B M ISA DbM 
 
FIRESIDE SKETCHES FROM 
 SWEDISH LIFE. 
 
CHRISTMAS FARE. 
 
 Page 33- 
 
fROAA 
 
 EDISH 
 
 IFE 
 
 I son &? \ons 
 
Fireside Sketches 
 
 FROM 
 
 Swedish Life 
 
 BY 
 
 Mrs. WOODS BAKER 
 
 Author of" The Swedish Twins,'' "Pictures of Swedish Life, 
 " The Babes in the Basket," etc. 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS 
 
 Lojidon, Edinburgh, and Ne%u York 
 1896 
 
It 6 / 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 FARFAR PETER, 
 
 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY, 
 
 LIEUTENANT LONG, 
 
 THE "POVER ONTOO," .... 
 
 " SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! " 
 
 9 
 36 
 63 
 76 
 89 
 
FIRESIDE SKETCHES FROM 
 SWEDISH LIFE. 
 
 FAEFAK PETER. 
 
 I. THE OLD " EXCEPTION." 
 
 FARFAR PETER (father's father Peter) lived in 
 a little red cottage on one of the great plains 
 of Sweden. He looked much like a gnarled old oak, 
 still sturdy, but damaged and battered by the storms 
 of many long years. There was, indeed, a bit of oak 
 which was in a way a part of himself ; for it took the 
 place of one leg, from the knee down, and was a solid 
 and tolerably serviceable, if not graceful, member. A 
 falling tree had long; a^o crushed what Peter now 
 called " my buried leg," and of which he made men- 
 tion as respectfully as if a whole volley of shot had 
 been fired over it as a funeral salute. 
 
10 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 " The year I buried my leg " was a date frequently 
 alluded to by Farfar Peter, and naturally, as it was a 
 changing point in his life. Then, when no longer fit 
 for active labour, he had sold his little home, and the 
 bit of land attached to it, to his vigorous son, who 
 moved into the cottage at once, with all his rosy 
 youngsters. Farfar Peter was henceforward to have 
 a right as long as he lived to bed and board and a 
 room to himself in the cottage, with light and fuel 
 provided. So ran the terms of the contract. Farfar 
 Peter was so made a reserve man, a reservation, an 
 exception, as such a person may be called, the Swedish 
 language having a peculiar expression adapted to the 
 peculiar custom. He had exchanged his home for his 
 stipulated provision for life. 
 
 Farfar Peter had a cheerful disposition, and willing, 
 skilful hands. He applied himself now wholly to 
 what had before been his occupation for the long 
 winter evenings. So all sorts of wooden implements 
 and vessels for domestic use were fashioned by his 
 dexterous fingers. 
 
 Around him there generally lay a soft carpet of 
 white shavings, in the midst of which he sat more 
 contented than a king upon his throne. There his 
 grandchildren liked to gather about him, not as in 
 
FARFAR PETER. 11 
 
 the shadow of a great old tree, but rather as they 
 would seek the sunshine on a chilly day. 
 
 Farfar Peter had had, on the whole, a happy time 
 since the burial of his leg, until his son Axel suddenly 
 told the old man one day that he was thinking of 
 emigrating to America. A former neighbour had 
 written to Axel that there was a grand chance for 
 providing for a young family in that part of the New 
 World where he had settled. In a certain seaport 
 town where he had taken up his abode there was a 
 great factory for the making of india-rubber over- 
 shoes, where the men were paid by the day according 
 to the amount and skilful execution of their work. 
 With " Axel's handy way of doing things," the friend 
 was sure he would make money, and in time he 
 might get a place for his sons in the same establish- 
 ment. In short, Axel had evidently made up his 
 mind for the move. " The fact is," he said, " I can't 
 help seeing that the boys are growing up fast, and 
 what chance is there for them here ? " And Axel 
 gave a circular sweep with his long arms that took 
 in a large part of Farfar 's little room, and seemed to 
 comprehend every bit of the wide plain without, if 
 not all Sweden. 
 
 " Of course you would go too, father," said Axel. 
 
12 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 " We could look out for you there as well as here, 
 and better too, likely, from what I hear. I shall sell 
 out, and I think I know a man who will buy ; so my 
 pocket will not be empty for the start." 
 
 Farfar Peter stood up, and leaned with one hand 
 on the rough table before him. " Leave old Sweden ! 
 Leave this cottage ! " he exclaimed vehemently. " Here 
 I was born, and here I hope to die. No, no ! Go 
 where you please, Axel. Here I belong, and here I 
 mean to stay. I can be ' an exception ' for the buyer 
 as I have been for you. Don't think of me ! " 
 
 " But we do think of you, father, and we want you 
 to go too. Stina and I don't like the move, but its 
 for the children. One must think of the children's 
 future, and there is a better chance for them all over 
 there. It's for the children, you see," urged the 
 son. 
 
 " I see ! I see well enough," said the old man ; 
 " but I expect to close my eyes here where I was 
 born. I am not like women, who must have folk 
 round them all the time, as if they were afraid of 
 their own shadows when they are alone. I can get 
 on by myself, never you fear. I've got my home 
 here made sure, so don't let me hear another word 
 about my going over the water. I'm company for 
 
FARFAR PETER. 13 
 
 myself, specially when I whistle, as I do mostly when 
 I'm alone." 
 
 Farfar Peter had accepted the probable change then 
 and there, and would positively hear no more talk 
 upon the subject. The children one and all set up a 
 wail of remonstrance when they heard that Farfar 
 was to be left behind. He looked at them with grim 
 satisfaction in their rebellion, but was unmoved in his 
 purpose. Ity degrees they grew accustomed to hear 
 Farfar talk of the nice time he was to have when 
 they were all off over the water. 
 
 Axel was prompt in action. The purchaser, a young 
 married man, was glad to have such a snug home in 
 which to put his precious wife, and did not think he 
 should find " Farfar Peter " the slightest inconvenience, 
 as he had a good name the country round. The old 
 man should be dealt liberally with. There should be 
 no scrimping with " the exception." 
 
 Axel and his family were soon far away, and Far- 
 far Peter was making his discoveries at home. The 
 young couple he had set down as a pair of cooing 
 fools who could think of nobody but each other. 
 
 The day after their arrival, the husband had boarded 
 up the door that led from Farfar's room to the rest of 
 the cottage. He did not need it, they said, as he had 
 
14 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 his own entrance to use, and they could come in that 
 way, too, when they wanted to see him. It was not 
 often that they availed themselves of that privilege. 
 Farfar's housekeeping did not suit the young wife on 
 her first visit, and she did not repeat it. The husband 
 looked in only to bring the supplies that he was 
 pledged to give to the old man. Abundant supplies 
 they were, and more than up to the contract. It had 
 not been stipulated in the agreement that Farfar 
 Peter's food should be cooked — that had naturally been 
 taken for granted by Axel. Farfar proved quite com- 
 petent to boil a dish of rye porridge or bake a potato, 
 and this came to be the extent of his cooking. With 
 raw ham as a luxury now and then, cheese, hard 
 brown bread, and herring soon made, with milk, his 
 general bill of fare. Perhaps Farfar Peter got 
 dyspeptic in consequence of this uniform diet. He 
 made, in fact, before long some unpleasant discoveries 
 about himself that quite surprised him. He was not 
 such a sunny old fellow as he had supposed. He had 
 only reflected the cheerfulness that had flashed and 
 sparkled from the children that clustered around him. 
 It was plain he had been kept up by his share of the 
 family life and love. He was growing bitter, and had 
 his own dreary reflections. " Love is like money," he 
 
FARFAR PETER. 15 
 
 said to himself ; " it goes down in the family, not 
 back. It goes from the parents to the children, not 
 hack to the old folks. Axel must be off to America 
 for the children, to be sure. Old Farfar could get on 
 very well in Sweden alone." 
 
 Farfar went down in his own estimation. He 
 knew he was getting to be a grumbling old fellow, 
 and he was ashamed of it. When the long autumn 
 evenings came, he shut his teeth firmly in a sort of 
 defiance of the world in general, and especially of the 
 unconscious and happy young couple on the other side 
 of the door. 
 
 When it grew dark at last, at four o'clock in the 
 afternoon, Peter learned to count his day as done then, 
 and to go to bed to keep warm and get rid of his 
 dolorous thoughts. So, as the old man had almost a 
 bear's power of sleeping, he managed to dispose com- 
 fortably, if not profitably, of a large proportion of his 
 lonely hours. 
 
 In dreams he was far back in the sunny past, and 
 was happy. 
 
 II. — NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 Farfar Peter's was not a literary family. A postal 
 card came now and then from America, curtly stating 
 
16 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 that all were well and contented in the new home, and 
 hoping that Farfar was getting on comfortably. 
 
 In point of fact, the emigrants were delighted with 
 their pleasant quarters and their undreamed-of pros- 
 perity. Axel had made a bank-deposit on his arrival 
 of the remains from the sale of his Swedish property, 
 and had at once hired a small house in the suburbs of 
 the town, where he had promptly procured work, as 
 his friend had anticipated. 
 
 There was a little garden about the new home, 
 with narrow, trodden paths here and there, and an 
 old pear-tree in the corner that the children regarded 
 as a kind of sacred treasure. Axel and the boys at 
 once set to work to widen the paths, and cover them 
 with loose sand many inches deep in their Swedish 
 fashion. On Saturday evening the whole family 
 were sure to be out taking turns with the home-made 
 rakes till every bit of path or open ground bore the 
 parallel marks that told that the last week's traces 
 were fairly blotted out, and all made clear and fair to 
 begin anew on the Sabbath morning. The first foot- 
 steps on the path from the doorstep were sure to be 
 those of the whole family on their way to the Swedish 
 chapel, where they would have their own service in 
 their own well-beloved language. 
 
 1547) 
 
FARFAR PETER. 17 
 
 Within the house all was as neat as busy hands 
 could make it. The furniture was new and of the 
 simplest sort ; the old stock at home had been sold 
 with the cottage. Many warnings the children 
 received not to be pressing their faces against the 
 clean window-panes, but the temptation was irre- 
 sistible. 
 
 Accustomed so long to look out on the broad, 
 Swedish plain, with hardly a human habitation in 
 sight, the little family had now opposite neighbours 
 to inspect and to regard with insatiable curiosity. 
 
 Across the wide street there was a house, the 
 match to their own in size and form and surround- 
 ings, but quite different in its whole condition and 
 expression. There Pat and Bridget Malony had their 
 home, with a set of noisy, wide-mouthed, merry 
 children, who seemed to be always in circulation 
 from morning till night. 
 
 Bridget had one established principle for keeping 
 her house " tight and trim." Was a cup broken ? 
 " Throw it out," was the order. For sweepings, 
 apple-parings, old tin pans, old shoes, and indeed all 
 refuse, the command was the same, and sure to be 
 promptly executed. To Bridget's mind all things 
 seemed to disappear into infinite space as soon as 
 
 (547) 2 
 
18 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 they were fairly cast out from window or door. She 
 had no further responsibility in the matter. 
 
 Swinging on the gate and gymnastics on the fence 
 were the favourite pastimes of the Irish boys. If a 
 bar or a " picket " were by chance torn off now and 
 then, it was a joy to jump on it and subdue it to fire- 
 wood to be triumphantly carried to " Mammy " for 
 domestic use. 
 
 It can easily be understood that these doings were 
 not according: to the established code in the Swedish 
 home. There was a general feeling of contempt for 
 " those Irish " in Stina's family — a form of thank- 
 fulness that they were not as their neighbours. 
 There grew up by degrees a kind of animosity 
 between the two households, which showed itself 
 among the Irish flock by open taunts addressed to 
 the neat-looking children who went in and out from 
 the enemy's quarters, as clean and stiff, the tor- 
 mentors said, as if they were choir boys on duty. 
 The Swedes did not understand these contemptuous 
 remarks, but the howls and clenched fists which 
 accompanied them were most intelligible, and induced 
 in the persecuted a glow of righteous indignation. 
 
 There was, at last, a council of war held behind 
 Stina's house, after which the Swedes, who had been 
 
FARFAR PETER. 19 
 
 well trained in gymnastics at school, rushed in a body 
 on the Irish squadrons, and ignominiously defeated 
 them. After having so " conquered a peace," the 
 victorious party affected not even to know that their 
 opposite neighbours were in existence. All the while, 
 however, the window corners were sedulously used 
 as places of observation, and the Swedes were as 
 familiar with " the habits " of their quondam enemies 
 as was ever an enthusiastic naturalist with the 
 wonderful doings of a colony of ants he had taken 
 under his especial protection. 
 
 One morning Stina and Axel were hastily called, 
 and stood with their children boldly at the window 
 to see what could be going on at the Irish home. 
 
 A handsome covered carriage, w T ith a coachman 
 and a pair of fine horses, was standing at the gate 
 over the way. Pat had gone early to his work, with 
 his shovel over his shoulder as usual, but Bridget, in 
 her gay Sunday attire, stepped into the luxurious 
 vehicle, her face all abeam with satisfaction. 
 
 An hour afterwards there was another summons 
 to the window. The carriage had returned, and 
 Bridget was no longer alone. She got out first, and 
 then tenderly helped down a queer, little old man, to 
 whom she gave a strong hug as he set his feet on the 
 
20 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 ground, and then administered to him an emphatic 
 push inside the gate, to intimate that he was welcome 
 to the premises. As he stood at the foot of the steps, 
 the observers could see that he wore a high, tall- 
 crowned hat above his thin, grey hair, and a long 
 coat down to the heels of his slender, unstable figure, 
 and a pair of trousers every way suited to a man of 
 more pretentious proportions. 
 
 A fat little woman, with a blanket-shawl around 
 her, and a dress as short as her husband's coat was 
 long, next planted her feet firmly on American soil. 
 She wore no bonnet. As she threw back her head 
 to be kissed, the broad frill to her close, white cap 
 haloed round her face, and made it look like the sun 
 in the almanac. 
 
 Such a smack as she got from her daughter ! 
 This proceeding was just over, when there was a 
 yell of delight as the whole Irish brood came storm- 
 ing along the street, jubilating in a wonderful fashion. 
 Having taken the opportunity for some predatory 
 expedition during their mother's absence, they were 
 now returning in a body, and fell on the old people 
 with kisses and shouts of " Grandpappy ! " and 
 " Granny ! " that to all English ears told the whole 
 story. 
 
FARFAR PETER. 21 
 
 The story needed no words to explain itself. 
 When the clumsy little old chest, which the coach- 
 man had condescended to put his feet on as he drove, 
 was fairly deposited, Bridget pompously paid the fare, 
 not unwilling that the neighbours should see that 
 more than one solid bit of silver was dropped into 
 the coachman's open hand. 
 
 The transaction was evidently over. Tears stood 
 in Stina's eyes as she went back to her work. Axel 
 kept his mouth shut all da}^ as if he had the tooth- 
 ache, and as for the children, they did not hesitate to 
 say out plainly, " What a pity our Farfar Peter 
 wouldn't come to America with us ! " They felt that 
 the Irish family had now the advantage over them, 
 and it was hard to be beat. " Think ! " they said, 
 "'•' those boys did not even know they had a grand- 
 father too, and he almost twice as big as that little 
 fellow with the high hat ! " 
 
 Other matters soon swept in to take Stina's 
 thoughts. Her oldest boy had been already able 
 to get work in the factory with his father, and 
 with their ingenious Swedish hands, accustomed to 
 making all kinds of implements for home use, they 
 were both soon skilful workmen, and able to earn 
 high wages. The second boy had not yet found any 
 
22 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 permanent employment. He seemed drooping, and 
 finally announced suddenly in the assembled family 
 circle that he wanted to go to sea. There was a 
 look of astonishment and dissatisfaction on the part 
 of the elders, and of respectful admiration from the 
 children for the pluck that Hans was displaying. 
 
 " We'll talk it over with you this evening," said 
 Axel, wishing to gain time to think how to meet 
 this revolutionary outbreak. The family council 
 took place on the door-steps that evening — a council 
 of three, the parents and young Axel — the rest of 
 the children being variously disposed of, according 
 to their respective ages. The result was a general 
 surprise : Hans was to have his way, and to sea he 
 went, when the autumn leaves were falling. 
 
 III. IN THE RED COTTAGE. 
 
 Christmas was coming. Farfar Peter knew it, but 
 there were no signs of preparation in the cottage. 
 No rose-coloured pig was hung on the spike in 
 the trunk of the great ash-tree that overshadowed 
 the humble home. There had been no sound of 
 chopping or pounding or beating of eggs on the other 
 
FARFAR PETER. 23 
 
 side of the wall, and in the air no odours that 
 promised future good cheer. No merry young voices 
 were chatting without and within in the exuberant 
 anticipation of the Christmas joy. 
 
 Farfar Peter shrugged his shoulders, and had most 
 uncomplimentary thoughts of the young husband, 
 who had probably sold " piggie " whole, without 
 leaving so much as a bit of good pork for that slip 
 of a wife of his to busy herself with, like her neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 Christmas Eve came like every other evening to 
 Farfar Peter, in stillness and silence and dimness ; for 
 there was but one little " dip " burning in his small 
 room. Farfar Peter sat in his great rush-bottomed 
 chair, of home manufacture, and let his thoughts run 
 back half drearily over the cheerful past, so strongly 
 contrasted with the doleful present. 
 
 The door was suddenly burst open, and in another 
 moment a strong boy had his arms round Farfar 
 Peter's neck, and his head laid on the old man's 
 shoulder as he cried out hilariously, " Dear Farfar, 
 I had to come to see you ! To think that I should 
 get here just on Christmas Eve ! " And then Hans sat 
 down, and looked very hard at Farfar Peter. 
 
 There was no answering sparkle in the old man's 
 
24 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 eye. His great chest heaved like a ground -swell 
 after a storm at sea, and his mouth was tight closed. 
 He had never been so moved before in all his life. 
 Suddenly a new thought struck him as he looked at 
 the boy's sailor clothes, and he said hurriedl} T , " You 
 haven't run away, Hans ? " 
 
 " No ! " burst from Hans, proudly. " I told father 
 and mother I wanted to go to sea, and they wouldn't 
 hear of it at first ; but when I said that you, Farfar, 
 were at the bottom of it, and that I wanted to work 
 my way across to you, for I couldn't think of your 
 being here all winter alone, with never a boy to do a 
 turn for you, they wheeled right round, and were so 
 glad — you can't think how glad they were. Father 
 kissed me. I don't think he ever kissed me before 
 in his life. And mother, she cried, and pressed her 
 hand on her heart, as if she was afraid it would jump 
 out somehow, but she couldn't say anything just 
 then. They fixed me up and got me off as soon as 
 they could. I liked the sea right well, till we took a 
 storm, and were near going to the bottom. A steamer 
 picked us up, and carried us to England. They were 
 ever so kind to me in the Swedish Sailors' Home in 
 London. I was sick there quite a while, but now I 
 am well, and safe and sound in old Sweden. Have 
 
FARFAR PETER. 25 
 
 you got anything to eat here, Farfar ? " said the hoy, 
 most misentimentally closing his story. 
 
 Farfar Peter pointed to the cupboard, and the 
 amount of bread and cheese consumed that evening, 
 and the amount of talk that accompanied the modest 
 entertainment, could hardly be estimated. 
 
 They both slept charmingly until the early morn- 
 ino\ when there was a sound that made Farfar Peter 
 start up in his bed. " That's a baby, as sure as I'm 
 alive ! " he exclaimed. And a baby it was, to be sure. 
 
 There was a warm gush of pleasure in the old 
 man's heart. It was so long since he had heard a 
 child's voice. Hans was not much moved by the 
 occurrence, but was glad to be waked, for he was 
 impatient to look about everywhere and enjoy the old 
 memories of the past. Some changes there were, 
 which did not quite meet his approbation, for he felt 
 as if he were in his own dear home, which belonged 
 to him as much as ever. He finally put in his head 
 at the cottage door. He did so want to see if all were 
 as it used to be within. What a welcome sight that 
 cheery face was ! The young husband wanted a mes- 
 senger to go after the doctor immediately, for it was 
 plain that his wife was very ill. 
 
 All day there was something for Hans to do. He 
 
26 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 was here and there and everywhere, and it was soon 
 known far and near in the neighbourhood that one of 
 " the boys " had come home to see Farfar Peter, and 
 so Hans was suddenly quite a hero in his way, and 
 there could hardly be a doubt that he would find 
 employment for the winter. 
 
 The baby thrived, but the mother continued ailing 
 and feeble. At last she was pronounced able to sit up 
 once more. There was no seat that was comfortable 
 for her in the cottage. Farfar's own big chair would 
 be just the thing, Hans was sure. He was now quite 
 at home with the neighbours on the other side of the 
 wall. The chair was lent at once, " with all the plea- 
 sure in the world." 
 
 A few days later, Hans came to the old man to ask 
 if he would mind having the door opened between his 
 room and the cottage, as the young mother thought it 
 would be homelike if he would look in upon her now 
 and then. 
 
 He did " look in " through the opened door, and took 
 his seat in his own big chair, which had been placed 
 beside the cheerful fire. The mother had the baby in 
 her arms, and Farfar Peter hung over it with a smile 
 on his great, rough-hewn face, and a blessing upon it 
 in his honest heart. 
 
FARFAR PETER. 27 
 
 " I have thought a great deal about you, Farfar 
 Peter, as I have lain here by myself," said the mother. 
 " I don't feel we have done quite right by you, my 
 husband and I. We almost forgot you were there 
 alone, we were so happy together. Hans has told us 
 all about you and that Irish family over in America, 
 and how he had to come home to see how you were 
 getting on. We haven't done right by you." 
 
 This was the beginning of a cheery time for Farfar 
 Peter. He went in and out at the opened door as 
 much as he pleased, and his great chair kept its place 
 near the warm fire, always ready for him. Hans was 
 such good help, the mother said — the handiest boy 
 she ever saw ; and she couldn't get on without him, 
 and it really seemed best that they should all take 
 their meals together. 
 
 How good the warm food tasted to Farfar Peter, 
 and what a sunny atmosphere there seemed to be sud- 
 denly about him ! Of course, he had to be at the 
 baptism, and be godfather to the boy baby, and to 
 drink — it must be told — some of the strong sweet 
 stuff that was passed round, as if it were an essential 
 part of the ceremony. 
 
 Old Peter and little Peter — for there were now two 
 Peters in the cottage — were very good friends. It 
 
28 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 was even soon confidently affirmed that the wise baby 
 looked contemplatively at the wooden leg, and evi- 
 dently understood that Farfar Peter was not quite 
 like other people. 
 
 " Not like other people ! " That was what every 
 soul in the red cottage thought about Farfar Peter. 
 They honestly believed he was the nicest, the very 
 best man in the world. He, good soul, could not for- 
 get the bitter thoughts he had cherished when he was 
 all alone. He knew very well that he had his faults 
 as well as other people. 
 
 IV. CONCLUSION. 
 
 The Irish family seemed celebrating a spring festival 
 in their own peculiar manner. They were all out 
 round their home as busy as bees in June. Old and 
 young had each a basket or a box or a bag in which 
 to gather most unseemly treasures. The refuse of the 
 yard had evidently been classified, if not according to 
 scientific principles. A special prey had been ap- 
 pointed for special individuals. Such a jolly time as 
 they had with their scavenger work ! Bridget beamed 
 with satisfaction. Those Swedes should see that she 
 
FARFAR PETER. 29 
 
 could have her yard as clean as theirs if she only 
 chose. Faith ! she meant her windows, too, to shine 
 so that it would hurt the neighbours' eyes to stare at 
 them ! 
 
 The sound of wheels brought the busy workers to 
 a standstill. All eyes and mouths were simultane- 
 ously opened wide as a handsome carriage drove up to 
 the door of the Swedes. The glasses were down, and 
 a great, kindly old face looked eagerly out with the 
 curious interest of a stranger. There was a panic in 
 the Irish camp. Stina's counter-manoeuvre was at 
 once understood. " She was not going to let those Irish 
 people beat her in showing respect for one's parents ! " 
 she had said, and they knew it as well as if they had 
 heard her. 
 
 Hans got out first and held the carriage door open, 
 and then Stina, and then the huge old man stood on 
 her side- walk like a crippled but happy giant. 
 
 First Axel laid his hand on Farfar Peter's shoulder, 
 then Farfar Peter bowed his grey head to the son's 
 shoulder. They patted each other on the back, and 
 then they kissed each other, and that part of the cere- 
 mony was over. Then Stina went through with the 
 same process, while the children respectfully waited 
 for their share in the family scene. Then there was 
 
30 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 the bobbing of short courtesies, a bowing and a kiss- 
 ing of the old man's hand, that the Irish family 
 watched all agape and with evidently growing de- 
 pression. The grand opening of the reception being- 
 over, all eyes on Pat's premises were turned towards 
 the carriage to see the next guest. 
 
 The coachman leaned down towards Stina, put out 
 his hand, then closed it again, and promptly drew up 
 the reins and drove off, feeling a little queer at his 
 heart from the scene he had witnessed, and most 
 comfortable as to his pocket, where he had thrust the 
 more than necessary payment from Stina, who had 
 not forgotten the rules for loour-boire in her own 
 country. 
 
 There was a long, triumphant howd from the Irish 
 children, and then a joyous shout, " They haven't got 
 any granny ! " 
 
 The fat, little, white-capped grandmother was 
 suddenly seized by the oldest boy, and then hand 
 joined hand until there was a glad ring of the wild 
 little youngsters who had a granny, and must exult- 
 ingly celebrate their victory. 
 
 Round and round they capered and danced, the 
 old woman being by no means the least active of the 
 party, whether with her own will, or without it, no 
 
FARFAR PETER. 31 
 
 observer could tell, but she evidently felt a joyous 
 pride in the unexpected ovation with which she was 
 so suddenly honoured. 
 
 Yes, Farfar Peter had really come to America to 
 cast in his lot for his last days with his kith and kin 
 in the far, strange land. He had fairly deserted 
 little Peter. The more he had loved that baby, the 
 more he longed to see all his own grandchildren over 
 the sea. Those Irish people had ventured on the 
 voyage, and why should not he, with a strong, know- 
 ing fellow like Hans to help him ? He should still be 
 a Swede and have Sweden in his heart wherever he 
 went, and Sweden would be around him in the home ; 
 for Swedes Axel and his family would always be, he 
 was sure. 
 
 Farfar Peter arrived with money in his pocket. 
 He had sold out. He was no longer " a reserve man," 
 " an exception," but a grandfather who could pay his 
 way in hard cash and have his full right to a warm 
 seat in the chimney corner. A warm place in the 
 heart of his children and children's children he knew 
 he had already. 
 
 Farfar Peter had been sure of his welcome, but to 
 see all the dear faces once more, and hear the children 
 rejoicing about him, almost unmanned him, when he 
 
32 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 remembered how he had sat and grumbled in the red 
 cottage on the other side of the water. 
 
 Farfar Peter did have a Sweden about him, as he 
 expected. There was always pea-soup with bacon on 
 Thursday for dinner, and porridge of some kind for 
 breakfast and supper on any or every day of the 
 week, and the dear old hymns were sung morning 
 and evening by the whole family, as if they were 
 still in the land of Gustavus Adolphus. When 
 Christmas-time came round again, there was an 
 abundance of good cheer in the old fashion. The 
 cod-lish was steeped in lye, then boiled till it looked 
 like a white jelly, and piggie was king for more than 
 a day, and the honoured centre of the culinary 
 operations. 
 
 " Those foolish, thriftless Irish ! A turkey, to be 
 sure, for their worships, and not a bit of baking 
 £oin£ on ! " Stina had exclaimed as she saw a bio- 
 turkey and some shining red apples being carried 
 into the opposite house. Stina could not know that 
 Pat was getting a Christmas present from the lady 
 whose garden he " worked." She was wearing her 
 long crape veil for her own honoured father, and 
 could never see Pat with his little " pappy " beside 
 him, helping a little when there was much to do in 
 
FARFAR PETER. 33 
 
 the garden, without a tear in her eye and a warm 
 feeling in her heart towards the honest Irishman, 
 who had thought it a charming thing to import his 
 poor parents, that he might take care of them in their 
 old aw. 
 
 When Stina had arranged at nightfall the great 
 dish of rice porridge for the Christmas Eve feast, and 
 duly " criss-crossed " it with brown lines of odorous 
 cinnamon, the children asked her why she had two 
 such dishes this year. She gave them no answer, 
 but a little later she sent one of the boys to give her 
 greeting to the old couple over the way, and to say 
 she had thought they might like some real Swedish 
 Christmas fare. There were gingerbread babies, too, 
 for the Irish children ; and wonderful babies they 
 were, all a kind of caricature of the fat little Irish 
 grandmother. 
 
 Stina's messenger was met in the middle of the 
 street by one of the boys from the opposite house, 
 with a steaming pan of potatoes in one hand, and in 
 the other a basket of the very red apples that had 
 kept the turkey company. 
 
 The boys passed each other in silence, as the tacitly- 
 accepted rules of war prescribed. The Swede was 
 admitted. He bowed politely, delivered his message 
 
 (547) 3 
 
34 FARFAR PETER. 
 
 and his good cheer, and disappeared before the aston- 
 ished recipients could rally to return their thanks in 
 suitable form. 
 
 The bare-headed Irish boy came plunging into 
 Stina's room, but suddenly stopped short as he saw 
 the little lighted Christmas tree in the middle of the 
 white-covered festal table, and on each side of the 
 sparkling central ornament two high, branching, 
 home-made candlesticks, twined with gay-coloured, 
 fringed paper clipped by the children's busy hands. 
 The visitor opened his mouth wide, and stood in 
 speechless admiration. At last he managed to put 
 down his burden, bolting out, " Mammy sent 'em ! 
 Grandpappy helped hoe the taters ! " and then ab- 
 sconded with the deep conviction in his heart that 
 " there was no getting ahead of those Swedes." 
 
 When the sun was rising on Christmas morning. 
 the whole Swedish family set out joyously for the 
 early service in the Lutheran Chapel, where there 
 would be prayer and an address in their own dear 
 native tongue. 
 
 On the other side of the street, the Irish family 
 were coming out of the gate, bound on a similar 
 errand, but their goal was their own little church 
 with a golden cross on the spire. 
 
FARFAR PETER eS5 
 
 How it happened, neither family ever knew, but 
 they met in the middle of the street as by common 
 consent. Then and there took place a cordial shaking 
 of hands all round, and then a parting as prompt and 
 silent as the greeting had been. 
 
 So peace and good-will between the opposite neigh- 
 bours beo-an on a Christmas morning. 
 
ZACHAKIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 I. 
 
 ZACHARIAS was schoolmaster, sacristan, and 
 organist in the little parish of Moberg. He 
 vaccinated the children, and was a common referee in 
 all minor matters of law, as well as a kind of god- 
 father general to " stand for a baby " at a pinch in any 
 family whatsoever. 
 
 Zacharias lived in the school-house, where three 
 rooms and a kitchen were, with firewood in abun- 
 dance, a large part of the earthly reward of the 
 teacher. The school-house stood by the church, 
 as was proper where public education is super- 
 intended by the ecclesiastical department and 
 Luther's Catechism is a staple article in the 
 instruction. 
 
 There was not a neighbour within call of the 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 37 
 
 school-house, but it was not a lonely place. On 
 Sunday it was, of course, in the midst of the stir of 
 the coming and going of the worshippers, and on 
 week-days the air was ringing with the glad voices 
 of the children. 
 
 Zacharias was known and addressed by the title of 
 " Klockaren " (the bellman), though with the bells he 
 personally had little to do, excepting that they were 
 his silent companions when he betook himself to the 
 belfry for a few moments of quiet. 
 
 Zacharias liked to call his wife Lotten, instead of 
 Charlotte, and as " Klockaren's Lotten " she was 
 distinctively known in the parish. 
 
 The Christmas vacation had begun. Lotten's five 
 little girls had been uproarious all day ; but they were 
 now in bed, and she was sitting by the kitchen fire- 
 side, awaiting the return of her husband. She 
 beguiled the time by wishing that everybody could 
 have been made grown-up at once, instead of toddling 
 about for years in other people's way. She was not 
 fond of children, like Zacharias. She couldn't think 
 of him as an old bachelor. And how could he have 
 got on without her to see after him ? 
 
 Lotten sat quite still when she heard her husband 
 stamping off the snow from his feet in the little 
 
38 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 storm-house. He soon came in with his overcoat on, 
 and a stiff newspaper parcel in his arms. 
 
 Zacharias had lived so much among children that 
 he was in many things like a child himself, and 
 his wide-open blue eyes beamed with a kind of mild 
 trustfulness and innocent surprise. Now he had a 
 brisk manner that Lotten knew boded no good. She 
 had often said that was " his way " when he expected 
 her to find fault with him, and knew in his heart 
 that he deserved it. 
 
 She did not leave her seat, but began, " Where 
 have you been ? Doing something for somebody, I 
 suppose, as usual." 
 
 " Not exactly," he answered pleasantly ; " but 
 I have got a treasure for us. I've been at an 
 auction." 
 
 " An auction ! " exclaimed Lotten, dropping her 
 knitting ; " the worst place in the world for a man 
 like you. You've bought something ' cheap,' I 
 suppose, that we could well do without." 
 
 " I've been at another kind of auction," answered 
 Zacharias ; " I've been at the poorhouse. There were 
 some of them there to be put out to the lowest bidder. 
 Tailor Fred's father came first. Fred kept quiet. 
 At last Tinker Tobias bid shamefully low, and then 
 
Z AC H ARIAS AND THE BABY. 39 
 
 Fred let the old man go creeping off with Tobias 
 without a word, though he knew as well as I did 
 what kind of a home the poor creature was going to. 
 It made my heart ache to see it ! ; ' 
 
 " Now I am thankful ! " said Lotten. " I was 
 afraid we were to have the old man, and next to 
 nothing to keep him on." 
 
 " I did think about it," said Zacharias ; " I couldn't 
 help it, but I did not see just how we could manage 
 it. I did better. I brought you home a baby. See, 
 here he is ! A fine little fellow ! " And the husband 
 began to fumble at the bundle in his arms. 
 
 " A baby ! " screamed Lotten ; " and I tired of the 
 sight of children ! Our girls are a nice enough lot, to 
 be sure, but then there are the school children, ramp- 
 ing and roaring inside and outside the house ; and the 
 babies to be vaccinated, too, screaming by the half- 
 hour, with their sleeves rolled up to their shoulders ; 
 and all the little trash of the parish you've stood god- 
 father to, coming to ask after ' guffar/ expecting at 
 least to get a cake or a biscuit. And now you are 
 bringing home a baby, to be sure ! " 
 
 " Just hear how it was," said Zacharias patiently. 
 " You know about poor little widow Maria, who 
 strangled herself last week at the poorhouse — the 
 
40 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 doctor said the child hadn't any chance at all, unless it 
 got into good hands." 
 
 "It isn't that baby ?" screamed Lotten ; "and its 
 mother killed herself ! " 
 
 " He said so to me, Lotten," continued Zacharias, as 
 if he had not been interrupted. " Perhaps he minded 
 what luck you had with Langy Han, bringing her up 
 with the bottle, and she now the biggest and strongest 
 of your girls. I didn't bid till old Mia at the mill 
 came offering almost nothing. Then you may be sure 
 I called out less, and ive got him, Lotten. Just look 
 at him. Such a fine little fellow ! " And Zacharias 
 tore off the paper. 
 
 " To bring home a baby in a paper, and risk him 
 out in such a night, too ! The law might take hold of 
 you for it, Zacharias," said Lotten, critically regarding 
 the new-comer, who was still sound asleep. 
 
 " As to the paper, it's the new notion that paper is 
 warming," said Zacharias cheerfully, for he saw he 
 was on the road to victory. " I put two good sheets 
 of newspaper over my shoulders, under my over- 
 coat, to-day to try it. There didn't seem to be enough 
 on the baby, so I pulled down the papers, warm from 
 beino- next to me, and had them snu<x round him in a 
 moment. Never you fear about his taking cold. 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 41 
 
 When I was up among the Lapps, when I was a lad, 
 I've seen them start out with a child not a week old 
 to carry him a twelve-hour journey over the snow to 
 be baptized. They'd be off with him one morning a 
 heathen, and the next they'd be back with him a 
 Christian, safe and sound. They are tough, babies are." 
 
 " Little you know about babies, Zacharias. I mind 
 Hannah and those bottles ; I feel worn out just to 
 think of 'em." 
 
 While Lotten was speaking, Zacharias was looking 
 approvingly at the baby. Its fore-arms were placed 
 across its tiny figure close to each other, and then its 
 whole body was wound about with a long cotton 
 bandage, until it was as stiff as a log of wood. The 
 little stranger had a small, wrinkled face, as if he had 
 seen much care and trouble. His close-fitting, white 
 cap was without border, and of a coarse white shirting. 
 He was not dressed becomingly for his first appearance 
 in his new home. Now, waking from his quiet sleep, 
 he set up a feeble yell, and wonderfully distorted his 
 incipient features. 
 
 " He ouo-ht to have something to eat at once/' said 
 Lotten, the woman strongly asserting itself within her 
 at the sound of the shrill little voice. " Not a bottle 
 in the house that is not crammed full to the top with 
 
42 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 berries. What a pity you are such a temperance man, 
 Zacharias. Now, in my father's house there were 
 always — " 
 
 " Here, you take him," interrupted Zacharias, dex- 
 terously freeing himself from the baby. " I've got a 
 clean little bottle in the schoolroom that I was show- 
 ing the boys experiments with the other day. There's 
 a clean, soft bit of sponge, too. We can stop it in 
 for a cork, and he'll take hold first-rate, I promise 
 you." 
 
 This arrangement was peaceably acceded to. The 
 bottle was rilled with milk and water, its outside 
 cleaned and polished, and then remorselessly thrust 
 into the midst of the porridge that had been kept hot 
 for Zacharias. Now he knew the dance had begun. 
 Hereafter that bottle might at any time be found in 
 the most unexpected places — under his pillow to keep 
 warm, or in his drawer wrapped up in a pair of his 
 best woollen stockings, or thrust into the fresh- water 
 bucket to cool off. He, too, knew something about 
 bringing up babies by hand. 
 
 W T hen the little stranger was at last drawing 
 famously at the sponge, and choking occasionally in 
 the midst of his astonishing success, Zacharias said, 
 after a moment's serious reflection, " I had a little 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 43 
 
 brother once who died. His name was Ernst, but we 
 called him Esse. We'll call the baby Esse." 
 
 "We won't call him after anybody that has died. 
 That's bad luck," said Lotten, impetuously. 
 
 " A notion ! only a foolish notion ! " answered the 
 husband with pleasant decision. " Why, here I am a 
 man, safe and sound, and I was named after the 
 prophet Zacharias, who died more years ago than 
 perhaps the pastor himself can reckon." 
 
 This was an argument Lotten was unable to answer, 
 and she understood that Esse was to be the name of 
 the baby. 
 
 ii. 
 
 A fashionable home has been described as " a place 
 in which to get ready to go somewhere else." This 
 description might well be applied to the parish of 
 Moberg, for it had been regarded by many of its 
 pastors as but the first round of the ladder that was 
 to lead to clerical promotion and ultimate prosperity. 
 
 The parish was poor and the parsonage small. The 
 salary was inconsiderable, not more than two hundred 
 dollars a year, a part of it paid in wood, hay, etc. — in 
 short, as the Swedes say, in natura. The present 
 
44 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 incumbent was a tall, stiff young man, with hair that 
 swept in a black curve across his pale forehead like 
 a raven's wing. His dark eyes had a gloomy, absent 
 expression, as if he had not quite settled for himself 
 all the difficult problems of human life. One thing was 
 clear to him — his worldly position must be bettered ; 
 for he had a betrothed in another parsonage far away, 
 and a home for her and with her was his bright aim 
 for the future. 
 
 The pastor was just now laying a strong founda- 
 tion stone for that home in a sermon he was writing, 
 the best, he was sure, that he had ever penned. It 
 could be preached, of course, to the poor, plain people 
 about him, but should reach the ears of better judges 
 on the first opportunity. In the midst of its closing 
 periods he was half aware that there was an alterca- 
 tion going on in the room adjoining his little study. 
 He heard, he was sure at last, the voice of his house- 
 keeper, so called by common consent, though she was, 
 in fact, maid-of-all-work for him, as she had been for 
 several pastors before him — a trusty, devoted woman, 
 who even toiled in his little garden with her own 
 strong hands. She was, besides, guardian of the 
 pastor's study door, that no one should unnecessarily 
 break in upon him in the heat of composition. Now, 
 
ZACHARTAS AND THE BABY. 45 
 
 however, she admitted a tall, strong child, with the 
 introduction, " Here is Klockaren's Hannah, who 
 must speak to the pastor.'' 
 
 The little girl so presented was left at once to 
 state her own errand. Her plain, practical face wore 
 a serious expression, as if she were sitting in church, 
 and her opened hands hung stiffly down at her side, as 
 if she had taken by command a gymnastic position. 
 She dropped a courtesy, and as the pastor silently 
 looked at her with an abstracted expression, clearly 
 delivered her message : — 
 
 " Far * is out and mor thinks the baby is bad, and 
 it would be best it was baptized at once, if the pastor 
 could make it convenient." 
 
 The pastor looked dreamily at her, and answered, 
 " Yes, child, I'll come as soon as I can." 
 
 Hannah " made her manners " again, and then took 
 herself as quickly out of the house as if she had been 
 followed by the unquiet spirit that dwelt in the large 
 dark eyes that had looked into her own. 
 
 The study again silent, the pastor took up his pen. 
 and wrote and corrected, changed and finally com- 
 pleted what he meant to be a most brilliant close to 
 his sermon. 
 
 * Far, father ; mor, mother. 
 
46 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lotten had laid the sick child on her 
 own bed, over which she had cast a fair, knitted 
 cover. A snow-white towel, of her own weaving, was 
 brought out for the little table that was close at hand, 
 and on it were placed a bowl of water and a fine 
 napkin from the church stores. All things being so 
 ready, she betook herself to the window to watch for 
 the pastor. 
 
 Zacharias had meantime come in, and expressed his 
 approval of Hannah's errand. He sat down on the 
 bed, and looked long and quietly at the little creature 
 who was lying there scarcely seeming to breathe. 
 
 Weary with restless waiting, Lotten turned at last 
 to look at her husband. His face was very solemn, 
 and tears stood in his eyes as he rose up. A bright 
 drop shone on the cheek of the baby, and he tenderly 
 wiped it away. 
 
 " Is he alive, Zacharias ? " asked Lotten in a 
 sudden fright. 
 
 " He's alive ! Yes ! " said Zacharias, and walking 
 towards the window, he stood silently beside her. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, the pastor was to be 
 seen coming rapidly along the road that led to the 
 school-house. Lotten was no longer watching for him. 
 The five little girls, with their small shawls on, and 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 47 
 
 black kerchiefs over their heads, were sitting outside 
 the door, whither they had been banished by their 
 mother. The three older children were close to each 
 other on the upper step, with their clasped hands on 
 their laps, while the two little ones sat below them, 
 crying aloud, and lifting up their voices more de- 
 cidedly as they saw the pastor approaching. The 
 children rose and filed on each side of the steps, 
 courtesying simultaneously as he passed. 
 
 Zacharias and his wife received the pastor with the 
 usual signs of respect, but in silence. Lotten was the 
 first to speak. " He is dead, pastor ! The baby is 
 dead ! " she said impulsively, pointing to where the 
 child lay. 
 
 The bowl had been removed from the white- 
 covered table, and there now rested little Esse, the 
 pure napkin wrapped formally around him. 
 
 " He is really dead," said the pastor, and a heavy 
 shadow settled over his dark features. 
 
 " To think such a thing should have happened in 
 my house ! " said Lotten, sobbing. " Such a dear 
 little baby as he was ; so sweet and patient. We had 
 all got so fond of him in just these few days." And 
 she began to moan again. 
 
 " I can do nothing now. It is all over," said the 
 
48 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 pastor. " I am very sorry," and he gloomily, almost 
 sternly, took his leave. He was not the man to speak 
 out the strong feeling that was surging at his heart. 
 
 There were many red-tape matters to be settled 
 about little Esse. The doctor made out his certificate 
 that the child had died a natural death. He had 
 thought from the first " that baby would hardly pull 
 through." The po-orhouse authorities must see the 
 dead body. Lotten, they said, must be paid a little 
 for her trouble, and the parish must meet the small 
 expenses of the funeral. " I can attend to all that," 
 said Zacharias. " We loved little Esse, and we don't 
 want any money for what concerns him." 
 
 These necessary details being settled, little Esse 
 was removed on the table as he was to the school- 
 room, so often before resounding with happy, childish 
 voices. 
 
 Zacharias betook himself to the belfry. He 
 wanted to be alone. The bell-tower stood outside the 
 little church ; it was a peculiar, independent structure, 
 shaped much like a Chinese mandarin. There 
 Zacharias was sure to be left to himself. The chil- 
 dren were forbidden to intrude upon him, and Lotten 
 had declared that she would never be seen there till 
 the doves were banished. There was hardly foot- 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 49 
 
 room for any one, indeed, for the doves had " found 
 out a place for their nests " on the very floor g^the 
 belfry, and Zacharias now tiptoed around, not to step 
 on a young brood or a pretty cluster of eggs, some 
 mother-bird's treasure. There was no danger of the 
 doves beiiiQ- ousted. Zacharias considered them a 
 kind of church property, their young to be sacrificed 
 occasionally for the good of the sick poor. 
 
 Zacharias did not put his foot on the treadle by 
 which the bells were rung, nor did he lift the oil-cloth 
 curtain that covered the Bible and psalm book that 
 lay on a high shelf. He did not even look at what 
 he called " Big Bingbong," the bell that was rung for 
 ordinary church purposes, or " Little Bingbong," that 
 was solemnly tolled on Saturday evening, or furiously 
 rung for a fire alarm. Zacharias had his special 
 names for the bells, as he had for many other things, 
 but he was not now thinking of them or their names. 
 He went straight to the open window, and looked out 
 towards the golden sky of the winter sunset, as if 
 he saw into the depths of a glory that could not 
 soon pass away. 
 
 AVhen Zacharias came down, he was evidently in a 
 silent mood. He betook himself at once to the school- 
 room, not apparently to see little Esse, though he did 
 
 (547 4 
 
50 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 look tenderly at the still, little form, and even measured 
 it carefully with the rule he always carried in his 
 pocket. Carpentry and the catechism were favourite 
 departments of instruction with Zacharias. A rough 
 bench with tools neatly arranged upon it stood 
 behind the schoolmaster's desk. There he placed 
 a pine log he had brought in in his arms. 
 
 There was soon the sound of steady work in the 
 before silent room, while Zacharias hummed a psalm 
 tune, as he skilfully handled chisel and plane. He 
 was up late that night, and busy every hour that 
 he could spare the next day. There had soon 
 appeared a narrow, oval box, turning over at the top 
 in heavy scrolls at the ends, to be afterwards every- 
 where lightly carved with leafy devices. It was a 
 casket for something precious he was making. He did 
 not consider it exactly a coffin, though on the cover 
 stood " Little Esse " in pretty, raised letters, and on 
 each side of the name was the head of an angel between 
 two wings. They were not likenesses of heavenly 
 visitants, but of his own little " Yeevee," who 
 patiently posed before him as a model. Veevee was 
 her father's favourite, and more like himself in 
 character than were any of the other sisters. Zach- 
 arias called his five little girls, in every-day life, 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 51 
 
 after the pet names given by Swedish children to 
 the fiDgers. though he had modified them a little to 
 suit his purposes. Useful Langy Han represented 
 the thimble-finger, and fair, golden-haired Veevee, as 
 yet merely an ornament to the family, had the dainty 
 little finger to thank for her sobriquet. Akin to the 
 angels her father thought her, and her mother was 
 privately much of the same opinion. 
 
 III. 
 
 There was a shadow over the red school-house by 
 the church, during the days that little Esse was 
 lying cold and white in the school-room. The chil- 
 dren, however, had had their own quiet pleasure in 
 dexterously cutting soft paper into openwork patterns 
 to be laid round, in the hollow of the tiny casket, to 
 circle about the silent baby with a wreath of winter 
 frostwork. The morning for the funeral had come. 
 The little girls were busily strewing a pathway of 
 sprigs of bright spruce from the cottage door to Esse's 
 last resting-place. It was a narrow path, for Zach- 
 arias himself was to carry the pretty casket he 
 had so lovingly made. Later in the day, the 
 
52 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 solemn train left the school -house. Zacharias went 
 first, decorously bearing his light burden. The clergy- 
 man followed. The children were pleased to see that 
 the pastor was wearing his gown and bands as if it 
 were a big funeral. The big bell, too, was tolling 
 out its solemn sound, and to its measured movements 
 the little girls in pairs went stiffly behind their 
 mother, who gently led the weeping Veevee. The 
 poorhouse officials brought up the rear, in a business 
 manner, quite unlike the spirit that pervaded the rest 
 of the procession. 
 
 The churchyard lay like a rolling white ocean, 
 with here and there a half-fallen wooden cross ap- 
 pearing above the snow, like the mark of some vessel 
 shipwrecked near an unkindly shore. One corner of 
 the enclosure was shut off from the rest by a light 
 paling. Here the usually-locked gate was now wide 
 open. Within, the snow lay level and fair, save 
 where one long hillock had been covered by evergreen 
 branches laid lightly over it. This was poor Maria's 
 grave, " without the pale." She had been the first to 
 find a resting-place in that dreaded spot set apart for 
 the last earthly home of the evil-doer. 
 
 The pastor was not surprised that the little path- 
 way marked on the snow led through the churchyard 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 53 
 
 to the open gate. Zacharias had said to him at the 
 house, " Little Esse had nobody that belonged to 
 him among the people there in the graves, so I had 
 a place made for him by his mother. It seemed less 
 lonely-like, too, for both of them. I suppose it was 
 no harm, pastor." The pastor had bowed his head, 
 while a painful cloud swept over his face. He was 
 in no mood for talking. 
 
 The dark group soon stood around the tiny open 
 grave beside the green hillock. The pastor lightly 
 cast the three shovelfuls of earth upon the lowered 
 coffin, and then read in a hushed, hesitating voice 
 the prescribed words : " Dust thou art, and to dust 
 thou shalt return. Jesus Christ our Saviour shall 
 raise thee up at the last day." Here he handed 
 the book hastily to Zacharias, whispering, " You go 
 on. I cannot." 
 
 Zacharias went solemnly through the Lord's prayer 
 and the blessing, as the rubric prescribed for such 
 cases. Then clasping his hands over the closed book, 
 he said in clear, strong tones : ' ( Suffer little children 
 to come unto me, and forbid them not : for of such is 
 the kingdom of heaven. Inasmuch as ye have 
 done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, 
 ye have done it unto me." Then he broke out into 
 
54 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 singing with his beautiful voice a verse from a famil- 
 iar hymn, — 
 
 " Where I lay me down to Bleep, 
 Gentle Jesus watch will keep ! 
 .May I wake to Him adore, 
 Love and praise Him evermore ! '" 
 
 The five little girls joined in with their father at 
 the second line of the stanza, as they were accustomed 
 to do when he sang. At the last two lines, a group 
 of the school children, who had gathered without the 
 churchyard's bounds, came in heartily, as if a choir 
 of angels were singing from afar of the joy in store 
 for little Esse. There was a short, solemn, prayerful 
 silence, and the simple service was concluded. 
 
 Zach arias lingered a few moments to see that Esse's 
 grave was properly fashioned, to rise, covered with 
 green, as if cared for, as he lay beside his dead mother. 
 
 The pastor and the poorhouse officials must ac- 
 cept the invitation to enter the school-house cottage 
 with Lotten. She apologized that she could only 
 give them a cup of coffee that was hot on the fire, 
 as Zacharias, they knew, was opposed to the good 
 old-fashioned way of taking something strong after 
 standing in the cold air in the churchyard. 
 
 The pastor soon took leave stiffly, and strode away 
 towards the parsonage. Veevee, bareheaded, and her 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 55 
 
 light hair floating out behind her, sprang after him. 
 She soon saw she could not overtake him, and 
 called out eagerty, " Pastor ! Pastor ! " He turned 
 and waited for the child. She dropped a humble 
 courtesy, and said earnestly, " I must ask the pastor. 
 Where is our little baby ? — not what we put in the 
 ground. Where is our little Esse ? " 
 
 The pastor looked down at the sweet child-face 
 uplifted questioningly towards him, and hastily 
 answered, " The baby is in heaven with God and 
 the holy angels ! " His heart had spoken out of its 
 abundance, let the head think what it would ! The 
 dark shadow swept away from his face, but the cloud 
 stole over it again before he reached the parsonage. 
 
 Yeevee came running into the cottage with the 
 gladness of a messenger of mercy. She had dimly 
 understood from her mother's moans and lamentations 
 the real cause of her distress. 
 
 " The baby's in heaven ! " the child said joyfully. 
 " In heaven with God and the holy angels ! The 
 pastor said so, and he knows ! " 
 
 The poorhouse officials shrugged their shoulders and 
 went out suddenly with but a hasty, parting bow, 
 while Lotten's face reflected something of the joy in 
 little Veevee's. 
 
56 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 That evening, when Zacharias and his wife were 
 sitting together after the children had ^one to bed, 
 she said to him abruptly, — 
 
 " The more I think of it, the more I am sure the 
 pastor did not mean what he said about Esse. It was 
 just to comfort Veevee. That's plain to me ! He 
 would have told me so, if he could, I'm certain, for he 
 must have known very well what lay on my heart, 
 and it's my belief he felt about the same himself." 
 
 " Lotten," said Zacharias, slowly, " I haven't felt to 
 speak of it before, but / baptized the baby." 
 
 " You baptized the baby ! When ? Where ? " said 
 Lotten in astonishment. 
 
 " When I sat by him on the bed. I saw there was 
 no time to be lost. The water was there, and I knew 
 the good words, and I baptized the baby. His name 
 is Esse." 
 
 " But I was in the room all the time. I didn't see 
 you or hear you," said Lotten doubtfully. 
 
 " You were looking out of the window, Lotten, and I 
 knew it. I didn't feel to talk about it, but I baptized 
 the baby. I went over the holy words in my heart. 
 I didn't speak 'em out. I couldn't see as it was 
 needed. It would be known up there without my 
 talking out, and that baby was baptized." 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 57 
 
 Lotten looked at her husband in speechless admira- 
 tion. She remembered the bright drop on the face of 
 the baby when Zacharias had been leaning over him. 
 It was then ! There had been a baptism in her house, 
 and she had not known it ! Her husband stood up 
 before her in a new light. While she had fretted and 
 watched and worried, " he — he had baptized the baby ! " 
 
 One of what Lotten called her " confirmation 
 chapters," which she had learned while she was 
 " reading " with her old pastor (as one of the " children 
 of the Lord's Supper ") came to her mind : " Sufiereth 
 long and is kind, envieth not, vaunteth not itself, is 
 not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, is not 
 easily provoked, thinketh no evil, seeketh not its own, 
 rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth." 
 Here it seemed to her she had her Zacharias as plainly 
 before her as if he had sat for his picture ! And yet 
 she had set herself up over him and not understood 
 him all these years ! She suddenly felt he was above 
 her, and for the first time she reverenced him. 
 
 Not that Lotten said anything of all this to her 
 husband when she broke silence. On the contrary, 
 she gave him advice as usual. " You ought to tell 
 this to the pastor, Zacharias," she said. " He will be as 
 glad as I am, I am sure, that the baby was baptized." 
 
58 ZACHARLAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 " Esse can't stand in the church books and have a 
 certificate, for there wasn't any witness that knew 
 about it," said Zacharias. " I thought of that, but I 
 was sure it wouldn't matter. He don't need any 
 certificate up there!' 
 
 After a pause he added, " But if you really think I 
 ought to tell the pastor, I will." He looked at his 
 big silver watch, and then said, " It's too late, now, 
 but I'll do it in the morning — if I'm alive," he 
 slowly added. 
 
 It was his usual way of speaking of what he meant 
 to do in the future ; but now Lotten exclaimed, 
 " Don't talk so, Zacharias, as if you might drop off 
 any moment." He seemed to her, in her new view 
 of his character, <: too good to live." 
 
 Zacharias did live till morning, and started as soon 
 as it was proper for the parsonage. His way led him 
 past the churchyard, and a childlike smile of pleasure 
 came over his face as he saw that, after the fresh snow- 
 fall of the night, the graves of Maria and her child lay 
 in shining whiteness. 
 
 Zacharias was received with unusual warmth at the 
 parsonage. The housekeeper said she was right glad 
 to see him, for she was really worried about the 
 pastor. His writing, that he'd been so taken up 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 59 
 
 with, he didn't touch any more. He had been 
 walking, walking a good part of the night. There he 
 was now — she had been watching him through the 
 glass door — not eating a mouthful of his good break- 
 fast, but staring down, as if he were looking into a 
 coffin. Not but what he had been kind to her. He 
 had never been so mild in his way to her before ; that 
 only made her the more worried about him. Zacharias 
 had better go in at once, and not leave the pastor a 
 chance to say he wouldn't see anybody. 
 
 Opening wide the door, the housekeeper said, 
 " Here's ' Klockaren ' to speak to the pastor," and then 
 disappeared as if frightened at her presumption. 
 
 Zacharias bowed ceremoniously. His bow was 
 returned, but the pastor did not rise. Zacharias began 
 at once. " I have come to speak about the baby's 
 baptism." 
 
 The pastor's face grew darker, but Zacharias went 
 on, " I didn't feel to speak of it, even to my wife, till 
 last evening, and she said I'd better tell the pastor at 
 once. / baptized the baby." 
 
 The pastor sprang up from his chair, and took his 
 guest warmly by both hands. 
 
 " I thank you from my heart, Zacharias ! " he said. 
 " You have taken a great load from my mind ! " He 
 
60 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 had never called him Zacharias before. It had always 
 been formally " Klockaren." 
 
 " It was all right, in a way," said Zacharias. " The 
 water was there ready, and I knew the good words, 
 as often as I've heard them, and I baptized little Esse. 
 I didn't feel to speak of it, and I didn't see as it was 
 needed, as he was going where they'd know all about 
 it. Lotten was in the room, but she was looking out 
 of the window with her back to us, so there was no 
 witness. I didn't feel to tell her what I was going to 
 do. It's a serious thing, baptizing is, pastor." 
 
 " It is a more serious thing not to have baptized a 
 baby when it seemed to depend on you. You have 
 taken away from me a load I should have carried all 
 the days of my life ! " 
 
 " It was a slip in the way of duty, pastor," said 
 Zacharias, " and I don't wonder it lay heavy. It 
 seemed to my mind what the church had ordered 
 was important, and I did it. I couldn't quite think 
 it would make any difference to little Esse where he 
 w r as going. Those words, " Suffer little children," are 
 pretty strong. It is not likely either you or I could 
 keep little Esse out of heaven when the door has 
 been set so wide open for the like of him." 
 
 " I thank you more than I can say, Zacharias," 
 
ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 61 
 
 said the pastor, taking the big, honest hands again in 
 his own. Then, changing the subject, he said warmly, 
 " Come, sit down and take a cup of coffee with me. 
 I think my breakfast would taste better if I had 
 your good company. 
 
 Zacharias had had his breakfast, and had besides 
 " something to do for somebody," and " could not stop." 
 
 So the pastor and Zacharias parted to meet often 
 in the future, on a different footing from ever before. 
 Zacharias, quite unknown to himself, became a kind 
 of pastor for the parish as he had been for many 
 of the flock before, and there was a strong bond 
 between them. 
 
 When spring was busy with the birches, and hang- 
 ing the " pussies " on the willows, the pastor obtained 
 the position he had been " seeking," and took his 
 young bride to just such a cozy home as had long 
 flitted before his imagination. 
 
 " I do miss the pastor in many a way," said the 
 housekeeper. " If it wasn't disrespectful, I might 
 say I almost understood his sermons towards the 
 last, and sometimes he seemed to be speaking just to 
 me, which, of course, he wouldn't, standing up there, 
 right in the pulpit." 
 
 When the early summer had strewed the meadows 
 
62 ZACHARIAS AND THE BABY. 
 
 with bright blossoms, Veevee and her sisters liked 
 to stand at the locked gate and try to cover little 
 Esses Grave with flowers. The eascer hands were not 
 skilful at hitting a mark, and many a bunch of 
 buttercups or daisies fell scattering on the larger 
 mound farther on. and lay bright in the grass like 
 friendly stars. So tokens of love reached the mother 
 and child, as they lay there " without the pale." 
 
 A year had gone quickly round for busy Zacharias, 
 when he received a letter from the pastor, saying he 
 had now a son of his own, and had " written " Zach- 
 arias's name among the sponsors. " I know what you 
 think in that matter," wrote the pastor, " and I hope 
 you will remember my boy, too, sometimes when you 
 are up in the belfry alone. And, dear Zacharias," 
 so the letter closed, " I must thank you again from 
 the bottom of my heart, and tell you I could not have 
 had the joy I have now with my own dear baby if 
 you had not baptized little Esse." 
 
LIEUTENANT LONG. 
 
 OUR. lieutenant was a little man, a handsome one, 
 he thought, a perfect Adonis, if he had been 
 but a few inches taller. He enjoyed his buttons. 
 They were to him the stamp upon the coin. They 
 put a special value on the silver so endorsed. If 
 those shining rows could have been longer ! If the 
 breast that bore them could have been broader and 
 higher up in the world ! 
 
 Everybody liked the little lieutenant. He was a 
 warm-hearted, sunny fellow, ready to lend a friendly 
 hand where it was needed, and to laugh at other 
 people's jokes as well as his own. He kept his private 
 sorrow to himself, but sorrow it was, nevertheless, 
 and weighed upon him sometimes like a nightmare. 
 This secret trial grew almost insupportable when the 
 
64 LIEUTENANT LONG. 
 
 lieutenant found his affections fixed on, in his estima- 
 tion, the most charming women. His heart was 
 often in his throat, wanting to speak out, when he 
 was in her presence ; but he did not even dare to ask 
 her to dance, though she smiled benignantly upon 
 him. What a figure they would cut together, to be 
 sure ! She was tall and slight, and as graceful as a 
 young elm stirred by the summer breeze. Her 
 beautifully-formed head sat on her slender neck like 
 a queen on her throne ; majestic, but too noble to be 
 proud or disdainful. How he adored her ! He would 
 have died at her feet, if that could have done either 
 of them any good. The lieutenant knew it would be 
 a useless sacrifice, which would wound her tender 
 heart. 
 
 The lieutenant- kept up his outward cheerfulness 
 as best he could, and continued to be a favourite 
 everywhere, and a chosen guest in town and country. 
 In cottage and castle he was welcome. He liked the 
 castle, though, better than the seaside cottage or the 
 suburban villa. In the noble old mansions he fre- 
 quented he met the adored of his heart, who was ever 
 to him queen on the premises, whatever other aspirants 
 there might be to the throne. 
 
 The lieutenant had been invited to a hospitable 
 
LIEUTENANT LONG. 65 
 
 castle, dating back at least to the time of Gustavus 
 Adolphus. The house, the host, the surroundings 
 were perfect. There would be boating, and riding, 
 and lawn-tennis, and nobody knows what other diver- 
 sions, and, best of all, the " adorable she " would be 
 there. 
 
 The lieutenant arrived as a guest towards the 
 evening of a long summer day. He had a few hours 
 of bliss, and then a cloud of gloom suddenly wrapped 
 him round. He stood on a balcony, gazing out for 
 a moment into the moonlight, to master his struggling, 
 surging emotions. She was looking splendidly, and 
 had smiled so sweetly on him — smiled down upon him, 
 though — and he must quiet the pangs of his old trial, 
 which now seemed so peculiarly hard to bear. As he 
 stood leaning on the balustrade, but unseen from the 
 window, he heard voices near him. He knew at once 
 that one of th© speakers was a certain giant of a 
 young count who liked to linger near the fair one 
 whom the lieutenant would fain appropriate and 
 annex. She doubtless was the listener. Of whom 
 could they be talking ? He could hear the masculine 
 voice saying, " Yes, he is a nice little fellow. If he 
 were only larger, there would be a man of him. He 
 lacks vital power," continued the speaker, growing 
 
 (547) 5 
 
66 LIEUTENANT LONG. 
 
 warm with his subject. " Vital power is the secret of 
 growth. We see it in all nature. Diminish or 
 destroy the vital power, and growth languishes, 
 ceases, and then comes a slow living death, and, 
 finally, the last struggle. If the little lieutenant had 
 more vital power, life would have stretched out before 
 him, a battle-field where he would doubtless have 
 come off a glorious conqueror. But now — " 
 
 The lieutenant heard no more, for the speakers had 
 retired from the window. He could see no one again 
 that evening. He was humiliated, crushed ! 
 
 At last he peeped in at the window. The drawing- 
 room was deserted, the crowd of many guests had 
 streamed out on to the lawn to enjoy the moonlight. 
 He entered stealthily, surprised the host in an arm- 
 chair yawning, murmured something about " fatigue 
 after the journey, slight indisposition," and made his 
 way to his room. 
 
 The house was full, and the little chamber in the 
 tower had been assigned to the lieutenant. He looked 
 about it in bitterness. It had been considered large 
 enough for him ! 
 
 " Kind nature's sweet restorer " soon put an end to 
 his trials. A very short sleep it seemed to him, when 
 he found himself staring at a small luminous circle on 
 
LIEUTENANT LONG. 67 
 
 the wall opposite to him. He could not understand 
 it. It looked like a little round door not larger than 
 the palm of his hand. Temptingly ajar, it seemed to 
 whisper of some strange secret within. He got up 
 and began to examine into the mysterious phenomenon 
 in the clear moonlight of the summer night. There 
 was really a miniature door open, from which came 
 a kind of phosphorescent light. 
 
 The lieutenant had heard that the tower room had 
 lonsr aero been the abode of an old alchemist, of whose 
 " almost discoveries " wonderful stories had been told. 
 He carefully examined the strange little cupboard 
 that glowed with the mysterious light. Several small 
 papers lay there, done up like apothecaries' powders. 
 The first that he took up was labelled, " Vital power, 
 for the promotion of growth. One powder will be all 
 sufficient to make a small man as large as he can 
 desire." 
 
 The lieutenant did not hesitate a moment. He 
 seized the carafe by his bedside, poured out a glass of 
 water, put the tasteless powder in his mouth, washed 
 it down with a single draught, closed the little door, 
 and lay down to sleep, to dream of the glad future 
 and of the human angel whom he adored. 
 
 The morning sun seemed determined to open his 
 
68 LIEUTENANT LONG. 
 
 eyes while he was struggling against surprise. He 
 roused himself and dressed with great rapidity. How 
 astonished he was when he looked at himself in the 
 Psyche-glass in the corner ! What a transformation he 
 had undergone ! In vain he pulled his collar up, he 
 pulled his coat-sleeves down, and twitched at the hem 
 of his pantaloons. His neck, his wrists, and his ankles 
 were ridiculously conspicuous. He had actually grown 
 immensely in a single night. This would never do \ 
 To appear before his adorable looking like a schoolboy 
 in his last year's clothes would surely alienate her for 
 ever. He hastily packed his valise, rang, and announced 
 to the servant that circumstances compelled him to leave 
 the castle at an early hour. He left courteous parting 
 words for the host, and, buoyant with hope, set off for 
 his home, if his bachelor quarters could be so named. 
 
 With such a beginning, what might he not expect ? 
 He would be tall, very tall, before he ventured to 
 speak out the deep wish of his heart. She should 
 look up to him then, as she had smiled down to him 
 before. And what a couple they would be : he, the 
 model of manly strength ; and she — she would be as 
 she always had been, the most perfect of women ! 
 
 Alas I the lieutenant soon found that he was grow- 
 ing like a tropical mushroom. The preparing of his 
 
LIEUTENANT LONG. 69 
 
 perpetually-ordered new suits of clothes kept his 
 tailor in a state of pleased astonishment. His sword 
 had been twice changed, and now a match to the 
 favourite weapon of the redoubtable Charles the 
 Twelfth was hanging at his side like a child's bauble. 
 He was growing as ridiculously tall as he had been 
 small before. His bright visions were fading away, 
 and he was wrapped in a new strange cloud of 
 gloom. What would be the end of this swift process ? 
 It was evident that the dose of vital power had 
 ingrafted upon him the disease of a strange, unnatural 
 growth. 
 
 The sweet vision of a happy home, with his adorable 
 as the presiding deity, was a thing of the past. He 
 had another fate to meet, and he must meet it like 
 a man. He threw up his commission, and retired to 
 private life — a private life of the strictest seclusion. 
 
 Fortunately an independent income had early fallen 
 to the lieutenant's share as an inheritance. The very 
 cost of his long garments might have soon shipwrecked 
 a young officer dependent only on his pay. He had 
 to bow down now when he passed through any 
 ordinary door. It was plain he must build and have 
 a house in accordance with his proportions. He built. 
 A modest dwelling he called it, and the rooms were 
 
70 LIEUTENANT LONG. 
 
 few, but the ceilings were high enough for a banquet- 
 ing hall, and the door was like the gate of a city. 
 The floor of the second story had soon to be removed, 
 and the lieutenant took his view of the outside world 
 from what had been the " upper windows." He would 
 not submit to looking all day at a common bed that 
 suited his dimensions. His bed was like a row-boat, 
 a form he fancied, for he had been a sporting man. 
 Turned upside down by day, supported on stands, it 
 looked like some strange old saurian creeping along 
 the side of the one spacious apartment, reaching to the 
 roof, which was now his habitat. 
 
 By day the lieutenant never went out. He prowled 
 at night like a wild beast, having a special permit 
 from high quarters to have the freedom of the city 
 unquestioned by the police. He crept through arch- 
 ways, and stood in courts, and looked in at the attic 
 windows. Unseen, he saw the poor in their homes. 
 He drew from his deep pockets his full purse, and left 
 money on window-seats, or hung on door handles, 
 addressed to the supposed victims within. He peeped 
 in to see the effects on the objects of his benevolence, 
 and saw rioting and drunkenness when he had hoped 
 to see thrift and innocent joy. He resolved to 
 give magnificently, though anonymously, through the 
 
LIEUTENANT LONG. 71 
 
 Charity Organization Society that would help up the 
 souls and bodies he had helped down. He would 
 devote himself to the rescue of his fellows in danger, 
 and so cheer his own loneliness and be a blessing to 
 mankind. 
 
 The sound of a fire-bell brought Lieutenant Long, 
 as he was now universally called, into the midst of 
 the gathered crowd, indifferent to their scoffings or 
 their amazement. From high windows he lifted down 
 screaming women, as much afraid of him as of the 
 fire. He had his arms sometimes as full of half-clad 
 little children as if he were a big brother carrying off 
 the contents of his sister's baby-house. He revelled 
 in fire and smoke, and tasted some sweetness in the 
 dangers he braved, and the warm gratitude of the 
 astonished mortals he had saved from a dreadful death. 
 He frequented the wharves by night. No careless, 
 half-tipsy passenger, no desperate suicide, could find 
 a watery grave while he was in their vicinity. He 
 simply stepped into the w r ater, took up the drenched 
 victim, and carried him dripping to the police station, 
 where the heroic lieutenant was well known as the 
 universal " life-preserver." 
 
 Lieutenant Long had given orders at the post-office 
 to have no letters delivered to him. He had been 
 
12 LIEUTENANT LONG. 
 
 tormented by correspondents who urged him to put 
 himself into the hands of an impresario, with whom 
 he could travel " quite incognito," and amass a fortune 
 that would make a Croesus seem a poor man, and 
 enable him to settle all socialistic difficulties in his 
 dearly-loved native land. The floor of the lieutenant's 
 apartment had often been strewn with a white shower, 
 as of a sudden snow-fall, as he indignantly minced 
 to bits the letters of such pertinacious meddlers. 
 Now the postman never visited his door. He had no 
 near relations to send him a kindly word, and site — 
 she would never write. To have lost her was the 
 bitterest drop in his bitter cup. 
 
 That inexhaustible vital power was ever pushing 
 him onward and upward. He was forced to com- 
 municate with his fellows by the telephone that was 
 always dangling at his side. He was still chronically 
 hoarse with that long-past shouting to the little people 
 far below him. 
 
 At last, in the midst of the w retched loneliness and 
 depression of its high position, his head received a 
 terrible shock. He bumped his forehead against the 
 moon. She quivered, shook, and flew into atoms ! 
 the balance of nature was destroyed ! Then came an 
 immeasurable whiz, a rush, and a general crash, and 
 
LIEUTENANT LONG. 73 
 
 Lieutenant Long awoke Lieutenant Short in his little 
 bed in the tower room at the castle. It had all been 
 one horrible dream. He was a little man once more. 
 Joy filled him with deep emotion. Thankfulness — 
 real, serious thankfulness — was the overwhelming 
 feeling that pervaded his soul. It had been but a 
 torturing dream. He was not only awake from that 
 dream, but thoroughly awake to see all the blessings 
 which surrounded his earthly path — a competency, 
 an education, health, an honourable position in the 
 army of his dear native land, and the woman of her 
 sex, his peerless fair one, to silently adore, and, 
 perhaps, to speak out to some time, and let her make 
 her own choice in the matter. 
 
 The lieutenant was somewhat pale, somewhat more 
 serious than usual, when he appeared that day among 
 the congenial circle at the castle. The adored met 
 him with a pleasant smile that was to him like the 
 rosy hues of dawn, and seemed to whisper of a possible 
 coming day. What a walk he had with her that 
 morning ! "What a conversation on that seat under 
 the lindens ! 
 
 She had said something about his early disappear- 
 ance the evening before and his pallor when he entered 
 the breakfast-room, with such a sweet, womanly 
 
74. LIEUTENANT LONG. 
 
 interest that he could not help telling her all about 
 his terrible dream and his joy on awaking. 
 
 She looked kindly at him, and said, " I could never 
 have supposed that you would really care about not 
 being taller when you are such a favourite with 
 everybody. And yet I ought to understand something 
 about such feelings. I have been so very sensitive 
 about being so tall. When I was a young girl it was 
 really a mortification to me, and I made myself quite 
 unhappy about it, and could not bear to go anywhere 
 among strangers. Somehow, it came to me later that, 
 after all, I had just the kind of soul-case that had 
 been given to me for a little while, to be soon laid 
 aside, and that it was of trifling consequence whether 
 I was tall or short, if I could only live right and try 
 to make other people happy." 
 
 A sweet blush stole up her fair cheek, and called 
 down the long lashes that sank to meet it. 
 
 " You could make me very happy," said the lieu- 
 tenant impulsively. " Do you mind my being so very 
 small ? Could you ever care for a little man like me, 
 w T ho loves you with his whole heart ? " 
 
 The lieutenant and his adorable did not walk back 
 to the castle arm in arm, but they appeared side by 
 side, and looking so supremely happy that their glad 
 
LIEUTENANT LONG. 75 
 
 faces told the whole story, which had indeed been 
 more than half suspected before. The world might 
 laugh if they pleased, but the lieutenant knew that 
 each was the blessed complement of the other, and 
 that they were to taste the best of earthly joys — a 
 happy married life. 
 
THE "POVER OXTOO; 
 
 THREE small rooms and a kitchen ! " These 
 were all the domain of a middle-aged English 
 lady, who had been served in what she called " dear 
 Hindia " by a score of dark-skinned natives. 
 
 In India her husband had made his fortune. To 
 Sweden he came to increase it ; but the arithmetical 
 process proved a sad kind of reduction, descending 
 instead of ascending, and ended in a discreditable 
 failure. The crash and the crush were domestic as 
 well as financial, and Mrs. Brown soon found herself 
 a penniless widow. Left of the past, she had a brooch 
 of tiger claws heavily set in gold, a small service of 
 India china, and her daughter Aurelia. Aurelia 
 Brown's occupation as a migrating teacher in one of 
 the smallest of Swedish small cities was to her mother 
 a painful daily reminder of her own broken fortunes. 
 That her child should be giving lessons in English to 
 
THE " POVER ONTOO." 77 
 
 stupid children, who ought to know by nature the 
 best language in the world, was too humiliating. 
 
 Aurelia Brown was a tall, pale girl, stiff in person, 
 and so accustomed to self-restraint and self-denial 
 that it had become impossible for her to be natural 
 under any circumstances whatever. Her face, with 
 its regular features, was almost expressionless, and 
 her light-blue eyes told only of patience without hope. 
 
 Free of words, florid in colouring, and hasty in 
 temper, Mrs. Brown had her daughter in as perfect 
 subjection as if she had been a dark-skinned Hindu. 
 
 There was no servant in the Brown establishment. 
 In the kitchen Aurelia had her hours of retirement ; 
 but Mrs. Brown never asked what she did then, and 
 pretended not to know. Once comfortably established 
 on the sofa, with her gouty foot made comfortable, 
 she never moved until she was told that dinner was 
 served in the tiny dining-room. The food prepared 
 for her was always dainty and appetizing. Amelia's 
 lessons seemed to prevent her taking her meals with 
 her mother, for when she announced that a meal was 
 ready, she always had her bonnet on, and seemed in 
 a hurry. Of her private sacrifices and abstemious 
 diet no one had an inkling but the old woman who 
 brought up the wood and made the fires in the prim- 
 
78 THE " POVER ONTOO. " 
 
 itive establishment. That Aurelia should take her 
 meals in the scene of her culinary functions had 
 become accepted as a matter of course. 
 
 One of Aurelia's pupils was an enthusiastic damsel, 
 a certain Froken Flit,* who had become much inter- 
 ested in benevolent enterprises, and had a special 
 philanthropic scheme of her own. She embroidered, 
 painted, and carved diligently, and, finally, had a 
 private bazaar that produced brilliant results. The 
 fund being so established, Froken Flit added liberally 
 to it from her own private purse, and begged faithfully 
 from richer friends whom she had interested in her 
 undertaking. At last she had fairly in order a long, 
 low Swedish house. " Pauvres Honteux " stood in 
 large golden letters on the front of the building, that 
 no one need be ignorant of the purpose to which it 
 was devoted. It was an asylum for ladies who had 
 seen better days, a kind of poverty that appealed 
 particularly to the sympathies of Froken Flit. She 
 had secured three inmates. There was accommodation 
 for a fourth, and for this member of her quartette 
 she was on the sharp lookout. 
 
 At this juncture the small city was one morning 
 stirred by the report of a sad occurrence that occa- 
 
 * Miss Flit. 
 
(( ■n^mn ^^m/^-rv » 
 
 THE POVER ONTOO. 79 
 
 sioned many exclamations of astonishment, regret, 
 and pity. The pity was for " poor Mrs. Brown." 
 
 Wholesale-dealer Johansson was dead ! He had 
 gone off suddenly in an apoplectic fit. The whole 
 town soon knew that he had the day before sold the 
 house where Mrs. Brown had had her apartment for 
 many years free of rent, on the strength of Johansson's 
 friendship for her husband. She had really come to 
 think the whole thing quite natural, and calling as 
 little for gratitude as any other perennial blessing, 
 from any source whatsoever. 
 
 Froken Flit's eyes glowed. Her sensations were 
 by no means altogether painful. Perhaps Mrs. Brown 
 would be the fourth inmate of the " Pauvres Honteux!" 
 She would see her at once, state the thing delicately, 
 and set the poor lady's mind promptly at ease as to 
 her future. 
 
 Froken Flit supposed, of course, that Mrs. Brown 
 could speak Swedish after so long a residence in her 
 adopted country, and possibly she might, if she had 
 chosen to try. As it was, she had shrunk from meet- 
 ing the outer world since her misfortunes, and had 
 had a good excuse for her retirement in her lame 
 foot, and so lived quietly in a kind of England of her 
 own making. When she had intercourse with Swedes 
 
80 THE "POVER ONTOO." 
 
 she carried it on through Aurelia, as an interpreter, 
 such conversations always being, of course, for the 
 mother, philological instructions upon the most 
 modern methods. Mrs. Brown had so far profited by 
 them that she had been known to suggest to Aurelia 
 the most apt translation of a Swedish word, when the 
 weary girl was for the moment puzzled. Yet to 
 really speak Swedish Mrs. Brown never tried. She 
 spoke English, and considered it the fault of her 
 interlocutor if she were not understood. 
 
 Froken Flit found Mrs. Brown alone, and redder 
 than usual, with traces of excitement and emotion in 
 her face. 
 
 " Good morning ! " said Mrs. Brown to the round- 
 faced, cheery-looking young miss who came in upon 
 her in the midst of her painful meditations. 
 
 " Good morning ! " was the reply, in a pleasant 
 voice, with a strong Swedish accent. 
 
 Aurelia's lessons were carried on in the good old- 
 fashioned way. She would have as soon thought of 
 giving out the dislocated parts of a verb piecemeal to 
 her pupils, like the bits of a dissected map, as of 
 setting before her mother broken bits of china, instead 
 of the dear India service. 
 
 Mrs. Brown had taken in at a glance the whole 
 
THE " POVER ONTOO." 81 
 
 faultless attire of the guest, with a rapid valuation of 
 its cost, and courteously waved her to a seat, while 
 she said, " 'Ave the goodness to be seated. Him 
 /^occupied this morning. Should be glad to 'ear your 
 ^errand at once. Hi don't speak Swedish." 
 
 Froken Flit was one of Aurelia's most diligent 
 pupils, and specially skilful in grammatical gymnastics, 
 but now only the list of the parts of the English 
 irregular verbs came into her mind, and she broke 
 out in Swedish, " I can't make myself understood in 
 English. I have thought — I have hoped — it has 
 struck me — unfortunate circumstances — sudden 
 death." It was not easy to say even in her own 
 language what she had intended. Finally in despair 
 she pointed towards the low building, which Mrs. 
 Brown could see where she sat. It was the " Pauvres 
 Honteux," and Mrs. Brown at once understood the 
 visit and its meaning. 
 
 " Hi 'aven't come to that ! " she said, with apparently 
 a dangerous attack of rush of blood to the head. 
 " The Pover Ontoo, Aindeed ! " and her handkerchief 
 went to her eyes. 
 
 The visitor took the hand of the English lady, gave 
 her some gentle, affectionate pats, administered a bath 
 of eau-de-Cologne from the bottle on the table, and 
 
 (547) 6 
 
82 THE u POVER ONTOO." 
 
 finally left her hostess apparently more calm, but 
 plainly not in the mood for further conversation. 
 
 Alas for Aurelia that the " Pover Ontoo " had ever 
 been mentioned ! It was the burden of her mother's 
 continual wail during the days that followed the 
 death of Wholesale-dealer Johansson. The " Pover 
 Ontoo " Aurelia really believed was the only safe 
 harbour her mother could hope for in the stormy 
 times that had come to her. She herself could see no 
 prospect of doing more in the future than she had 
 done in the past. There her mother could be at least 
 comfortable, and well cared for. " And Froken Flit 
 was such a cheery person, her visits would give 
 mamma real pleasure. She could entertain anybody," 
 an art in which Aurelia felt that she was peculiarly 
 deficient. 
 
 The " Pover Ontoo " proved but a chateau en 
 Fspagne as far as Mrs. Brown's personal occupancy 
 was concerned. 
 
 Wholesale -dealer Johansson's funeral obsequies 
 having been pompously celebrated, Mrs. Brown re- 
 ceived a legal paper in which it was fully stated that 
 the house where she lived had truly been sold the 
 day before the death of her husband's friend, but a 
 condition of the sale had been that Mrs. Brown should 
 
THE POVER ONTOO. 83 
 
 " retain rent free during her natural life the apart- 
 ment she now occupied, with every right of a paying 
 tenant." 
 
 In her joy at the announcement Mrs. Brown 
 actually kissed Aurelia, a process very unusual in that 
 establishment. Aurelia actually blushed, and tears 
 filled her eyes, it was so unexpected. She was sud- 
 denly prompted to say, " I should have missed you 
 sadly, dear mamma ! I am so glad you are not going 
 to the Pauvres Honteux, and that we can still live 
 together. I do not see how I could have gotten on 
 without you ! " 
 
 What would have become of Aurelia if her mother 
 had gone to the " Pover Ontoo " had never troubled 
 the mind of Mrs. Brown. A dim vision of her own 
 selfishness forced its way to her heart, and found vent 
 in the words, " Poor Aurelia ! But Him not going 
 to the Pover Ontoo ! That's ka, comfort ! They must 
 'ave h& dull time there. Suppose we 7^ask the poor 
 things to take /^an Aafternoon tea with hus. They'd 
 like hit, Ili'm sure." 
 
 The ladies at the " Pover Ontoo " were duly in- 
 vited to afternoon tea with Mrs. Brown. They came 
 at the time appointed, all three of them, and made 
 their entree according to the established rules of pre- 
 
84 THE " POVER ONTOO." 
 
 cedence among them. The tall fat lady, and the tall 
 thin lady, whose pretensions had been ascertained to 
 be quite on a par, were accounted peers, and they 
 came over the threshold side by side, and moved 
 regularly forward, keeping step as if they were 
 on military drill. They were welcomed in English, 
 Aurelia translating to them as if she were an auto- 
 maton and had no part to play as a daughter of the 
 house. Mrs. Brown waved her hand towards the 
 sofa. The quests stood still a second in front of the 
 seat of honour, then the fat lady settled herself into 
 the right-hand corner, and the tall thin lady, with 
 a slight sniff, contented herself with the more ignoble 
 left. Meanwhile a little, delicately-formed lady, who 
 had entered quite naturally behind them, stood quietly 
 to be welcomed when her proper turn came. She 
 was waved to a small chair adapted to her physical 
 proportions, and took it with a kindly expression 
 almost amounting to a smile. Then began a tire of 
 conversation between the hostess and the sofa ladies. 
 When one finished, the other took up the word, and 
 Aurelia was kept busy translating for the loquacious 
 party. At last some question was added that neither 
 of the military guests could answer, and one of them 
 condescended to say, " Perhaps Maria knows." 
 
THE " POVER ONTOO." 85 
 
 Of course Mrs. Brown addressed the same question 
 to the other stranger in English, Aurelia translating. 
 
 " Maria " answered in the sweetest voice imaginable, 
 and in faultless English. 
 
 Here was a thorough defeat for the military party. 
 Mrs. Brown forgot them entirely, and they would 
 make no reply to Aurelia's poor efforts to entertain 
 them. 
 
 * Maria " and Mrs. Brown were soon in an animated 
 conversation. " Maria " was English, but had lived 
 many years in Sweden, as she had married a Swede. 
 
 All the hard look went out of the face of Mrs. 
 Brown. One could almost see something of her early 
 traditional beauty. Her mouth seemed to grow 
 smaller, and an expression of restful satisfaction had 
 taken the place of the habitual discontent. Aurelia 
 looked on in pleased astonishment. She seemed to 
 realize for the first time what it had been to her 
 mother to be cut off for so many years from free talk 
 with a guest in her own tongue. Kept a prisoner by 
 her lame foot, away from the outer world, with but 
 her silent daughter for her companion, Mrs. Brown 
 had been leading an unnatural life. Not that it all 
 presented itself so clearly to Aurelia, but she felt warm 
 and loving towards her mother, instead of dutiful and 
 
86 THE "POVER ONTOO." 
 
 patient and self-sacrificing. There was a sunny 
 atmosphere in the little room that the sofa ladies 
 could not cloud, and the time seemed to Mrs. Brown 
 to have been all too short when the guests rose to 
 take leave. 
 
 " Maria " had had a fund of pleasant talk on which 
 to draw for the amusement of her hostess, and cheer- 
 fully promised, at the urgent request of Mrs. Brown, 
 to look in often on her countrywoman to chat about 
 " dear England." She did not say that threatening 
 blindness made her unable to use her eyes, and she 
 had therefore always time at her command. 
 
 The exit was made in the same order, and with 
 even more dignity than the entree. 
 
 " Maria " went out last, as if she did not notice 
 there was anybody before her, turning to give Mrs. 
 Brown a friendly smile as she disappeared. 
 
 " That was a visitor Rafter my mind," said Mrs. 
 Brown to Aurelia. "ZZ"it would not 'ave been so bad 
 at the Pover Ontoo, Rafter /mil ! " 
 
 One day Mrs. Brown saw a carriage with outriders 
 standing before the " Pover Ontoo." Of course she 
 watched to see what was going to happen. A gentle- 
 man got out and entered the low house with a quick, 
 eager step. " Maria " met him in the vestibule with 
 
THE u POVER ONTOO." 87 
 
 a fond embrace. When " Maria " made her next call 
 on Mrs. Brown (her calls were frequent now) she did 
 not allude to the circumstance, but Mrs. Brown must 
 have the whole occurrence explained. The visitor 
 was the new English ambassador in Stockholm, who 
 had heard all about " Maria," a beloved cousin of his 
 youth, and had come to ask her to be a member of 
 his family circle, and of the society which he was 
 sure she would adorn ; but she had refused. 
 
 " Hsaid why didn't you go, Maria ? " asked Mrs. 
 Brown in surprise. 
 
 " Why, Eliza," was the reply, " I am so contented 
 at the Pauvres Honteux, I should dread a change. 
 My cousin will do something towards permanently 
 endowing the institution, and then I want to stay. I 
 have seen too much sorrow to want to begin life again 
 in a gay household. I should be sorry, too, to leave 
 you, Eliza. We can be much to each other in this 
 strange land." 
 
 " Hit don't seem like a strange land, now Hi know 
 you," said Mrs. Brown. " i/and ifaurelia is so 
 faltered. She's quite waked /mp. Hi can't say but 
 what she did /^everything for me before, but now 
 Hi really believe she loves me. Hi 'ave found /tout 
 Hi 'ave the very best daughter /an the world. To 
 
88 THE "POVER ONTOO." 
 
 think //all this should have come //about since that 
 dreadful time when Hi thought Hi should 'ave to go 
 to the Pover Ontoo where you live, Maria, hand that 
 Hi should get to calling people as old as we are by 
 their first names, as the Swedes do 1 Well, they do 
 'ave their good ways, hii they can't speak English." 
 
-SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER!" 
 
 THE pastor was out on a parochial visit. He 
 was a portly man, who looked as if he had 
 tasted prosperity, and had found it pleasant. Swedish 
 birches were over his head, and the green meadows 
 of Sweden were about him. 
 
 The two-wheeled gig rolled rapidly along the narrow 
 road, the reins were in skilful hands, and the pastor 
 could give himself up to his own meditations. They 
 seemed to be of a cheerful nature, though his errand 
 was not an agreeable one. 
 
 At the red cottage, whither the pastor was bound, 
 he had been rudely repulsed on his last visit. The 
 surly shoemaker who called the dreary place his home 
 had curtly said, " The only truth I hold to is, Poor 
 folks have a hard time, and rich folks take it easy. 
 I don't need a priest to make me see that." Then the 
 
90 " SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! ;; 
 
 door was opened wide to indicate the best course for 
 an unwelcome guest. 
 
 The shoemaker, having so defined his position, was 
 to be seen thereafter lounging about on Sunday morn- 
 ing in his leathern apron, or sitting on his doorstep 
 working at his trade, while the church bells were 
 ringing. 
 
 The rebellious parishioner had been " severely let 
 alone ; " but now it was reported that his purse was 
 empty, his wife was lying seriously ill, and there was 
 real distress in the crowded home. His friends of 
 " The Society," whose programme was simply, " The 
 ups should be down, and the downs up," had shown no 
 inclination to help him in his difficulties. The pastor 
 had suddenly decided to look into the matter himself. 
 
 The opening of the cottage door into the one room 
 of which its interior consisted made all clear at a 
 glance. The shoemaker sat by a little window, with 
 a row of disabled shoes on the sill. Around him the 
 floor was strewn with bits of leather, and beside him, 
 on his bench, were the parts of the pair of coarse boots 
 which he was busily making. 
 
 A mass of tumbled dark hair lay on a ragged pil- 
 low, and a pale, sharp face peered at the pastor from 
 the poor bed. The thin lower lip took a sudden out- 
 
a 
 
 » }> 
 
 SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER : 91 
 
 ward pout, and then there was a contemptuous drawing 
 up of the pinched nostrils. 
 
 The blunt district doctor stood by the sick woman, 
 trying in vain to make himself heard. A bow-legged 
 baby was toddling about screaming, and four noisy 
 boys were storming around, collecting their books 
 before starting for school. The boys promptly dis- 
 appeared at the sight of the pastor, and then the 
 doctor, looking disapprovingly about him, said to the 
 shoemaker, — 
 
 " There's no hope for her in such a place as this. 
 Good care, good food, and good wine might possibly 
 bring her round." Then with a second bow to the 
 pastor he went out. 
 
 " She might get in at the poorhouse," said the pastor, 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " And die there ! " broke in the shoemaker. " She 
 mio'ht as well die where she is. You seem to have 
 good room up at the parsonage, suppose you take her ! " 
 he added, with an ugly leer. Then he rudely held 
 the door open, and roughly scraped his foot, as a clear 
 intimation that he considered the interview over. 
 The ungentle hint was promptly acted upon. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 At the parsonage there was a stir of eager prepar- 
 
92 "SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! ''' 
 
 ation. Two young guests had been ousted from the 
 pleasant spare-room, and consigned to more narrow 
 quarters. There was a bustle of sweeping and airing 
 and adorning, as if the queen were expected. The 
 clean sheets had home-made lace let in below the hem, 
 and the pillow-cases were in the same style. One bed 
 had been " telescoped together," and now stood like a 
 square frosted cake, shut in by a brown railing, while 
 the other at full length was turned open, just ready 
 for an occupant. The paper window shades were 
 half lowered, and the netted curtains tied back with 
 pretty ribbons. Bright strips of home-made carpeting 
 marked gay paths across the white floor, and on a 
 little table beside the bed lay Bible and psalm book, 
 with cheerful marks peeping out from the gilt 
 edges. 
 
 These preparations were hardly completed when the 
 guest arrived. A light spring wagon had been filled 
 with hay, and there, on a feather bed and wrapped in 
 soft blankets, the shoemaker's wife had had an easy 
 ride to the parsonage. She was gently carried to the 
 pleasant room, and dressed in the clean night-dress 
 and cap that lay ready for her. 
 
 She sank back on the pillows astounded and ex- 
 hausted. She closed her eyes, and scarcely heard when 
 
" SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! '' 93 
 
 a step drew near the bed. A careful hand raised her 
 and bolstered her up, while a tray, most tempting in 
 appearance, was set beside her. She did not fairly 
 look up even when a delicate bit of omelet was put 
 into her mouth. Then came a taste of dainty biscuit, 
 and then a great spoonful of wine that seemed to 
 warm her through in a moment. She peeped under 
 her drooped lashes, and saw a sweet, kind young face 
 bending over her. The patient shut her eyes tight, 
 and let the pleasant play go on, till she was really 
 revived by the strengthening meal, and was quietly 
 lowered from her half-sitting posture. 
 
 What a nice sleep followed ! When the sick woman 
 awoke, she was glad to find herself alone. She looked 
 about her in wondering satisfaction, and could hardly 
 believe she was not in a pleasing dream. 
 
 The door opened, and in came a little rosy-cheeked 
 girl, who " tipped " to the bedside, dropped a courtesy, 
 and put down on the table a beautiful yellow rose, in 
 a vase of shining odass. There was no acknowled^'- 
 ment of the pretty gift, and the little visitor disap- 
 peared, to leave behind her, it seemed, a fragrant 
 silence. 
 
 The eyes of the shoemaker's wife fell on the 
 ornamented sheet, so pure and smooth. On it lay one 
 
94 " SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! '' 
 
 of her thin, brown, not over-clean hands. She hid it 
 hastily under the covering and turned over, to fall into 
 a long and peaceful sleep. 
 
 Of course the doctor had said the patient must 
 keep on with the quinine and turpentine pills, for she 
 had pneumonia ; but it was on her strong constitution 
 and good care that he really founded his hopes for 
 her recovery. 
 
 The white-covered trays that came to her bedside 
 so often with tempting food on pretty china were 
 always to her an agreeable surprise, and she submitted 
 to being fed like a baby, though she knew very well 
 she could have used her own hands if she had dared 
 to show them against the background of sweet clean- 
 ness about her. 
 
 Morning came after a better night than the patient 
 had yet had. Even her cough had grown less trouble- 
 some in the pure air she was breathing. She had 
 enjoyed such a nice breakfast as she could never have 
 imagined, when a tall, slight little girl came in quietly 
 and shyly with a large comb in her hand. " May 
 I fix your hair ? " she asked gently, after a polite 
 courtesy. " I can get up behind you in the bed as 
 I do for mamma when she is sick." 
 
 The patient meekly submitted. She had wondered 
 
" SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! " 95 
 
 how her tangled hair was looking in her present 
 surroundings. How skilfully her poor, thin locks 
 were divided down the middle behind, and combed 
 out by the small, practised hands ! It was really a 
 soothing pleasure to have those light fingers working 
 about the weary head. And how sweet the air grew 
 from the refreshing mixture the little hairdresser had 
 in her pretty bottle ! This part of the toilet completed, 
 the volunteer maid proceeded to prepare some soft 
 water, scented with eau de Cologne, and to bathe 
 unasked the face of the patient, and to smooth the 
 black bands of hair above the pale forehead. 
 
 The shoemaker's wife looked into the shy, sweet 
 face of her little friend, and then ventured to say, 
 " It would be good to get my hands into the water too." 
 
 The bright-flowered bowl was replenished, and most 
 skilfully the brown hands were singly placed in the 
 warm water and tenderly sponged by the small, soft 
 fingers. 
 
 " Do keep on a little longer," whispered the patient, 
 soothed by the gentle bathing. She had other reasons 
 for not wishing the process to be too short. It was 
 over at last, and the poor hands had been wiped with 
 a fluffy towel as carefully as if they had been vases of 
 delicate porcelain. 
 
96 " SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! " 
 
 The sick woman lay and looked with mild satisfac- 
 tion at her wasted, big-knuckled hands as they rested 
 on the white sheet, until she fell into a calm, untroubled 
 sleep. 
 
 The patient woke suddenly. She almost thought 
 she must be in heaven ! There was a sweet sound of 
 organ music, such as she had heard at church in her 
 girlhood. (Had the door been left purposely ajar ?) 
 She could follow the words of a well-known hymn, — 
 
 The name of Jesus, comfort sure ; 
 In all our need a port secure ! 
 Without the storm, without the waves, 
 When Jesus speaks, when Jesus saves." 
 
 The poor sick woman had expected to be " preached 
 to and prayed with " at the parsonage, and had 
 resolved to show how little such things moved her. 
 She had even been determined " to speak her mind " 
 about such old-fashioned notions, if she had strength 
 enough to do it. 
 
 Tears now stood in her eyes. She had to wipe 
 them away more than once before the singing was over. 
 
 After a day or two, the shoemaker himself made 
 his appearance at the parsonage, saying gruffly he 
 supposed he might see his own wife if she were not 
 too stuck-up to speak to him. 
 
"suppose you take her ! ' : 97 
 
 One of the little girls who had come out to meet 
 him showed him politely to the sick-room, opened the 
 door, and left him. Such a paradise as he seemed to 
 Le looking into ! He took off his rough shoes, though 
 he knew he had holes in his stockings. He had seen 
 that there was no one but his wife to notice them. 
 There she lay in the clean bed, with her hair 
 smoothed, and her neatly-bordered cap framing her 
 pale face. 
 
 He stopped and gave her a long look of pleased 
 wonder. His mouth twitched till his bushy beard 
 and mustaches moved like a thicket full of frightened 
 hares. 
 
 " Why, Margit," he exclaimed, " what have they 
 done to you ? You have almost got back your good 
 looks." 
 
 " They've been so kind to me," she said, in a low 
 Voice. 
 
 " And you've stood up for the right, and let them 
 know there was no use trying to convert you, and 
 bring you round to their way of thinking ? " said the 
 shoemaker, trying to feel belligerent. 
 
 " The pastor and the missis have looked in friendly 
 at me, but it's been mostly the young folks that have 
 been about me," she said. " They have nursed me 
 
 (547) 7 
 
98 " SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! " 
 
 day and night, as if I was just as sweet as one of them. 
 I couldn't contrary them when they never said a word 
 of preaching to me. I couldn't begin, you see." 
 
 The shoemaker looked round the pleasant room and 
 took it all in. " And you live here, and they take care 
 of you ? Now I am beat ! You'll do ! I may as well 
 go." And he went out, shuffled on his clumsy shoes, 
 and left the house without speaking to anybody. 
 
 After some weeks, devoted care had done its work, 
 and the shoemaker's wife was o-oino; home. The 
 thought was not altogether agreeable to her, but the 
 time had come and it must be done. At the door of 
 the red cottage she was helped out. The pastor's son 
 had driven her in the little gig. He left her on the 
 doorstep, and the shoemaker took her by the hand. 
 The carriage did linger a moment, for the pastor's son 
 wanted to see what went on within. 
 
 There was a start of joyous surprise. No leather 
 clippings littered the well-scoured floor, now sprinkled 
 with tiny sprigs of spicy juniper. A little room seemed 
 to have been blown out, like a bubble, from where the 
 shoemaker had generally sat at his work, and there 
 were all his belongings, while the rest of the room 
 was the picture of neatness. A big rocking-chair 
 stood by the clean bed, and near it a little table was 
 
" SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! '' 99 
 
 set out, with coffee and a strong luncheon for two. 
 On a big cake of saffron bread, white sugared letters 
 said plainly, " Welcome Home ! " The wheels rolled 
 away, and the shoemaker and his wife were left to 
 themselves, until the children should be brought home 
 by the neighbours, who had kindly cared for them 
 during the absence of their mother. 
 
 The young guests at the parsonage had a vivid 
 description of the happy return to the cottage. They 
 had come to the pastor's to prepare for confirmation. 
 They had now the " Larger Catechism " stamped into 
 their memories, with much information as to the 
 fathers of the church and a clear outline of Bible 
 history. They had learned, too, that a Christian must 
 not only be sound in doctrine and strong in faith, but 
 full of the love that delights to minister to the suffer- 
 mg children of men. It had been a joy to them, out 
 of their abundance, to make the shoemaker's cottage 
 more like a home, and wise heads and willing hands 
 had helped them to do it. 
 
 When Sunday came, the shoemaker and his wife 
 and all their children (even the bow-legged baby) were 
 at church. The father of the family had said, " It is 
 my way of thinking that if the pastor, who has been 
 so kind to us, chooses to stand up there and preach, 
 
100 " SUPPOSE YOU TAKE HER ! ' ; 
 
 we might at least be willing to sit comfortable and 
 hear him, if we do know it won't do us any good." 
 The wife said nothing, but the great Physician knew 
 that she had come to him to be healed. 
 
 [The sketch given above is drawn from real life in 
 a Swedish parsonage.] 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 number of short conversational sections, 
 a great variety of geographical informa- 
 tion, facts of natural history, and per- 
 sonal adventure; intended to bri.ig the 
 world, so full of wonders, to our own 
 firesides. The whole is profusely illus- 
 trated. 
 
 Bible Stories Simply Told. By 
 M. E. Clements, Author of " The 
 Story of the Beacon Fire," etc. 
 Small 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges. 
 With numerous Illustrations. 5s. 
 Cheaper Edition, 3s. 6d. 
 
 In this elegant volume vie have stories 
 from the Old Testament told in simple 
 language for young people. It is divided 
 into three sections : — I. About the Old 
 World. II. The Patriarchs. III. The 
 Kescve from Egypt. 
 
 Natural History for Young- Folks. 
 By Mrs. C. C. Campbell. With 
 56 Illustrations by GrIACOMELLI. 
 
 In elegant binding. Post 8vo, 
 cloth extra, gold and colours. 
 Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 "Evidently the result of years of re- 
 search on the part of the author, Mrs. C. 
 C. Campbell. Her object has been to 
 simplify the more scientific side of the 
 subject, and 'to explain how the different 
 orders of animals, from man, the highest, 
 down to the duck-billed platypus, re- 
 semble one another.' The book is tlwr- 
 oughly entertaining." — Saturday Re- 
 view. 
 Pets and Playfellows ; or, Stories 
 about Cats and Dogs. By Mrs. 
 Surr. With Twenty-four Illus- 
 trations. Small 4to, cloth extra. 
 Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 A rich store of interest and amuse- 
 ment for young people, who will find 
 their knowledge and love of animals in- 
 creased by its perusal. 
 
 The Stories of the Trees. Talks 
 with the Children. By Mrs. W. 
 H. Dyson, Author of "Children's 
 Flowers," "Apples and Oranges," 
 etc. With Illustrations. Post 
 8vo, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 " Well suited, by its pleasant, chatty 
 style, to interest young people." — Satur- 
 day Review. 
 
 Royal Portrait Gallery. With 
 numerous Illustrations. Small 
 4to, cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 In this volume our kings and queens 
 are described with pen and pencil in a 
 way that is sure to delight and instruct 
 young readers. 
 
 Pictures and Stories from English 
 History. With numerous Illus- 
 trations. Small 4to, cloth extra. 
 Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 The stories are told in a lively and 
 attractive style, and cannot fail to create 
 in the young a liking for the study of 
 history. 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS, LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK. 
 
Books for the Little Ones. 
 
 Riddles and Rhymes. With nu- 
 merous Illustrations. Post 8vo, 
 fancy boards, price Is. Cloth 
 extra, price Is. 6d. 
 A queer little book in an elegant dress, 
 With many hard puzzles for you to guess; 
 Droll pictures to laugh at, and quiet 
 
 games too ; 
 With many old Rhymes, and some that 
 are new. 
 
 Favourite Rhymes for the Nur- 
 sery. With numerous Illustra- 
 tions. Post 8vo, fancy boards, 
 price Is. Cloth extra, Is. 6d. 
 
 "As a book for little folks, ' Favoiirite 
 Rhymes for the Nursery' is one of a 
 thousand. We have here a first-rate 
 collection of tlie delightful old children's 
 rhymes.. . .Then the pictures are just the 
 pictures to suit tlxe rhymes, and arc 
 beaidifully printed. This is the book 
 that every parent has long wished for 
 and never could find." — Scotsman. 
 
 Favourite Stories for the 
 Nursery. With numerous Illus- 
 trations. Post 8vo, fancy boards, 
 price Is. Cloth extra, price 
 Is. 6d. 
 
 Favourite Tales for the Nursery. 
 With numerous Illustrations. 
 Post 8vo, cloth extra, price 
 Is. 6d. Fancy boards, price Is. 
 
 The Favourite Book of Fables. 
 
 With numerous Illustrations. 
 Post 8vo, illuminated cover, 
 boards, price Is. Cloth extra, 
 attractive binding, price Is. 6d. 
 
 Favourite Bible Stories for the 
 Young'. With numerous Illus- 
 trations. Post 8vo, illuminated 
 cover, boards, price Is. Cloth 
 extra, attractive binding, price 
 Is. 6d. 
 
 Hymns for Infant Minds, and 
 Original Hymns for Sunday 
 Schools. By ANN and J axe 
 Taylor. With Coloured Frontis- 
 piece. Royal 18mo, cloth. Price 
 Is. 
 
 Jack and Floss at Home and at 
 Sea. A Story for the Young in 
 Words of One Syllable. By Mrs. 
 Arthur G. K. Woodgate. Post 
 8vo, cloth extra. Price Is. 6d. 
 
 The story of Jack and Floss's adven- 
 tures at the seaside, and what they did 
 when they returned home. The simple 
 style in ichich it is written — in words of 
 one syllable — renders it suitable for the 
 very youngest readers. 
 
 Happy Little Children. Their 
 Sayings and Doings. By A. S. L. 
 With 17 Engravings. Foolscap 
 8vo. Price Is. 6d. 
 
 Children's Treasury of Pictures 
 and Stories. Small 4to. Pic- 
 torial Boards. Price Is. [Published 
 annually.] 
 
 Fidl of pictures, and pleasing stories 
 by favourite writers. A pretty present 
 for a child. 
 
 Aunt Martha's Corner Cupboard. 
 A Story for Little Boys and 
 Girls. By M. and E. Kirby. 
 With numerous Engravings. 
 Foolscap 8vo. Price Is. 6d. 
 
 Within the framework of a simple 
 domestic story is comprised an account 
 of the production of tea, coffee, sugar, etc. 
 
 Trots' Letters to her Doll. By 
 
 Mary E. Broomfield, Author 
 of " Daddy Dick," etc. Foolscap 
 8vo, cloth. Price Is. 
 A book for a little girl under eight. 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS, LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK. 
 
U. C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
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