. 
 
 " How d'ye do, doctor ? " said they, as
 
 THE WALK TO TEE HILL. 169 
 
 they saw who it was that was sitting under 
 the trees. " Have some ? " and they held 
 out the only treasure they had to offer. 
 
 They were much pleased when grand- 
 papa and May helped themselves. It is 
 always the best way to take something of 
 what little children present. It keeps them 
 in the good habit of sharing with others. 
 It is a miserable and selfish way of enjoy- 
 ment to have any good alone. Whatever 
 we get, we must divide with somebody, 
 if we wish to know the very sweetness 
 of it. 
 
 Sammy and James Ash had a smaller 
 handful of ground-nuts, to be sure, but 
 these were as nice again as they ate them 
 in company with the doctor and May. 
 
 " How's that bump ? " asked grandpapa, 
 as Sammy sat down to put on his shoes. 
 " No more climbing young saplings, when 
 mother has forbidden, eh ! " 
 
 Sammy looked up with a bright " No,
 
 170 MAY. 
 
 doctor ; I shall never disobey my father 
 and mother again, if I can help it. I got 
 punished enough that time." 
 
 The doctor lifted Sammy's hair, and 
 showed May a long scar near the temple. 
 
 " I thought that would finish the little 
 fellow," said he. '* ' Twas an ugly gash ; 
 but a good Providence saved him. We 
 all get punished when we do wrong ; but 
 God is very merciful and loving, and often 
 spares us when we deserve the utmost 
 severity." 
 
 " Who's that, over yonder in the skiff ? " 
 asked May. 
 
 There was a narrow inlet from the bay, 
 where the water was smooth and shallow, 
 and a flat-bottomed boat was pulled up 
 partly upon the shore ; but one end was in 
 the water, and as the tide was coming in, 
 it seemed to be gradually getting the skiff 
 afloat. A little child of three years old 
 was on the seat playing with a small oar.
 
 THE WALK TO TEE HILL. 171 
 
 She could not lift it, though she was trying 
 with all her little strength. 
 
 " 'Tis Teeny's baby ; we must go to her," 
 said grandpapa. " I wonder what Teeny 
 means by letting her stray away down 
 here by the water. The little thing will 
 be drowned by and by." 
 
 Teeny was an Irish woman, who lived 
 in a small cottage up the road, and took in 
 washing for her living. She had no 
 wealth but this one baby and her husband, 
 who was off with Tom at the fishing 
 banks. The doctor had a sort of affection 
 for her, as all doctors have for the little 
 creatures that look at them with their first 
 glance in this life. 
 
 " What are you doing here, little one ? " 
 asked he, as he and May reached the 
 spot. 
 
 "Teeny do see papa," said the tiny 
 specimen, with a far-away look over the 
 water.
 
 172 MA 7. 
 
 " Rather a dangerous experiment, going 
 to. Newfoundland in that boat, and with 
 such a crew," said the doctor. " Suppose 
 we change our mind, and go to see 
 mamma ? " 
 
 Teeny did not like to put aside her 
 original plan. She was bent on the long 
 voyage, and all May's and grandpapa's 
 coaxing availed nothing, until the doctor 
 diverted her mind by saying, " I've got 
 something in my pocket for you when we 
 get home. Will you come ? " 
 
 "Yet; me do." 
 
 "Well, get on the old horse," and he 
 held out his cane, which Teeny mounted 
 and rode up the -hill. 
 
 Her mother had just missed her, and 
 was running out of the gate with a most 
 distressed air, when she met the little one 
 astride the silver-headed horse, with the 
 doctor leading the animal, and May walk- 
 ing beside it.
 
 THE WALK TO THE RILL, 173 
 
 " How good you are, doctor ! " said she. 
 
 " It is not very safe to let such a little 
 thing wander down there out of your 
 sight," returned the doctor. " Last week 
 a child was drowned in that place. What- 
 ever you do, Teeny, look well after your 
 child. It is easier to keep her out of 
 danger, and within the boundaries of 
 home, than to bring her back when she 
 has once wandered away." 
 
 Grandpapa spoke gravely. He meant 
 more than appeared on the surface of his 
 words. He knew how difficult a thing it 
 is to retrace one's steps toward that dear 
 Father, and that dear Home whence we 
 all stray like lost sheep, every one wander- 
 ing in his own way. He had been himself 
 a long time and a long distance from this 
 loving Parent and this beautiful Home 
 and now that he had turned his face 
 toward them again, he wanted every 
 body who had not yet gone away to
 
 ' 174 MAY. 
 
 be restrained from going ; especially the 
 little children, who are so near to the 
 Father's heart. 
 
 " You have been very sick, doctor ? " 
 said Teeny, as she received her baby 
 from his hands, and thanked him heartily 
 for his kindness and care. 
 
 " Yes, nigh unto death ; but I am all 
 right now, thank God ! " 
 
 Teeny had never heard the doctor 
 speak so before. She could not see that he 
 was changed in more senses than one. 
 "All right now," meant a great deal to 
 her. She told Mrs. Timmins, her neigh-* 
 bor across the road, after he had gone, 
 that " the doctor was as nigh right before, 
 as could be, a'most, but it was a blessed 
 thing that he was all right now ! " 
 
 " ' All right,' means when we love God 
 above all things, and do whatever we think 
 will please him, isn't it, Grandpapa ? " 
 
 " Yes, daughter."
 
 THE WALK TO THE HILL. 175' 
 
 " And we can please him in little things 
 as well as in great ones ? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Was that the reason why you took 
 care of Teeny's little girl, and led her 
 home to her mother ? " 
 
 " Common humanity would lead one to 
 rescue a little child from danger," said the 
 doctor ; " but there is a gospel rule for all 
 such acts, too." 
 
 " The Golden Rule, you mean ? ' What- 
 soever ye would that men should do unto 
 you, do ye even so unto them.' " 
 
 " That is the rule for you and me," said 
 grandpapa. " It will be a sure help in 
 almost every difficulty. People always 
 know what they would wish for them- 
 selves, and so can never be mistaken in 
 regard to their duty to others." 
 
 " Grandmamma's watching for us," said 
 May. " How bright and happy she looks ! " 
 
 Grandpapa well knew the cause of this.
 
 176 MAT. 
 
 She had not said much about her joy at 
 the great step he had taken. There was 
 no need to say anything. He could read 
 her soul in her face, and that is beautiful 
 eloquence when one speaks to the dearest 
 soul in all the world. It is the sort of elo- 
 quence that we shall have in the other 
 life, I think, when we shall " know even 
 as also we are known." 
 
 THE END.

 
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