r : ' THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ! MARY BURTOI OTHER STORIES BOSTON : THOMAS B. NOONAN & CO. 1884. F.lectrotyped and Printed by CASHMAN ( KEATING & Co. 603 Washington St., Boston. TZ7 CONTENTS. PAGE. MARY BURTOX 5 ZOE; OK, THE METAMORPHOSIS 23 A WHOLESOME LESSON 71 THE YOUXG BALLAD SIXGER 07 THE MYSTERIOUS BEXEF ACTOR 125 AX UXEXPECTED MEETIXG 159 BREAD AXD CHEESE 191 THE OPAL STUD 235 ISABELLA 205 THE MAY QUEEX 293 FATHER is COMIXG 299 622791 MARY BURTON. |T is many years ago that I went one morning, at the request of the clergy- man of my parish, to undertake the teaching of a class of Sunday scholars. As I entered the room, in which my duties were in future to be performed every Sunday morning, the nervous feeling which had been gather- ing strength as I walked along, almost over- came me, and I think I should have turned and run home again, had not the kind clergy- man caught sight of my anxious face, and come forward to encourage me. 6 A BOOK FOR GIIILS. " That is right, Miss Smith," he said, as he shook hands with me. " I am glad you have consented to comply with my wishes, and to take a class here." " If I could only teach them right," I answered timidly ; " but I feel as if I should be better employed in learning than in teaching." "You have been learning for many months past," he answered kindly, "learn- ing from higher than mere human teaching, learning in the school of sorrow and of suffering. Let it be seen that the lesson has not been sent in vain. Strive to lead others to that gracious Saviour, whom you have yourself learned to love, and who said, ' Suffer little children to come unto Me.'" He led me to a class of little girls seated at the further end of the room, and left me with them. I glanced at the faces turned inquisitively towards the " new teacher." I will relate the subsequent history of one of these children, whose appearance particu- larly impressed me. MARY BURTON. Mary Burton was a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl, with an expression of contentment on her face, which made it pleasant to look at her. She was eleven years old, she told me, and lived with her mother, who was a widow. I made a point of becoming ac- quainted with my children in their own homes ; and as Mary was never in during the week, being employed as a message-girl at a neighboring green-grocer's, I went one Sunday, after afternoon service, to see her. I found the family seated at tea. Every- thing was neat and clean ; and the mother, in her widow's dress and cap, looked the picture of decent and respectable poverty. She told me she had been seven years a widow, and that her youngest child (she had three) had been born two months after his father's death. "I have had a hard struggle to keep things straight, ma'am," she said ; " but now that Mary is growing up to be a help and comfort to me, I feel as if a great burden was taken off me ; for I know that she will A BOOK FOR GIRLS. do what she can to work for her mother, and that, as long as she lives, her brothers will not want for a good example and good advice." Mary's face was flushed with pleas- ure at her mother's praise, and at the few words of encouragement which I gave her. As I rose to take my leave, I said, "I will leave you a maxim to think about, Mary. It is this : ' Godliness with content- ment is great gain.' God has blessed you with a naturally contented disposition, but something more is needed. May you, like Mary of old, be enabled to choose that good part, which shall never be taken from you." When Mary was fourteen years old her mother was taken very ill. It was a painful and lingering disease, borne with such meek patience as taught a sweet lesson of faith and trust to all who were privileged to see her in her affliction. Mary came home to look after the invalid and her two little brothers, and it was then that her mother found the blessing of having "trained up her child in the way it should go." Early MARY BURTON. accustomed to orderly habits and to hard work, it was wonderful how that young girl contrived to keep everything about the poor invalid clean and comfortable, to have the room always tidy, and her brothers' clothes well washed and mended. They had many difficulties and hardships. The boys could only earn five dollars a week between them, and this did not allow food sufficient for three growing and hard-worked children, and the round faces became blue and pinched ; still there was no murmuring, or parade of want. Go when I would, Mary was busy with her work, and, amid all their poverty, kept up an appearance of comfort, by her clean and tidy ways. One day I remember I found her with a face unusually pale, and the evident traces of tears in her eyes. " What is the matter, Mary?" I said. She made a sign towards her mother's bed, as if to beg me not to draw attention to her distress, and answered, as she dusted a chair and placed it near the bed for me, 10 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. "Nothing, ma'am; I think mother's keep- ing pretty well just now." Her mother had turned anxiously around as I asked the question ; but Mary had so naturally contrived her answer, placing her- self at the same time in a position which should conceal her face without an apparent intention to do so, that Mrs. Burton was satisfied. It was my practice, when I visited the widow, to read a chapter aloud, which we talked over afterwards. Her religion was not a mere talk ; it was a real posses- sion. She knew "in whom she could trust ; " and, in her hour of trial, of bodily suffering, and often of actual want, she would carry her trials and troubles to her Saviour, and, laying the burden at His feet rest contented / o in the assurance, "The Lord will provide." She was generally a woman of few words ; but that day she spoke more than was her wont, and, among other things, reminded me of the maxim which I had left with Mary on my first visit to them. " It has often been a comfort to me since," MARY BURTON. 11 she said, " and I am sure I find the truth of it more and more every day. To know that our daily bread comes direct from our Father's hands, seems to make it taste the sweeter ; and when things have gone harder than usual, and I could see no way how we could get help, the help has come often in a way that 1 least expected, till I have been made to feel that to be content with what the Lord is pleased to give us, and to see and know that all comes from His loving hands, is indeed the greatest gain." I observed that as she spoke, Mary rather paused in her work, and at last she left off altogether, and stood looking out of the window, while her hands hung listlessly at her side. It may be easily supposed that I did not usually go to the house empty- handed. I have little sympathy with the piety which leads some really good people to visit the houses of the poor, to read to them, and to give them tracts, and to over- look their bodily wants and suffering al- together. Such, at all events, was not the 12 A BOOK FOE GIRLS. practice of " Him who has left us an ex- ample that we should follow his footsteps." It had not pleased God to endow me largely with worldly goods, but it does not require large means to enable one to be kind and helpful to the poor. If we bring a will- ing heart to the work, we shall soon find many ways at helping, at no greater cost than some slight personal inconvenience or self-denial. That day I had in my purse a five-dollar piece which a wealthy friend, to whom I had spoken of the widow's patient suffering, had given me for her use. As I saw that something had gone wrong with Mary, and that she was anxious to conceal her distress from her mother, I determined on speaking to her when she accompanied me to the outer door, which she usually did, and that I would give her the money then. Mary looked nervous when I rose to go away, and as if she would be glad of an ex- cuse for not accompanying me. She saw however, that I expected her, and followed with a slow, unwilling step. When we MARY BURTON. 13 were quite out of her mother's hearing, I stopped. " There is something vexing you, Mary," I said, " and I suspect you do not want to tell me what it is. If it would be any comfort to speak to a true friend about your troubles, I would willingly hear what is the matter ; but if you would rather not tell me, I shall not feel hurt." I waited a moment, and as she remained silent, I added, " I see you would rather not ; but remem- ber, dear Mary, that there is One whose ear is ever open to our cry, who is ever ready to pity and to help us. Tell your trouble to Him ask His guidance if you are in diffi- culty cast your care upon Him if you are in trouble, and be assured that none who go in simple trust to Him, shall be sent empty away." She answered, " Oh, Miss Smith, I have prayed, indeed I have, but," " But it seems to you as if the Lord had 14 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. not heard your prayer," I said, finishing her sentence for her. " He does not always an- swer us in the way that we expect ; we are poor blind creatures, and do not know what to ask for as we ought ; but be assured that the prayer of faith will be answered ; if not in the way we wish, at any rate in the way that will be best for us. I will not detain you any longer from your mother," I added ; ' ' she may wonder what is keeping you. Here is a small sum which a friend gave me for you. I have seen that you are to be trusted with money, and that you are thoughtful and prudent in spending the little you have ; so I feel sure you will lay this out to the best advantage." She looked at me with an eagerness in her large blue eyes that quite startled me ; clasped her hands together, and for some minutes remained sHent ; then she burst into a fit of passionate, almost hysterical weep- ing, which shook her the more, that she endeavored to suppress all sound. When she was a little composed, she explained the MARY BURTON. 15 cause of her agitation. Her elder brother, whose earnings brought three dollars a week to the family, had completely worn out his shoes and his clothes, and his master had more than once threatened to dismiss him unless he were better clad. Poor Mary had almost denied herself necessary food, in the endeavor to lay by a sufficient sum to buy him a pair of shoes ; but meanwhile, in spite of constant mending, his clothes had become so worn that they would scarcely hold together, and on Monday, his master had warned him that this must be his last week, unless he came better clothed. Fri- day had come, and Mary was as far as ever from having obtained money for so exten- . sive a purchase, and saw no means of get- ting it, and hence arose her anxious, care- worn looks. " I could not tell mother," she said, " for the doctor says she must not be fretted ; it might cost her her life." < ' And why could you not tell me ? " I answered. 16 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. " Oh ! ma'am, I thought shame, when you have done so much for us already ; 'twould have been begging like." She was crying still, for the poor child was weak for want of sufficient food ; so I said, soothingly, "You went to the right quarter, Mary, and He, whose kind heart, when he was on earth, never allowed Him to despise the cry of the weakest or poorest, has proved that He is ' the same yesterday, to-day, and for- ever.' As surely does this help come from Him, though through my hand, as when in olden times He commissioned the ravens to feed the prophet, or multiplied the five loaves and two small fishes into food for five thou- sand fainting followers." o " Yes, ma'am, I feel it now. Mother often told me to trust in Him ; but somehow I thought I was such a weak, wicked creature, He could never listen to me ; but now I feel as if I could never doubt Him again, for it seems as if He had sent you o' purpose to help us in our great need." MARY BURTON. 17 And, indeed, from that time she seemed able to cast her whole care upon her Saviour God, She had, been contented before ; her training and natural temperament had made her so ; but now a higher element was added a simple trust in her heavenly Father's love and care, an earnest faith in the redemp- tion purchased by the blood of His dear Son, with the abiding presence of that Comforter, whose offices of love were the Saviour's dying bequest to His people, filled her heart, and constituted that godliness which, with con- tentment, she truly found to be great gain. Some months later Mrs. Burton died. Mary had dearly loved her mother, and had looked up to her in everything for ad- vice. It was a bitter loss, but she bore it with sweet, unmurmuring patience. " I know she is happy now," she said, as she uncovered the pale face, and her hot tears dropped fast upon it. "I must try to re- member all she used to tell me, but, oh ! I can never be like her, so good, so patient." We can say little in the faco of death ; those IS A BOOK FOR GIRLS. white, silent lips are far more eloquent than ours ; they speak to the bereaved in a lan- guage which the mere spectator neither hears nor understands, so I thought it kinder to leave Mary to her Saviour and her great sorrow. When I returned the following day she was herself again, quite composed and calm. It had been her mother's earnest wish that Mary should, if possible, keep house for her brothers. It was not easy, but she effected it ; she was clever and I was fortunate in interesting an excellent woman in the neighborhood in her case. This woman was a clear-starcher ; she taught Mary her business without any charge and gave her constant employment. Her brothers' earnings, too, increased as they grew older ; so that, after a time, they lived in comparative comfort. When Mary was twenty years of age, she married a farmer, who lived about five miles out of town. Her elder brother had obtained an excellent situation through his steadiness MARY BURTON. 19 and good character. This enabled him to go into comfortable and respectable lodgings, and his younger brother went to live with him. They were both excellent, steady lads, and in a fair way to get on in the world. It was fully four years after Mary's mar- riage that I one day resolved to make her a visit, which she had earnestly pressed upon me before she left the home where I had first known her. I availed myself of a coach which took me to within two miles of the village where Mary lived, and walked the rest of the way. My path lay through corn-fields and green lanes, and I thoroughly enjoyed the contrast afforded by the pleasant sights and sounds of the country with the bustle and turmoil of dirty and crowded streets. A neat cottage, with a pretty garden in front of it, was pointed out to me as Mary's home. I was prepared for order and cleanliness, but scarcely for the almost elegant comfort that pervaded the room. The furniture w T as of the plainest description, but there was an exquisite neat- 20 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. ness, and even taste, in its arrangement, which made one feel that the mistress of such a house was no ordinary person. Mary herself was there, with a baby on her knee, and a pretty little creature, two years old, playing near her on the floor. She greeted me with a happy smile. " Oh ! ma'am," she said, " this is kind. I have longed so to show you my new home, and my little ones ! " " And I often wished to come, "I answered ; "but, as you know, I have a great deal at home to occupy my time, and when I have planned to come, something has occurred to prevent me." It was a pleasant visit. We spoke of her mother and of past times, of her present cir- cumstances and future prospects. " Oh, ma'am," she said, and grateful tears filled her eyes, " I feel as if I never can be thankful to my Father in heaven for all His goodness. Of course, we have had our troubles at times, and, worst of all, was when my little baby died, our first, when it was six MARY BURTON. 21 months old ; but, through all, we seem to have had so much comfort and peace, as if the Lord, Hjmself, was comforting and strengthening us. So that I am sure we have reason to say, ' Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits.'" " Ah, Mary," I answered, as I rose to go, " you know now, by happy experience, that ' Godliness with contentment is great gain.' " As I walked home that beautiful summer evening, watching the golden sunset, and the purple hue of declining day stealing over hill and valley, and thought of Mary with her sweet face and quiet happiness and peace, these words came to my mind, ' ' God hath appointed one remedy for all the evils in this world, and that is a con- tented spirit." CHAPTER I. THE SORCERER. i ADZIUN a Poun ! " ' Hadziun a Poun ! " ' ' Hadziun a Poun ! " These magic words were pronounced in a terrible voice, one winter evening, by an old man, of a gloomy and malevolent aspect. He wore a high, pointed, black silk hat, and a long, black old gown that reached to his feet. Seated on a curiously-formed stool, he 23 24 A BOOK FOU GIRLS. turned persistently the handle of a vessel in which something extraordinary seemed to be boiling. This old man was not a confec- tioner, and they were not cakes or creams of which he took such care ; he was not mak- ing soup, or panoda, or anything you could imagine. The old fellow was a sorcerer, dear children, a wise man, but a wicked man at the same time ; that is to say, one who employed his knowledge to do evil, just as good men use science to ameliorate the con- dition of mankind. This sorcerer had read somewhere of another sorcerer, who had, by means of his arts, formed a man out of clay, bones, and ashes, and who had animated the senseless mass by the use of certain magic words. He had taken it upon himself to imitate the work of his fellow-magician ; but instead of a man he had proposed forming a woman, and he already began to hope for the success of his enterprise. The saucepan had now been on the fire sixty-three days, sixty-three nights, three ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 25 minutes, and three seconds, and he began to anticipate happy results. At each in- spection of its contents, the sorcerer had been satisfied with their progress ; the twen- ty-first day he lifted the pot from the fire, and, placing it on the ground, pronounced the following words : "Iladziun a Poun !" ' ' Hadziun a Poun ! " " Iladziun a Poun ! " lie was filled with delight to see a jolly little mouse jump from the saucepan and run around the room. lie caught it immediately, threw it back into the pan, and put on fresh fire. Several days afterward he essayed a second proof; this time it was a weasel. " Good ! " he exclaimed, " it is coming ; I am making great progress. In ten days I shall have a rabbit, then a cat, then a woman ! Good, good!" and he rubbed his hands together with joy. Remember that he was a sorcerer, and that he had only power to create a wicked woman ; otherwise, ho would have begun 26 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. by making a bee, then a swallow, then a dove, then a gazelle, and at length a sweet young girl. That is what a good man would have done. The sorcerer stirred his mixture all night, with a gold spoon, on the end of which was a silver hand, with sparkling little rings on the fingers. He stirred and stirred, until, exhausted by fatigue, about daybreak he threw himself on his old sofa and slept. CHAPTER II. THE LILAC DRESS. j|HE same day, at the same hour, a little girl, who lived in the next house, awoke from sleep. " Rosa," said she to her nurse, " it will be a fine day ; I do not want to put on my old black gown ; I would like to wear that pretty lilac frock my aunt has given me." "Miss Zoe," answered Rosalie, "your lilac frock is not ironed yet ; I only washed it yesterday." " Well, iron it then," replied Zoe, in an imperious tone. " That is impossible, miss ; there is not a fire in any part of the house." 27 28 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. "Bah!" cried out the little girl, impa- tiently ; " you always have good reasons for not doing what you are told." With these words, Zoe got up, and after a few moments, went down stairs. She per- ceived a fire and smoke in the sorcerer's great chimney, and he had left the door of the laboratory open, so as not to be stifled by the great quantity of burning charcoal. Zoe was a forward little girl who hesitated at nothing, when she wished to gratify her caprices. She passed, without being seen, the wide court which separated her from the sorcerer's abode, and, finding herself all alone, she entered the mysterious labora- tory. At the aspect of the motionless old man, she recoiled with fear ; for he looked ex- tremely wicked, although tired and asleep. But this fear was soon dissipated, and Zoe approached the furnace. Her desire was to obtain a few coals to heat an iron or two ; and, while she was fearful of awaking the sorcerer, she had, at the same time, deter- ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 29 mined to wear her lilac frock. She scarcely dared breathe, so frightened was she, but her lilac frock, her lilac frock, she must wear it, for it was her mamma's birthday, and some of her little friends were coming to spend the day. She was very vain, this little Zoe, and she had often been told that her vanity would some day or other be a cause of misfortune to her. She succeeded at length in getting some red coals from the fire with the tongs, and was about to steal softly out, when she saw two terrible eyes looking at her from the bottom of the magic saucepan. Her terror was so great that she uttered a loud cry, and the tongs dropped from her grasp. At the same instant, the sorcerer awoke. CHAPTER III. THE METAMORPHOSIS. jjNE must have spent some years on a work, or an idea, to comprehend the importance which a man attaches to his labor, a painter to his picture, a poet to his verses, a savant to a discovery. Children never understand this ; they attach impor- tance to trifles only, and break them as soon as they have received them. However, chil- dren who have been well brought up know better, and respect that of which they are ignorant. Zoe was not aware that she had, in depriv- ing the saucepan of the requisite heat, de- stroyed the labor of months that the sorcerer 30 ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 31 had vainly toiled night and day to accom- plish results now impossible. Imagine her terror and the despair of the old man. He became pale with anger ; he wept with rage the rage of a sorcerer ; the tears fell upon his white beard, and he wrung his hands with grief. He could not speak, but he re- peated in his mind the most terrible im- precations, the most powerful maledictions against the poor child who had fallen on her knees before him, uplifting her trembling hands. All at once, raising his head, and as though seized with an inspiration of ven- geance, he grasped the fatal vessel in which she had seen the terrible eyes, and violently threw its contents in Zoe's face, who fell to the ground in a paroxysm of terror and pain. The sorcerer, walking around her pros- trate figure several times, pronounced the following words : " Hadziun a Poun ! " " Hadziun a Poun! " "Hadziun a Poun I" 32 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. " Hadziun a Poun ! " And Zoe was Zoe no longer ; her pretty little hands were changed into paws with long claws ; her soft blue eyes, into big, ugly, green eyes ; her light, silky hair into short fur. Poor Zoe, so dainty, so proud of her beauty, was only a great cat, without grace or prettiness of any kind. When the unfortunate child returned to herself and began to understand this meta- morphosis, her heart grew very sad. She wished to speak in the childish voice which her dear mother never could resist ; but, alas ! she had no voice, she meawed, but she meaiced falsely ; for the sorcerer, who had never before made a cat, had not given her even such a pleasant voice as the finest cats possess, and her sad complaints were without sweetness. You remember the last trial was to be a cat, before arriving at a woman, and this cat did not give great promise of the woman who was to succeed her ; it was probable she would be very grossly constructed, and that ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 33 her voice would be quite destitute of charms. Observing all this, as he could not help doing, and comparing her wails to the dis- cordant notes of a broken music-box, the sorcerer did not enjoy hearing the cracked voice that did him so little honor. While Zoe complained, she heard her maid in the court-yard, calling her. "Zoe, Zoe," re- sounded on all sides, and the poor cat bounded up and down the room in the great- est anguish. "Ha! ha!" cried the wicked sorcerer, with a demoniacal laugh : " hear them calling you, my little cat; your mother will be de- lighted to see you in your new clothes. Ha, ha ! what a beautiful costume ! This new dress feels a little strange in the beginning ; but you will be well used to it, for you will never be rid of it until some one says, * Zoe, I pardon you!' and certes, that shall never be I." With these words, the sorcerer gave her a blow with his foot, which sent her into the court-yard, where she lay for a moment almost stunned. CHAPTER IV. EVERY ONE DOES NOT LOVE CATS. [OE, Zoe, breakfast is ready ! " "Miss Zoe, Madame is calling you. Have you seen Zoe, M. Pechor," said the waiting-maid to the porter. " No, Miss, I have not seen her to-day." " Zoe, Zoe," and Zoe ran to the vestibule at the sound of her name ; she ventured to enter the dining-room, when her nurse see- ing her, gave her a blow, saying : " Ah, what a sight ; where did that ugly cat come from ? Clear out, this instant. I do not like cats ; there is nothing I hate like a cat. Pusch ! Pouah ! Pouah ! Clear away." And poor Zoe was obliged to go away. 34 ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 35 As she sadly descended into the hall, she met her little cousin carrying a large basket of confectioneries, which she was bringing to share with her. " Zoe, Zoe," cried the little girl, " come to breakfast, quick ; we have got candy." Zoe, forgetting that she was a cat, ap- proached her cousin, and wished to take the basket from her ; but the little girl began to scream at the top of her voice, " Mamma, mamma, here is a big cat trying to eat my candies." The unhappy cat was forced to wander about sadly, very sadly, without having anything to eat. She went to her own room, and lay down on the bed, hoping for security there, at least. But she had hardly settled herself when her nurse entered. She car- ried in her hand the lilac frock, freshly ironed the fatal robe that had caused so much misery. "Zoe," said she, "come, Zoe, do not pout ; come and dress yourself; your dress is ready, come." Rosalie sought the little girl behind the 36 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. door, and in all the corners, imagining that she had hidden herself ; seeking and calling her from side to side, she threw here and there various things that lay in her way ; then she began to take oft* the covering to make the bed. In lifting the spread she saw the cat, at which discovery she grew very angry. " You are here yet, are you, ugly beast 1 " she exclaimed. "What are you doing there? Will you go away!" and "pusch, pU8ck t piMsch" began once more, accompanied with kicks, and blows of the broom. Zoe, terribly frightened, ran away as quickly as possible, and, fleeing from the awful wrath of Rosalie, she threw herself before her mother's door, and awaited her awaking with something like resignation. " In spite of this dreadful change," she said to herself, " mamma will certainly know me ; oh, I am sure she will recognize me ; she will understand me ; she will hear me although I cannot speak, if I can only be near her. She loves me so dearly, she will not allow them to harm me." CHAPTER V. A SAD BIRTHDAY. JHILE Zoe crouched, trembling, by the door, she saw her two little cousins skipping up the corridor, beautifully dressed, their faces beaming with joy. When they came close to her mamma's chamber, they walked on tip-toe, each holding a bouquet in her little hand. "Auntie is not awake yet," said one; "we cannot wish her a happy feast. Where is Zoe? She will put our bouquets in water." " Miss Zoe is in her room," replied a ser- vant who was passing, ignorant of what had transpired. 37 38 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. "Ah, I know," answered the elder of the two. " I know. She is arranging her curls ; I ought to know that she will be very particular about her dress to-day. I have been ready since eight o'clock." With these words, she produced a pretty pair of mittens which she had knitted for her aunt. Zoe saw all these things, these presents, the bouquets, and her poor heart beat sorrowfully. On her side it was not that she feared having nothing to give her mamma ; her bouquet and souvenir were ready long ago but to be obliged to pre- sent them with the paws of a cat ! At this moment she felt very unhappy, but that was not enough. At the end of an hour, her mother rang the bell, and when her maid answered the summons, Rosalie ran after her in a perspiration. " If Madame asks for Miss Zoe," said she, " sa}' that she has gone with me to buy flow- ers. That will give me time to search for her; we do not know what has become of her. Ah ! mon Dieu 1 mon Dleu I " she ex- ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 39 claimed; "I shall die if anything has hap- pened to her ! " Zoe, miserable at seeing her nurse weep- ing on account of her absence, wished to console her, and, forgetting that she could not speak, arose and advanced towards her ; but Rosalie repulsed her, this time, however, without blows ; for the poor girl was so uneasy that she had not time to be cross. The alarm soon spread throughout the household, and no one was able to hide the anxiety that manifested itself. Madame Epernay, not seeing her daughter return, and noticing the mysterious actions and evasive answers of the servants, began to suspect that something was wrong. She hastened to the chamber of her daughter, imagining she was ill, and that they were endeavoring to hide it from her. When Zoe saw her mother pass, her heart beat quickly, she ran after her, hoping she would be recognized, but a saucy spaniel who never quitted Madame Epernay's side, 40 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. and not knowing his young mistress under her disguise, began to bark at her, and soon had all the dogs in the house in his wake. There was nothing left for Zoe but flight, and in a moment she had jumped through a window and was climbing the high and slip- pery roof. They awaited the return of Rosalie with anxiety ; but she, unable to find the little girl, did not come back. Madame Epernay called her daughter in an imploring voice. "Come, my child," she cried; "I shall not scold you." Then she visited every room in the house, the court-yard, the garden ; she questioned every one ; she, ordinarily so sweet, became impatient and violent through the excess of her uneasiness ; she scolded all the servants, sent them out to look for the child, and re- proached the porter for not having detained her. Then she returned to her room and threw herself on the bed in an agony of grief. As the day advanced, her sorrow changed ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 41 into horrible despair. She had sent to all her friends and relatives, to the police, and all through the neighborhood, but no one had heard news of Zoe. All at once the idea occurred to her that Zoe had been killed by some frightful accident, and then she re- doubled her tears ; then she believed that the little girl was hiding somewhere and she would exclaim, " My child, my child, tell me the truth what has become of you ! Do not hide from me any longer. I shall not scold you, my dear little girl." Zoe was still more to be pitied, for she heard her mother's cries, and was unable to answer, " I am here." In the excess of her sorrow, she imagined that the sorcerer might restore her to her primitive form, but he had disappeared, and left no trace behind him. So she remained all night in the passage- way facing the windows of her mother's apartment, not daring to enter through fear of the vigilant spaniel who lay on the rug near the door. She thought of writing to her mother, but she had neither pen, ink, 42 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. nor paper, and even if she had, who would read, or reading believe, " My dear mamma, do not cry, I am a cat." more seen. CHAPTER VI. THE LETTER. S soon as the day dawned, Zoe, fearing to re-enter the house, where she would have, at least, the sad satisfaction of being near her mother, climbed to the roof once where she might see without being As she sat sad and quiet, she heard the noise of an opening window in the neigh- boring house, and, looking downward saw the interior of a pretty room. Books were scattered here and there on the different tables. Flowers stood in a pretty vase on the mantel, and a writing desk, small and compact, lay on the little table near the win- dow. This attracted Zoe, who thought of the letter she wished to write, and she re- 43 44 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. solved to enter the apartment. She sprang to the window sill, and seeing no one near, bravely entered the room. The disturbance caused a piece of bread, lying on an easel near the door, to fall on the floor. Zoe eagerly seized it, black and dirty though it was from having been used to erase pencil marks from the picture in process of com- pletion ; but she had had nothing to eat since evening, and it soon disappeared. After this splendid repast she prepared to write her letter ; but the difficulty lay in tracing characters that would be legible. After having made several curious lines, Zoe endeavored to read them, but alas ! she could not. Zigzags and blots there were in plenty, profiles of noses, and scratches, but no letters it was just what any cat would have written, nothing more. Impatient at seeing that she could accomplish nothing, she threw away her pen, and dipped her paw in the inkstand, trying to write with her nails ; but this was another failure ; the characters were more illegible than before. ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 45 She had already filled with ink all the papers on the table, the fauteuil, and on two or three books, when the occupant of the room entered.' This was a young girl, of about sixteen years, who seemed surprised to find a large cat which she had never before seen, writing at her desk. Far from being displeased, Eglantine (the young lady was so called) appeared charmed to see so wise a cat, and covered Zoe with caresses, giving her bon-bons and milk, and the poor child under her strange guise was very grateful. Zoe also remembered the words of the sorcerer, which in her first despair she had forgotten. "Thou shalt never recover thy own shape until some one shall say, "Zoe, I pardon thee ! " and then, the poor cat, so well treated, took courage, and began to hope that she would one day hear Eglantine, whom she had already begun to love, pro- nounce the words, " Zoe, I pardon thee." CHAPTER VII. TRIALS. |N the evening, Zoe returned to her mother's house to hear the news, but Madame Epernay had gone away. The physicians, fearful of her reason, had ordered her departure from the scene of such cruel memories, and had advised a voyage to Italy, lest she should succumb to the force of her grief. Zoe was very sad at the absence of her mother, and the deprivation of even seeing her at a distance threw her into profound melancholy. She knew that her mother would long remain inconsolable ; but the idea that those surrounding her would endeavor 46 ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 47 to efface the memory of her child, tormented her. Zoe passed the night in the court-yard. It was very cold ; the stable would have been much warmer, but she was afraid of the horses. As soon as Eglantine re-opened the win- dow of her room, Zoe returned to her. The young girl received her even more joyfully than on the preceding day, for she was now an old friend. " Minette," said she, " come here." Zoe did not wish to be called by this name, and seemed unhappy because it had been given to her. " Mignonne," said Eglantine, but Zoe did not stir. "I must give you a name, pussie," said Eglantine, " since you are going to be mine, and you cannot tell me what your name is." At these words, a bright idea entered Zoe's brain. She jumped at a bound through the window, ran over the roofs till she came to her own dwelling, and gliding through the halls, came at last to the door of her room. Everything was in disorder ; playthings and A BOOK FOR GIRLS. dresses lay promiscuously on the floor, and for a moment she seemed at a loss. A pile of her little handkerchiefs lay on the bureau ; she seized one adroitly in her mouth, and ran swiftly away. Zoe had embroidered her name in one of the corners, and returning to Eglantine, she showed her with her paw the three letters which composed it. " Zoe," said Eglantine aloud, and the cat jumped on her knees, thinking thereby to fix her atten- tion. In vain did her young mistress essay to call her by other names ; the cat persisted in showing her the embroidery on the handker- chief ; and Eglantine, seeing she wished to be called Zoe, supposed some one had given this name to her, and made up her mind to let her keep it. Usually it is the mistress who educates the cat ; but here it was the cat telling the mis- tress what she wished to be called. This seemed very singular ; but Eglantine knew that domestic animals are intelligent, and was not greatly astonished. ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 49 Thus was Zoe established in the house with her own veritable name ; the greatest difficulty was over; all she thought of now was to make some one say, "I pardon you,' and the least little fault might render this possible. But to obtain the pardon of her mistress it was necessary first to vex her, and that was not so easily managed, all at once. Some one had given Eglantine a large box of bon-bons ; Zoe saw it, and made haste to eat all it contained, and joyously awaited the return of her mistress hoping that she would scold her severely. But her hope was short lived ; Eglantine was no gourmande. She saw that Zoe had eaten the bonbons, and instead of being angry, she said, ' ' That was right, Zoe ; you knew I was saving them for you." Zoe was disappointed by this amiability, and she resolved to adopt some other plan. Eglantine designed beautifully. For sev- eral days she had been working at a land- 50 A BOOK FOR GIRLS. scape, which she wished to show to her father. The picture was nearly finished ; it needed but a few touches of the pencil to be entirely completed. Zoe, seeing that her mistress was much interested in the drawing, thought that if she should destroy it, Eglantine would be very angry. Consequently, one day when the young lady had gone out, Zoe pulled it from the easel, tore it in pieces, and covered the fragments with pencil marks, so as to destroy all vestige of the houses, trees and flowers that had made it so pretty a picture. After this fine feat, she hid under the table, there to await the anger of her mistress. Eglantine returned a few moments after, when she saw the floor strewn with bits of paper. She picked up a fragment, only to learn that her picture had been torn into pieces. But instead of flying into a fury, as Zoe had expected, she began to laugh. "If my father saw this," she said, "how he would tease me ! ' It serves you right,' he would say, ' for keeping cats around you.'" With these words she threw the pieces into ZOE ; OR, THE METAMORPHOSIS. 51 the fire, and immediately set to work to be- gin another picture. Meanwhile, Zoe came bravely from her hiding-place, expecting first to receive a scolding, and then to hear, " Zoe, I pardon you ;" but Eglantine did not scold.