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harpsichord." And then " her grandmother [Mrs. Wash- 
 ington] made her practise upon it four or five hours a 
 day." And her brother adds : " She would cry and play, 
 and play and cry for hours ! " 
 
 Out of the past comes this picture of a little girl, sitting 
 at a tall spinet, or harpsichord, (which was the first kind of 
 piano), and someway to my mind comes also the picture 
 of that brother probably teasing a little at the parlor door, 
 as poor Nellie sat "playing and crying"; for if brothers 
 were then what they are to-day, that is very likely just 
 what he did. 
 
 Dear little maid ! I can see her as she sat, toiling 
 away for hours with her warm little fingers, and with her 
 toes dangling down from a tall stool, in front of that old 
 harpsichord. 
 
 Out of doors the sun was shining warm and soft. The 
 birds were calling to her to say how lovely it was out 
 there, and the roses nodding in at the window beckoned 
 come and play with them. 
 
Ube "fcarpsicborb lesson. 
 
 Her brother, with a wild swirl on his way to the garden, stopped to laugh at her tears, and only made 
 them worse. She evidently did not love music ; but in those days little girls, and boys, too, had to do as 
 the "grown-ups" told them to, and never thought of rebelling. And harpsichords were very few in this 
 country when it was a new country, long ago ; and so it was a great treat to many people who came to 
 her grandfather's house, to hear one played. 
 
 Dear little Nellie Custis ! I wonder how many, many little girls since her time have sat as she 
 did, and worked as hard to make black dots on lines of music go on white and black keys of ivory. 
 
 That very same harpsichord is still standing in the dim old room in the mansion where she lived ; and 
 as you see it, with its tall legs, there is always a picture of a little girl, whose weary fingers wandered up and 
 down its key-board, learning to make music for others to enjoy. 
 
 Out of History s dnsty page 
 Comes a little maiden. 
 Probably about your age, 
 With sweet graees laden. 
 
 Practising the long/iours through. 
 Scales and stately measure, 
 Patient, learning things to do 
 Just for others' pleasure. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/childrenofcoloniOOtuckrich 
 
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 SWEET little Prudence Wilson was learning how to 
 spin. It was rather hard work for the tiny arms to 
 reach the spindle and draw the thread — and for the little 
 toes to reach the ground from the tall stool she sat 
 on, was quite impossible:. Still Prudence had to learn. 
 
 The day was bright and sunny, and dear Sister Ruth 
 and Prudence took embroidery frame and spinning-wheel 
 out in front of the wide hall doors. It was very dis- 
 tracting to hear the birds singing overhead, and to want 
 so much to watch Wilfred at his fencing lesson on the 
 lawn, with the other boys. But Prudence had to learn, 
 for all little girls then were taught to spin, and to sew, 
 and to embroider the stitches on samplers, that they 
 would want to know how to do when they were young 
 ladies. So Sister Ruth sang over her embroidery frame, 
 and little Prudence listened, and they talked. 
 
 Prudence said, " When I grow to be a big young 
 lady like you. Sister Ruth, I shall wear a lovely pink 
 gown and have a tall lover like yours." 
 
 ^" And what will you do for him, little Prudence," asked 
 Sister Ruth, smiling quietly over her work. 
 
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 " Oh, I will make him a beautiful, beautiful watch chain, all spun on the 
 spinning-wheel, of my own, own hair, which shall all be cut ofif to make the 
 thread. And if I am a prisoner in a castle tower, he will take the long, long chain 
 spun from my hair, which I will throw him down from my window, and he will 
 climb up it hand over hand, and take me in his arms, and climb down again, and 
 away we will go, and live happily ever after." 
 
 "Very well," said Sister Ruth, "then. Mistress Prudence, you must take 
 your arms down from behind your head, and not stop to dream now, but learn to 
 spin a strong thread, with no knots in it." 
 
 Then Prudence would go on spinning a long thread, while the kittens played 
 with the other end of it. 
 
 Then she would say, " Sister Ruth, why does Wilfred have play in the open 
 air, while I have to sit and sew, and embroider, and spin ?" 
 
 Then Sister Ruth smiled again, and answered, " It has ever been the way, 
 dear Prudence, for men to do the out-of-door things, and manly sports, and 
 for maidens to do the gentle things, those that keep us quiet in the house, and are 
 useful to both men and maids. So tend to your quiet work, my dear, and stitch upon stitch is the only way." 
 
 So the sunny day came to a close, and many more of them also came and went. And many years of 
 days have gone since then ; and to-day from a box, with a musty smell, I take an old sampler and read in all 
 the stitches this story of long ago. 
 
 It is all there is left — it, and an old spinning-wheel, which little girls to-day do not know how to use at 
 all. Wilfred's play and his sword are long ago done and over, yet here is the small bit of stitching that has 
 lasted all the long years, to tell a great-grandchild the story of a little girl's fingers patiently going in and 
 out, while her small feet ached to run, and it seems to me a rather great thing to have done something that 
 tells such a sweet story, and has lasted so very, very long. 
 
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TLhc Minuet 
 
 ' T "X 7" AY back in the long ago, — yes, away back when 
 V V George Washington was a day, they danced the 
 minuet — our dear little Great-Grandmothers and manly 
 little Great-Grandfathers. T/iey did n't know that they 
 were Great-Grandfathers and Great-Grandmothers, but we 
 know, for they were our own, and here we are ! 
 
 In rows they stood — the billowy silken skirts of the 
 girls opposite the velvet coats and satin knee-breeches of 
 the boys. It was the loveliest dress to wear in that 
 stately dance. The long coats of rich colors on the 
 boyish figures, and rustling silken skirts on the sweet 
 girls swaying to and fro in the slow figures. 
 
 With a sweeping rustling curtsy, with a bend of the 
 satin waistcoats, with a sweet chord on the spinet and 
 guitar, the dance began. Back and forth went the solemn 
 little folks, never faster than a walk, keeping time to 
 the delightful one, two, three of the music — crossing 
 and re-crossing in the different figures, following the head 
 
 couples in a stately march — two and two. Now bending 
 
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 in graceful curtsys, while the little cavaliers knelt and saluted the tips of dimpled fingers, then holding 
 aloft silken scarfs in airy folds, entwining and interlacing all together. Soft and sweet the chords of music, 
 dark the shining floors, reflecting bright candle lights and dainty satin-clad feet. Rich the colors of the 
 beautiful gowns and coats, and sweet, oh ! sweet, the dimpled rosy faces of the dear little children, as they 
 trod the sober measures of that most graceful of dances — the minuet of the long ago ! 
 
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 IT down here by me, my little Alice, and you shall 
 hear me read a story, — yes, a true story about 
 your own Great-Grandmother. She has written it here in 
 this little book for us to read, the story of how she left 
 her dear old home in sunny England to come across the 
 wide ocean in a poor little boat, not at all like the wonder- 
 ful steamers of nowadays. 
 
 " Your Grandmother, dear Alice, was a little girl, and 
 well remembers the tiresome voyage over those long, long 
 miles of tossing waves. There were many delights and 
 novelties for her, as the sailors of the ship were very kind 
 to her, and loved to toss her up in their strong arms, for 
 she was never sick, and would stay up on the deck as 
 long as she would be allowed to, looking out over the 
 waves when others were down below in their berths. 
 These sailors would tell her stories, and they grew very 
 fond of seeing the little figure in her red cloak, watching 
 them with her bright eyes, and listening to their songs. 
 
 " But her mother, with many other mothers, was ill 
 all the long dreary way, and a sorry time they had, all 
 crowded together in the stuffy little cabin down below. 
 
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 Many times Grandmother has told me of it all, and of how at last they got to the new, strange land which 
 was our America, where they found such cold and rocky shores, and where their fathers had to build houses 
 out of logs for them to live in, and had to build them strongly to keep out Indians and wolves. Everybody 
 helped : even the little children carried things to help in the building. How glad they were for every little 
 thing they had brought with them from England ! — pins and all such things, — for there was none at all in 
 this new country. Oh, those were hard, hard times, little Dorothy, and they were brave people, your grand- 
 parents, to do it all for freedom for us ! 
 
 "And freedom we will have some day in this America, for even now thine own father, whose portrait 
 hangs beside you, and all the fathers in the land are determined that we shall be free from English rule, 
 even if there must be a war." 
 
 Long, long ago these words were spoken, and this story, told to listening little Alice who is a Great- 
 Grandmother now herself, and long ago gone away, — and see how the words of the gentle lady came true ! 
 The war she told about did come. Alice's father, and the fathers of her little friends, had the war that we 
 celebrate on our Fourth of July, and to-day, in this dear land of ours, we are having the freedom they 
 fought for. 
 
 Be glad of those true-hearted, brave Great-6f^rt'«/-GRi:AT-Grandfathers of yours, children dear. 
 
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Dreaming before the ®Ib 
 Jire*lplace. 
 
 THERE she sits in front of the fire, dreaming the 
 dreams that a little maid dreams when twilight and 
 bedtime are coming on, and the flames curl themselves so 
 easily into the long golden hair of floating fairies. Then 
 in the old mirror over the chimney are reflected all the 
 dear old nursery friends of tale and rhyme and Mother 
 Goose. Puss-in-boots is there, and princesses, stern old 
 knights, and helpful little fairies, who always make things 
 come right in the stories. 
 
 And in the centre of all, there is the enchanting Prince, 
 whose curls of gold float out, and who smiles down into 
 her eyes as she sits and dreams of him — so brave, and 
 gallant, and gay ! The room is full of her fancies, and 
 they come down and take her hand, and touch her eyes so 
 that she sees in the glowing coals castles, turrets, knights, 
 and burning cities. 
 
 Sit down by the big fire yourself some night, when 
 you 're tired of play, just before bedtime, and look for 
 them all in that big bed of coals, tucked in among the 
 logs and flames. See that burning bridge ! There is a 
 galloping dragon with smoke from his eyes coming over 
 
Breaming before tbe ©lb ff(re«ipiace. 
 
 it, and swiftly it burns, and just as he gets to the centre, crash down it goes, burnt 
 through by the fire-sword of a trusty flame-fairy. Down go two ends of a burnt 
 brand, and the bridge becomes a burning castle, with windows all where the black 
 places are. Over there is a tiger with glowing eyes, coming out of the smoke, and 
 those little blue and yellow flames are graceful fire-fairies, waving and vanishing 
 up the dark old chimney. Oh, it is the best place of all to dream beside, and to 
 see pictures in at twilight. Try it and see for yourselves. And now— just as the 
 dark is curtaining the light in the windows, so that the glowing fire-fairies can come 
 out and fill all the corners of the room, and just as you are having such a very good 
 time seeing them all and telling about them, the door opens, and somebody, nurse 
 perhaps, says that bedtime has come ! 
 
 Here across the page you go — little figures clad in long white robes, with 
 very sleepy eyes, full of the dreams you are going to have, with candles in hand, 
 with locks neatly tucked up, curled up, 
 and covered with caps for the night. With 
 bare feet, going across the hall and up 
 the stairs away you all go — into the soft 
 beds in the nursery, waiting like white 
 ships to carry you all across the sea of 
 night into the Island of Dreamland, where 
 all the fire-light stories and dreams come 
 true, and last for the whole night through. 
 
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IT was the day before Christmas, many years ago. 
 Everybody was busy preparing for the happy day, in 
 the way they used to do in those Colonial days. The 
 Christmas had to be just as much like the Christmases in 
 Old England as they could have it in the New England, 
 for the sake of the old folks who had spent the holidays 
 of their childhood in the Old England. The house was 
 all trimmed with greens from top to bottom, and even the 
 great Yule Log was carried in on Xmas Eve, decked with 
 wreaths of holly. Only here it was carried in by grinning 
 Sambo and Pompey — the jolly servants of the new country. 
 Little Red Riding Hood went all alone that day clear all 
 the way to Grandmother Pennyhurst's. It was a mile away 
 and over the snowy country. Everybody was busy 
 putting up greens, and Cousin Althea even had a bunch of 
 mistletoe which she hung high in a rather conspicuous 
 place in the hall. It came in a box from England, with 
 some holly from the dear old homestead there, and Little 
 Red Riding Hood thought of how dearly Grandma 
 Pennyhurst would love to have in her Christmas decora- 
 tions a bit of the real old holly from her own home. So 
 
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a Colonial Xittle 1ReJ> IRi&lnfi Doo^. 
 
 she picked out a nice big spray, and putting on her cloak, like the other Red Riding Hood, set off across the 
 road all by herself. 
 
 It seemed a very long way, and it began to grow dark sooner than she had thought it would, and as 
 she trudged along she felt a bit lonely. Suddenly, out of the bushes beside the road, she saw two fiery 
 eyes, and out stepped a great gray dog, who had a fierce red mouth and who snarled at her when she spoke 
 kindly to him, and did not seem a bit friendly. He slouched along beside her a few steps, sniffing at her 
 cloak, and then throwing up his head he gave a long queer howl, and trotted off into the woods across 
 the road. 
 
 Then the little girl was frightened indeed, for she knew that howl was the howl of a wolf ! She was 
 very glad to look up and find the house so near, just across the field now. And as she ran quickly towards 
 it over the snow by the shortest cut, she realized it all. This, she was sure, was the Real Wolf in the story 
 of Little Red Riding Hood, who seeing her red cloak had thought her to be that same little girl going to 
 Grandmother's with her basket ; but when he sniffed at her cloak, he knew it was not the same, and so 
 he ran away again. 
 
 When she reached the house, and told them about her adventure, her Grandmother clasped her Little 
 Red Riding Hood closely in her arms and said : " My darling child, you have escaped a great danger ! That 
 was the wolf that has lately carried off Farmer Black's lambs from his fold, and he only ran away because he 
 saw the house was so near ! " 
 
 This was what Grandma thought of it. Which do you think was the true version — hers or the 
 little girl's ? 
 
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 Zbc jfencino Xesson. 
 
 WILFRED'S father's friend, the Gentleman from 
 France, was Wilfred's hero in everything. He 
 was so brave, so handsome, so clever, and so full of 
 song and story of strange, interesting life across the seas, 
 told in his pretty broken speech, part English, part 
 French. 
 
 The Gentleman from France had no other name to 
 Wilfred and the children, for it was the only one they 
 ever found out that he had. No one would tell them 
 any other. He was a rather mysterious gentleman, for 
 he came suddenly one night, and the children, finding 
 him at breakfast next morning, were bidden to ask no 
 questions, and he just stayed on in their home. They all 
 loved him, Wilfred especially, for he was so jolly, and so 
 fond of playing with them. But sometimes he used to 
 sit and look very sad, and then if the children spoke to 
 him, he would answer them in French, with a far-away 
 look in his eyes. 
 
 One day, when Wilfred was taking his lesson in French 
 from the Gentleman, he asked about those two long, thin 
 swords which hung crossed on the wall, over the picture 
 of a dark-haired lady, in the Gentleman's room. 
 
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tlbe ffcncfng Xcsson. 
 
 The Gentleman from France turned quickly away and looked out of the window, saying nothing for 
 a long while. 
 
 Then he turned to Wilfred standing asking there, and said, " It is a long, thin, cruel sword — very 
 little — very thin — but it killed my friend. It is for that I came to America." 
 
 Wilfred was very much interested, and after waiting a long time, while the Gentleman from France 
 looked sadly far out of the window, he said, " I should like to know how to use the long thin sword." The 
 Gentleman turned about quickly, and laughed the sadness out of his eyes, saying, " Boys are all alike, of every 
 country. Over in France, every gentleman knows how to use these swords. Come, I will teach you." So 
 he took a pair of foils, and they went out on the sunny piazza, and there Wilfred had his first lesson in 
 fencing. 
 
 After that, this Gentleman from France taught all the boys in the neighborhood, as all their parents 
 were glad of so good a chance for having their sons learn this gentlemanly art ; for, in those warlike days, 
 it was deemed very necessary for every man to know how to use a sword in his own or his country's defence. 
 
 And what a good time they had ! How exciting it was to get their foils, and gloves, and masks, and 
 to throw off their coats, and learn to parry, and thrust, and bend, with the fascinating, long, thin steel 
 foils glancing in the sunshine. Of course these had little buttons on the ends, so no one could get hurt, 
 and the handsome Gentleman from France became very excited and jolly over it all. 
 
 And so it came about, that while poor little Prudence had to stay in the house and learn to embroider, 
 and spin, and sew, Wilfred, out on the lawn in the healthful sunlight, was taught to use the foils as a 
 gentleman should. 
 
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 Sunbai2 fll^orni^o a Ibunbreb 
 19ear8 Hao. 
 
 ONE Sunday, lovely cousin Kitty said, "Dorothy 
 Allen shall go to church with me." So Dorothy 
 was dressed in her white dimity skirt, with the blue 
 pelisse, had her freshest cap tied on, took Cousin Kitty's 
 book, and went out of the garden gate and down the 
 sunny street on the bright June day to church. The only 
 other time she had been she could n't remember, for it 
 was when she wore long, long baby dresses, and was 
 carried on a lace pillow to get her name, Dorothy 
 Catherine Pettigrew Allen, from the minister. Now she 
 was four years old, she was sure she was quite big enough 
 to go. How proud and pleased she felt as they walked 
 along the village street and saw all the other children 
 going too ; and how grand she felt as she sailed up the 
 aisle beside Cousin Kitty. 
 
 She sat up very straight and still in the high pew, and 
 watched what everybody did. They sang very long and 
 loud hymns, and everybody sang. Every lady had a sprig 
 of rosemary or lavender carried in her prayer-book, and 
 the air had a faint perfume of it all the time. Up there 
 in the choir were the little charity-school children, all 
 
Sun&ap /Domino a Dun&rcl) J^cars Hgo. 
 
 dressed just alike in close caps, dark cotton gowns, short sleeves, and mitts. They stood in rows, and sang 
 away at the hymns,— some girls as little as Dorothy, — with their rosy faces and wistful eyes. And under the 
 gallery was such a very cross-looking man with a long stick, who leaned over and poked the boys and people 
 who went to sleep, waking them up to listen to the sermon. Cousin Kitty whispered that he was the 
 tithing man — and Dorothy must look out or he would be having to wake her up. But Dorothy knew that 
 she was quite too big a girl to go to sleep, — and anyway his eyes seemed always shut, though he never 
 missed seeing a sleeping boy or girl. 
 
 many hymns and long, long 
 into a tall pulpit, and began 
 His voice was very solemn, 
 for no one answered him a 
 
 At last, after a great 
 prayers, the minister climbed 
 to talk, and talk, and talk, 
 and the church was very still, 
 word. 
 
 The air came in very 
 and windows, and a bee came 
 Dorothy heard outside the 
 and sneezing long " whoups." 
 twittering in the trees and in 
 a little swallow flew in and 
 head, and then flew out again, 
 the high wooden pew. Then 
 the aisle going to sleep, and 
 as his eyes shut tighter, and 
 did not seem to see him. She 
 that she leaned forward, and 
 back where her warm little 
 against the varnishy - sticky 
 his eyes with a jerk, saw 
 Thomas awoke at the other 
 that upset his father's book. 
 
 Dorothy blushed very 
 proper and good, but Cousin 
 handed her a leaf of rosemary 
 very long in the days when 
 and the voice went on, and 
 was still and hot. She sat 
 herself awake — but presently everything looked dim, and her little cap was nodding like a heavy white rose 
 on its stem. And the voice grew far away — and the next thing she knew was a poke, and there at her pew 
 was that horrid tithing man ! He was actually smiling, and every one else looked around and smiled at the 
 " child who had to be waked up in church." 
 
 Poor Dorothy ! It was too much for her, and she sank in a heap of bashful misery to the bottom of 
 the pew, burying her crimson face in the cushions, where Cousin Kitty let her stay till church was out, and 
 then she only took her hand and said, " Never mind." But poor Dorothy was deeply humiliated to think 
 that so great a girl as she had gone to sleep in church the first time she went. 
 
 THE CHARITY CHILDREN. 
 
 hot through the open doors 
 in and buzzed about, and 
 horses stamping the flies away 
 The birds were singing and 
 the lanes of the church, and 
 circled among the rafters over- 
 Dorothy leaned back against 
 she saw Thomas Ryder across 
 his mouth dropped wider open 
 the old man under the gallery 
 got so interested in watching, 
 crack went her white dimity 
 shoulders had been leaning 
 pew. The tithing man opened 
 Thomas, leaned forward, and 
 end of the stick with a jump 
 
 much, for she wanted to be so 
 Kitty smiled kindly and 
 to smell. Sermons were ver)-, 
 Dorothy Allen went to church, 
 on, and on. And the church 
 up very straight, to keep 
 
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o 
 
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 I FOUND her in a garret one day, tucked away in the 
 bottom of an old chest, — this old, old dollie ! She was 
 such a funny-looking dear, and I took her out and smoothed 
 her wrinkled and quaint gown of brocaded silk, wonder- 
 ing how a little girl could have loved a doll with such ugly 
 hands and queer hair. But a real little girl had loved her, 
 and she was my own great-grandmother. For I found, 
 pinned to her gown, a note, yellow with age, which told 
 me all about her. This is what it said : 
 
 " Written by my mother for me, to my dear grand- 
 ||^j/ child who will first find this doll. Keep her always as 
 I 've left her, for it is with tears I put her away, having 
 grown too great a girl to play with her any more, as I am 
 nine years old ! She was sent to me from London, and 
 ^rN^ [( cost 4 guineas, and her clothing, made by a fashionable 
 '^ dress-maker, cost ^4,45., a great price for a doll ! I never 
 
 shall forget the day I got her. I stood her in a chair and 
 danced before her in my great pleasure. I loved her very 
 much, and will tell you how I always thought she saved 
 my life. 
 Vr'^. \\ "I w^s P'^y'"g alone on the beach, and, tripping my 
 
 toe, I fell into a deep hole by the roots of a tree, and a 
 
a Doll's Oreat-0ran5motber. 
 
 great heap of sand falling in with me nearly covered me up, and made it impossible for me to get out. I 
 called, but no one heard, and my ankle, which I had twisted, becoming very painful, I fainted, and I surely 
 should have been drowned by the tide which was coming in, while insensible, had it not been that my dear 
 doll Florinda lay in such a manner that her foot and part of her gown were outside the sand in the hole, 
 where I was buried, and Jim, the black boy, coming by, saw her lying there. He dug her out, and so dis- 
 covered me and saved me. He was so excited that he left my poor dear doll behind, and the tide had 
 already wet her, when I, waking up in my mother's arms, called out for my Florinda, and Jim was hurried off 
 to fetch her. The stain on her gown was caused by the salt water, and I hope you will love her very much, 
 and keep her with care as I did. 
 
 " Your Loving Grandmother, 
 
 " In the 9th year of her age — 1775." 
 
 Was n't that the loveliest thing to find ? And she is my verj' own Grca^-Gra.ndma, for her dollie was 
 so hidden away that I was the first little girl to find it after all those years. We keep her as a great treasure, 
 and my dolls respect her very much, for she is i/iez'r Great-Grandmother, I suppose. 
 
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