eese Maurice in the woods. Page 101. ALNTY < J AURICE, in th* floods. BT RENA RAY, AUTHOK OF ''TABWHA TODD," (i LITTLK JACKIE," ML PHILADELPHIA: J A. MIES A. 1NIOORE, 1224 SANSOM STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by J. P. SKELL.Y & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE PROVIDING FOB MAURICE 5 CHAPTER II. A PLEASANT DREAM 14 CHAPTER III. GOING TO AUNT POOR'S 25 CHAPTER IV. AUNT Poos AT HOME 34 CHAPTER V. MAUKICE SEES MORE STRANGE THINGS 47 CHAPTER VI. MAURICE is HOMESICK... , 62 iv CONTENTS. CHAPTER VII. PAGE MAURICE LOSES HIS APPETITE 71 CHAPTER VIII. A NIGHT AT AUNT POOR'S ., 86 CHAPTER IX. LOST AND FOUND..., , 96 DAINTY MAURICE. CHAPTEK I. PROVIDING FOR MAURICE. T A AURICE was an only child, never having had a brother J or sister. But he had rela- tives uncles, aunts and cousins, as he thought, without number, who had petted him from his earliest infancy. He was very fond of candy and all kinds of confectionery, as children usually !* 5 6 DAINTY MAURICE. are. He loved raisins, and nuts, and oranges, a taste for which he had always an opportunity of indulging to excess, for every uncle, aunt and cousin that visited at his father's house, brought him a package well filled with various kinds of sweet things. Maurice was very fond, too, of cake, puddings and pies, and every nice dish that could tempt the appetite. So great an epicure did Mau- rice become, that, when he was only ten years old, he would go into the dining-room w r hen the meal was about ready to be served, and, if the fare upon the table, which PROVIDING FOR MAURICE. 7 he scanned with an eager eye, did not happen to please him, he would turn away with angry frowns, and would not taste food until his mother had prepared some nice dish to suit his dainty palate. Sometimes his mother did not like to do this, for she feared her boy would be spoiled by so much indulgence; but he was her only child, and she could not bear to see him moody and sullen, with his handsome face covered with frowns, when such a trifle as a nice dish upon the table would make him plea- sant and smiling. "Poor boy! he has no appe- 8 DAINTY MAURICE. tite," she would say in apology, as she coaxed Maurice to the table with some nice sweetmeats, or jellies, or a large piece of fruit- cake, a supply of which she kept always on hand, in order to have something nice for tea should unexpected visitors chance to drop in. "Good reason the poor boy has no appetite," said Charity, the housemaid who was quite a privileged person one day, when Mrs. Marvin had left the dinner-table, and was breaking some eggs to make a hasty pudding for her son. "If the poor boy wasn't pampered so, PROVIDING FOR MAURICE. 9 and would only let his jaws rest awhile, he would have as good an appetite as I have, and eat everything with as good a relish as I do, and grow as fat and as healthy not as I am, for I am lean enough but as fat and as healthy as little Christian Klien." "Why, Charity, how can you talk so?" rejoined Mrs. Marvin, a little resentfully, as she hung a kettle of milk over the fire. "You know very well that my slender, fragile, delicate Maurice would never look like that sturdy little German boy, with cheeks as red as a blood-beet, and a 10 DAINTY MAURICE. face as full and round as the inoon." " I know if Maurice had been brought up as Christian Klien has he would have red cheeks, and a full face, too," returned Charity, firmly, as she poured some wine into the cream-sauce, which she was preparing for the pudding that Mrs. Marvin was engaged in making. "Maurice was never intended for such a whipstock of a pimping boy ; he looks too fair and slender for a girl, and it's nothing in the world that's made him so but being fed on candy and pam- pered to death ever since he was PROVIDING FOR MAURICE. 11 born, and it'll be the death of him, indeed it will, in the end. Now I can just tell you what I'd do, Mrs. Marvin; I'd throw that pudding and this cream-sauce to the pigs, sooner than I'd let that boy have a bit of it. I'd commence this very day, and make him eat what the rest do or let him go without his dinner just as he pleases. And by-and-by I guess he'd come to his appetite." "But he don't like a boiled dinner, he never did ; there's cab- bage, he never could bear," said Mrs. Marvin, apologetically. "There's good reason he don't like a boiled dinner," rejoined 12 DAINTY MAURICE. Charity expressively, as she started to take the creain-sauce into the dining-room. " Stop a moment, Charity," called Mrs. Marvin, taking the pudding from the kettle. "You haven't flavored that sauce, have you ?" "The wine has flavored it enough, I should think ;" returned Charity, without turning around. "Bring it here, Charity, and I'll turn a little vanilla into it ; Mau- rice is so fond of vanilla," said Mrs. Marvin, setting down the pudding dish ; and getting a vial she turned a small portion of its contents into the cream. " Here, stir it well," she continued, " and PROVIDING FOR MAURICE. 13 take this pudding too, and I'll get some biscuit and dried beef, and a little jelly ; poor boy, it won't do for him to go without his dinner." " I guess the poor boy would go without his dinner if I could have my way," muttered Charity to her- self, with a decided turn of her head ; as she took the pudding and cream-sauce into the dining-room, where Mr. Marvin sat eating and Maurice sat waiting for his dinner. 14 DAINTY MA URICE. CHAPTER II. A PLEASANT DREAM. jjjSrAUBICI was not only very j dainty respecting his food, ~*J but he was very dainty also regarding the manner in which it was served. He liked to see a table spread with china, cut glass, and silver, and appeared always to enjoy his meals better when re- ceived from articles of this descrip- tion. He had a very refined taste, his mother said, so much so, that he disdained common earthenware, A PLEASANT DREAM. 15 and sooner than eat with a pewter spoon he would leave the daintiest dish untouched. This taste had been instilled into his mind in early childhood, having then had a silver cup and spoon and fork for his own use, and it is not strange that it increased with years, especially as it was en- couraged instead of corrected by his parents and numerous relatives. Sometimes Charity, who had lived in the family for many years, would exclaim against the injudicious in- dulgence observed toward Maurice, and Mrs. Marvin would resolve to bring him under a little better discipline. But he was an only 16 DAINTY MAURICE. child; he was sensitive, nervous, and delicate, and her good resolu- tions regarding him were seldom, if ever, put into practice. After Maurice had partaken of the dainty repast which his mother had prepared for him, he threw himself down upon the sofa, as he usually did after dinner, and fell asleep. While he slept he dreamed so pleasantly about an aged rela- tive, an aunt of his mother's, that when he awoke he felt a strong desire to go and see her. His aunt, Mrs. Poor by name, was a very pleasant old lady, but plain spoken and old-fashioned. She lived onlv a few miles distant from A PLEASANT DREAM. 17 Mr. Marvin's, but she seldom came to see them, for she kept no carriage, and she could not walk so far, and they went quite as seldom to see her, but not for the same reasons. Mr. Mar- vin kept a carriage and horses and driver, but old Aunt Poor was not only poor by name, but poor in this world's goods, and her little, quiet home and plain manner of living presented, as is usually the case, but few at- tractions for her more wealthy friends. Maurice had never been to visit his Aunt Poor, and he had not seen her in a long time. 2* 18 DAINTY MAURICE. The only remembrance lie had of her was that she came once to see them, and brought him quite a number of nice little cakes of maple sugar, and some colored eggs, with which he was greatly pleased. He had scarcely thought of the pleasant little gift, however, since the day he re- ceived it from his aunt's hands. But while he lay asleep upon the sofa he dreamed of it. He saw, very plainly, the small splint basket, gaily checked with red and blue, and filled with little scolloped cakes, among which were lying several highly colored eggs one bright red, one yellow, A PLEASANT DREAM. 19 one purple, and one covered with gay flowers. The dream was pleasant to him. The sensations which he experienced at the time of receiving the basket and its contents were all revived, and he sprang up from the sofa as soon as he awoke, crying out, " Mother, I am going right away to see Aunt Poor." Mrs. Marvin looked quickly up from the book she was reading and fixed her eyes inquiringly upon Maurice, as if she thought he could not be awake. " I am going to see Aunt Poor, I say," he repeated, with greater emphasis. 20 DAINTY MAURICE. "Going to see Aunt Poor!" rejoined Mrs. Marvin, greatly as- tonished. "What could have put that into your head, Maurice ?" "Why, I dreamed of her just now, and that made me want to go and see her." "Dreamed of her!" reiterated Mrs. Marvin, quite mystified, not having thought of her aunt for many a day, and supposing that Maurice scarcely knew of her existence. " Yes, I dreamed of her, and a pleasant dream it was, too," returned Maurice, his eyes bright- ening. " Don't you remember, mother, Aunt Poor came to see A PLEASANT DREAM. 21 us once oh, a great while ago and brought me a handsome little basket filled with nice little cakes of maple sugar, and some pretty colored eggs." " 0, yes, I do remember it now," replied Mrs. Marvin, after a moment's reflection, "but I never should have thought of it again. So, upon the strength of your dreaming of these things, you have taken a notion to go and see Aunt Poor, have you? But you won't find maple sugar and colored eggs there now, it is out of the season; you must wait till next spring, Maurice." " 0, but I want to go to-day !" 22 DAINTY MAURICE. he exclaimed, earnestly. " I don't expect to find maple sugar and colored eggs, but I guess I'll find something else that's plea- sant." "I don't know about that; I am rather inclined to think that you wouldn't find anything that you would call pleasant, Maurice," replied Mrs. Marvin, doubtfully, feeling that her dainty son would not find anything in or around Aunt Poor's humble abode to please his fastidious taste. "But if you want to go and see Aunt Poor this afternoon, you had better run right away and tell Zeke to harness the A PLEASANT DREAM. 23 horse, so you can get back before dark." " 0, but, mother, I am not coming back to-day. I am going to make Aunt Poor a visit. I shall stay till to-morrow night certainly;" for Maurice felt, from the dream, with which he was so delighted, that he would find many pleasant things at his aunt's, and would enjoy his visit very much. "Very well; you can stay as long as you choose," said Mrs. Marvin, thinking that he would not choose to stay long, but would be quite ready to return home with Zeke. Maurice did not stop 24 DAINTY MAURICE. to say anything more, but ran out in great haste and ordered Zeke to harness the horse as quickly as possible. G OING TO A VNT PO OR ' 25 CHAPTER III. GOING TO AUNT POOR'S. HILE Maurice stood in the yard watching Zeke, as he harnessed the horse, and calling to him every now and then to make haste, Charity, who was sweeping off the walk which led to the door, asked where he was going that he was so impatient to get started. "I am going to Aunt Poor's to make a visit, a good long visit. I intend to stay till to-morrow," 3 26 VANITY MAURICE. replied Maurice-, manifesting more interest than usual when prepar- ing to go to see some friend. "Ah !" exclaimed Charity, stop- ping her work and resting both hands upon the broom, for she felt as much surprised as Mrs. Marvin had done. "Yes, I am going to Aunt Poor's," repeated Maurice, with great emphasis, and with as ex- ulting an air as if he were go- ing to some extraordinary place. "Don't you think I will have a nice time, Charity?" "I think / would have a nice time," replied Charity, feeling that she would enjoy a visit G OING TO A UNT POOR'S. 27 far better than Maurice would. " I spent a week with your Aunt Poor once, and I would gladly have stayed a week longer; but I guess an hour will be as long as you will stay, Maurice." "I guess it won't," replied Maurice, tartly; "I guess you won't see me back before to- morrow night. If you do, I'll give you my silver cup." " I hope you won't forget that," replied Charity, pointedly. "If you do, I shall not." "No, I won't forget it," cried out Maurice, as he sprang into the carriage; "if I am back before to- morrow night the cup is yours." 28 DAINTY MAURICE. " Ha, ha ! you'll lose your cup !" exclaimed Zeke, cracking his whip. " You'll be back to-night, Til bet a dollar." "I'll bet a dollar I won't," rejoined Maurice, quite spiritedly. " Take care you'll lose your dollar, too," said Zeke with a knowing turn of his head. " Charity and I will be the richer for your visit to-day, Maurice." "I guess you won't," replied Maurice, confidently. " I'll be the richer, and you'll be the poorer, for you'll lose your dollar." " I'll add another dollar to it if I do," returned Zeke, laughing, for he felt quito sure that dainty G OING TO A UNT POOR'S. 29 Maurice would not pass even an hour under old Mrs. Poor's humble roof. "I'll bet you ten dollars that I'll stay at Aunt Poor's till to- morrow night," cried out Maurice, in an excited tone, his cheek flush- ing. "We'll see who's right before to-morrow night," said Zeke, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Yes, we will see!" returned Maurice, so vexed that he would not open his lips again for some time, but sat with them tightly sealed, unmindful of Zeke's merry remarks. " But by and by the warm sun- 3* 30 DAINTY MAURICE. shine and fresh air had such a pleasant influence over his spirits, that ere he was aware he began to talk, and while they were driving through a thick woods he was so interested in watching the squirrels that went scampering over the ground and up the trees, that he quite forgot whither he was going. As the carriage drove up before a small humble looking dwelling, situated near the highway, a mile or so beyond the wood, Maurice cried out, "Why, what are you stopping here for, Zeke ?" "For you to get out," replied Zeke, laconically. " For me to get out !" returned G OING TO A UNT PO OR ' 8. 31 Maurice, almost angrily. "Why do you suppose I want to get out here?" " To see your Aunt Poor." "My Aunt Poor doesn't live here!" exclaimed Maurice, his heart sinking. "Yes, your Aunt Poor lives here," replied Zeke, emphatically. "Well, I shan't get out, that's the amount of it ; I am not going into that dismal looking place," said Maurice decidedly, his whole face expressing the utmost dis- gust. " Ha, ha, ha ! just as I thought ; ha, ha, ha! you've lost your cup and dollar !" cried out Zeke merrily, 82 DAINTT MAURICE. which so irritated Maurice that he replied quickly, " No I havn't lost my cup and dollar. I shall stay here till to- morrow night, just as I calculated to, and don't you come for me a moment sooner; if you do, you'll go back without me, that's all." "I'll do just as you say," re- sponded Zeke, with a merry twinkle of his eye, for he knew that Maurice by staying that length of time, would bring a greater punishment upon himself than he had ever before endured. "Well, I say, turn around right away and don't show yourself here again till to-morrow night," said GOING TO AUNT POOR'S. 33 Maurice authoritatively, springing from the carriage. " Guess you'd better go in first and sit a spell, and see how you like it before I turn around, hadn't you?" replied Zeke significantly, with a shrug of his shoulders. " No, that I shan't ; so off with you !" cried out Maurice sharply, becoming more and more irritated by Zeke's words and manner. Zeke said no more, but turning directly around cracked his whip and drove rapidly away. 34 DAINTY MAURICE. CHAPTER IV. AUNT POOR AT HOME. OR a moment Maurice stood and cast a quick searching glance around him. The house and its surroundings was far from being attractive. He was greatly disappointed in the resi- dence of his Aunt Poor. He had not expected to find a palace; indeed he had not thought much about it, but he had an undefined feeling or impression that he would find something in some way A UNT POOR AT HOME. 35 or other that would be very pleasant. He looked at the house, it was low, long, and dingy. The paint, which was yellow, had been all or nearly all worn off; a door, which had once been stained a reddish brown, was in the centre with two windows on each side of it. Near the house was a shed under which some wood was piled, some sheep were lying, and some hens were burrowing. Just over the way was a barn, almost black from the effects of time and weather, around which some cattle were gathered. A horse or two looked sleepily over the fence, and several cows of an uncertain color 36 DAINTY MAURICE. stood with their eyes half shut lazily chewing their cuds. A number of pigs, large and small, were rooting and squealing, and a couple of guinea hens crying with varying tone, "buckwheat, buck- wheat, buckwheat!" while a turkey or so gobbled away very perseveringly. With these no very pleasant sounds were blended the noisy cackle of hens, the crowing of cocks, and the clatter of some machinery within the barn. " dear me ! what shall I do," groaned Maurice, his heart sinking within his breast. He turned from contemplating the house and shed and barn, and looked this A UNT POOR AT HOME. 3 7 way and that, in hopes of seeing something pleasant, but nothing met his view, only fields and hills and woods, all of which seemed to him exceedingly dismal. Kot a house was to be seen in any direc- tion, nor a man, woman, or child. Maurice never had been in so lonely a place before, and such a feeling of desolation came over him that he was just beginning to cry, when a large dog came out of the barn and ran towards him barking furiously. "Get out! get out!" screamed Maurice, throwing up his arms and flourishing his hat. "Get out! get out!" he continued to cry 38 I>A INTT MA URICE. in great affright as the dog drew near. At this moment the door opened, and a voice, called out, "La me! the dog won't hurt you. He, he, I didn't know what the rumpus was all about Shame on ye, Tiger, to skeer the poor boy so." At this rebuke the dog dropped his tail and slank away, and Maurice recovering a little from his fright, said, as he wiped the perspiration which had started like rain from his forehead, " The odious beast ought to be killed. You might well call him Tiger, for he is as fierce as one. I should have been torn all to AUNT POOR AT HOME. 39 pieces if you had not come out just as you did, ma'am." MVhy, la me, child, the dog wouldn't a tech'd you, for all his ugly name, no more 'n if he'd been a lamb. He kinder ain't use to seein' strangers much, an' that's why he makes sich a fuss a barkin' at 'em. I'm real sorry, I be, that he skeer'd you so; but come in child, an' old Aunt Poor '11 try and make up for the dog's bad manners ; come in," and room was made in the door for Maurice to enter. " Thank you, ma'am, I will, for I have come purposely to visit Aunt Poor," replied Maurice. 40 DAINTY MAURICE. "Now that's real kind on you. But whose boy might ye be?" inquired the old lady with a scru- tinizing glance. " My name is Maurice Marvin I am Lawyer Marvin's son," re- plied Maurice, drawing himself proudly up. "Is my aunt, Mrs. Poor, at home, ma'am?" "Bless yer heart, child, I'm Aunt Poor, an' nobody else, an' I's 'maziiV glad, 'at I be, to see Earner's son. I was a talkin' on'y t'other day, 'bout David an' Earner an' the little boy, an' I felt 'at I mus' try an' get to see 'em once more. It's a long spell since I was there, an' you've A UNT POOR AT HOME. 41 grow'd 'mazin'ly. 'Spose now you don't 'member the leetle cakes o' sugar an' the party eggs I fetch'd you. Tain't no ways likely you do, it's such a long spell ago, but you was dreffle tickled with 'em, though ; an' mebby you hain't forgot 'em yet, it's 'sprisin' how long children '11 'member things. I know when I wan't more 'n three or four years old, my granny came, one day, from a long way off, an' fetch'd me some jes sich leetle cakes o' sugar and party eggs as I fetch'd you, an' I was jes 's tickled 's you was, Morris. I never forgot it to this day, for all it's nigh upon seventy years 4* 42 DAINTY MAURICE. ago ; an' mebby you hain't forgot it nuther, I mean them I fetch'd you, hev you, Morris ?" Maurice looked up at the speaker in astonishment. Could this ignorant old woman, with thin gray hair and face crossed and recrossed with wrinkles, be his Aunt Poor ? It could not be possible. He would not acknow- ledge her as a relative, and he was about turning disdainfully away, without answering her ques- tion, when he remembered how far he was from home, and he said, "Yes, ma'am, I remember it quite well." "Well, now, you don't say so!" A UNT POOR AT HOME. 43 cried out the old lady greatly delighted. "La me, who'd a thought you'd kept it in mind sich a long spell. But it's jes like Harner, your mother; she alays 'niember'd everything from the time she was a leetle thing, an' it's no ways 'sprisin', cause it's kinder natral to the family to keep things in mind. There was Earner's mother, my sister that was, never forgot nothin', nor I nuther. But, la me, here I'm keepin 7 on ye a standin' out o' door when you mus' be drefful tired, seem' as how you've took sich a long walk. But mebby now you didn't walk all o' the 44 DAINTY MA UR ICE. way; praps you got a chance o' ridin' a piece with some teem a coniin' this way; didn't you, Morris ?" " I came with our carriage," re- plied Maurice, haughtily. "Zeke, our coachman, drove me over." At this, Aunt Poor stepped from the door and looked about to see the carriage. " Zeke has gone back with the carriage," said Maurice, under- standing the look and anticipating the question. "I have come to stay with you till to-morrow night," he added with a heavy heart. " I want to know !" exclaimed A UNT POOR AT HOME. 45 the old lady, greatly pleased. "Well, now, that's kind o' ye, Morris, to come an' see your old aunt, an' stay a spell with her, an' it's kind o' David an' Harnar to let you come. I was beginnin' to think 'at they'd mos' forgot 'at they had an old aunt out here, but I was wrongin' 'em, 'cause they've sent their little boy out for a visit." " They didn't send me," rose to Maurice's lips, but ere he could speak his Aunt Poor put her hand very kindly upon his head and looking earnestly at him said, "Earner's hair an' eyes an' skin, but David's nose an' inoath ; 46 DAINTY MAURICE. the very picture on 'em both. Puty hansoin boy, but mos' too puny. Looks too much like a gal ; that's cause he's brought up like a gal, stays in the house with Earner, an' eats cake an' sass an' sich like. Don't like to see a boy brought up like a gal never did ; don't like to see one look like a gal never did. But, la me, I won't stan' here a talk in' no longer; come in, Morris," and she took him by the arm. and led him into the house. MORE STRANGE THINGS. 47 CHAPTER V. MAURICE SEES MORE STRANGE THINGS. like a girl!" repeated Maurice angrily to himself, for he felt quite manly, " I'd rather look like a hyena, enough sight." But smothering his re- sentment he suffered himself to be led into the house and took the proffered chair in silence. After asking numberless ques- tions his aunt excused herself for a few moments, and went out, when Maurice embraced the 48 DAINTY MAURICE. opportunity, thus afforded him, of taking a survey of the room. How stiff, how bare, how dreary it looked 'to him. JS"o bright carpet upon the floor, no lace curtains dressing the windows, no sofas, no easy chairs, no pictures adorning the walls, no vases on the mantle, no richly bound books upon the table, "no nothing." "\Vhat a difference between the room and those to which he had always been accustomed ! The bare floor painted yellow, was something quite new to him. The stiff black chairs, with white rush bottoms, ranged along the wall, seemed very funereal. The tall MORE STRANGE THINGS. 49 clock, so tall that it almost reached the ceiling, was a novelty indeed. It seemed, as it stood there so stiff and upright, like some sentinel watching him, and its solemn monotonous tick tock, tick tock, increased the loneliness and desolation that oppressed him. The uncurtained windows seemed to glare at him, and the pine table, with straight slender legs between them, covered with a black oil cloth plashed over with a medley of red and green figures, looked as if he could never sit by it with his book upon a winter evening. The large Bible, hymn book, and almanac, which lay 5 DAINTY MA URICE. upon a round stand in the corner, seemed sighing for company, and altogether the room had an in- fluence over him very far from cheering. He did not know what he should do; he felt strangely, as he had never done before; he thought he was going to die. He got up and walked to one window and looked out; then he walked to the other window and looked out, but although the sky was blue and the sun was shining, and the trees, that were scattered here and there around, were gorgeous in robes of gold and crimson, everything wore a funereal aspect. MORE STRANGE THINGS. 51 He could see nothing but gloom in the blue sky, the sunshine and brilliant autumn leaves. Some crows flew over and settled down, like a black cloud, upon a tall maple, just over the way, and which looked, in the bright sunshine, as if draped in gold, and commenced cawing noisily. Al- though cawing of crows had always been very unmusical to him, and he had always despised the sombre looking birds, he now envied them, they seemed so happy chattering away in the tree top ; envied them their wings too, for he felt if he only had a pair he would soon fly away home. 52 DAINTY MAURICE. 11 dear ! how can I stay in this dreadful place till to-morrow night?" he groaned to himself. "What a fool I was to send Zeke back so soon ! I'd rather give a thousand silver cups, and dollars too, than to stay here a single hour. dear! what shall I do?" and he was just ready to cry when the door opened, and a woman, with a tall gaunt figure, square shoulders, long neck, and a face sallow and shrivelled, entered, knitting away upon a long blue woolen stocking, or part of a stocking, as she walked into the room. Maurice turned around expect- M ORE STItAXGE THINGS. 53 ing to see his aunt, but stood still in amazement as he beheld the strange looking woman. He had a taste for beauty ; he loved to see not only handsome houses and furniture, but a handsome woman handsomely dressed. His mother's fair face, with its delicate bloom, her soft brown curls, and graceful form elegantly attired, was very pleasing to him. But his mother's housekeeper, Charity Clarke, with her thin face and awkward figure, was very distasteful to him. He thought he had never seen a person so ugly in looks as Charity Clarke, and although she was veiy clever, and an excellent house- 5* 54 DAINTY MAURICE. keeper, he often pleaded with his mother to discharge her and employ some nice looking young woman instead of a shrivelled up old maid. "Ugh! how ugly!" said Mau- rice to himself, shrugging his shoulders, as he scrutinized the woman, taking in at a glance the hard angular figure, the coarse garments, the thin lips, the long nose, the small but piercing eyes, the round forehead, and sparse sandy hair tied high upon the head, and surmounted with a large horn comb. "Ugh! how ugly!" he repeated to himself, as he turned back, without speaking, MORE STRANGE THINGS. 55 towards the window and looked out. "A great deal uglier than Charity Clarke." The woman did not seem to notice Maurice's uncompromising demeanor, but came forward and dropped down upon a chair at the other window, sitting up stiff and straight, as if her back needed no support, and knitting away as fast as if her life depended upon the completion of the blue woolen stock- ing. At first she did not speak; but cast quick sharp glances at Maurice across the table which stood between them. By and by, after a longer and sharper glance she piped out in a shrill voice, 5 6 DAINTY If A URICK "So, little boy, you've come a visitin' your Aunt Poor, liaint you?" Maurice could scarcely refrain from laughing aloud at the sound of the strange, unharmonious voice, c_* ' ' but he commanded himself, and replied haughtily, "I have come to make Mrs. Poor a short visit, ma'am." "Well now! I thought sartin 'twas your Aunt;" said the voice, more sharply, if possible, than before, while the needles were still for a moment in the shrivelled fingers. "I thought sartin, 'at Miss Poor sed it was her nephew 'at had come a visiting on her." MORE STRANGE THINGS. 57 "Mrs. Poor is my mother's aunt I believe," replied Maurice, ashamed to acknowledge the rela- tionship ; " but I have never seen her, at least I do not remember her, and she does not seem anyway related to me." "Well now! how ken it be?" exclaimed the woman, with strong emphasis, for she remembered how well she had, in her own childhood, loved her friends. " You aint a bit, little boy, like I was when I was'nt no bigger an' you be. Now there was old Aunt Green, that married my marm's uncle, 'at I never see in all my life, but I always heard about her, 58 DAINTY MAURICE. an' I call'd her aunt, jus 7 as long's she lived, an 7 I do yet when I speak on her ; an' I thought a sight on her, an' I'm jus' so yet. Now there's Miss Poor aint no relation o' mine, but she seems drefful near. I've lived with her now lein'me see nigh on fourteen year jus' 's long 's Charity Clarke 's lived with your mother. An' now I think on't I must ask 'bout Charity. Charity an' me used to be 'mazin' thick when we was young gals. We was born and brought up in the same place, but since we went out to live we haint seen much on each other lem'me see-I haint seen Charity since she come here MORE STRANGE THINGS. 59 once, a good spell ago, nigh on six year I guess. I'd like to see her 'mazingly, an' I've been talk- ing me an' Miss Poor 'bout goin' over some day to see your mother and Chanty. Lem'me see did you say Charity was smart ?" " Charity is quite well," replied Maurice, stiffly. "Glad to hear on't, there's no better gal 'n Charity ; that I ken say, for 's I sed before, we was born an' brought up in the same place, and I lied as good a chance a knowing about Charity as any body, 'cause we were drefful thick and always together. But I guess we'd bes' go in tother room, I kin- 60 DAINTY MA URICE. der concate it 's a little chilly in here when there's no fire, and I ain dredful feard of the rumatiz that I am always a getting ; and besides it seems a most time fur me and Miss Poor to be arter getting sup- per," and she glanced up at the tall clock that stood in the opposite corner. "But there's one thing that I kinder feel's if I urns' speak on fore we go in 'tother room, an 7 I hope you won't take it onkind of me if I jus' take the liberty o' tellin' you that you'd bes' call Miss Poor ' aunt,' cause she sits a drefful sight by you, an' 'twould hurt her feelins 'mazinly to call her Miss Poor. But come, now, MORE STRANGE THINGS. 61 you'd bes' go with me in tother room where there's a fire. . I alays think a fire makes a room kinder cheerful like, and that's why I alays like a kitchen better 'n a keepin' room; parlor, spect you call it to yer house. Come les' go," and she rose from her chair very deliberately and walked, knitting away, into the adjoining apartment, whither Maurice did not choose to follow her. 62 DAINTY MAURICE. CHAPTER VI. MAURICE IS HOMESICK. 7[H T M! if this is the parlor, I j wonder what the kitchen y must be!" said Maurice to himself, casting a disdainful look around as the woman left the room. "She needn't ask nie to go out there, for I won't do it. I don't want to get into a gloomier place than this is. Ugh! it's enough to give one the horrors," and he turned to the window and looked out again, but saw nothing, MAURICE IS HOMESICK. 63 as before, to interest him. At first lie thought he would run over to the barn, but he did not like barns, as boys generally do, nor horses, nor cows ; so he gave up that idea at once. He looked towards the maple; the crows had all flown away and he felt lonelier than ever. He wondered how the horses and cows and sheep could seem so contented in such a dismal place. He thought that everything must feel just as he did, and he was so heart-sick that it seemed as if he should lie down and die. He felt that he would give the whole world, if he had it, to be back home again. The 64 DAINTY MAURICE. quiet and loneliness of the room and the monotonous tick tock! tick tock ! of the tall clock in the corner became unbearable, and he caught up his hat and started for the kitchen, feeling that the company of his Aunt Poor and the strange woman would be a relief, or at least would be prefer- able to being alone in so desolate an apartment. Upon opening the door an odor that he could not endure greeted his senses, and he was about retreating when the shrill voice piped out, " Come along, little boy, an' make yourself to hum ; here's a chair for ye by the fire." MAURICE IS HOMESICK. 65 "Yes, sonnie, come along an' set down here by the fire, where it's more cheerful like, an' me an' Thankful can talk a leetle to ye," joined in Aunt Poor, rising partly up and turning around a little; for she was engaged in stirring something which was cooking upon the coals. " I telled Thank- ful to go in 'tother room again an' try an' be a little entertaining for I was 'feared you'd be for getten' lunsome in there all alone by yourself; but she was 'feared she'd be arter gettin' the rhumatiz, cause the hain't been no fire in there this fall," and it's kinder chilly like fur them that's use to 6* 66 DAINTY MAURICE. bein' over the fire, an' she sed 'at she guessed you'd be for couiin' out here by ruby, an' I'm glad 'at you hav, 'cause I didn't wan't you to get lonesome an' homesick the fust time 'at you iver come to visit on yer Aunt Poor ; and I wanted to hev you right here too, where me and Thankful can talk a bit to you ; me and Thankful 's drefful fond o' children, an' 'tain't often 'at we get a chance o' seein' one, cause we hain't got no little boys or gals for 'em to come to see. Here set down, sonnie, an' make yourself to hum, an' byinby we'll hev supper. Mebby you'd like a bit o' somethin' to eat 'for supper ; MAURICE IS HOMESICK. 67 boys are most allays hungry, 'specially when they've been ridin'. Thankful, jes' step to the pantry an' get sonnie a slice o' bread and butter." " Thank you, ma'am, I do not want any. I am not hungry in the least," spoke up Maurice quickly, indignant that his aunt should propose giving him a slice of bread and butter as if he were some little half-starved pauper. "You'd bes' hev a piece, sonnie," said Thankful, rising from her chair. "I'll put a nice mess o' maple sugar on't; you like maple sugar, don't you, sonnie?" 68 DAINTY MAURICE. "My name is Maurice, ma'am," said Maurice haughtily, his cheeks flushing; for he was angry at being called "sonnie," and at having a piece of bread and butter and sugar offered to him. "La me!" exclaimed Thankful, looking in surprise at Maurice's angry countenance. "I allays thought children liked to be called ' sonny ' an' ' sissy,' they allays did in my day. When I was a little gal every body allays call'd me ' sissy ;' I never went by no other name, an' I was dreffiil fond o' bein' call'd so too. But inebby 'tain't the fashin now 's 'twas in my day, an' seem' 's how you MAURICE IS HOMESICK. 69 don't like it, I'll call you by yer name lem'me see, what'd you say 'twas !" "Maurice, ma'ain." " Mor-ris," repeated Thankful, slowly ; " well that's a purty name enough, but 'tain't one 'at I'm much used to; but I'll try an' call you by it, cause I allays like to please folks, if I can, an' so does your Aunt Poor. "Well, Morris, will you hev a piece o 7 bread an' butter with some maple sugar on't? When folks hev been a ridin' they're apt to get hungry, as Miss Poor says, an' mebby you'd bes' hev somethin' to kinder stay yer stomach till me 70 DAINTY MAURICE. an' Miss Poor get the vittles onto the table ; it '11 be quite a spell 'fore supper's ready." "Thank you, ma'am, I do not wish for anything; to eat," said V Maurice in a tone which indicated that he wished no further urging. " 0, well, if you don't want anything you needn't hev it," returned Thankful, resuming her knitting, which she had for an instant laid aside. Maurice sat for a few moments by the fire, and then, disliking the odors of the kitchen, arose and went out. LOSES HIS APPETITE. 71 CHAPTER VII. MAURICE LOSES HIS APPETITE. f " GH ! how I do hate the smell of cabbage !" said Maurice to himself, with a look of disgust, as he closed the door after him. "It's enough to kill any one! But it seems I'm doomed to smell it, for it's nothing but cabbage, cabbage, cabbage wherever I go. It was cabbage at home to-day for dinner, and now it's cabbage here for supper. Aunt Poor must love it dearly, I think, that she 72 DAINTY MAURICE. must needs warm it up for supper. The ugly stuff ! how I do hate it ! I wouldn't taste of it if I were starving to death. I wonder Aunt Poor isn't going to get something else for supper. I really hope she'll have something that I can eat, for I'm just as hungry as a bear for all I told that woman I didn't want any- thing to eat. The old thing! She must think I am a baby to offer me a piece of bread and butter and sugar. I really wonder how small I must look to her. Hum, bread and butter and sugar!" and his cheek flushed with indignation as he stepped LOSES HIS APPETITE. 73 from the stoop and looked around. He glanced up the road, and then down; walked a little first in this way and then in that, but he saw nothing and met nobody, and he wondered what use there was of having a road where no one lived and no one travelled. He didn't know what to do with himself. He pulled the downy beard from the thistles, which grew all along the fences, and set them to sailing in the air, but he could not watch them and imagine they were fairies with silver wings, as he sometimes did. He went to the maples and picked up some of the bright leaves that 7 74 DAINTY MAURICE. were scattered all over the ground, but he threw them down again, wondering how he ever thought t/ * * they were pretty. He looked toward the woods; they seemed dark and gloomy, and made him feel more lonely. He went to- ward the shed, thinking he would look at the sheep, but they had gone to the barn for the night. " What shall I do?" he cried out, clasping his hands in despair. "How can I stay in this horrid place till to-morrow night ! I shall die, I know I shall!" and he burst into tears. Just then he was startled by what, to him, was a friahtful LOSES HIS APPETITE. 75 sound. Looking toward the house, from whence it proceeded, he saw Thankful standing in the door blowing upon something which she held in both hands. In his curiosity to know what it was he dried his tears, and forgetting his dignity he ran up to her crying out, "What is that thing upon which you are blowing, Thankful." "A shell." "A shell!" replied Maurice in surprise, eyeing it intently. "What! that great thing a shell V" " La me ! I wonder if you hain't never seen a shell before," said Thankful. 76 DAINTY MAURICE. "I should think likely I had," returned Maurice, quite nettled. " I have seen thousands of shells. I have got a sight of 'em at home, but I have never seen one like this. Well, there's no great beauty about it," he added, turn- ing it in his hand; " it's nothing but a great coarse, clumsy tiling, and if you think you make music by blowing upon it, you are greatly mistaken, for it sounds horridly." " La suz, little boy, I don't blow on't to make music, I on'y blow on't to let Gid know 'at supper's readv. It shows you hain't never / / been to yer Aunt Poor's before, LOSES HIS APPETITE. ' 77 nor no'wers else out in the country 'mong folks what ain't fash'nable, for if } r ou lied you'd a seen an' heerd a concli shell, an' knowd what it was for. But there comes Gid; you see the shell's fctch'd him, so we'll go in now an' eat, 'cause supper 's all onto the table, an' Miss Poor never likes to hev it kept waitin', fur the vittles, what's warm, to get all cold. Come, hurry along, Gideon," she called out to a young man who was slowly approaching. " What on airth you lagging back so fur?" The young man, thus addressed, stepped briskly forward, casting sidelong glances at Maurice out 78 DAINTY MAURICE. of a pair of rather sleepy-looking blue eyes. -"He might better be called Goliah," said Maurice to himself, as he surveyed Gideon's athletic form and great, ruddy face. "I hope they don't ex- pect me to eat with him," he continued, his cheek flushing; " they'll find themselves mistaken if they do. I'll let them know I've never been in the habit of eating with workmen ;" and he turned up his nose in disgust. He had quite a mind not to go in to supper at all, and he would not if the happy thought had not just then occurred, that perhaps a separate table had LOSES HIS APPETITE. 79 been prepared for him and his aunt. He glanced quickly around upon entering, but he saw no separate table, and he felt strongly inclined to refuse to sit down ; but he was very hungry, and so he took the proffered seat. Instead of bowing his head and listening to the blessing, which his aunt was asking, he looked eagerly around to see what there was upon the table. "Hum! what a supper!" he exclaimed, silently, contrasting the plain food and coarse earthen- ware with the dainty repast, the china and silver with which his mother's tea-table was alwavs 80 DAINTY MAURICE. spread. " Cabbage and pork and Dutch cheese ;" and he raised his lip contemptuously. "Who ever heard of such things for supper ? There isn't a thing on this table I'll taste of not a thing! only the molasses maple, I suppose it is and sweetmeats. I declare, if the spoons ain't pewter; nothing but old, black pewter! I won't touch one of 'em if I starve, that I won't;" and his brow grew cloudy and sullen, and he shut his teeth tightly together. After Mrs. Poor had asked the blessing she poured the tea, and, handing a cup to Maurice, she said, " Lem'me see, I've put LOSES HIS APPETITE. 81 cream an' sugar in; now, mebby, you don't take it with trimmins', do you, Morris." "Yes, ina'am," replied Maurice, stiffly. ""Well, I kinder thought you did, 'cause children allays likes things sweetened up. Now, Mor- ris, jest reach your plate, an' lem'nie help you to some of this ere warmed-up cabbage, an' a slice o' this ere pork." "Thank you, ma'am, I never eat cabbage nor pork," replied Maurice, disdainfully. " This ere aint like salt pork," said Mrs. Poor, taking a slice upon ter fork; ''it's pig-pork, 82 DAINTY MAURICE. jes' corned a leetle, with a streak o' lean an' fat better liev a slice, Morris, an' a leetle o' this ere cabbage ; it's nice." "Please excuse me, ma'am," replied Maurice, in a tone which plainly indicated that he wanted no further urging. "0, well, if you don't want any you needn't hev any," said Mrs. Poor, laying the slice of pork upon her own plate. " 'Spose vou ain't use to hevin' no sich / fur supper. "Won't take any Dutch cheese nor baked apple, neither? Guess, mebby, you'd like some o' this ere maple lasses to eat with your bread an' butter, L OSES HIS APPETITE. 83 -r^tfpxt^* an' some o' this cherry sass. It's done up in maple sugar, an' it's rael nice, Thankful sez. Hev some, Morris?" "Thank you, I believe not," replied Maurice, greatly vexed, for he really wanted some of the molasses and preserves, but he would not allow himself to eat with a pewter spoon. "Won't hev 'lasses nor sass!" cried out Mrs. Poor, in surprise. "Beats all; thought all children was fond o' lasses an' sass. Don' no nothin' what you'll eat, Mor- ris; 'pears there ain't nothin' on the table you'll taste on. Can't giv' you no cake, 'cause 84 DAINTY MAURICE. we hain't got none in the house ;" and Mrs. Poor seemed troubled. "Mebby he'd like a piece o' this ere apple-pie," said Thankful, taking up a knife. "Won't you hev a piece, Morris? it's drefful good, fur yer Aunt Poor made it, an' there's nobody 'at can make sich pies as yer Aunt Poor." Mor- ris was not very fond of apple- pie; it was too common for him, and, besides, he was not in the habit of eating pie for supper, so he excused himself, and ate only a small piece of bread and butter. He took up his spoon several times, before he thought, to stir and sip his tea, but LOSES HIS APPETITE. 85 dropped it again very quickly, and drank from his cup. Mrs. Poor was anxious because he ate so little, but Thankful said that she guessed that he would come to his appetite in the morn- ing, at which she was encouraged. 86 DAINTY MAURICE. CHAPTER VIII. A NIGHT AT AUNT POOR*S. I 'HE table was soon cleared off, the dishes washed, the floor swept, and a little round stand set out in front of the fire- place, upon which was burning a long tallow candle in a tin candle-stick, painted red, and figured off with black and yellow. Mrs. Poor brought forward a basket filled with stockings, which she carefully examined, after which she took a ball of yarn and A NIGHT AT A UNT PO OR ' S. 87 a long needle, and, putting on her spectacles, sat down by the stand and commenced darning the stockings. Thankful took a seat opposite, and employed her hands, as usual, in knitting. Maurice did not know what to do with himself. He was homesick and heartsick. Every moment seemed an age. He looked around the room; there was nothing in it, only a few splint-bottomed chairs, the pine table, upon which they had eaten, a tall, blue cupboard, and the stand upon which the long tallow candle was burning. The candle danced, and flickered, and 88 DAINTY MAURICE. smoked. At one moment it burned up brightly, and the next seemed as if going out. The tallow melted and ran down over the candle-stick, which distressed Maurice exceedingly. "The hateful thing! it's worse than no light at all," said he to himself, and he turned away, and went to the window and looked out. It was very dark and cloudy, without even one star to relieve the gloom. The wind moaned drearily, and an owl screamed from the maples. " 0, dear, what shall I do," groaned Maurice, and he turned from the window and sat down, A NIGHT AT A UNT POOR'S. 89 feeling as if he could not possibly survive the evening. Mrs. Poor and Thankful tried in vain to engage him in conversation; he would not talk he was too wretched. Presently Gideon came in with a large basket filled with corn, which he commenced shelling. He asked Maurice, playfully, to help him, but Maurice declined, and he made no further attempt to speak to him. The hours passed slowly away, but, at length, the tall clock in the "keeping-room" struck nine. Ere the last stroke had sounded all work was laid aside, and the 8* 90 DAINTY MAURICE. large Bible and hymn book brought and placed upon the stand. Thankful and Gideon assumed attentive attitudes while Mrs. Poor read a chapter and a psalm, in a clear, distinct tone. A hymn was then sung, after which all kneeled but Maurice, and Mrs. Poor offered up an humble petition, commending her- self and family and her young friend to the kind care of the Father of all. Prayer being ended, Mrs. Poor lighted a candle and conducted Maurice to his room. He glanced quickly around. It was a small, low-walled chamber, very neat A NIGHT AT A UNT POOR'S. 91 and tidy, but, like the rest of the house, scantily furnished. "Hum! who ever saw such an empty room?" cried out Maurice, as Mrs. Poor, after wish- ing him good-night and pleasant dreams, closed the door. "No- thing but two old chairs, an old chest and a bed ! I shan't sleep a wink to-night in this dismal old hole. I shall die before morn- ing, I know I shall;" and he threw himself down upon the chest, resolved to sit up all night, for he felt that he should go quite crazy if he should lie down in the darkness. By-and- by he became so tired and 92 DAINTY MAURICE. sleepy that he sprang up, and, un- dressing as quickly as possible, crept into the bed, which was very soft and clean; and, ere he had time to think, he was fast asleep. How tranquil and profound were his slumbers in that sweet, snowy bed ! and how refreshed he felt when he awoke in the morning! At first he did not know where he was, everything seemed strange to him, but in a moment he remembered all, and he sprang out of bed, con- gratulating himself that he would not have to spend another night under the roof of his Aunt Poor. A NIGHT AT A UNT PO OR ' S. 93 e He was glad that it was morning, but he did not thank the good Father for watching over him while he slept, or ask for guidance or protection through the day. There was no praise or gratitude in his heart; he did not kneel before his Maker, but dressed himself as quickly as possible, and hastened down-stairs. As he opened the door an un- savory odor greeted his senses. "Ugh! if they ain't going to have codfish for breakfast!" he exclaimed, silently. "How I hate it ! Codfish and cabbage ! Ugh ! the very thought is enough to make a body sick." 94 DAINTY MAURICE. At this moment Mrs. Poor bade him a very cordial good- morning, and asked, kindly, how he had slept, to which he replied in a most ungracious manner. At table he declined taking any of the fish, greatly to Mrs. Poor's disappointment, for she had prepared it very nicely; neither would he touch the corn- cake, or a potatoe. After drinking a cup of tea, and eating a morsel of bread and butter, Maurice excused him- self and went out. The air was chilly, the sky was over- cast; and, as he looked up, he cried out, "How cloudy it is; A NIGHT AT A UNT POOR'S. 95 it is going to rain. What shall I do? Kain, or no rain, I don't stay here through this day. I should die, I should starve before night. ! if I were beyond that woods! I could get a chance ride home, I know. But it's more than a mile to the woods," he cried, dcspondingly, "and a long way through it. But there's so much to see," he added, taking courage ; " so many birds, and squirrels, and everything, that I wouldn't mind it at all ;" and, without even going in to say good-by to his aunt, he started forward at a brisk pace toward the woods. 96 DAINTY MAURICE. CHAPTER IX. LOST AND FOUND. 'HE wood was reached ere long. The road through it was broad and pleasant, and for some time Maurice pursued it steadily. By-and-by he saw something gleaming brightly through the evergreens, and he left the road to see what it was. When he reached the spot he found the shrubs covered with beautiful, scarlet berries. While he was gathering some of them to take LOST AND FOUND. 97 *-^ne&R*.* home, a large bird, with black and yellow wings, spotted breast, and a tuft of scarlet upon its bead, came fluttering along close by him. "What a splendid bird!" ex- claimed Maurice. " I never saw such a beauty. I mean to catch it ;" and he threw down his ber- ries and ran after it. "Now I've got you !" he cried, after making several fruitless attempts to se- cure it, but the bird again eluded his grasp. He did not despair of catching it, and he ran on, in the excitement of the moment, through bushes and briars, over stone walls and rail fences, re- gardless of time and distance. 98 DAINTY MAURICE. His strength, at length, failed, and he sank down exhausted upon the ground. For some time he lay panting and breathless; but, by-and-by, he revived, and rose to retrace his steps. He knew not which way to go. He wandered hither and thither, searching for the road. Hour after hour passed by. His feet became sore and his bones ached. His limbs were stiff. He could proceed no further, and he lay down to rest. Sleep stole over him, and he dreamed that he killed the beautiful bird, and, while his mother was engaged in preparing it for him to eat, he awoke. LOST AND FOUND. 99 He was hungry and thirsty never before had he so felt the pinches of hunger and thirst. He looked around for some berries, but he could find none. He saw a squirrel with a nut in its mouth, and he tried to find where the nuts grew, but he could not. "What shall I do? I shall starve to death ! I shall die in the woods !" he cried out, in the greatest alarm. "How dark it gets! Night is coming on, and I will be eaten up by the wild beasts." He rushed fran- tically around, trying in vain to find the road. At length he sat 100 DAINTY MAURICE. clown in despair, feeling that his time had come to die. His mind was very busy. He thought of everything, thought / o of his parents, and how dread- fully they would feel when his body was found, if it ever was found ; thought of his Aunt Poor's place, and wondered how he could call it lonesome and dismal. How he wished he had stayed there! How he regretted that he had not eaten of the food pro- vided for him ! How he won- dered that he had always been so dainty and troublesome ! While he sat indulging these reflections evening came on. The LOST AND FOUND. 101 woods grew dark; the night birds cried, and the wind sighed through, the pines. Maurice was benumbed with the cold, and faint from terror, hunger and fatigue. An owl, just above his head, gave a terrific shriek, and Maurice shrieked too, when he heard it, and sprang to his feet. He started to flee, but he knew not whither to go. Just as he was ready to sink to the earth he saw a light through the trees. He uttered a cry of joy, for he knew a house must be near. His spirits revived, and he groped his way as well as he could through the thicket. By-and-by he reached a small 9* 102 DAINTY MAURICE. cabin. As he passed the window he peeped in. A bright fire blazed upon the hearth, beside which sat an old colored man and woman, each smoking a pipe. A dog lay between them asleep, and a cat was curled up in the corner. Maurice had a great aversion to colored people, and he would have recoiled under any other circum- stances from entering the cabin. But now he knocked a voice bade him come in. He opened the door a strong odor of cabbage and tobacco smoke saluted him. At any other time he would have turned up his nose and retreated in disgust; but now he walked LOST AND FOUND. 103 directly in and briefly related his little story. Much sympathy was expressed by the old man and woman for the lost boy. They bade him welcome to their humble home, and vied with each other in trying to make him comfortable. The table was soon set, and the contents of a kettle, con- sisting of pork, cabbage, potatoes and Indian dumplings, were taken up and placed upon it, together with a loaf of brown bread and a cup of molasses, which consti- tuted the evening meal. Maurice took the seat assigned him at the table, and partook heartily 104 DAINTY MAURICE. of everything upon it, not even ex- cepting the cabbage. The dessert, of Indian dumplings and molasses, tasted better to him than the daintiest dish had ever done, and he made use of the pewter spoons as readily as if they had been silver. As they arose from the table the door was unceremoniously opened, and a voice cried out, "Hello, Sambo, dere's a boy los' some'rs in dis yer woods, an ? you mus' cum an' help fin' him. He wuz visitin' on ole Miss Poor, an' she tought he'd got a chance hum dis mornin', but dere's a man cum arter him, LOST AND FOUND. 105 an' he sez de boy mus' be some'rs in dis yer woods, an' we mus' fin' him, or he'll be dead 'fore niornin', so jes' cum 'long, Sambo." "I'm the boy! I'm the boy!" shouted Maurice, rushing from the house fairly wild with joy. "Yah! yah! yah! hea', wha' you gwine to?" cried the man. "'Spects you'll get lost 'gin, mebby, ef you don' wait fur dis yer nigga to help you long. Hea' 'tain't dat 'ar way dat you mus' go. De man an' hosses dis yer way." Maurice stopped at the call, and, after thanking his kind entertainers, who were standing 106 DAINTY MAURICE. at the door, followed his guide through the woods to the road, where Zeke, with the carriage. / *_^ / was awaiting him. He returned home with his heart throbbing with joy and gratitude. That day's experience proved a bless- ing to him. He was Dainty Mau- rice no longer. He partook, thankfully, of whatever was pro- vided for him ; and he always re- membered, with grateful emotions, the day he was lost in the woods. THE END. UCSB IIBRARV A 000 605 559 4