-
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 GARDEN OF ROSES. 
 
 0toric0 an& Skctdjcs. 
 
 BY 
 
 MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 THOMAS B. NOONAN & CO. 
 17, 19 AND 21 BOYLSTOX ST. 
 
 1887.
 
 COPYRIGHT: 
 THOMAS B. NOONAN & CO. 
 
 1887. 
 
 CASHMAN, KEATING & Co. 
 
 ELECTROTYPERS AND PRINTERS, 
 
 597 WASHINGTON ST.
 
 Pz? 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A GARDEN OF EGSES 5 
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN 43 
 
 FLOATING ON A BOAED 72 
 
 JUNE EOSES 81 
 
 A PASSION FLOWER 89 
 
 BLUFF'S BOY 95 
 
 A SPRIG OF SHAMROCK 106 
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE 116 
 
 A CHRISTMAS HYMN 131 
 
 A JUNE DAY 137 
 
 WILDE BY NAME AND WILD BY NATURE .... 144 
 
 THE BOY WHO WANTED TO BE OLD 152 
 
 THE LAST MEETING OF THE T. I. AND B. B. E.'s . 155 
 
 A DAY AT EIDGEWOOD 161 
 
 GRACE COURT 168 
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY 182 
 
 BIANCA 205 
 
 A VACATION TALK 221 
 
 A TALK IN THE FALL 227 
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY 233 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE 251 
 
 AT SCHOOL AGAIN 261 
 
 IN POVERTY HOLLOW , . . 266 
 
 484053 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 
 
 i. 
 
 IT was a rainy day a rainy day in the 
 country. The roads were as soft as quick- 
 sands, and the air so misty that the tops of the 
 oaks not far from the house seemed to be 
 blotted entirely from the landscape. Outside, 
 there was a pleasant-looking house, with a 
 broad and wide lawn edged by an old-fashioned 
 border of boxwood. Inside, a large parlor, 
 warmed by a grate fire ; the curtains of the 
 windows were drawn, to keep out the gray 
 light, and a softly tinted lamp stood on the 
 centre table, supplying the place of the exiled 
 daylight. 
 
 Three girls were the occupants of the parlor. 
 One Margaret had thrown down her book, 
 and was lounging on a comfortable sofa, her 
 5
 
 STOHIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 arms stretched above her head in a yawning 
 attitude. She was not over sixteen, with a 
 straight nose, long-lashed eyelids, and a pale 
 complexion. Her face would have been attrac- 
 tive if it were not for a settled expression of 
 discontent. She seemed to be dreaming. 
 
 Not far from her, on a low stool, with a 
 piece of embroidery held listlessly in her hands, 
 was another girl, nearly a year younger than 
 Margaret. She was almost blonde, while 
 Margaret was almost brunette ; they each re- 
 presented extremes of that common type which 
 is neither blonde nor brunette. She, too, 
 seemed to be dreaming ; and her dreams ap- 
 parently were not very pleasant, if one might 
 judge by the expression of her face. 
 
 A third girl, still younger, sat in front of a 
 cabinet-piano, striking a few notes of a waltz, 
 a march, or a galop ; now starting off into a 
 series of brilliant movements with her right 
 hand, and then suddenly making the bass 
 rumble like the echo of a departing thunder- 
 storm in the mountains. She was evidently 
 restless. 
 
 Margaret, Anna, and Rosalie Wyckoff were 
 sisters. Their father had been dead four years. 
 He died suddenly, cut down in the midst of
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 
 
 his work, leaving his business affairs very 
 greatly confused. His wife, with her three 
 daughters, had moved to the only property of 
 his they found unencumbered. It was in the 
 country, one hundred miles from any town. 
 The girls found it dull, after the bustle of the 
 city. Unhappily, their life in the city had 
 made them older than their real age. It had 
 been a gay life. Little time had been given 
 to thought or study, but much to social calling, 
 entertainments, and the gossip of society, in 
 which even young girls unfortunately become 
 too often adepts. 
 
 Their mother was devoted to them. No 
 matter how ill or weary she might be, she 
 would hasten to save them from the necessity 
 of doing anything that she could do. They 
 accepted the service as a matter of course. 
 Their father had never been very rich. A 
 certain economy had always been necessary in 
 his household ; when, in the winter, the ques- 
 tion of new gowns and wraps recurred, it was 
 understood, of course, that the girls were to 
 have the most costly articles of that kind ; 
 while their mother was contented to take what 
 was left after they had gotten what they fancied 
 they needed.
 
 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 They had seal-skin sacks and diamond ear- 
 rings ; while their mother, still young, and 
 certainly more interesting in every way than 
 her daughters, wore cheap garments. But 
 nobody seemed to be struck by the strangeness 
 of this arrangement. It was not singular in 
 their set ; it was the rule for mothers to take 
 the second place even before their daughters 
 assumed long gowns. 
 
 Mrs. WyckofF waited on her children assidu- 
 ously sometimes with a sigh, as she reflected 
 how helpless they were ! She never thought 
 for a moment that they were lacking in duty 
 or respect. They were only helpless in her 
 eyes, nothing more. 
 
 Since they had come into the country, Mrs. 
 Wyckoff was obliged to exert herself more 
 than ever. The servants the "Wyckoffs had 
 employed in the city had been discharged, and 
 the rougher domestic work was done by a 
 Swedish woman, whose manner of doing 
 things was often very different from Mrs. 
 Wyckoff's. 
 
 The girls read, embroidered, played, or 
 idled as before. They had more time on 
 their hands now. Their city occupations were 
 missing. Mrs. Wyckoffs limited income pre-
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 9 
 
 vented her from keeping a horse and carriage. 
 Anna and Rosalie grumbled privately at this. 
 They said that they could not see why their 
 mother would not save in some other way. 
 A pony carriage would have helped them to 
 enjoy themselves so much, and it really cost 
 very little to keep a horse in the country. 
 
 Margaret, more sensible, replied that this 
 " very little" was lacking. Anna and Rosalie 
 did not believe it; it was "just one of mam- 
 ma's queer ways," they said. 
 
 II. 
 
 And yet they were affectionate in their way. 
 Rosalie would languidly turn her head from 
 the music rack as her mother went out into the 
 back garden to help the servant take down the 
 clothes from the line, and wonder why " mam- 
 ma does not rest herself a little." It did not 
 occur to her to offer to help her mother. 
 Margaret sometimes offered to read a new 
 book Mrs. "Wyckoff often stinted in a hun- 
 dred small ways, in order that her children 
 should have new books and magazines but
 
 10 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the mother had no time to listen. This made 
 Margaret somewhat impatient. 
 
 "No time!" she murmured; "mother is 
 too busy too restless ; she will wear herself 
 out." 
 
 And she was wearing herself out in seeing 
 that the dinners and teas were served as daintily 
 as possible, and that her daughters were kept 
 away from the petty trials of life. 
 
 Anna had a taste for Art, with a capital A. 
 She painted golden rods and asters, and num- 
 berless other fashionable flowers on plates; 
 she embroidered long strips of cloth with sun- 
 flowers, and hung them everywhere in the 
 house. She left the business of making her 
 gowns to her mother. She was a little over 
 fourteen years of age, and girls of fourteen are 
 not generally expected to be very useful. But, 
 as Anna could embroider nicely, it seemed as 
 if she might sew quite as nicely, with a little 
 practice. Her Uncle John once said this. 
 Anna had never liked him since ; she was sure 
 he had no feeling for Art. 
 
 No attempt had been made to educate the 
 girls properly. They had had various govern- 
 esses ; but, although Mrs. Wyckoff had always 
 insisted upon taking them to the Episcopal
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 11 
 
 church every Sunday, they had never been 
 instructed in the duties of their state in life. 
 
 They had heard a great deal about " high 
 aspirations," "the duties of girlhood and 
 womanhood to the world," and " the necessity 
 of the broadest culture ; " but of the practical 
 daily duties of Christians they knew nothing. 
 Mrs. Wyckoff saw that something was Avrong ; 
 she trembled for the future of her darlings ; 
 but she had not the courage to tell them that 
 they were living in a fool's paradise, they were 
 such dainty, fragile creatures ! 
 
 And so they continued to do what their 
 favorite preacher had called making ' ' life 
 beautiful." He had not intended to say to 
 them that they should neglect useful things for 
 those that were only ornamental ; but he had 
 preached to pews filled with rich people and 
 the Wyckoffs had apparently been rich. 
 
 Margaret looked around the room, which 
 ought to have been cheerful, but which was 
 not cheerful. There was the warm, bright 
 grate fire ; there was the soft lamp-light ; there 
 were all sorts of pretty objects in the room 
 music, autumn flowers, books. And }*et the 
 atmosphere was not that of a contented house- 
 hold. The girl threw down her novel and
 
 12 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 yawned ; then she went to the window and 
 looked out on the sodden lawn and the damp 
 masses of newly-fallen leaves. 
 
 "I have finished that novel at last!" she 
 said. 
 
 "How many have you read this week, 
 Madge?" 
 
 " Let me sec : ten, Anna ten at least." 
 
 ' ' And I am sure you do not know the names 
 of the characters in any of them." 
 
 "You are wrong, my dear. I can not re- 
 member the names of the other nine just now, 
 but the tenth was ' Lady Adelaide's Secret.' 
 There is a duke in it, and a great deal about 
 hunting and English life. Dear me ! I wish I 
 lived in England ! They have such lovely 
 times ! What with five-o'clock teas and hunt- 
 ing parties and luncheons, they enjoy life. 
 The English know how to live in the country." 
 
 " So should we if we were rich." 
 
 * ' I wish we were rich ! I am tired of being 
 poor I am tired of everything. I wish I 
 had another novel ! " 
 
 " I don't see how you can reconcile this 
 novel-reading to your conscience," said Rosalie, 
 somewhat sharply. "It ruins the memory, 
 and makes one discontented."
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 13 
 
 "/ don't see, Rose, how you can reconcile 
 your eternal practicing of pieces of music, 
 which you never finish, to your conscience. 
 You waste as much time as I do, and you are 
 quite as discontented. You know that you 
 said the other day you would rather live in a 
 garret in the city than in a palace here." 
 
 " I did not, Madge. I " 
 
 "Girls! girls!" said a soft voice; and 
 Mrs. Wyckoff's gentle face, flushed and weary- 
 looking, appeared at the door, " Do not 
 quarrel, my dears." 
 
 "Rose is only talking nonsense, mother, 
 we're not quarrelling. Is the skirt of my 
 black gown done yet, mamma? You said I 
 might have it to-day." 
 
 "Well, Madge," began Mrs. Wyckoif, apolo- 
 getically, "I have not had time to touch it. 
 Hannah was busy with the washing, and I had 
 to hunt for eggs in the barn for the dessert, you 
 know ; and there are so many little things of 
 which you girls know nothing. Dear, dear ! 
 I am tired ! " 
 
 "We're all tired, mamma. I wish I had 
 something to do ! " 
 
 " There are some towels that want hemming, 
 Madge," said Mrs. Wyckoff, with a sigh.
 
 14 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Oh, I can't sew, mamnia ! I mean I wish 
 I had something to do worthy of myself and 
 my aspirations." 
 
 "A girl of sixteen with 'aspirations ! '" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Wyckoff, with an amused look. 
 " At your age I was only a child." 
 
 "Times have changed, mamma," answered 
 Margaret, with an air of conceit that would 
 have tempted a less fond and foolish mother to 
 the severest possible reprimand. 
 
 "I had determined," Margaret continued, 
 " to help you in my own way, mamma. I 
 wrote a poem." 
 
 Margaret paused, evidently expecting that 
 this announcement would be received with 
 astonishment and awe. 
 
 " Oh, that's what you were scribbling about 
 in your room for so many mornings, was it?" 
 asked Rosalie. 
 
 "I sent it to five editors. It was rejected 
 by them all." 
 
 " What a shame ! " cried Anna. " I am sure 
 you can write. Look at those Goodale sisters, 
 whose names appear in all the magazines. 
 They're not much older than we are." 
 
 " If you don't mind, mamma, I'll read it to 
 you now ? "
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 15 
 
 " Thank you, Madge," said Mrs. Wyckoff, 
 beaming with pride; "but just wait till I run 
 down and see if the kettle is boiling." 
 
 "Oh, the sordid cares of life!" said Mar- 
 garet, tragically. 
 
 III. 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff was absent longer than she 
 had intended. The girls heard a carriage stop 
 at the door, and the sound of footsteps on the 
 gravel walk. Then the bell rang. Margaret 
 went to the window, but she could see only a 
 piece of a woman's gown through the rails of 
 the porch. 
 
 The bell rang again. 
 
 "Who can it be?" asked Eosalie. "Han- 
 nah is so busy to-day, why doesn't mamma 
 open the door?" 
 
 An interval of silence ; then sounds of greet- 
 ing, a pleasant laugh, and light footsteps in 
 the hall. 
 
 " Why, girls," cried Mrs. Wyckoff, opening 
 the parlor door, " it's Philomena ! " 
 
 Philomena was a trim little figure dressed in
 
 16 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 brown ; she had thrown off her wraps. Her 
 cheeks were red from the sharp air outside. 
 She smiled cheerily, and kissed Margaret on 
 both cheeks. She had never met the other 
 girls before ; she shook hands with them. 
 Her brown hair was smoothly arranged ; her 
 neatness of head-dress was in great contrast to 
 the Wyckoff's, whose heads were in various 
 conditions of dishevelment. The only orna- 
 ment she wore was a gold medal of the Blessed 
 Virgin which hung below her close collar. 
 
 "How comfortable you are ! " she exclaimed, 
 cheerily. "This is really like a home. But 
 I've interrupted you," she continued, noticing 
 the paper in Margaret's hand. 
 
 " Madge was about to read a poem," said 
 Anna, with an air of subdued pride. 
 
 Margaret cleared her throat. 
 
 " Do go on with it, please," said Philomena. 
 
 "Would you mind getting me a glass of 
 water, mamma ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff rose from her chair as a matter 
 of course. Philomena looked from her to the 
 girls in amazement. She stood up for an 
 instant, and then sat down again. A moment 
 
 fore she had felt in her heart a kindly 
 armth towards her cousins. It died out
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 17 
 
 suddenly. She looked at the pretty adorn- 
 ments of the room with changed eyes. The 
 " home feeling " had gone out of it. 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff brought the glass of water. 
 Margaret sipped it, and began in a clear, sweet 
 voice : 
 
 " I would that my life were a garden of roses, 
 
 With a new bud open to light each day. 
 (O roses of June-time! your life discloses 
 Fre^li perfume, fresh beauty in summer's way.) 
 
 " I would make my life a garden of roses, 
 But keep the thorns for myself alone. 
 (O rose of the June-time your heart encloses 
 Sweet thoughts for us, though fair June has flown.) 
 
 " I would that my life were like hidden roses, 
 
 Known by its sweetness, to fade away 
 Gently, gently as rose life closes, 
 To live for others, and then decay." 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff wiped her eyes. "It's very 
 sweet, dear Madge ! " 
 
 Margaret looked at her cousin for approval. 
 Philomena repeated, rather coldly : 
 
 " It's very sweet." She thought, remember- 
 ing the episode of the glass cf water, " She 
 does not mean it." 
 
 ' ' Life offers us so few opportunities of mal^ 
 ing a garden of roses ! " sighed Margaret.
 
 18 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Philomena laughed. She could not help it. 
 She had never seen a girl of sixteen assume 
 such a lackadaisical air. 
 
 "The Sisters at the convent told us that 
 every hour offers us some opportunity of living 
 for others," said Philomena. "I want to tell 
 you. Aunt Wyckoff, why I have come, and to 
 ask a favor." 
 
 " After tea, dear," said Mrs. Wyckoff, com- 
 ing back to earth. " I haven't any time, dear. 
 I must get tea myself. Hannah wants to milk 
 the cow. After tea, dear." 
 
 Margaret went back to the window. Rosalie 
 and Anna drew Philomena into a corner, and 
 began to chat. 
 
 ' ' I never saw such girls ! " said Philomena 
 to herself. ' ' Don't they see that their mother 
 is working and worrying herself to death ? " 
 
 "What did you think of my poem?" said 
 Margaret, turning suddenly. "It was the 
 crystallization of the thought of a lifetime." 
 
 Philomena laughed. " Pardon me, Cousin 
 Madge, but I am sure you did not mean it." 
 
 The girl turned away with an air of offended 
 genius. 
 
 "It is very pretty," said Philomena, apolo- 
 getically, in answer to Anna's wrathful glance ;
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 19 
 
 "but it lacks sincerity. I'll tell you what I 
 mean later." 
 
 It was plain to Mrs. Wyckoff, at the tea 
 table, which was very daintily arranged, that 
 Philomena had made a bad impression on the 
 girls. 
 
 She loved Philomena, who was her dead 
 sister's only child. She and Margaret had 
 visited this sister when Philomena was much 
 younger, and Mrs. "Wyckoff cherished fondly 
 the remembrance of that last precious visit to 
 her sister. 
 
 "Am I to stay?" Philomena asked, helping 
 her aunt to some cake, and smiling. 
 
 "Of course," said Mrs. Wyckoff. "You 
 are very welcome. I see from your father's 
 letter that he wants you to stay until he comes 
 from Europe. I am afraid you will not like 
 us as well as the Nuns at the convent." 
 
 " I will try to," said Philomena, with a wist- 
 ful sigh. " Ah, the dear Sisters I You know 
 I have lived with them ever since dear mother 
 died. But I may give you some trouble ? " 
 
 "It's just as easy to work for four as for 
 three," said Mrs. "Wyckoff. "And Margaret 
 thought, "the payment for board will help 
 mamma."
 
 20 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "But I will help you!" cried Philomena; 
 only let me stay ! " And then she quoted, 
 rather mischievously : 
 
 " I would make my life a garden of roses, 
 But keep the thorns for myself alone." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Philomena found the first three days of her 
 visit very wearisome. She arose early to find 
 Mrs. Wyckoff hard at work in the kitchen or 
 dairy. The young ladies did not usually come 
 down stairs until after nine o'clock. Philomena 
 enjoyed her morning walk to Mass. The road 
 ran by the lake and through well-kept vegetable 
 gardens. She came back with bright eyes and 
 rosy cheeks. Her cousins came languidly down 
 without animation or appetite. 
 
 After breakfast, the girls left the table as it 
 was, and went to their favorite lounging place, 
 the parlor. Margaret took up her novel, or 
 tried to evolve another poem from her inner 
 consciousness; Rosalie " improvised," as she 
 called it : which meant playing snatches of nearly
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 21 
 
 every composition she had ever seen or heard ; 
 and Anna put in or picked out embroidery 
 stitches. 
 
 Philomena found the mornings spent in this 
 manner very tiresome. The autumn air was 
 crisp and refreshing, the scent of the pines de- 
 lightful. She saw Mrs. Wyckoff digging po- 
 tatoes in the back garden. She longed to help 
 the poor lady, who seemed, as usual, weary and 
 worn out. Her impulse was to snatch the big 
 sunbonnet from her aunt's head, and go to work 
 with a will. She liked the occupations of her 
 cousins much better than manual work ; but she 
 saw how cruel, how unnatural it was that the 
 mother should drudge day after day, while the 
 children took their ease. The parlor could 
 never be pleasant to her as things were. A thous- 
 and times would she prefer to dig potatoes in 
 the rain, to trudge through the mud for the 
 eggs that the hens hid so carefully, to help the 
 careless Hannah in all her menial work, rather 
 than to see her aunt wearing herself away. The 
 good Sisters, to whom Philomena had been 
 committed early in life, had taught her that the 
 most menial work done at the call of duty, for 
 our Lord's sake, became noble and worthy. 
 She had not learned in vain the life of the
 
 22 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Blessed Virgin. She had been made to ponder 
 over the Magnificat. Hannah's work, in all its 
 petty details, was beautiful in the light of the 
 Queen-Mother's smile. 
 
 How could these girls fail to see the sin of 
 leaving their mother, sick and weak, to face all 
 the rough little trials of life? Philomena asked 
 herself this question over and over again. She 
 wanted to help her aunt, but she dared not 
 oifer to do it yet. It would look like the cast- 
 ing of a reproach on her cousins. Hannah, 
 who had long been complaining that the frills 
 and flounces and fancies of the young ladies 
 gave her too much to do, left the third day 
 after Philomena came. Then she had said to 
 her aunt : 
 
 "I will go, too; I know that I shall be a 
 burden to you." 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff looked hopelessly at the con- 
 fusion of the kitchen and dining-room Hannah 
 had gone suddenly. 
 
 "What did you say, dear?" 
 
 "I had better return to the convent. The 
 Sisters have little room now, but I know that 
 they will keep me until father comes back. 
 Perhaps they could make me useful in some 
 way."
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 23 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Wyckoff, eagerly. "You 
 must stay. I love to have you, dear ; besides, 
 I don't know how I could make both ends 
 meet, if it were not for the money you will 
 pay for your board." 
 
 Philomena wa^ surprised. The house was so 
 luxurious, the girls so idle, books, musical 
 pieces so plenty, that this confession of poverty 
 seemed strange. Philomena returned to the 
 parlor, to find her cousins occupied as usual. 
 Rosalie had set Margaret's poem to music ; she 
 was singing as Philomena entered : 
 
 " I would that my life were like hidden roses, 
 
 Known by its sweetness, to fade away 
 Gently, gently as rose-life closes, 
 To live for others, and then decay! " 
 
 Philomena felt an impulse of anger. She 
 was inclined to speak her mind to these people, 
 so well satisfied with themselves, but so dis- 
 contented with their lot in life. She restrained 
 herself, murmuring her usual little prayer ; for 
 Philomena had temptations to impatience ; she 
 liked to burst into anger once in awhile. She 
 said with a smile : 
 
 "Why, Madge, you have put your mother's 
 life into poetry !"
 
 24 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "Mamma's life is anything but a poem; it 
 is all prose," said Margaret, loftily. "I wish 
 I could gain riches and fame by my talent ; I 
 would make her life a poem of infinite splen- 
 dor full of those gold and crimson harmonies 
 of colors that one finds in the old cathedral 
 windows of your churches over the sea." 
 
 "Have you ever seen one? asked Philomena. 
 
 "No," answered Margaret, coloring. "No; 
 not exactly. I have seen them in my dream- 
 life." 
 
 " Oh !" Philomena said. 
 
 "What is your specialty, Cousin Philome- 
 na?" Anna asked. "Do you ever embroider?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; in the afternoon. We have to 
 do all our serious work in the morning, you 
 know. At the convent, embroidery was a kind 
 of play." 
 
 Rosalie and Anna looked at each other, and 
 said with their eyes, "No feeling for art !" 
 
 "I have heard," Margaret said, laying down 
 her novel, and taking her favorite yawning 
 attitude, "that convent girls get only a smat- 
 tering of things acquire only a superficial 
 idea of the world's great possibilities." 
 
 Margaret was paying 1 her cousin back for 
 her late frank question.
 
 A GARDEN OF KOSES. 25 
 
 "We do not learn to talk as you talk, Cousin 
 Madge ; we are taught that the highest aspira- 
 tion a woman can have is to love and serve God 
 in the state of life in which He has placed her. 
 I don't know much about education myself; 
 but I do know,- without being able to make 
 comparisons of the different systems, that the 
 Sisters keep young girls good and pure. We 
 are not taught to appear older than we are. 
 But, Madge," she added, blushing, "you must 
 not take me as an example. I wish you could 
 know some of our girls ! They do credit to 
 the Sisters." 
 
 " I should think you'd put your whole soul 
 into your embroidery, if you did it at all," said 
 Anna, putting an unnatural eye into a pea- 
 cock's feather. 
 
 " Soul?" asked Philomena, in surprise. 
 
 "Certainly," said Anna, with an ape-like 
 air of affectation, and in a parrot-like voice. 
 
 Philomena made no reply. This was a new 
 language. What she had done, she had done 
 simply and well, without talking much about 
 it. Indeed, the girls at the convent had pre- 
 ferred to be quiet on embroidery afternoons, 
 because French conversation was then the rule. 
 
 " Do you find," asked Margaret, who had in
 
 26 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the meantime dipped into her novel again, 
 "that your religion colors your life? In mine, 
 religion has always been somewhat of a thing 
 apart." 
 
 Philomena raised her head in surprise. 
 
 "I am a Catholic, Cousin Madge. Father 
 said when he sent me to the convent that he 
 wanted me to be a Catholic I was a little 
 girl then because Catholics remembered God 
 every hour of their life, and prayed daily to be 
 remembered by His Mother at the hour of their 
 death. Why, Madge, religion is our life." 
 
 Philomena, who was reserved on matters 
 near her heart, left the room to hide her emo- 
 tion. She came back in a few minutes, bring- 
 ing a roll of velvet in her hand. 
 
 " This is part of a curtain for the decorating 
 of the repository on Holy Thursday." 
 
 Anna uttered an exclamation of astonishment 
 and admiration as the ruby velvet, embroidered 
 with gorgeous arabesques of gold, was unrolled. 
 
 " Did you do that?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Margaret and Rosalie gazed at the intricate 
 pattern with admiration, and Anna said : 
 
 " Do teach me that stitch, Cousin Philo- 
 mena ! "
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 27 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 After this the girls treated Philoraena with 
 some consideration ; and when she played the 
 overture to Semiramide without a mistake 
 (Rosalie always slurred over parts of this 
 great "show" piece, by improvising the bass 
 part), Margaret offered her some caramels. 
 Even Margaret, superior as she was, had her 
 weaknesses. 
 
 One afternoon the three girls went out to 
 gather autumn leaves. Philomena could give 
 a good reason for staying at home. As soon 
 as her cousins were out of sight, Philomena 
 ran into the kitchen. She found her aunt 
 almost reduced to desperation by the amount 
 of work that had accumulated since Hannah's 
 withdrawal from the domestic scene. 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff brightened up at the sight of 
 her niece. 
 
 " Now, you sit down in that rocking chair, 
 aunt; I'm going to have a ' good work.'" 
 
 She pushed Mrs. Wyckoff into the old- 
 fashioned rocker, and, putting on a big apron, 
 went to work. Difficulties disappeared before 
 her willing and skilful hands. 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff protested. "You'll spoil your 
 hands," she said.
 
 28 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " My hands are no better than yours, aunt," 
 retorted Philomena. " Can't I work as well as 
 Hannah? And I am going to make cake for 
 tea. My cake took a prize at the convent." 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff at length accepted the situa- 
 tion. She leaned back in her chair, and 
 gradually went to sleep. The tired look faded 
 from her face, and she appeared serene and 
 placid, as Philomena remembered her in other 
 days. 
 
 Tears rose to the girl's eyes. She stooped 
 and kissed her aunt on the forehead. Mrs. 
 Wyckoff awoke at the slight touch. She 
 caught Philomena's hand in hers. 
 
 "I wish, dear," she said, as if half ashamed, 
 "I wish you would try to teach my girls to be 
 more helpful for their own sakes. They do 
 not like the work of every-day life." 
 
 " I do not like it, aunt," said Philomena, a 
 little embarassed ; ' ' but I have been taught to 
 hold it a sin if I neglected even the most un- 
 pleasant duties of my state in life. If I were 
 not a Catholic, aunt, I should never do rough 
 work, or keep my temper, or do anything I 
 did not want to do. I am naturally a very 
 idle, impatient girl ; I am indeed." 
 
 Mrs. AYyckofl' smiled. She watched Philo-
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 29 
 
 mena as she made her cake and put it into 
 the oven. The bell rang. Mrs. Wyckoff 
 jumped up. 
 
 "No, no!" said Philomena ; "you keep 
 still, aunt, and watch the cake." 
 
 The girl threw aside her white apron, and 
 ran to the door. In about twenty minutes she 
 came back. 
 
 "Oh, aunt," she cried, "it was Mrs. d'Eresby, 
 who lives at Redlands. The Mother Superior 
 sent her a note saying that I was one of her 
 children, and that Mrs. d'Eresby ought to be 
 nice to me ; so she Mrs. d'Eresby drove 
 over to ask us to go with her on Sunday to the 
 consecration of a new Catholic church twenty 
 miles across the country. She wants you and 
 one of the girls and me to go with her. Will 
 you go into the parlor and say yes for us all?" 
 
 " I can't go in: my hair is all in a tangle; 
 but you may excuse me, and say yes." 
 
 Philomena ran off. 
 
 " Aunt means to decline in favor of one of 
 the girls, but I will not let her," said Philomena 
 to herself, as she saw Mrs. d'Eresby to the 
 door.
 
 30 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 V. 
 
 Margaret, Eosalie and Anna returned from 
 their walk, laden with bundles of richly tinted 
 leaves. At once they set to work to make 
 tasteful decorations of them. 
 
 Margaret was in great good humor. They 
 had met Mrs. Treverne, a neighbor, who was 
 supposed to be a person of literary taste. Mar- 
 garet had read her poem very effectively, and 
 Mrs. Treverne had offered to have it printed for 
 her in the Redlands Daily Eagle. 
 
 Philomena, sure that Mrs. Wyckoft's hard- 
 est work was done, volunteered to assist her 
 cousins in their dainty tasks, on condition that 
 she might have some wonderfully red maple 
 leaves for the little shrine of the Blessed Vir- 
 gin in her room. 
 
 Margaret smiled at this request in a superior 
 manner, that made her seem thirty-two instead 
 of sixteen. 
 
 "I hold, with Matthew Arnold, that the 
 truest effect of religion is lucidity," she said, 
 making a cross of maple and beech leaves. 
 "To be lucid is to be religious."
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 31 
 
 ' ' Then why are you not lucid ? " demanded 
 Philomena, losing patience. 
 
 "Am I not in my life? Our friend, Mrs. 
 Treverne, says that my life is as lucid a life 
 as that of any girl she knows." 
 
 "Your words/ -are not. I wonder if you 
 know what they mean? / don't." 
 
 Rosalie and Anna turned at their cousin with 
 reproachful eyes. After all, no matter what 
 they might think of her sayings, Margaret was 
 the genius of the family, and she ought to be 
 respected accordingly by strangers. 
 
 "I don't wish to be rude," continued Philo- 
 mena, coloring slightly, and keeping her eyes 
 on the leaves in her hand ; " but I do hate silly 
 bits taken from novels and given out as if they 
 were Gospel ! " 
 
 Margaret shrugged her shoulders. " When 
 you have more acquaintance with cultured 
 people you will be less of a Philister. The 
 quotation I made the other day was from 
 ' Ouida ' ; it was only an echo of George 
 Eliot " 
 
 "'Ouida'!" cried Philomena; "a girl of 
 sixteen talking of ' Ouida ' ! I'd be ashamed 
 to do it. The Sisters put her books on the 
 condemned list. The truth is, Cousin Mar-
 
 32 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 garet, if you read fewer silly books, and 
 helped your mother more, you would " 
 
 Here Philomena remembered her tendency 
 to impatience, and paused. " I beg pardon ! " 
 she said. 
 
 " Mother does not want us to help her," 
 Anna answered. 
 
 " She needs your help, nevertheless. By 
 the way," Philomena continued, very glad to 
 change the subject, "Mrs. d'Eresby called 
 this afternoon. 
 
 "Mrs. d'Eresby!" 
 
 This lady was the most eminent inhabitant 
 of that part of the country. To be called on 
 by her was an honor. Every locality has its 
 eminent inhabitants ; it is to be hoped that 
 they are all as courteous, humble and truthful 
 as Mrs. d'Eresby, whose late conversion to the 
 Church had given the whole neighborhood a 
 shock. 
 
 Margaret at once concluded that her fame 
 must have brought about this unexpected 
 event. Perhaps Mrs. d'Eresby had heard of 
 her poem in some accidental way. 
 
 Philomena explained. " And she has three 
 vacant places in her carriage for next Sunday 
 There will be a jn-and consecration
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 33 
 
 ceremony at Compton. An Archbishop will 
 be there, and the music will be grand." 
 
 "I hope mamma will have time to fix up 
 my black silk," said Margaret. "lam sorry 
 Mrs. d'Eresby could not have seats for all of 
 us. I am dying to make her acquaintance. 
 She gives the loveliest garden parties ! " 
 
 Philomena was taken aback by this cool 
 method of crowding out Mrs. Wyckoff. 
 
 ' ' Your mother has not been out for a drive 
 for many weeks. She does not have tune to 
 go to her church on Sundays." 
 
 " She does not mind," answered Margaret, 
 carelessly. " She would rather see us enjoy 
 ourselves." 
 
 "But Mrs. d'Eresby did not invite 'us,'" 
 said Philomena, her impatience rising again. 
 " She asked particularly for my aunt, and 
 begged me to invite her and Rosalie, because 
 I said Rosalie was the musical one." 
 
 Margaret smiled. "You do not know 
 mamma, my dear. She will not go. She is 
 a dear little mother, but she could no more 
 hold her own in conversation with a < grande 
 e/awze'like Mrs. d'Eresby than well than 
 you could. She will not go. " 
 
 "Then nobody will go from this house."
 
 34 STOKIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Philomena uttered this speech, and turned 
 her face towards the window, her color rising. 
 
 " Come, Kose," said Margaret, loftily ; "let 
 us try my poem as a duo." 
 
 " I would that my life were a garden of roses, 
 With a new bud open to light each day " 
 
 "What mockery!" thought Philomena. 
 She went up to her room and cried. She 
 knelt a moment before her statue and said 
 an act of contrition. "When shall I learn 
 patience ? " she asked herself. 
 
 The tea-bell rang. Philomena looked at 
 her face in the glass, and then turned in dis- 
 gust to wipe the tear-stains away 
 
 ' ' You're a nice teacher you are ! You 
 want to improve other people, and you can- 
 not even keep your temper ! " 
 
 Before Philomena had reached the tea- 
 table it was settled that Margaret should go 
 with Mrs. d'Eresby, instead of her mother. 
 
 " I will make my excuses to Mrs. d'Eresby 
 when she comes, Philomena ; and honestly, 
 dear, I have nothing to wear." 
 
 Philomena's cheeks burned. After a while 
 she raised her eyes from her plate. She had 
 a struggle, and she conquered, saying to her-
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 35 
 
 self, out of the " Following of Christ : " " And 
 they who freely and willingly serve Me, shall 
 receive grace for grace." 
 
 "Margaret," she said, her voice trembling 
 a little, " if you will give me your black silk 
 gown to-night I am sure I can make it like 
 
 O O 
 
 the one Mrs. d'Eresby wore the other day." 
 
 Margaret was delighted. " Mother is some- 
 what old-fashioned in her ways, you know." 
 
 That evening Rosalie seemed rather thought- 
 ful. " There is something in Philomena's 
 religion that is noble," she said to Anna. 
 " But Margaret says she is not lucid." 
 " Bosh ! You know that Margaret has heard 
 that word somewhere. She does not know 
 what it means. Philomena's religion seems 
 real. It makes her give up things. She is 
 hard at work at Margaret's dress now. I saw 
 her saying her beads this morning, and I felt 
 that she was really speaking to God. Now, 
 Anna, you know we always seein to be praying 
 at God. Don't you think we might help 
 mamma to wash the tea-things ? " 
 
 " She does not want us to spoil our hands." 
 " I am going to help her, anyhow." 
 Anna looked after her sister in amazement. 
 Mrs. "VVyckoff had a little time to sit on the
 
 36 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 porch and watch the sunset that evening. 
 Rosalie's offer to help her had lightened her 
 heart. 
 
 VI. 
 
 So far as Margaret was concerned, the drive 
 with Mrs. d'Eresby was a failure. She was 
 surprised to find that the lady seemed to prefer 
 her mother's company to hers. Mrs. d'Eresby 
 accepted Mrs. AYyckofFs excuses reluctantly, 
 but civilly took her substitute. Mrs. Wyckoff 
 seemed quite at home with her visitor, and her 
 visitor, to Philomena's great joy, was delighted 
 with her. 
 
 "You have a very charming mother," Mrs. 
 d'Eresby said, as the carriage drove off. " I 
 hope that you young ladies may grow up like 
 her." 
 
 Margaret was not prepared for this. The 
 idea of the elegant Mrs. d'Eresby offering poor, 
 prosaic mamma as a model ! 
 
 Margaret monopolized Mrs. d'Eresby, while 
 Philomena and Rosalie chatted, the former try- 
 ing to explain to her cousin the details of the
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 37 
 
 august ceremony of the consecration of a 
 church. 
 
 Mrs. d'Eresby was very courteous. Mar- 
 garet repeated her poem, and waited for ap- 
 plause. 
 
 " ' I would make my life a garden of roses, 
 And keep the thorns for myself alone,' " 
 
 quoted Mrs. d'Eresby, with a significant look. 
 " Beautiful if it is lived up to. I wonder if 
 your mother feels it a thorn to lose her drive 
 to-day ? I suppose not ; mothers are used to 
 sacrifices." 
 
 Rosalie heard this and blushed. Margaret 
 was proof against it. She made some of her 
 best quotations and talked about human as- 
 pirations and altruism. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. d'Eresby, gently, " I 
 am an old woman, and I have seen a great deal 
 of the world, but I do not understand what you 
 mean, and I should feel sorry if I thought you 
 did. If we remain for Vespers, you will hear 
 the choir sing the Magnificat. It is worth 
 more to a woman, young or old, than all your 
 new literary lights. See, Philomena ! There 
 is a late wild rose by that fence. Here, Fred-
 
 38 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 erick," she said to her coachman, "get that 
 rose for me." 
 
 She broke off the briars, and gave it to Philo- 
 mena, saying, with a smile, " I will ' keep the 
 thorns for myself alone.' " 
 
 But Margaret was not conciliated by this 
 quotation. She did not speak during the rest 
 of the drive. 
 
 Rosalie eagerly drank in the grand music 
 and solemn ceremonies. They fulfilled her 
 idea of what worship ought to be. 
 
 Margaret prepared to be very critical about 
 the sermon, but she forgot her intention before 
 it was over. There was no rhetoric, no 
 " lucidity." It was a plain sermon on the 
 everyday duties of life. It made Margaret 
 feel uncomfortable. She wished that she had 
 not come. 
 
 Rosalie listened tremblingly to the priest, 
 who spoke with no doubting voice. When the 
 sermon was over, she drew a long breath. 
 Philomena sat next to her. 
 
 " Cousin," she whispered, " I have been very 
 blind. I see that we do best when we do not 
 look abroad for imaginary duties, but do those 
 nearest us." 
 
 Philomena clasped her cousin's hand in reply.
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 39 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff had worried herself almost 
 sick in getting a tea ready worthy of the ex- 
 cursionists. But Mrs. d'Eresby graciously 
 declined, leaving an invitation for them all to 
 her next musicale, which, as she explained, was 
 a quiet gathering. 
 
 During the following week Philomena and 
 Rosalie saved Mrs. Wyckoff a great many 
 steps. Rosalie became so cheerful that she 
 even wondered at herself. Philomena was de- 
 lighted to satisfy Rosalie's curiosity regarding 
 the doctrines of the Church, awakened by the 
 ceremony of the consecration. 
 
 "Would you like me to become a Catholic, 
 mamma?" Rosalie asked one afternoon, when 
 the three were merrily engaged in the kitchen. 
 
 " Very much, dear, if it would make you like 
 Philomena here. Do you know," her mother 
 said seriously, "I believe I would become a 
 Catholic myself, if I had time to think ! But I 
 never have time," she added, with a sigh. 
 
 " Rose and I will give you time now," Philo- 
 mena said, kissing her aunt's worn hand. 
 
 Margaret and Anna varied their life in the 
 parlor with frequent visits to their friend Mrs. 
 Treverne. It was a week from the night of 
 Mrs. d'Erebsy's musicale. She sent over to
 
 40 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 invite Philomena and Rosalie to spend a few 
 days with her. Mrs. Treverne, who sympa- 
 thized with Margaret's " aspirations, "consoled 
 her by ridiculing Mrs. d'Eresby's bad taste in 
 inviting Philomena and Rosalie. 
 
 Philomena refused to go at first, but Mrs. 
 Wyckoff begged her so vehemently not to dis- 
 appoint Mrs. d'Eresby, and not to deprive 
 Rosalie of the pleasure of the visit, that she 
 consented at last. 
 
 Margaret was resolved that she should make 
 a good appearance at the musicale. It was 
 to be a very quiet assemblage, or else Mrs. 
 d'Eresby would not have asked girls so young 
 as to have no right in general society. Mar- 
 garet kept her mother very busy rearranging 
 old laces and stuffs. Mrs. Wyckoff planned, 
 sewed, and ironed late into the night. Anna's 
 dress was a secondary consideration ; but it, 
 too, required attention and time. Margaret 
 was very particular, she found fault inces- 
 santly. 
 
 Mrs. Wyckoff had tacked up a little picture 
 of the Blessed Virgin Philomena had given 
 her. It was on the wall over the ironing- 
 board. Underneath it were the words, "0 
 Sainte Mere, priez pour moi!" Her eyes rested
 
 A GARDEN OF ROSES. 41 
 
 on it often, and she repeated the words "If I 
 only had time to think ! " Now she had less 
 time than usual. No servant to replace Hannah 
 had been found. The Indian summer, with its 
 hectic heat, had come. 
 
 The day before the musicals was hotter than 
 usual. Mrs. Wyckoff, standing at the ironing- 
 board, felt her head reel. " Oh, that Philo- 
 mena or Rosalie were home ! " As if in the 
 distance, she could hear Margaret singing, 
 
 "Gently, gently as rose-life closes, 
 To live for others and then decay. " 
 
 It was so hot ! She could dimly see Philo- 
 mena's little picture. " Sainte Mere " she 
 began. She sank to the floor, dropping the 
 smoothing-iron from her hand. 
 
 Anna heard the fall, and ran down stairs. 
 Margaret's song was interrupted by her shriek. 
 Their mother's work was over. 
 
 In the dim parlor Mrs. Wyckoff lay peaceful 
 and white in her coffin, her breast covered with 
 late roses ; among them was Philomena's little 
 picture. Only Philomena and her cousins were 
 there ; she rose from her knees to draw back
 
 42 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 a curtain that she might see that dear, wan face 
 in the light once more. 
 
 "Cousin," cried Margaret, suddenly throw- 
 ing herself at Philomena's feet, "teach me the 
 truth, help me to repair my awful wrong. 
 Oh, if I could only bring her back!" 
 
 Philomena's tears fell fast on her cousin's 
 head. She could make no answer to that heart- 
 broken cry, so often repeated too late all the 
 world over. 
 
 Margaret rose and tottered to her mother's 
 side. Her eyes, in the burst of light that 
 Philomena had let in, saw the words on the 
 little lace-edged picture of Our Lady. She 
 read them in a low voice, and Philomena ended 
 the prayer she had begun "Holy Mary, 
 Mother of God, pray for us now and at the 
 hour of our death." 
 
 And her cousin answered with her, "Amen," 
 and felt a nameless consolation.
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 
 
 I. "THE LITTLE OLD MAID. 
 
 THE old violin was silent. The E string 
 hung loose, and the bow beside it on the 
 wall showed strands of waving horse -hair. 
 The hands of its master had brought forth the 
 last strains he should ever draw out of his be- 
 loved instrument, in the Gloria, at the Grand 
 Mass, on Easter Sunday. 
 
 May had come ; Easter Sunday was past 
 three weeks, and Mary Hackett, in her black 
 gown, sat looking at the old violin with tears 
 in her eyes. On the evening of the Resur- 
 rection Day, her father had died, and the kind 
 priest had said to her : ' ' You are all alone my 
 child, but the Blessed Mother and the angels 
 are the nearer to you for that." 
 
 Every morning at Mass and the May devo- 
 tions each previous year she had knelt next 
 43
 
 44 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 to her father Mary watched the dear old 
 priest, and found comfort in his words. She 
 was all alone, 
 
 Her father had made her life a very simple 
 one. Since her mother's death, which had hap- 
 pened on the voyage from Ireland four years 
 ago, Mary had known no companion but her 
 father. Dear, dear old father. The thought 
 of the swelling veins in those kind hands which 
 had toiled so long for her made her choke ; the 
 remembrance of the dim blue eyes looking 
 through their glasses at the scores of the music 
 she so carefully copied, caused her heart to 
 ache ; she threw herself, heart-broken, before 
 the old violin. It was part of him ; it had 
 been his one friend. 
 
 "Oh, father, father! if I could only have 
 repaid you a little just a little! before 
 you died." 
 
 She had done her best. She had kept 
 the three rooms in the lodging-house, in 
 Brooklyn, as neat as wax. She had studied to 
 make her dear father comfortable. His coffee 
 in the morning was always just right ; and 
 when he came home from the rehearsal at 
 theatre, weary and worn, Mary's little dinner 
 was perfection. It was generally a very frugal
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 45 
 
 little dinner ; but Mary thought a great deal 
 about it, and generally contrived to introduce 
 some surprise every day. 
 
 " Sure, Mary, you're a cordon bleu," the old 
 man often said, growing cheerful as the appe- 
 tizing aroma met him at the door. 
 
 Mary never knew what a cordon bleu meant ; 
 but knowing that it was a compliment to her 
 cookery, she was content. 
 
 Yes, she had done her best. How neat was 
 her father's worn satin tie, how carefully 
 brushed his glossy black suit, how scrupulously 
 bright all his belongings ! His " parts" in the 
 orchestra he played fourth violin were 
 wonders of legibility. Not a grace-note or the 
 smallest dot could be taken for anything else. 
 She had them all now in her scrap-book hun- 
 dreds of them. How she had watched over 
 him ! Yes, she had done her best, but it was all 
 too little ! 
 
 Mary was fifteen years old, more serious than 
 girls of her age are. Her need of looking after 
 her father, who w r as old and delicate, had made 
 her thoughtful and grave. 
 
 She was not a pretty girl. She was rather 
 short in stature, with dark-blue eyes, brown 
 hair, a turned-up nose, and a sprinkling of
 
 46 STOEIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 freckles all over her healthy face. She hated 
 the freckles. 
 
 "Never mind, Mary," her father had said, 
 with a bow copied from the gallants of the 
 stage, "freckles are grace-notes in the sym- 
 phony of beauty." 
 
 And Mary wrote this sentiment in her note- 
 book, and thought it was very fine. 
 
 The happy, peaceful days were gone ! Of 
 what use were the lesson-books now, their was 
 no one to hear her repeat their words ! Alone ! 
 all alone ! There were people passing in the 
 street, children playing, and the German woman 
 on the floor above was calling out, " Wil-hel- 
 meena ! You, Wilhel-rneena ! " 
 
 Mary felt a great desire to talk to somebody, 
 to know this Wilhelmina. She had never felt 
 so when her father was alive. The neighbors 
 had dropped in after her father's death ; the 
 women, rough and ready, tried hard to be 
 gentle, and the men expressed kind feeling 
 too. But, as there had been no "wake," the 
 neighborhood had come to the conclusion that 
 Mary and her father were " stuck up," and had 
 troubled her no more. They called her the 
 " little, old maid." 
 
 She was grateful, but she was very shy,
 
 THE SECRET OP THE OLD VIOLIN. 47 
 
 Now she took up the old copy of the "Imita- 
 tion," and read : 
 
 " ' So often as I have been in the company 
 of men,' said a philosopher, ' I have become 
 less of a man : ' thus it is with those who 
 talk much." 
 
 " It is best to be quiet," she thought. And 
 she went into the " extension," filled with 
 geraniums, tall lilies, and hyacinths. These 
 her father had tended with all the success that 
 comes to those who love flowers. The " exten- 
 sion " was a veranda, covered and faced with 
 glass. In the old days when the house was the 
 residence of one family, instead of half a dozen, 
 it had been a conservatory on a small scale. 
 Mary's father, an industrious collector of bulbs 
 and plants, had restored it to its original use. 
 He indulged in no luxury, except these flowers. 
 
 One by one he had added to his collection. 
 The thermometer and the oil-stove it contained 
 had been purchased at sacrifices. He had 
 walked from the theatre several months, to 
 save enough to buy them. 
 
 Mary looked at the thermometer and then at 
 the flowers. 
 
 " Fifty-five degrees for the roses. It has 
 been a cold night. This bon slUne rose that
 
 48 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ought to have bloomed for Easter, is just out. 
 What a bank of white hyacinths? Oh, I wish 
 father could see them ! " 
 
 The Japanese rose was full of buds. There 
 was no bud on the Chinese primroses. " It 
 will soon be time to set the roses out of doors," 
 she thought. 
 
 But there was no " out of doors." The yard 
 was filled with boxes, barrels, old bottles, and 
 a venerable deposit of clam-shells, planted to 
 give beauty to the place. Mary sighed. 
 
 "Well, I can soon open the windows, and 
 let in the air and the sunshine. How pretty 
 our rooms are ! I wish father " 
 
 The shoemaker in the front room, whose 
 constant tapping had annoyed him, was gone 
 at last. Everything was quiet as he liked it ; 
 but he, too, was gone ! Before he died, he had 
 said to her : 
 
 "I have little to leavo you, dear; but, 
 knowing how feeble the poor father was, you 
 won't blame him for that, dear. There's my 
 violin, and there's something in that which 
 you may value, dear, because my father gave 
 it to me. I slipped it in yesterday. It will 
 make you happy " Here he gasped, and he 
 could only add : ' ' The rent's paid for six
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 49 
 
 months. Sure it was the only investment I 
 could make for you, darling. You won't be 
 turned out before you can look around, as we 
 were in the old country. God bless you ! " 
 
 Mary had been thankful many times since 
 for her father's forethought. She shared with 
 him the horror of being "turned out." She 
 had, after all the expenses of the funeral were 
 paid, fifty dollars and a home. How she treas- 
 ured that receipt for the rent ! Whither could 
 she have gone ? What would have become of 
 the big shelf of books, the little one filled with 
 MSS. of music, the flowers? It would have 
 been like another death to have sold and scat- 
 tered them ; yet in a large city space is so val- 
 uable that the poor child, with her limited 
 means, could have found no room for her 
 treasures. 
 
 But now what to do? 
 
 The doctor had brought her a newspaper, 
 with a long column of "wants;" and an un- 
 known woman had called, bringing with her a 
 tract, "Advice to the Criminal," and asked 
 her to call at the " Evangelical Society for Ob- 
 taining Employment for Females." 
 
 "You are a Romanist," I see, said the vis- 
 itor, noticing the crucifix and the picture of the 
 Sacred Heart.
 
 50 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Mary was puzzled. " A Catholic " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mary, " of course." 
 
 " Do you know, child, that you are in the 
 bonds of iniquity." 
 
 " No, ma'am," said Mary, timidly. 
 
 "Well, you are," answered the visitor, de- 
 cidedly. "Read these tracts." And the 
 woman gave her several leaflets, "Why Rom- 
 anists Hate the Bible ; " "The Degradation of 
 the Irish due to Romanism," and " Plow Rom- 
 ish Worshippers Pay to have their Sins For- 
 given." 
 
 Mary's cheeks flushed under the freckles. 
 
 "These are not true, ma'am. My father 
 was a Catholic." 
 
 " Poor man ! poor man ! " said the visitor, 
 feelingly. " He sees the light now." 
 
 " He sees the light in Heaven," cried Mary, 
 tearing the tracts and stamping her foot. 
 "Don't you come here again!" 
 
 "Poor Popish, unguided girl!" All the 
 bugles, jet, and beads on the zealous woman's 
 wraps jingled as she raised her hands in horror. 
 ' ' I must say you keep your rooms very neat 
 much neater than most of the Romanists in this 
 house. Ah, what a lovely calla-lily !" 
 
 " That said Mary, her face still flushed, "is 
 for the altar of Our Blessed Lady."
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 51 
 
 "Idolatry! Idolatry! Let not your angry 
 passions rise, my child ; but we can't expect 
 much from the Papists ; they do not control 
 themselves." 
 
 Mary felt sorry for her anger. The woman 
 would think that Catholics were really not 
 taught to forgive injuries. She cut a bunch of 
 red carnations, and gave them to her visitor. 
 
 "Forgive me, madam ; I was hasty. Had I 
 remembered the example of Our Blessed Lady, 
 I should not have stamped my foot." 
 
 " Well, I never!" said the visitor, leaving. 
 ' ' But come to the Evangelical Home on Wed- 
 nesday, unfortunate girl, and the Rev. Melanc- 
 thon Bangs will pray with you and get you 
 some work to do." 
 
 Mary did not go. But it was the only op- 
 portunity of gaining employment that offered 
 itself. She could play the violin, she could 
 sew, she could cook. But how could she start 
 to earn her living by these acquirements ? ' 
 
 Several of her father's companions in the 
 orchestra came once to see her. She played 
 the "Fox Hunter's Jig." They stopped their 
 ears, and said : 
 
 " Ach Himmel, that is no moosic." 
 
 She was discouraged. But she played every 
 dav an exercise and one of Moore's melodies in
 
 52 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 memory of her father. She played very badly, 
 and she knew it ; so she had nothing to depend 
 on, except her cooking and sewing. 
 
 The world seemed very bleak, cold, and 
 wide. She shivered, and looked into the old 
 violin again and again ; she could not see that 
 her father had left anything for her within it. 
 
 Where should she ask for work ? She knew 
 nothing of the two great cities. She had walked 
 to Mass through the same streets day after day, 
 and sometimes gone with her father to Prospect 
 Park. She had only once or twice crossed the 
 Ferry to the glittering, noisy, wonderful great 
 city beyond the river. 
 
 She knelt for a few minutes, not before the 
 violin this time, but in prayer before her little 
 statue, embowered in hyacinths, of the Blessed 
 Mother the comforter of the afflicted the 
 solace of the lonely. 
 
 There was a crash upstairs, louder than 
 usual. Mary started up and listened. Sounds 
 of crying a child's voice and loud lamenta- 
 tions by a woman. Then a knock at Mary's 
 door. She opened it. 
 
 "Come, come," said a little girl, "the baby 
 is killed ! "
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 53 
 
 II. HOW A QUESTION WAS ANSWERED BY A 
 
 QUESTION. 
 
 It was Wilhelmina Schmid who spoke. Her 
 flaxen hair, arranged in short pig-tails, seemed 
 to stand upright from fright. She stood in the 
 door-way, big tears making tracks over a face 
 that showed marks of recent occupation in the 
 making of mud pies. The Schmids, six and 
 the baby, were always in the street, and always 
 in the mud. Often had Mary longed to wash 
 them. 
 
 " Come," said the child. 
 
 Now Mary did not like the Schmids. The 
 mother had a loud voice, and sometimes the 
 noise of the children made the house unpleas- 
 ant. They cooked strange compounds of cab- 
 bage, the odors of which, mingling with the 
 garlic of the Italians in the fourth story, often 
 caused her to wish they lived somewhere else. 
 Their mother was often out. She was a washer- 
 woman, a widow. 
 
 " I have enough to attend to myself," thought 
 Mary, " without taking other people's troubles 
 on my shoulders. What am I to do? I am 
 more miserable than anybody. There's always
 
 54 STOUIKS AM) SKETCHES. 
 
 something the matter with that nasty Schmid 
 baby." 
 
 But the little Wilhelmina uttered another 
 howl, and pulled at her gown. 
 
 "I suppose I must go, though I shall not 
 have time to " 
 
 Another cry from above ; Wilhelmina danced 
 with fright, and pulled Mary's gown again. 
 
 Mary followed the little girl up the dark 
 stairway and into the close, ill-smelling rooms 
 of the Schmids. 
 
 It was Sunday morning. August Schmid, 
 a boy of fifteen, was replacing the table which 
 had been overturned ; Katrina, his sister, next 
 in years, was picking up the coffee-pot and 
 some slices of bread that were scattered on the 
 floor. 
 
 Florestan, Alphonsus, and Adelaide all 
 Schmids were gathered around Filomcna, 
 the baby, who, in her mother's arms, was cry- 
 ing in a way that showed her lungs were un- 
 injured. 
 
 "Ah,fraulein" cried Mrs. Schmid, whose fat 
 face was pale from fright, "I am so glad. Tell 
 me that the baby my little Filomena is not 
 dying. Ach, see the blood !" 
 
 The child was bleeding. There was a cut
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 55 
 
 on the head. The poor mother was almost too 
 weak to stand. She sank into a chair, and 
 Mary caught the baby. 
 
 Mary, used to a quiet life, hated trouble ; 
 but the sight of the mother's grief and the little 
 baby made her forget herself and her sorrow. 
 
 In a minute she had discovered that the cut 
 on the baby's forehead was really slight. 
 
 Forgetting the risks that might attend the 
 entrance of these wild Schmids into her rooms, 
 she cried out : 
 
 " Go, one of you, and get the court-plaster 
 which is in my work-basket I" 
 
 Florestan, Katrina, Alphonsus, Adelaide, 
 and Wilheluiina darted down stairs at once, 
 all eager to enter the mysterious region belong- 
 ing to the " little old maid," a region in which 
 they had never been permitted to penetrate. 
 
 But they returned in a few minutes, with a 
 noise like that of a troop of shodden young 
 colts. 
 
 " Das court-plaster," they demanded, " was 
 1st das ? " 
 
 Luckily Mary had found the packet of plas- 
 ter in her apron pocket. 
 
 In her absorption, she did not notice that 
 Wilhelmina carried the flower of the superb
 
 56 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 calla, which she poked at the baby's nose, say- 
 ing, in German : 
 
 " It will make thee well, thou angel." 
 
 Mrs. Schmid watched Mary, her fat, red 
 hands clasped over her heart, as Mary skilfully 
 plastered the baby's wound, and washed its 
 face. It was a pretty baby, after all, when its 
 face was clean and its hair combed. It had big, 
 blue eyes, which, with tears in them, reminded 
 Mary of heliotropes after a June shower. 
 
 Filomena, after a time, put her chubby arms 
 around Mary's neck and went to sleep. 
 
 " Ach, sie sind so lieblich ! " murmured Mrs. 
 Schmid. "Never will I call you 'little old 
 maid ' again ! " 
 
 This brought' Mary back to herself. To tell 
 the truth, her chief reason for disliking the 
 Schmids was that the children had acquired 
 a habit of singing out, whenever they could 
 without falling into her hands, " little old 
 maid ! " She had never confessed this to her- 
 self. She was ashamed of it. 
 
 "I must go and get ready for Mass," she 
 said. " It is nearly eight o'clock." 
 
 "I wish I could go," Mrs. Schmid said; 
 " but I never do, except at Christmas. I can- 
 not get the children ready and go, too."
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 57 
 
 Mary looked at her, shocked and horrified. 
 A Catholic who never went to Mass. 
 
 " Can't the children mind one another while 
 you are out ? " 
 
 " Mind one another ! " cried Mrs. Schmid, 
 " Wilhelmina, I will whip thee well when the 
 fraulein goes ; steal not thy sister's bread. 
 Florestan, thou shalt have no dinner, if thou 
 dost not cease to stand on thy head. Wil-hel- 
 meena, thou wilt waken the baby ! " cried the 
 poor woman. "You see," she continued, 
 speaking in English, "how they mind one 
 another. I went out to the grocer's for a 
 minute, and behold Wilhelmina pulled over the 
 table upon my all-beloved Filomena ! " 
 
 " It was thou, August ! " cried Wilhelmina, 
 shrilly. 
 
 August, a big, flaxen-haired boy, with a sulky 
 expression, said nothing ; he, however, shook 
 his fist at his sister. 
 
 "Does August go to Mass?" Mary asked. 
 
 " Not of late," said his mother hesitatingly. 
 "He has no work, and his clothes are torn. 
 Let me mend thy sleeve for thee, August." 
 
 August reddened, and tried hard to bury 
 his sleeves in his sides. 
 
 " I will not," he said, sulkily. "You only
 
 58 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 made them worse, mother. I will not go to 
 church and be laughed at by the other boys. 
 The last patch you put on " 
 
 August reddened still more at the remem- 
 brance of the mortification of that patch. 
 
 " It is true," said Mrs. Schmid, turning to 
 Mary. "I cannot sew. My fingers are too 
 clumsy and stiff, and August likes not to the 
 boys to call him ' Dutchie.' It is hard to be 
 good when one is poor." 
 
 Mary felt that she ought to deny this, but 
 she did not know how. August's elbows, in 
 spite of his efforts to hide them, showed for 
 themselves. His coat was very ragged about 
 the sleeves. 
 
 Having received the thanks of Mrs. Schmid, 
 Mary went down stairs. The people in the 
 house were early risers. It still wanted a 
 quarter of an hour of eight o'clock. 
 
 As she put on her modest hat, she reflected 
 on the troubles of the Schmids. She did not 
 want to. She wanted to think of her own great 
 trouble ; she wanted to get back from Mass, and 
 then to shut herself up, and brood over her sor- 
 row. But the spectacle of August, so ragged 
 that he could not go to Mass, haunted her. 
 
 Suddenly she took off her gloves and her 
 wrap.
 
 THE SECUET OF THE OLD VIOLIX. 59 
 
 " I can go to the nine, ten, or eleven o'clock 
 Mass," she said. " I will not be selfish. I 
 prayed for work this morning. Here is some 
 at my hand. It is hard for the poor to go to 
 Mass when they have so much to do. I have 
 nothing to do. I ought to help them." 
 
 From a drawer, wherein many things were 
 neatly laid, she took some pieces of black 
 cloth. Then providing herself with her needle, 
 thread, and thimble, she knocked at the 
 Schmids' door. 
 
 August looked as sulky as usual. The wo- 
 man who had called on Mary with the tracts 
 was seated in the centre of the room, with the 
 Schmids grouped around her. 
 
 " Oh, come," she was saying ; "come to the 
 little Bethel ; then you will listen to the holy 
 words of the Scriptures, which your poor 
 Popish ears have never heard ! " 
 
 Mary said, " Good-morning, ma'am." And 
 then to Mrs. Schmid, "I am in a great hurry. 
 May I mend August's sleeves, Mrs. Schmid?" 
 
 August's face became radiant. He whipped 
 off his coat, and passed it to Mary. Out of 
 regard for the ladies, he then wrapped the 
 worn, old table-cloth around him and retired to 
 the remotest corner.
 
 60 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Would you desecrate the Sabbath, girl?" 
 demanded the woman of the tracts, as Mary 
 deftly cut the cloth she had brought. "Stop 
 at once ; you are committing sin. Is this what 
 your priests teach you ? " 
 
 Mary paused, surprised. Her cheeks flushed 
 slightly. 
 
 "It is a good work a work of necessity. 
 August has need of his jacket to-day. Our 
 priests teach us, ma'am that Sunday is the Day 
 of the Resurrection, not the Jewish Sabbath. 
 Please, Mrs. Schmid, may I take the coat down 
 stairs ? I'll be back in a few minutes." 
 
 Before the woman of the tracts could con- 
 tinue her denunciations, Mary was gone. 
 
 August went to Mass at nine o'clock. He 
 forgot to look sulky ; he grinned with pleasure. 
 Had he not a new black necktie and a pair of 
 cuffs which Mary had found for him? and was 
 not his coat neatly mended? August felt that 
 he must behave himself well. And at the cate- 
 chism class in the afternoon he received a 
 picture of St. Filomena, as a reward of merit. 
 
 Mary, her appetite for self-saeritice increas- 
 ing with practice, volunteered to take care of 
 the baby and Wilhelmina, while their mother 
 ran over to the church with the rest of the 
 brood.
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 61 
 
 Her first impulse, when she was alone with 
 the children, was to wash them. But. as there 
 was but little time and she intended to go to 
 eleven o'clock Mass herself, she denied herself 
 that pleasure, and told them stories. 
 
 The German children asked for one of 
 Grimm's Marchen, which their mother had 
 often told them, but Mary, considering that 
 the lives of the saints were more appropriate, 
 entranced them with the story of St. Gudula. 
 She was just telling how the evil spirits tried 
 to blow out the saint's lantern every time she 
 went to Mass early in the morning, and how 
 they tried to make her afraid in the darkness, 
 when Mrs. Schmid came back, releasing her. 
 
 How quiet and peaceful Mary's room seemed 
 when she returned from Mass ! 
 
 The scent of the white and purple hyacinth 
 came through the shut glass doors into the 
 sitting-room, hinting of the richness and sweet- 
 ness of the coming summer. The ivy against 
 the walls of the " extension" quivered in time 
 to the trilling of the canary, which seemed to 
 l)c singing the last words " the little old 
 maid " had listened to 
 
 " Dona nobis pacem pacemt" 
 
 All was very peaceful. Her work of the
 
 62 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 morning had lifted the burden of her grief; and 
 for a time she ceased to ask herself, ' ' What 
 can I do?" 
 
 A knock at the door. Mary dropped her 
 book. It was Wilhelmina, the little pig-tails 
 tied with red ribbon, and with marks of much 
 rubbing on her shining face. 
 
 Mrs. Schmid asked ilia fraulem to dinner. 
 
 The little old maid shuddered. Dinner with 
 Filomena, Florestan, Adelaida, Alphonsus, and 
 the terrible Wilhelmina ! But Mrs. Schmid 
 meant to be kind, and Mary, with a regretful 
 look at her room, went up to accept her kind- 
 ness. 
 
 The Schmid kitchen was very hot and greasy. 
 Mrs. Schmid was ladling out soup from a 
 steaming kettle into the plates of the children, 
 who were grouped around the deal table. 
 
 Wilhelmina showed a tendency to dip her 
 fingers into Adelaida's plate, and Florestan 
 and August had one or two slight misunder- 
 standings. Mary saw that Mrs. Schmid's 
 knowledge of cooking led to some waste. She 
 asked permission to make dessert, which she 
 did, to the amazement of everybody, from 
 some apples, sugar, and milk. 
 
 The spray of white hyacinths with which she
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 63 
 
 had deftly adorned the table was generally 
 admired. 
 
 " Ah," said August, " if I had that, I could 
 sell it for twenty-five cents." 
 
 " Mother," cried Alphonsus, " I wish Flor- 
 estan and I could sell flowers at the Ferry, in- 
 stead of the Telegrams and News, Why don't 
 you sell your flowers, little old maid?" 
 
 " Alphonsus ! " cried Mrs. Schmid. " The 
 boy is crazy ! " 
 
 " You cull her 'little old maid,'" said the 
 flaxen-haired Alphonsus, apologetically. 
 
 " Never mind," she said, smiling. She was 
 thinking of the boy's question . 
 
 The Schmid family did not long remain em- 
 barassed. The mother had told her brood 
 that Mary was a poor orphan, and the children 
 had showed their sympathy by fishing out the 
 moist pieces of dough from their soup and lay- 
 ing them on her plate. She was glad when 
 dinner was over. 
 
 In spite of herself, she became interested in 
 the thoughtless Alphonsus, whose flaxen hair 
 curled in every direction, in the mischievous 
 Wilhelmina, and even in the sulky August. 
 
 But August was her obedient servant ; he 
 said "hush" very loud whenever his brothers 
 or sisters interrupted her, or she told of the
 
 64 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 little house in the old country, and of her father 
 and mother. 
 
 " I must be up at four o'clock," said the 
 washerwoman. " I must do much before I go 
 out to wash. It is hard to be poor." She 
 looked very contented, though. "I wish Au- 
 ust had something to do ; the others bring so 
 little in." 
 
 Mary had been thinking, not of herself, but 
 of these others. Alphonsus' remark about 
 the hyacinth had started her thoughts. 
 
 " Mrs. Schmid," she said, after a pause, " I 
 will get breakfast for these children to-morrow 
 and help them off to school, if you will let Au- 
 gust sell some of my flowers." 
 
 " Ach, wunderschon I " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Schmid, kissing Mary on both cheeks; "you 
 are an angel ! " 
 
 "How good is the little old maid!" chor- 
 
 O 
 
 used the children. 
 
 And then August said, " hush ! " 
 
 "Only," continued Mary, "till he gets 
 
 something else to do." 
 
 "It is well, it Is well," said the mother; 
 
 "even a few pennies would help us." 
 
 Mary fed the children on oatmeal and milk,
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 65 
 
 and begged Mrs. Schmid to keep the greasy 
 sausages she had bought until later. The chil- 
 dren were comparatively docile in her hands, 
 especially the girls, who were very willing to 
 go to the Sisters' school with their hair combed 
 in a new way. It was hard work for Mary 
 this attending to them amid continual confusion 
 and babble of tongues, but she went through it 
 bravely. 
 
 The walls of the " extension " were almost 
 covered by shelves ; on each shelf were a box 
 of mignonette, heliotropes, pansies, and num- 
 bers of hyacinth glasses. A little box of sham- 
 rock and one of white clover, now in bloom, 
 had been her father's pride. It was wonder- 
 ful how he had managed to pack so many 
 plants into such a small place, and still have 
 them live and flourish ; but he had done it. 
 
 Mary made an inventory of her stock. She 
 could count on ten of the bon silene roses, 
 plenty of hyacinths, a few carnations, many 
 rose-geranium leaves, mignonette, and five or 
 six pansies. 
 
 August was sent out to discover what flower 
 was the most in demand, Mary minding the 
 baby for him while he was away. 
 
 " The clover blossom and the hideous Japan-
 
 66 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ese rose are of no use," she thought. " Well, 
 I can make thirty little nosegays, at least." 
 
 The Japanese rose was a straggling bush, 
 picked up on the docks by her father. It was 
 laden with small, deep-red, single flowers. 
 
 When August returned, he reported " Car- 
 nations and clover-blossoms ; but the man says 
 that flowers are scarce, and the evening is the 
 best time to sell them." 
 
 "Very well, August. I will have the 
 bunches ready about five o'clock, when the 
 girls come home to take care of the baby." 
 
 August grinned. He was eager to earn 
 something eager, with all his sulkiness, to 
 help his mother. 
 
 Wilhelmina did not go to school, and Mary 
 took her down stairs to keep her out of mis- 
 chief. A picture-book kept her quiet, for 
 Wilhelmina's restlessness was due to lack of 
 pleasant occupation. 
 
 Mary's carnations soon gave out. The 
 Japanese roses were so red that they rivalled 
 the carnations ; and she concluded to risk it 
 and mingle them with the clover-blossoms. 
 The effect was good. " They wont bring 
 much," she thought, " but they will help." 
 
 Suddenly, after her nosegays were made,
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 67 
 
 she realized that she had no tin-foil ; and stems 
 of button-hole nosegays are always wrapped 
 in tin-foil. 
 
 She flew up to August, forgetting her usual 
 primness and dignity, and also the important 
 fact that Wilhelmma was alone with breakable 
 articles. 
 
 August grinned, and his eyes sparkled. He 
 dived under the table, and arose with a cigar- 
 box. It was tilled with pieces of tin-foil, care- 
 fully ironed smooth. 
 
 " I saved them from smok ing-tobacco pack- 
 ages. I begged them whenever I saw a man 
 with a package." 
 
 Mary thanked him. 
 
 August never threw anything away. He 
 had marvellous collections of buttons, old 
 nails, and even cancelled postage stamps. 
 
 At five o'clock the nosegays were ready, and 
 neatly arranged in the lid of Mrs. Schmid's 
 market-basket. Thirty red, white, and green 
 bunches, in glittering silver holders ! and 
 Mary had not touched any flowers, except the 
 clover blossoms, carnations, and Japanese 
 roses. 
 
 "I have had a happy day," she thought, 
 as she knelt in her room to say the Angelus ;
 
 68 STOKIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " the happiest day since father died. May his 
 soul rest in peace ! " 
 
 She took up her sewing a frock for Filo- 
 mena and smiled now and then at some re- 
 membered prank of the terrible Wilhelmina. 
 
 About eight o'clock there was heard steps on 
 the stair. 
 
 "Little old maid," said a breathless voice, 
 " may I come in?" 
 
 Mary opened the door. August and his 
 mother entered. 
 
 "Ach, wunderschon ! " said Mrs. Schmid, 
 wrapping her bare, red arms in her apron. 
 
 August, running all over with grins, marched 
 proudly up to the table, and drew from his 
 pockets some handful s of small coin. He put 
 them carefully on the table. 
 
 "What is this?" asked Mary, astonished. 
 
 "It is yours," cried August, with shining 
 eyes. "I went to the florist in Fulton Street, 
 and showed him the flowers. 'Ah' he said, 'I 
 didn't know there were so many of the fashion- 
 able roses in bloom. What do you want for all 
 those bunches of the Huf/osa rubra? Ten 
 cents? You can't get more than that for 'em.' 
 1 saw he was anxious, so I said fifteen ' Thir- 
 teen,' he said. I knew then that I would get
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 69 
 
 twenty-five from the ladies and gentleman on 
 the sidewalk. AND I GOT IT ! " 
 
 Nobody could describe the pride in August's 
 voice. 
 
 " I am so glad ! " cried Mary, her eyes bright- 
 ening. "And the ugly Japanese rose, too ! I 
 am so glad ! " 
 
 " I bring," said August, "seven dollars and 
 a haJf, except one five cent piece with a hole in it. 
 But it was dark," he added. 
 
 "It is all yours. Take it, August. I am 
 so glad !" cried Mary, thinking of the pleasure 
 it must give him. 
 
 Mrs. Schmid was aghast. She felt that the 
 " little old maid" must have gone crazy. 
 
 "No," she said, sharply. "My August 
 will take only what he has earned. You 
 may pay him what you will." 
 
 Mary fingered the money for an instant, and, 
 seeing the justice of this, divided it into two 
 parts. 
 
 "This is yours, August. Your mother w T ill 
 take it." 
 
 Mrs. Schmid was profuse in her thanks. 
 August cried out, "To-morrow we will make 
 more again, ' little old maid !"' 
 
 Mary laughed. She began to think it was
 
 70 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 funny to be called "little, old maid" by these 
 grave children. 
 
 She was very thankful. Here was enough to 
 keep her in food for many days. Unconscious- 
 ly, while thinking least of herself, of her con- 
 venience, of her future, she had found the work 
 which would help her to live. Her whole 
 thought had been for the family up-stairs. She 
 had hoped to help them to bread ; and the bread 
 which she would soon lack had been brought 
 to her own mouth. 
 
 The flower-seller made the most of that lag- 
 ging May. Summer weather did not come that 
 season until July, .and the roses were all put 
 back. 
 
 By July, Mary, who was very frugal, had 
 added to her fifty dollars over a hundred and 
 fifty ; and Mrs. Schmid had also saved some- 
 thing. 
 
 In September, August heard of an old green- 
 house over in Jersey. It was small, as was 
 the plot of land around it. The owner was 
 tired of it. He wanted to move nearer to the 
 cemeteries, where the sale of plants is great. 
 The rent was low and, after many consulta- 
 tions, in which even Wilhelmina took part, 
 Mary rented the place. She reserved a room
 
 THE SECRET OF THE OLD VIOLIN. 71 
 
 in the old farm-house for herself. The Schmids, 
 much improved in every way by Mary, occupied 
 the rest ; so they all went into business to- 
 gether, to supply the florists, not the public. 
 They were wholesale dealers now. 
 
 One day, in the next spring, Mary having 
 sent a bower of the lucky Japanese rose 
 which, as August reminded her somewhat re- 
 gretfully, was selling at ten cents a bud over 
 to the church for the Repository, took up the 
 old violin. 
 
 "I wonder what secret it holds," she said, 
 kissing it tendtrly. "I wonder what my father 
 meant God rest his soul." 
 
 Mary never found what the old violin con- 
 tained ; but she already knew the secret, though 
 she had not found it in the violin. 
 
 If she had, she would have read, pasted 
 around the sounding stick, a paper containing 
 these words, from the "Imitation of Christ:" 
 
 ' ' Keep thy heart free and raised upward to 
 God; because thou hast not here a lasting abode."
 
 FLOATING ON A BOARD. 
 
 yVTEKROT lived in Nantes, a town in Brit- 
 tanny ; you will find in your maps. Pier- 
 rot's father died and left him to the care of his 
 step-mother. Now Pierrot's step-mother was 
 not a very agreeable woman, for she had a high 
 temper, and was much given to scolding, with 
 or without provocation ; but I admit that Pier- 
 rot was not so easily managed. 
 
 "He is a wicked, wicked boy!" exclaimed 
 Madame Choux to one of her neighbors, as 
 Pierrot was seen wildly rushing down the 
 street with one of her tin cooking utensils on 
 his head, by way of a helmet. He was enact- 
 ing a Prussian, pursued by the French soldiers 
 represented by a squad of other boys of 
 various sizes. 
 
 "He'll break my heart some day, the good- 
 for-nothing ! He has already made a great dent
 
 FLOATING ON A BOARD. 73 
 
 in my stew-pan. Pi-er-rot ! come here instantly," 
 continued his step-mother. 
 
 Pierrot evaded his pursuer, and came to his 
 step-mother flushed and heated. He gracefully 
 elevated his tin head covering, as he ap- 
 proached her, and made a low bow. This was 
 adding insult to injury, Madame thought. She 
 grew red in the face, and gave Pierrot a box in 
 the ear that sent him flying several yards away. 
 
 " What's that for ? " asked Pierrot. He had 
 become quite used to being boxed on the ear ; 
 he minded them as much as drops of summer 
 rain now. What's that for ? " 
 
 His step-mother was unable to utter even a 
 word. In speechless indignation she pointed to 
 the battered stew-pan. Pierrot followed the di- 
 rection of her finger with eyes full of suspense 
 and indignation. 
 
 " Behold the ruin ! " she said tragically. 
 
 " I did'nt think !" stammered Pierrot. 
 
 " You never think," returned his step-mother. 
 " Why did you take my best stew-pan, and use 
 it thus, you ungrateful boy? " 
 
 " I did'nt think ; I did not mean to hurt it. 
 I'm very sorry," said Pierrot, picking up the 
 damaged article. "I'll never be a Prussian 
 again; but one must have something on his
 
 74 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 head when one is a Prussian, you know, for the 
 French strike so hard." 
 
 "As I see," Madame returned, gazing upon 
 her stew-pan. " X o dinner for you to-day, 
 no dinner go up to the garret." 
 
 And Pierrot went, and was locked in ; but 
 Madame, in her excitement, forgot that there 
 was a store of bread and dried fruit in the gar- 
 ret. Pierrot, however, soon found this out. 
 
 Experience had taught Madame that extreme 
 quietness on Pierrot's part was a sure sign of 
 brewing mischief. As Pierrot made no noise 
 her fears were aroused, and she accordingly 
 went up stairs to see what he was doing. Her 
 indignation was very great, indeed, when she 
 discovered the ravages her step-son made in the 
 provisions ; but when Pierrot begged her to 
 admire an animal, either a dog or cow, which 
 he had drawn with charcoal on her white gar- 
 ret wall, was much greater. 
 
 " Very well, my boy," she said, very well ; 
 you have spoiled my nice white wall, but you 
 shan't escape punishment. To-morrow I shall 
 send you to Le Cheval Rouge." 
 
 Pierrot with tears in his eyes protested 
 against this sentence, and begged pardon for 
 his fault ; but his step-mother was inexorable ;
 
 FLOATING ON A BOARD. 75 
 
 as she noticed several half eaten pears, and her 
 diminished stock of dried cherries, she felt 
 that no punishment could be too severe for the 
 young culprit. 
 
 Le Cheval Rouge, or, The Red Horse, 
 was an inn in Nantes. Its landlady was a 
 friend of Madame Choux. The latter had 
 often threatened to send Pierrot there, as an 
 apprentice to cook. Pierrot did not like the 
 idea at all. His father had owned a small 
 farm about a mile from the town, and Pierrot 
 dreamed of working on it at some future time. 
 Meanwhile he wanted to stay where he was. 
 He attended one of the Brothers' schools and, 
 in spite of his mischievous tricks, was a fine 
 scholar. To do him justice, he was not a bad 
 boy, although he was exceedingly thoughtless ; 
 and it seemed hard, indeed, that he should be 
 made a cook in spite of himself. It was hard 
 to think that he should be sent away from 
 home and among strangers. 
 
 Madame Choux did not relent ; and one fine 
 morning Pierrot, with eyes red from weeping, 
 and with his basket, containing his clothes and 
 two white mice, presented himself at Le 
 Cheval Rouge. 
 
 He was not received very kindly, for the
 
 76 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 landlady had heard of his doings from his step- 
 mother, and she told him if he wanted to wear 
 one of her stew-pans, instead of a hat, she 
 would make it red-hot for him before he put 
 it on. Poor Pierrot hung his head in silence. 
 
 Time passed ; Pierrot had a hard time at the 
 inn. He thought with regret of his pleasant 
 school days, and his long walks along the 
 beautiful Loire. He was kept running from 
 morning till night. He had no leisure now 
 for playing tricks, but in spite of his ap- 
 parent quietness, the reputation he had gained 
 still clung to him. When anything went 
 wrong, the blame was, as a matter of course, 
 usually left on his shoulders, and bad accounts 
 were often carried to his step-mother. 
 
 "The ungrateful boy! "she would exclaim, 
 " he will never come to a good end." 
 
 Summer passed, and with autumn came a 
 great deal of rain, so that the river rose above its 
 banks, overflowing the surrounding country. 
 
 Madame Choux's house stood detatched 
 from the others and very near the river. 
 When the water rose it washed against the 
 house with much force, and gradually reached 
 the level of the second floor. Unfortunately, 
 the house was situated on low ground.
 
 FLOATING ON A BOARD. 77 
 
 Le Cheval Rouge was comparatively safe 
 from the encroaching flood. As soon as Pierrot 
 heard of the inundation, he hurried to some 
 rising ground, in order to observe a view of his 
 step-mother's house. To his surprise, he found 
 that the whole space between himself and the 
 dwelling was one rippling expanse of water. 
 
 "Where is my step-mother? Where is 
 Madame Choux ? Have you seen her ? " he asked 
 anxiously, of one of the bystanders. 
 
 No one had seen her. Pierrot called out 
 loudly for her. But there was no response. 
 His anxiety increased. She had never been 
 very kind to him, but the thought that she 
 might be in danger filled him with fear. She 
 was sick in bed, perhaps unable to move, and 
 the river was still rising. Boats were plying 
 in various directions, removing people and 
 furniture from the flooded dwellings. They 
 were all engaged however. Pierrot could not 
 procure one. In the meantime, Madame Choux 
 might be drowning. 
 
 A peasant's cart was standing on the hill. 
 Beside it lay several long and very wide boards. 
 Seeing these, a new idea entered Pierrot's head. 
 He threw one of these into the water, and seizing 
 a pole from a bundle of newly cut saplings,
 
 78 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 which were tied up in the cart, he sprang upon 
 the board, much to the wonder of the lookers on. 
 
 " I will bring Madame Choux back on this," 
 he said, in answer to their exclamations, " and 
 I'll swim back myself." 
 
 Pierrot stood on the board and, with a 
 prayer on his lips, struck out boldly, pushing 
 along by means of his pole. The water soon 
 became very deep and the pole was useless. 
 Then he knelt on his knees and paddled with 
 his hands. He proceeded very slowly, but at 
 last reached the house. 
 
 The water was scarcely a foot above the win- 
 dow of the second story. Into this window 
 Pierrot climbed, drawing his board in after him. 
 He saw at once he had not come in vain. His 
 step-mother was seated on the floor, unable to 
 move, her head just appearing above the surface 
 of the flood. She uttered a cry of joy as she 
 saw Pierrot. 
 
 Pierrot spoke some words of encouragement, 
 and keeping one end of the board on the window, 
 pushed the other through until it rested on the 
 sill of the opposite window, thus forming a 
 bridge across the room. 
 
 " This is dry at least," he said, advancing on 
 it to the middle of the room. " Now, mother, 
 let me help you to get up there."
 
 FLOATING ON A BOARD. 79 
 
 " I cannot move, Pierrot," she said ; "I fell 
 from the ladder and sprained my ankle. The 
 water is rising. O, Pierrot, I shall drown ! " 
 
 "No, you shan't!" said Pierrot. "Here, 
 give me your two hands, and try to stand up. 
 Now ! " With her step-son's assistance, and 
 many groans, Madame Choux at last arose to 
 her feet, and was helped to mount the board. 
 
 "You have saved my life, Pierrot; between 
 fright and pain I could not move." 
 
 The ladder that led up to the garret window 
 had been washed away in the rushing of the 
 flood ; and so Pierrot and his step-mother were 
 obliged to remain on the board, until a boat 
 came in answer to their signals. 
 
 They reached dry land in safety, and the 
 mistress of the Red Horse was graciously 
 pleased to call Pierrot a brave little fellow, 
 and to say he might be worth something yet. 
 
 His step-mother embraced him tenderly, 
 scolding him at the same time for having been 
 so reckless as to venture out on a board. 
 
 " I thought I was going to die," she whis- 
 pered to her friend the landlady, " and with 
 the river all around me, I examined my con- 
 science well, you may be sure. I think I have 
 been too harsh with the boy."
 
 80 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Pierrot left Le Cheval Rouge, and went 
 home after the flood had subsided. He has 
 resumed his studies, and Madame Choux and 
 he live on the best of terms. His experience 
 at the Red Horse learned him the value of home, 
 and I am sure he takes care not to incur its 
 loss by any mischievous tricks. 
 
 The last time I was in Nantes, I asked the 
 venerable cure who was the best boy in his 
 parish, and he answered : 
 
 "Pierrot Choux; or, Pierrot of the board, 
 as his school-fellows called him."
 
 JUNE ROSES 
 
 SUCH a beautiful morning ! The azure sky 
 was flooded with sunlight, which, escaping 
 from the meshes of the graceful white clouds, 
 was just beginning to touch the earth and sip 
 the dew from the grass. 
 
 The grass in the Thornes' yard was not capa- 
 ble of accommodating half a pint of dew, and 
 so the sun did not gain much by sipping from 
 it. The Thornes' yard was so very small. 
 There was a grass-plot in the centre, and 
 around it in a circle grew flowers pansies, 
 heliotropes, and two rose-bushes. 
 
 TWO little girls in very large straw hats were 
 extremely busy in this garden, which was sur- 
 rounded by tall, brick houses on every side. 
 One little girl was searching for any tiny weed 
 that might presume to show itself above the 
 ground ; the other was looking for bugs and 
 
 81
 
 82 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 worms among the leaves of her cherished plants. 
 
 " Oh, Nora ! do come here ! " cried Bridget 
 Thome, addressing her sister. " Two new 
 buds half open ! Isn't it funny that we didn't 
 see them last night ! Oh, how sweet they are ! " 
 And Bridget bent her head down among the 
 thorns and leaves of the bush, to inhale the 
 odor of the buds. She drew it up rather 
 quickly, however, with a long red scratch on 
 her nose. 
 
 " Just like me," she said ruefully. " I never 
 can do things carefully. " 
 
 "That's because you never try ; " and Nora, 
 gently pushing back the thorny branches, en- 
 joyed the perfume to her heart's content. 
 
 "There's no rose without its thorn," returned 
 Bridget, with the air of a philosopher. 
 
 " These pale, white roses are such beauties ! 
 Why, here's two more buds. The next day 
 after to-morrow is Corpus Christi. We'll have 
 a lovely bouquet for the High Altar, if there 
 are any flowers on the other bush." 
 
 "There are five crimson buds ready to 
 open," announced Nora. 
 
 Bridget gave a little scream of delight, and 
 dashed headforemost into the red rose-bush. 
 
 " Take care, Bridget," cried her sister, " or
 
 JUNE ROSES. 83 
 
 your face will look like a map, with the rivers 
 drawn in red ink ! " 
 
 "Let me see," said Bridget, "heliotrope, 
 pansies, roses, and geranium-leaves. That will 
 make a very pretty nosegay." 
 
 " A nosegay with a meaning, " replied Nora. 
 "The red roses remind me of Our Saviour's 
 Blood ; the white roses of the stainless heart of 
 His Mother ; the pansies mean thought, and 
 tell me to think of these things ; and the helio- 
 trope must mean prayer, for its perfume is al- 
 ways ascending." 
 
 " I'm glad you told me, Nora," said her sis- 
 ter, "for I never should have thought of it my- 
 self." 
 
 "Good-morning, girls !" called a shrill, pip- 
 ing voice above them. 
 
 "Who's that?" they both asked. 
 
 " Good-morning, girls ! Good-morning, girls ! 
 Good-morning, girls ! " 
 
 The girls looked up, and saw suspended to a 
 nail, under a second-story window, a small 
 cage with bright steel bars. In the casre was a 
 
 o fj Q 
 
 little bird with blue-tipped wings. 
 
 "It's only Jack's jay," said Nora. "Jack 
 has taught him to say ' Good-morning.' " 
 
 "Dear me?" said Bridget, in an injured
 
 84 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 tone, "Jack hasn't a bit of politeness. He 
 might teach his bird to say ' Good-morning, 
 young ladies,' instead of ' girls.' " 
 
 " But we are girls," said Nora. 
 
 " People needn't be always telling us so. If 
 I had a long dress, and my hair all wriggled 
 about, I'd look more like a young lady than 
 that hateful, stuck up" 
 
 "Bridget!" 
 
 " "Well, I won't say any more. Charlie is a 
 pretty bird. Charlie ! " 
 
 Charlie responded by imitating a dog bark- 
 ing. 
 
 "Brother Jack thinks a great deal of that 
 bird," said Nora. "It's about a year since 
 Uncle Robert brought Charlie here." 
 
 " Oh, Nora !" broke in her sister, "do you 
 remember that beautiful house we passed in 
 our walk with papa last Sunday afternoon ? " 
 
 "Up on the hill?" 
 
 "Yes. Well, Mr. Morgan lives there. One 
 day last week he came past our house just as 
 Charlie was whistling 'Yankee Doodle.' He 
 stopped and listened, and then wanted to buy 
 Charlie, but Jack wouldn't sell him. Mr. 
 Morgan said that if he changed his mind he 
 
 O O 
 
 might take Charlie up to the house on the 
 hill."
 
 JUNE KOSES. 85 
 
 " Jack won't change his mind. He likes 
 Charlie too well. We had better go in and 
 get ready for school. I'm in a hurry to tell all 
 the girls about our roses." 
 
 " Roses are very scarce this June," said Nora, 
 as the two sisters entered the house. " I looked 
 through the bars of Mr. Morgan's garden gate 
 and saw that he has some ; but beside his and 
 ours, I haven't seen a single rose in town." 
 
 The next morning a chorus, or rather, a duet 
 of lamentation was heard in the Thornes' yard. 
 The two girls, on coming down to resume their 
 gardening operations as usual, had discovered 
 that there was not a single bud left on either 
 of the rose bushes. Who had taken the buds? 
 
 " Let us ask Jack," said Bridget, trying not 
 to cry. 
 
 ''Jack doesn't know anything about it, I'm 
 sure," said Nora. 
 
 But Bridget called him. 
 
 " You girls will never let a fellow be quiet," 
 said Jack, who had been trying to ' do ' a 
 stubborn sum in fractions. " What do you 
 want?" 
 
 ' ' Do you know who took our roses ? " 
 
 "Why I took 'em," said Jack. "Each of 
 our fellows wore one in his jacket button-hole,
 
 86 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 last night, at the club. It was Jim Reilley's 
 birthday, you know." 
 
 Jack's club met every Tuesday evening, in a 
 room over Mrs. Thome's back kitchen. Its 
 members were boys belonging to the school that 
 Jack attended. The club read compositions, 
 made speeches, and played checkers ; but they 
 were strictly forbidden to sing in concert. 
 They had done so once, and the neighbors had 
 arisen in a body and protested against it. 
 
 ' ' And so you took all our roses for that old 
 club ! " cried Bridget. ' ' Selfish boy ! " 
 
 "And we intended to take them to church for 
 the tabernacle," said Nora beginning to cry. 
 
 "How was I to know that?" demanded Jack, 
 feeling sorry. 
 
 " Couldn't you ask ! " said Bridget. " Come 
 away, Nora ; I wouldn't c-r-r-y ! " and Bridget 
 thrust her fingers into her eyes, and ran into 
 the house. 
 
 Jack was really sorry for his thoughtlessness. 
 But how could he remedy it now? he asked 
 himself. There were few roses this year. Mr. 
 Morgan's bushes and those of Jack's sisters were 
 the only ones in bloom ; he did not like the 
 thought of asking Mr. Morgan for some of his 
 roses, and he was sure that gentleman would
 
 JUNE ROSES. 87 
 
 not sell them for money. But Mr. Morgan 
 offered to buy Charlie. He knew that Mr. 
 Morgan would give him any number of roses 
 for the bird. Jack thought that he could not 
 part with the dear little fellow. He went up 
 stairs, allowed Charlie to hop from the cage 
 and perch upon his finger. Charlie, knowingly, 
 twinkled his eyes and said: "Good-morning." 
 
 " Yes you must go, Charlie, for I can't spoil 
 Nora and Bridget's pleasure, and I must give 
 them some roses for the tabernacle," Jack 
 sighed. 
 
 Feeling very sad, Jack took Charlie and his 
 cage, and walked up to the house on the hill. 
 It was a very fine house indeed, with young 
 trees growing around it, and surrounded by a 
 irarden filled with the choicest flowers. Jack's 
 
 o 
 
 heart sank as he rang the bell. 
 
 Mr. Morgan took Charlie, and gave Jack a 
 huge bunch of red, pink, yellow, and white 
 roses, telling him at the same time that he 
 might have some of his best plants as soon as 
 they could be safely removed. 
 
 Jack was glad that he made this sacrifice 
 when he saw how greatly his sisters were 
 delighted by the wealth of flowers he brought 
 them.
 
 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 On the following morning, when Jack awoke, 
 he heard somebody calling out : ' ' Good-morn- 
 ing!" 
 
 He looked from his window, and saw Charlie 
 perched on a twig, just without. 
 
 Jack took him back to Mr. Morgan. But 
 whenever Charlie could escape he invariably 
 flew to Jack's window, and said : " Good-morn- 
 ing ! " then he would quietly wait to be carried 
 back to his new master.
 
 A PASSION FLOWER. 
 
 MAY had come, crowned with pansies and 
 clover-blossoms, and staggering beneath 
 her great load of the flowers of the peach and 
 cherry. With the golden sunshine adding a 
 deeper tinge to her buttercups and dandelions, 
 and with an ocean of perfume flowing from her 
 floral burden, she hastens each year to throw 
 herself at the feet of the Blessed Mother. 
 
 Through the balmy air and through the 
 morning sunlight, which touched each head 
 with its warm lingers as if in benediction, a 
 long line of boys and girls were entering a 
 church. They were going in procession to 
 honor the May Queen the fairest and purest 
 of all created beings. 
 
 On the other side of the street, watching the 
 procession, stood a little newsboy within the 
 shadow of the wall. He was a small boy ap-
 
 90 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 parently not over ten years of age. His clothes 
 were clean and neatly patched. He looked 
 wistfully at the crowd of happy children, until 
 a slight breeze rustling among the unsold 
 morning papers in his hand reminded him of 
 " business." 
 
 He started to move on when two ladies 
 passed him, one of them carrying a large bou- 
 quet. Ned Murphy, the newsboy, ran after 
 them. " Morning papers, ladies !" 
 
 The ladies stopped, and the one with the 
 flowers took out her pocketbook, but Ned 
 Murphy forgot the pennies she gave him ; he 
 even forgot to give her a paper ; he just stood 
 still and looked at the flowers. Poor Ned had 
 never seen any floral production more beauti- 
 ful than the stunted geraniums that he kept in 
 a cracked cup at home. This lady's bouquet 
 was really exquisite, and Ned devoured it with 
 his eyes. The owner gazed at him with an 
 amused smile. 
 
 " Gracious, how the child stares ! " said her 
 companion. 
 
 Ned blushed, picked up his papers and 
 thanked the ladies. The one with the bouquet 
 broke off a flower and gave it to Ned. The 
 boy was overwhelmed with gratitude.
 
 A PASSION FLOWER. 91 
 
 ' ' You have given him the passion-flower 
 the only one ! " 
 
 " So I have ! But it can't be helped now." 
 
 Ned by this time was fully a square ahead, 
 with the precious flower in his button-hole, 
 holding his hand over it, for fear some envious 
 comrade might snatch the treasure. 
 
 He stopped at each street fountain on his 
 way to sprinkle the flower with water, in order 
 that it might not wither. When his papers 
 were all sold, he sat down on a shady door- 
 step to contemplate his prize. How beautiful 
 it was ! Ned thought he could see all the in- 
 struments of Our Saviour's Passion within its 
 purple petals. He did not notice the flight of 
 time as he held the flower in various positions, 
 and enjoyed its beauty in different lights. 
 
 Ned's life-story was a very short one : His 
 mother had died when he was a baby. His 
 father was a sailor, and had gone to sea, plac- 
 ing him in charge of an old woman who kept 
 an apple stand on a corner. This old woman 
 died, leaving him her business, and to his own 
 resources. Ned was not successful in the apple 
 business. He was naturally tender-hearted, 
 and he allowed a school-boy to run up a bill 
 for a dollar's worth of pippins. The school-boy
 
 92 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 refused to pay, and Ned became insolvent. 
 After this he went into the paper business, a 
 sadder and a wiser boy. Ned lodged in a 
 small garret at the top of a tenement house. 
 
 Ned had taught himself to read by means of 
 the signboards and the headings of his papers. 
 
 He longed ardently for books, and he read 
 eagerly anything that came in his way. He 
 had been taught his prayers by the old apple 
 woman, and among other things, he had read 
 part of an old catechism. So he was not ill- 
 instructed ; but he had never been Confirmed, 
 nor had he ever made his first Communion. 
 
 When Ned again passed the church on his way 
 to obtain more papers, the procession of children 
 was coining out. He stood and watched it as 
 he had before done, and when they had all gone 
 he entered the empty church himself. Ned 
 went up to the altar rails. The faint scent of 
 incense lingered in the air ; a flood of crimson 
 light fell from the stained window upon the 
 white lilies grouped around the Blessed Vir- 
 gin's altar. Ned knelt down. The altar was 
 almost hidden in the flowers which the children 
 had brought. Ned felt a pang as he thought 
 lie had nothing to offer to that Holy Mother. 
 
 Yes, he had ! his prayers and his passion-
 
 A PASSION FLOWER. 93 
 
 flower. He softly took the flower from the 
 button hole of his jacket, and laid it reverently 
 within the altar rails. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the lady who had bought 
 the paper from Ned that morning knelt at the 
 same altar. She noticed her own passion- 
 flower within the rails, and, as she went out, 
 saw Ned going down the steps. 
 
 This lady Mrs. Woodleigh was her name 
 
 felt interested in the little boy who had 
 offered the one bright object he possessed to 
 the Queen of May. Mrs. Woodleigh spoke to 
 him, and by degrees learned his story. She 
 walked along with him to the newspaper office ; 
 by which condescension Ned was greatly con- 
 fused, flattered and delighted ; and one of his 
 brother newsboys, seeing it, became so polite 
 as to offer him a bite out of a very hard apple 
 
 a mark of favor which Ned never received 
 from that particular boy. 
 
 Mrs. Woodleigh did not lose sight of Ned. 
 She gave him a new suit of clothes, in which to 
 attend Mass and Catechism every Sunday ; and 
 after a time she succeeded in procuring him a 
 place as assistant to a friend's gardener. 
 
 Ned is very happy now. He helps his old 
 comrades, the newsboys, whenever he can, and
 
 94 
 
 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Mrs. Woodleigh often makes him the instru- 
 ment of distributing her bounty. 
 
 Ned is very thankful, too. Looking back, 
 he very often wonders what he would have 
 been now, had he not laid a passion-flower on 
 the altar that morning in May.
 
 BLUFFS BOY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ALONE IN THE WORLD. 
 
 TOM BLUFF was a sailor. The phrase 
 " rough and ready" describes him exactly. 
 He was neither very young nor very old. You 
 could not get nearer his age than that. In fact, 
 he did not know the year or day of his birth, 
 but when he went ashore and took a drop too 
 much, he always did it on pretense of keeping 
 his birthday. 
 
 He was good-natured and good-hearted ; but 
 if he did not mend his ways, his future, in this 
 world and the next, was not likely to be very 
 happy. 
 
 One evening, when his ship was in port and 
 he had been keeping his birthday about the 
 sixth that year he went reeling through the 
 
 95
 
 96 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 streets to his boarding-house ; his foot slipped, 
 he tried to steady himself, failed, and fell, strik- 
 ing his head on the corner of the curbstone that 
 bounded the sidewalk. 
 
 The street ran along the wharves and was 
 seldom frequented after business hours. Tom 
 Bluff might have lain there all night, alone and 
 unassisted, had not a small boy crept from 
 under a pile of packing-boxes and hesitatingly 
 approached the prostrate sailor. The stone 
 had made a sharp cut in Tom's head, from 
 which a stream of blood was slowly trickling. 
 
 The small boy raised the head of the uncon- 
 scious sailor, examined the cut, and then went 
 back to the boxes. In a short time he returned 
 with a large coarse bag. The dusk of evening 
 was fast giving place to the darkness of night. 
 Having torn a large piece from the bag, the boy 
 lighted a match and again looked at the wound. 
 
 He staunched the flowing blood with a portion 
 of the bag, and with another bandaged the cut. 
 
 After awhile Tom Bluff opened his eyes. He 
 was quite sober now. He raised his hand and 
 felt the rough cloth on his head. 
 
 " Hey, youngster, what does this mean?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 "You fell and cut your head, sir," replied
 
 BLUFF'S BOY. 97 
 
 the boy, speaking with a refined accent that ac- 
 corded ill with his ragged clress. " Can you 
 walk?" 
 
 "I am rather unsteady on my pins," mut- 
 tered Tom, trying to rise, " but I guess I can 
 manage to get up and get." 
 
 "I'll help you over to the boxes, and then 
 I'll run for a doctor." 
 
 "No, sir-ee ! " interrupted Tom. " No doc- 
 tor need apply ; I am only a little topsy-turvy. 
 Give us a lift, youngster, and I'll be all right 
 in a second." 
 
 Tom succeeded in reaching the boxes, and 
 stretched himself on the pavement with his 
 back against one of them. 
 
 " Much obliged, youngster," he said, having 
 made himself as comfortable as circumstances 
 would allow ; " do you live hereabouts?" 
 
 "I don't live anywhere in particular," said 
 the boy, creeping into a box that was turned 
 on its side. 
 
 " What ! " demanded Tom. " Don't go try- 
 in' to stuff me, boy." 
 
 "I live wherever I can, and it's mighty 
 hard to find a place sometimes." 
 
 "Great Julius Caesar ! " exclaimed Tom, 
 opening his eyes in amazement. " You don't
 
 98 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 tell me so ; a whipper-snapper like you all 
 alone in the world ! What's your name ? " 
 "Lewis Arlyn." 
 
 ' ' Where are your parents ? " 
 
 " My mother is dead since spring," answered 
 the boy, in a trembling voice, " paid my father 
 was wrecked at sea." 
 
 " Before the mast, I'll be bound ! A sailor, 
 was he ? " 
 
 " No, he went away from mother and me on 
 business, and never came back. He went in a 
 ship called the Ariel." 
 
 " Went to pieces out at sea, I've heard. 
 And so your mother waited for him, and then 
 died?" 
 
 " Yes ; two months ago." 
 
 " Poor boy," muttered the sailor, winking 
 violently. "Blame it! the damp gets into a 
 fellow's eyes on nights like these." 
 
 There was a short silence. 
 
 "How on earth do you get along, young- 
 ster?" 
 
 " I sell matches during the day." And 
 Lewis Arlyn took several bundles from the 
 packing-box. "They're first rate, sir; war- 
 ranted to strike fire at " 
 
 " Eye to business, I see," laughed Tom.
 
 BLUFF'S BOY. 99 
 
 "Well, I'm better now; come and help me 
 home." 
 
 Catching hold of Lewis' hand, the sailor rose 
 to his feet. As the two went slowly through 
 the streets, Tom reflected deeply. Lewis was 
 about to take his leave when they reached the 
 boarding-house, but Tom held him by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Look here, sonny," he said in his rough, 
 but kindly tone, " I'm going to adopt you. I'll 
 give you an education, though I'll have to give 
 up my birthday and stop my grog to raise the 
 needful. Come in, I say." 
 
 And the astonished boy suddenly found him- 
 self adopted by Tom Bluff. 
 
 Time passed. Tom became each day more 
 attached to Lewis. The boy was a marvel to 
 him. The way in which he could add up the 
 figures in Tom's rather mixed up accounts was 
 simply " stunning," as the sailor expressed it. 
 
 Lewis Arlyn was a good boy. I don't mean 
 to say that he was a very quiet boy, or that he 
 did not like fun and play, but I do mean to say 
 that .he was a good Catholic, and he gained great 
 influence over Tom, who, before starting on his 
 next voyage, received Our Lord for the first 
 time since his boyhood.
 
 100 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BEARS AND ICEBERGS. 
 
 For half a year, while Tom Bluff was away 
 at sea, Lewis went to school ; but after awhile 
 he grew restless, not from dislike to school, 
 but because he could not bear the knowledge 
 that Tom was working hard for him. He 
 wanted to do something to help his benefactor. 
 
 Around his neck he had worn a chain of 
 peculiar fashion, to which were attached a tiny 
 cross and medal. 
 
 When Tom returned from his second voyage, 
 Lewis implored that on the next he might go as 
 cabin-boy. Tom argued against it, but Lewis 
 persisted. 
 
 " Well," said the sailor at last, " a wilful boy 
 must have his way. But God is on the sea as 
 well as on the land. You've made me believe 
 that, Lewis, and you'll be as safe up among the 
 icebergs as down here. You shall be a cabin- 
 boy, if our captain will take you. 
 
 Lewis became a cabin boy on board the Morn- 
 ing Star, bound for Greenland. His exemplary 
 conduct and prompt attention to his duties made
 
 BLUFF'S BOY. 101 
 
 him a favorite with every one on board. The 
 sailors called him Tom Bluff's boy. 
 
 The Morning Star lay in an inlet on the 
 coast of an island in Hudson Bay. Around 
 the ship an unbroken field of ice glittered in 
 the red light of the Arctic sun. In the distance, 
 majestic icebergs reared their heads in the cold 
 glow of the "frozen light." 
 
 The Morning Star was ice-bound. She 
 would be compelled to remain in her present 
 position until the breaking up of the ice. This 
 generally takes place in the month of July. 
 
 The sailors were amusing themselves on the 
 ice in various ways playing leap-frog, build- 
 ing sleds, and skating. 
 
 Tom Bluff and Lewis had wandered some 
 distance from the vessel, and were now con- 
 cealed from the view of the men on the ice by 
 an immense berg. 
 
 Lewis had made the acquaintance of several 
 Esquimaux. One Esquimau boy, named Muk- 
 he-bc-out, had taken quite a fancy to Lewis, 
 because he sometimes treated him to candles. 
 Muk-hc-be-out devoured the tallow with great 
 relish, but he always took care to pull the 
 rvicks from his mouth. 
 
 Muk-he-be-out's father and his two eldest
 
 102 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 brothers were helping Tom and Lewis to build 
 a hut of ice in the Esquimau fashion. The 
 dogs belonging to Muk-he-be-out's family were 
 fighting and snarling among themselves around 
 the hut. 
 
 The hut-builders were too deeply engrossed 
 in their business to notice that a large white 
 bear had just rounded a corner of the iceberg. 
 
 The dogs at once set up a shrill howl. 
 
 Muk-he-be-out first noticed it, and seizing 
 his spear, aimed a blow at the bear's head. 
 His father and brothers also advanced, spears 
 in hand, to confront the intruder. 
 
 Lewis was inside the half-built hut, and did 
 not hear the alarm. Tom was outside, but he 
 had no other weapon than his knife. 
 
 Before Muk-he-be-out's spear touched the 
 head of the bear, another appeared on the 
 scene. Taken by surprise, the two Esquimaux 
 stood still for an instant, with upraised spears, 
 and, actuated by one impulse, they fled rapidly 
 from the place. 
 
 Tom and Lewis were left to face these 
 ferocious animals. 
 
 Lewis was unarmed, and Tom knew it. 
 He grasped his knife tightly. Lewis was still 
 in the hut. There was no time to lose. Tom
 
 BLUFF'S BOY. 103 
 
 resolved to fight the bears, and give the boy 
 time to escape. 
 
 " Lewis," he cried, " come out." 
 
 Lewis emerged from the aperture, and 
 turned pale at the sight before him. 
 
 "Rim, Lewis," said Tom, keeping his eye 
 on the foremost bear. " Run back to the ship 
 as fast as you can." 
 
 "No," said Lewis hoarsely, "I'll not go 
 without you." 
 
 " Go ! " cried Tom. "These monsters would 
 tear us to pieces before we could run a hundred 
 yards. Run, while I keep them at bay." 
 
 " I'll stand by you," said Lewis, seizing a 
 block of ice as a weapon of defence. 
 
 The foremost bear raised himself upon his 
 legs and sprang forward upon Tom. The sailor 
 fell backwards with the weight of the ponder- 
 ous paws on his shoulders. 
 
 Lewis set his teeth hard, and murmured a 
 prayer, at the same time preparing to launch 
 his block of ice. 
 
 Tom lay wholly at the mercy of the bear. In 
 falling, his knife had been knocked from his hand. 
 
 Suddenly a pistol-shot reechoed among the 
 ice mountains. The foremost bear uttered a 
 roar of pain, and, leaving Tom, hastened to
 
 104 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 meet a new assailant. Another pistol-ball 
 brought him to the ice, roaring with rage and 
 pain. The second bear, probably thinking 
 that discretion was the best part of valor, 
 turned tail and disappeared behind the iceberg. 
 
 A man, clad in the fur dress and hood of the 
 Esquimaux, and carrying a revolver in his 
 hand, emerged from among the heaps of ice 
 and lichen-covered rocks. 
 
 Not noticing Lewis, the man fired another 
 shot at the bear. With a low, rumbling groan, 
 the animal expired. He knelt down near Tom 
 to examine his injuries. He had just succeeded 
 in loosening the sailor's neck-cloth when he 
 turned pale, and seemed about to fall. He 
 caught sight of the tiny cross that Lewis had 
 given Tom. 
 
 Tom was only stunned. The color came 
 back to his face, and he started up. 
 
 "That cross!" gasped the stranger, speak- 
 ing English. "Where did you get it?" He 
 clutched Tom's arm convulsively. 
 
 "Why that belongs to Lewis," said Tom, 
 rather bewildered. "Where is Lewis?" 
 
 "Lewis!" 
 
 Lewis knew that voice. With a glad cry he 
 ran forward into the stranger's arms.
 
 BLUFF'S BOY. 105 
 
 The man in Esquimau dress was Lewis Ar- 
 lyn's father. 
 
 The Ariel had been wrecked in Hudson Bay. 
 It was crushed between two icebergs. 
 
 Mr. Arlyn was the only person who survived 
 the disaster, which had occurred further up the 
 coast. He had been treated kindly by the 
 Esquimaux. Among them he had watched and 
 waited for the coming of a vessel to deliver him. 
 Hearing that a ship was weather-bound on the 
 coast of the island, he had come, fearing yet 
 hoping to make sure of it. He had arrived in 
 time to save Lewis and Tom from a horrible 
 death. 
 
 The Morning Star safely reached home. 
 
 Tom no longer goes down to the sea in ships. 
 He lives with Lewis and his father. They are 
 all happy. Mr. Arlyn is happy because he has 
 found his son ; Lewis is happy because he has 
 found his father ; Tom is happy because Lewis 
 is happy, and they are all happy because they 
 are all good. 
 
 Don't you think the last reason is the best 
 reason for happiness.
 
 A SPRIG OF SHAMROCK. 
 
 ON a certain March morning, when the air 
 was full of sunlight, and the faint breath 
 of early spring, Joe Murphy canie down stairs 
 whistling blithely as a lark. 
 
 In the small room which served the Murphys 
 as parlor, dining-room, and kitchen, Mrs. 
 Murphy was getting breakfast ready break- 
 fast for two, for Mrs. Murphy and her son were 
 all the family. 
 
 The room was a perfect picture of neatness. 
 From the snow-white boards of the floor to the 
 clean, polished glass that covered the print of 
 Our Lady of Sorrows on the wall, every object 
 in the poorly-furnished room showed the pres- 
 ence of careful hands. 
 
 Mrs. Murphy was a cheerful, gentle woman, 
 so short in stature that, when tall ruddy-cheeked 
 
 106
 
 A SPRIG OF SHAMROCK. 107 
 
 Joe stood by her, her head barely reached the 
 level of his shoulders. Time and trouble had 
 turned her hair gray, but her face was still kind 
 and cheerful in expression ; and when her eyes 
 rested on her son, the proud and happy light 
 that shone there was a sight worth seeing. 
 
 It did not take long to prepare breakfast. It 
 was very frugal at the best of times, and this 
 was Lent. 
 
 "Well, mother," said Joe, taking his hat 
 and pushing his chair back, " To-morrow is St. 
 Patrick's Day." 
 
 " Sure I couldn't forget that, Joe. See how 
 blooming my shamrock is. You'll have a fine 
 sprig to wear in your coat to-morrow." 
 
 Joe laughed cheerily, and, walking over to 
 the window, looked admiringly at the tuft of 
 shamrock that grew in a very red flower-pot. 
 Joe's mother had brought that shamrock from 
 the old country. 
 
 " To-morrow," said Joe, with a mysterious 
 air, "I'll give you something for your sprig of 
 shamrock, mother." 
 
 His mother looked up with a pleased smile 
 on her face. 
 
 "Don't ask me to tell you beforehand. I 
 wouldn't spoil the surprise by words."
 
 108 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " I can wait," she said, knowing that Joe was 
 more eager to speak than she to hear. "It's 
 nearly half-past seven, and you should be at the 
 office at eight, you know. I hear James 
 Tyrrell on the stairs." 
 
 " "Would you really like to know what I'll 
 give you?" 
 
 "I am not impatient, said this provoking 
 mother. "It's time you were off, Joe." 
 
 " Well, then, it's good news, mother." 
 
 " Good news will keep, Joe." 
 
 " Sure, I can't keep it, then. Mr. Maher 
 promised yesterday to raise my wages. Five 
 dollars a week after to-morrow. Hurrah ! " 
 Joe threw up his cap, and performed a double- 
 shuffle. " We'll have a nice carpet, mother, 
 and you shall have a new bonnet, and a shawl, 
 and spectacles with gold rims, mother yes, 
 spectacles with gold rims ! Hurrah ! " 
 
 And, having unburdened his mind of the 
 secret that tortured him since the previous 
 evening, he hastened away to his daily labor. 
 
 "He never thinks of himself at all, at all," 
 murmured Mrs. Murphy, lifting the corner of 
 her apron to wipe away a tear. 
 
 Mrs. Murphy had endured many trials. Her 
 husband and three children had died in Ire-
 
 A SPRIG OF SHAMROCK. 109 
 
 land. Poor, yet hopeful, she and her son had 
 come to America. Joe was employed in the 
 law office of Maher & Arnold, lie ran errands, 
 copied documents, and performed such other 
 duties as fell to his share. Mr. Maher held 
 him in great estimation. Joe's companion in 
 the office was James Tyrrell. Tyrrell was fif- 
 teen a year older than Joe. During the hur- 
 ried seasons he divided Joe's usual labors, but 
 at other times he sat at a high desk, in an up- 
 right, elderly way. 
 
 James Tyrrell lived in the same house with 
 Joe. A distant relative of his an old woman 
 who kept an apple-stand on the corner rented 
 rooms immediately above those occupied by 
 the Murphy s. 
 
 Tyrrell never of late arrived at the office in 
 time, and when he did come he was generally 
 half-asleep. The trouble was, he had become 
 acquainted with " a jolly set of fellows, " with 
 whom he went to theatres, or roamed about 
 the streets at night. Mr. Maher had not of- 
 fered to raiso his salary ; on the contrary, he 
 had threatened to dismiss him if he did not be- 
 come more punctual. He envied Joe, but he 
 made no eifort to imitate the good conduct that 
 made the latter a favorite with his employer.
 
 110 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 II. 
 
 St. Patrick's Day, Joe Murphy had gone to 
 early Mass ; and as he walked briskly up 
 towards the office, with his mother's sprig of 
 shamrock pinned on his coat, it would have 
 been difficult to find a happier boy in Philadel- 
 phia. Five dollars a week ! The prospect 
 was pleasant; and in his mind's-eye, Joe 
 already saw many improvements in the little 
 room at home. 
 
 Entering the office, Joe opened the shut- 
 ters. After a while, Tyrell came in yawning. 
 
 " Good morning," said Joe. 
 
 " Early enough to-day, I hope, to please old 
 Maher. I say, what's that green thing you've 
 got in in your button-hole, Murphy?" 
 
 " Shamrock." 
 
 "You're a green 'un," sneered Tyrrell; 
 ' ' faith I'd not be letting every one know I was 
 Irish." 
 
 " More shame for you," said Joe, gravely. 
 
 At this moment a gray-haired, kind-looking 
 man entered. Tyrrell at once rushed to his 
 desk, and pretended to write with all his might.
 
 A SPRIG OF SHAMROCK. Ill 
 
 Mr. Maher said good morning, and then went 
 into his private office. He came out in a short 
 time, with something in his hand. 
 
 " You've never seen anything like this, have 
 you, boys." From a dainty cotton-lined box he 
 took a watch and showed it to the boys. They 
 were both loud in their expressions of admira- 
 tion. The watch was in the form of a tiny gold 
 rose ; each petal was exquisitely cut. 
 
 While Mr. Maher was showing the watch a 
 loud burst of music sounded without, accom- 
 panied by applauding voices. 
 
 " What is that?" asked Mr. Maher. 
 
 "The procession. St. Patrick's Day, you 
 know, sir." 
 
 "Oh, yes." Mr. Maher carefully laid the 
 watch within Tyrrell's desk and went to the 
 door ; Tyrrell and Joe followed him. Banners 
 fluttered in the sunlit air, horses pranced, men 
 in the ranks answered the cheers of those on 
 the sidewalk, and the inspiriting melody from 
 the various bands added life and animation to 
 the scene. Mr. Maher and Joe stood watching 
 the gay pageant, but Tyrrell stole back to the 
 desk, opened it, took something out, hesitated 
 an instant, and then joined the other two at the 
 door. He took his stand very close to Joe.
 
 112 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Neither Mr. Maher nor Joe noticed his move- 
 ment. 
 
 ' ' To work, hoys ! to work ! " said Mr. Maher, 
 when the procession had passed. "Why 
 where's the watch ? " 
 
 He had lifted up the lid of Tyrrell's desk. 
 The watch was gone. 
 
 "Perhaps you dropped it, sir, instead of 
 putting it into the desk," suggested Tyrrell. 
 
 Mr. Maher shook his head negatively ; they 
 searched for it on the floor, however. Again 
 Mr. Maher went to the desk. He examined it 
 minutely. Between the desk and the lid lay a 
 sprig of shamrock, as if it had been accidentally 
 caught and crushed there. 
 
 Mr. Maher glanced at Joe. The boy's sham- 
 rock had disappeared from his coat. How had 
 it got into Tyrrell's desk ? A troubled expres- 
 sion swept across Mr. Maher's face. The search 
 was renewed in vain. 
 
 At last Mr. Maher said : "Now, boys, I am 
 sure I left my wife's watch in the desk. While 
 we were standing in the doorway no one en- 
 tered, that is certain. The back door is bolted, 
 as you see ; but the watch is gone. From these 
 facts, what is your conclusion?" 
 
 " That one of us took the watch," said Tyr-
 
 A SPRIG OF SHAMROCK, 113 
 
 rell. " You may search me, sir." He hastily 
 turned his pockets inside out. Joe plunged his 
 hands into his pockets, and then his face became 
 very red. Tyrrell had been watching him. He 
 seized Joe's right hand, and dragged it out. 
 The watch was in it. 
 
 " Joe Murphy's the thief! " cried Tyrrell. 
 
 Joe indignantly protested his innocence. Mr. 
 Maher listened patiently and sorrowfully. When 
 Joe's tears entirely choked his words, Mr. 
 Maher spoke : 
 
 " While you were looking at the watch in 
 niy hand, I noticed that sprig of shamrock on 
 your coat. A few minutes afterwards, the 
 shamrock is found in Tyrrell's desk, and the 
 watch is found in your pockets. Say no more ; 
 you are no longer in my employ." 
 
 With a bursting heart and a throbbing brain, 
 Joe walked home. In an hour all happiness 
 had flown. The streets were gay with flying 
 flags and martial music, but for him every- 
 thing was gloomy. 
 
 His mother comforted him. She, at least, 
 believed him. " God will make it all right," 
 she said.
 
 114 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Two months had passed. The Murphy s are 
 on the verge of starvation. Joe, with his 
 name tarnished by the suspicion of a dishonest 
 act, has been unable to obtain employment ; 
 but, in spite of that, he has plenty of work on 
 his hands, for James Tyrrell is lying ill with 
 smallpox in the close room at the top of the 
 house. The old apple woman deserted him at 
 the first sign of the disease. 
 
 Had not Joe Murphy volunteered to min- 
 ister to him, he would have been left alone. 
 A few moments ago the doctor told Joe to 
 send for a priest. The priest came, and, after 
 the last rites were administered, called Joe and 
 the doctor into the room. 
 
 We will not dwell on the scene. In the 
 presence of these three witnesses, the dying 
 boy confessed that he, to satisfy his hatred and 
 envy, had hidden Mr. Maher's watch in Joe's 
 pocket on St. Patrick's Day, and that he had 
 taken the sprig of shamrock and placed it in 
 the desk, in order more plainly to fix the guilt 
 on Joe. When he had told these things, James 
 Tyrrell died, contrite and forgiven. 
 
 Mr. Maher took Joe into favor again. His 
 wages have been raised several times since, 
 and Mrs. Murphy rejoices in the new shawl,
 
 A SPEIG OF SHAMROCK. 
 
 115 
 
 bonnet, and gold-rimmed spectacles that Joe 
 promised her. But Joe never sees a sprig of 
 shamrock without feeling grateful to Him 
 " Who made it all right."
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE.* 
 
 TBANSLATED FKOM THE FKENCH OF MADAME GUIZOT 
 DE WILL. 
 
 I WAS ill ; I could not leave my room, and 
 I was often forced to spend many hours on 
 a sofa. "Winter had set in, and my windows 
 looked on a narrow, gloomy court, behind the 
 high walls of which daylight disappeared early. 
 I could not read all day, and I needed some 
 amusement, as those whom I loved were called 
 away by pressing duties. I did not care to 
 spend all my time in counting the flowers on 
 the wall-paper, or in tracing the design of the 
 carpet, and so I had my sofa placed near a 
 window. 
 
 "You will feel the draughts," somebody 
 said, although this was plainly impossible, as 
 the smallest cracks were closed up. "I will 
 see all that goes on outside," I answered. 
 
 * Slightly altered. 
 116
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE. 117 
 
 My husband laughed. "You will see ser- 
 vants shaking carpets, and maids gossiping in- 
 stead of minding their work." It's a great pity 
 that all we have is two apartments fronting on 
 the street." 
 
 " Don't be discontented," I said ; "rooms on 
 the street are dear, and I intend to observe 
 many things in my little court. This evening 
 I will tell you what I have seen." 
 
 Hardly had I been installed on my sofa near 
 the window, when I uttered an exclamation of 
 delight. Louise, my old waiting-maid, who 
 had known me all my life, looked up in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 ' ' I see children down on the first floor of the 
 opposite house, Louise. I am sure I'll not 
 want for amusement now." 
 
 She smiled sadly, and a tender remembrance 
 made my heart beat quickly. I hid my face in 
 my hands, for I had a little girl once, but her 
 Guardian Angel had led her from earth into the 
 home of her Heavenly Father. I thought of 
 my two boys at school, who came to see me on 
 Sunday, every two weeks. Sighing, I turned 
 my attention to the children in the window. 
 
 At first, I thought the elder one resembled 
 my dear Maria, for she had golden hair, blue
 
 118 STOKIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 eyes, a fair skin, and a sad, sweet expression. 
 Her sister was much darker in hair, eyes, and 
 complexion, and very lively and merry. In 
 her arms the latter held a pretty little white cat. 
 
 All at once my interest became centered on 
 this cat. The children brought out a minia- 
 ture table and an arm-chair, both seeming to 
 be part of the furniture of a doll's house. 
 
 The table was adorned by a cover of lace- 
 bordered muslin. Having placed a small look- 
 ing-glass, a basin, and a soap-dish upon it, the 
 yellow-haired maiden poured out some water. 
 I watched attentively through the window- 
 panes. What unfortunate doll was about to 
 have her paint destroyed and her limbs broken 
 by being washed in a basin of water? 
 
 " And hot water, too ! " I cried, as the bru- 
 nette appeared with a tiny kettle, her once 
 white apron covered with charcoal. The two 
 girls approached the easy-chair, and placed 
 some object in it. What could it be ? A small 
 object in a gray morning gown, trimmed with 
 green ribbons, and a cape on its shoulders ! It 
 was certainly not a doll, for it moved and 
 turned its head. 
 
 The occupant of the chair was the white cat ! 
 It maintained its seat with the gravity of a
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE. 119 
 
 human being (and with more than the gravity 
 of come small human beings) ; and, though its 
 dress must have been somewhat uncomfortable, 
 it made no attempt .to scratch its little mis- 
 tress. One of them plunged its front paws 
 into the basin. The water was too hot, and 
 the cat withdrew its paws, and shook them 
 with a piteous air. When the girls had nearly 
 smothered it with consoling caresses, they 
 tempered the heat with cold water, and the 
 ceremony proceeded. The tiny white paws 
 were soaped, sprinkled with cologne and^ried ; 
 but at this interesting moment I sunk back 
 fatigued among my cushions, and so the toilet 
 continued without me. 
 
 "Do you know who those children are, 
 Louise?" 
 
 Louise, bent on discovering what had inter- 
 ested me so strongly, had ceased knitting, to 
 look from the other window. 
 
 "That cat is a good animal," she remarked, 
 before answering me. " Ten tunes at least 
 I thought the beast would have scratched the 
 little stupids. The idea of washing a cat ! 
 and cats detest water on their feet ! Yes, 
 madame, they are children of a man employed 
 in a government office. Their mother died
 
 120 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 last year; their father is away all day, and so 
 the poor little ones are left to amuse themselves 
 as they can. 
 
 "They do not seem very melancholy," I 
 thought, turning again to the window, but the 
 little girls had gone. The cat remained, how- 
 ever, still tied in its chair ; its head rested on 
 its breast, and it was sleeping after the fatigues 
 of the day. 
 
 "Its naughty mistresses must have forgotten 
 it," I thought. 
 
 The winter wind blew roughly against the 
 panes, and so I could not open the window, to 
 call across the court. I took up my book, in 
 order to profit by the last gleams of daylight. 
 When I again glanced towards their side of the 
 court, Jibs cat, the chair, and the toilet-table 
 were no longer there. I recounted to my hus- 
 band the discovery I had made. 
 
 " Boilou lives over there," he said ; "I meet 
 him sometimes." 
 
 " Do you know him?" I asked eagerly. 
 
 " A little sufficiently to salute him, and 
 even to say a few words. 
 
 "The little girls have no mother, and I have 
 no daughter," I thought. 
 
 " When you meet him again, tell him your
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE. 121 
 
 wife is sick, and that by sending his little girls 
 to her, sometimes, he will perform an act of 
 true charity." 
 
 " For his children ; I don't doubt that," said 
 my husband, laughing. " They'll fatigue you ; 
 this business of the cat makes me think " 
 
 "That they can amuse themselves." 
 
 Two days after this dialogue, the small 
 maidens entered my room conducted by their 
 nurse, whom I sent to Louise in the kitchen. 
 My two little friends stood timidly at the foot 
 of my sofa. 
 
 A near view of them convinced me that my 
 heart had caused me to imagine a resemblance 
 which did not exist between my little Maria 
 and the elder mistress of the white cat. Maria 
 always wore an air of grave sadness, as if, 
 young as she was, she already felt the weight 
 of life ; my visitor had nothing of this. She 
 crossed her arms on her breast and regarded 
 me with a fearless glance. I caught sight of 
 the cat, half-hidden in her cloak. I held out 
 my hands, and the little girls began to laugh. 
 
 "Theresa wanted to bring our cat," said the 
 elder. 
 
 "It was Genevieve, who feared Faradet 
 would get tired all by himself," said the younger ;
 
 122 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " and, then, he is so nice that we thought he 
 would amuse you," they both chimed in. 
 
 The pretty animal jondescended to roll him- 
 self up in my cushion and to fall asleep, just as 
 if he were an ordinary cat. His mistresses 
 found seats on the carpet at each side of me. 
 
 "We didn't bring his bed," said Theresa, 
 " and so he must sleep as he can. At home 
 he has a night-gown for cold nights." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes," continued Genevieve, gravely ; "he 
 sleeps in our doll's bed, but he's much nicer 
 than a doll ; isn't he ? We put him to bed in 
 the evening, like a little baby, with a tiny, 
 tiny jug of hot water at his feet, so that they'll 
 not get cold. We wanted him to wear a night- 
 cap, but it hurt his ears ; they're too long." 
 And the little maid softly caressed the cat's 
 head. He never opened his eyes, but purred 
 his thanks. 
 
 " He knows me," she continued, " he knows 
 where we are. Sometimes we go about with 
 papa's old dog an old, old dog, who is 
 always in papa's room, under the bureau ; but 
 we make him go out now and then, when Celes- 
 tine comes to shake the carpet." 
 
 I shuddered good house-wife that I was
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE 123 
 
 at the thought of this carpet on which a dog 
 slept, and which was only shaken now and 
 then ; but the little babbler went on : " Then 
 Faradet looks for us everywhere. He doesn't 
 like to be alone ; he moans, he calls us, and 
 sometimes he cries so loudly that he makes our 
 rat afraid, but in general our rat loves Faradet, 
 who never tries to hurt him." 
 
 The thought of such a menagerie in a small 
 room overwhelmed me a dog, a cat, a rat. 
 
 ' ' But what do you do with the rat ? " 
 
 "Oh, he is sweet! He's a white rat as 
 white as Faradet. They gave him to us in the 
 country," said Gene vie ve, with an air of im- 
 portance, "when we were in Normandy last 
 year. Were you ever in Normandy? It's 
 very pretty, and our grandmother lives there ; 
 but she is so old that she can't keep us in winter, 
 because we make too much noise in her room." 
 
 "Are we making a noise now, niadame?" 
 asked Theresa, anxiously. "Papa said you 
 were sick, and that if we tired you we should 
 not come any more." 
 
 " And we are so much amused," cried Gene- 
 vieve, embracing me energetically. 
 
 The cat awakened ; he walked around the 
 room uneasily.
 
 124 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "He knows he is not at home," said the 
 girls, following him in order to tell him the 
 names of the various articles of furniture and 
 the subjects of the pictures. "That's a little 
 girl who is tired," said Genevieve, contemplat- 
 ing the Mignon of Amy Sheifer. " She has no 
 cat. If you were there, my Faradet" and 
 the little animal rubbed his head against his 
 mistress' shoulder ' ' she would not look so 
 unhappy." 
 
 But Faradet wanted to reconnoitre the un- 
 known territory by himself. He leaped upon 
 the stand and placed a paw on a wooden ball in 
 my work-basket. "Faradet!" said Theresa, 
 reproachfully. The cat meowed plaintively, as 
 if in protest, but withdrew his paw and de- 
 scended gently. 
 
 "You see how good he is, madame ! " ex- 
 claimed his delighted mistress. 
 
 At this moment the door was opened. " You 
 must come now, mademoiselles," said Celestine ; 
 ' ' monsieur ordered me not to leave you long 
 enough to fatigue madame." 
 
 " Have we remained too long?" The two 
 little faces were turned supplicatingly towards 
 me. 
 
 Too long ! I looked at the clock. Two
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE. 125 
 
 hours had slipped away as a dream. Mothers 
 and children soon understand and learn to love 
 one another. 
 
 ' ' I will be greatly obliged to you if you will 
 permit them to come back to-morrow their 
 father being willing," I said, turning to the 
 nurse, " and not to disturb you, my maid will 
 take them home, so that it will not be neces- 
 sary to attend them, mademoiselle." 
 
 Celestine's bad humor vanished ; she admitted 
 that it might be possible she would be obliged 
 to perform some errands, during which time 
 she would leave her charges in my care. She 
 courtesied, and took the hands of my little 
 friends. 
 
 " We are coming again to-morrow," they said 
 to Faradet, whom they had great trouble to 
 catch. 
 
 "Do you want us to bring Raton? "cried 
 Theresa, as the bonne shut the door. 
 
 " Xo, no," I returned quickly. I liked rats 
 even less than white cats. 
 
 From that day I had two girls and a cat. As 
 soon as the little sisters were dressed, they 
 ran to the window, sometimes before I had 
 arisen, and they would find my sofa unoccu- 
 pied. Gene vie ve mounted a chair, and en-
 
 126 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 deavored, with many fruitless efforts, to open 
 the window, in spite of Louise's fears of a 
 downfall. " They both ought to have a whip- 
 ping," she observed; "the cat will be trying 
 to raise the window next. There it is, open at 
 last." 
 
 "Good day!" repeated two fresh little 
 voices, " good day, madame ! " Louise had half- 
 opened our window to let the dust out. "Have 
 you slept well ? Faradet has been very good ! '' 
 Louise shut the window, and the children dis- 
 appeared to make the toilet of their cat. 
 
 "I have never seen such an animal," said 
 Louise, stopping her work to look at our 
 neighbors ; "he is seated in bed with his 
 night-gown. They are bringing him a dish on 
 a tray" and my old attendant shook with 
 laughter ' ' they feed him with a spoon and 
 he swallows like an infant. What is that run- 
 ning along the curtains ? Truly, it is the rat ; 
 I can't tell how these little girls keep the 
 beasts from eating one another. But I am los- 
 ing time." 
 
 Louise managed to protract the arrangement 
 of my room very greatly since the discovery of 
 our new friends. Each day they made me an 
 early visit. They brought their books and I
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE. 127 
 
 commenced to give them lessons. Genevieve 
 could read a little, but Theresa hardly spelled; 
 they wrote a page or two ; the elder made o's, 
 while my brunette filled her fingers with ink- 
 spots. In the meantime the cat slept on my 
 knees, happy to be deli vered from the constraint 
 imposed by his civilized habits, as his furniture 
 had not been brought into my room. 
 
 "We amuse ourselves well enough here," 
 Genevieve had prudently decided ; ' ' we must 
 keep something at home." 
 
 The dog Ravande and the white rat had not 
 yet been admitted to the honor of paying me a 
 visit ; but the most perfect harmony always 
 reigned between the three animals and their 
 mistresses. 
 
 "Raton is so glad when we return, "said Ther- 
 esa ; he climbs upon the bars of his cage, and 
 utters cries of joy." 
 
 I asked what the cries of joy of a rat were. 
 Theresa tried to imitate them. "That's not 
 them at all," said Genevieve, trying in her turn, 
 with the same success as her sister. Where- 
 upon they both rolled on the floor in a transport 
 of laughter, and they were obliged to give up 
 the idea of making me comprehend Raton's ex- 
 pressions of joy.
 
 128 STOEIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "We will bring him and you will see," they 
 promised. I did not remind them of their 
 promise. 
 
 I began to grow better. I was soon able to 
 leave my room. I had decided to profit by my 
 liberty, in order to see Mr. Boilou and advise 
 him to discharge Celestine, who neglected his 
 children and was unfit for her position. Al- 
 though they were much neglected, I had always 
 admired the goodness and sweet temper of my 
 little friends. They were very ignorant for their 
 age, were sometimes hoydenish (with my sons) 
 and sometimes troublesome (with my Louise) ; 
 but they were kind, good-natured, and docile. I 
 was not astonished at the peace that reigned 
 among their three favorites, for the sisters 
 never quarrelled themselves. I wanted to see 
 my two boys act in like manner ; but, although 
 they loved each other with all their hearts, they 
 teased and provoked each other from morning 
 to night. 
 
 On Sunday, while awaiting their appearance, 
 I sent for my two little girls. " Tell them," I 
 said to Louise, "that I wish them to bring 
 Raton and Eavande." 
 
 "And the cat?" added Louise, who had 
 taken Faradet into favor. He helped her, she
 
 A GOOD EXAMPLE. 129 
 
 avowed, to count her linen by placing its little 
 white paw on each napkin that she added to the 
 pile. When I happened to find the dusky mark 
 of a paw on my table linen, Louise insisted 
 that it was the fault of the washerwoman. 
 
 "And Faradet?" she repeated, " Faradet 
 conies, of course." 
 
 A quarter of an hour later my chamber was 
 transformed into a menagerie. In entering, 
 my two boys jostled the dog who lay extended 
 before the door, and Eoger knocked against 
 Eaton's cage ; the poor little animal, frightened 
 by the shock, took refuge in her bed of hay. 
 His little mistresses had retired to a corner, 
 carrying Faradet. 
 
 I had some trouble silencing the low growls 
 of the old dog and the meowing of the cat; 
 peace, however, was at last established. My 
 sons returned to their old employment of teas- 
 ing each other, while the girls played with 
 their animals at the end of the room. The rat 
 had come from his hiding place to climb up the 
 bars of the cage. Faradet, standing on his hind 
 legs before the cage, made slight strokes at the 
 white claws of the rat, who began his cries of 
 joy, as the girls called them. 
 
 " Do you hear him, madame ? " said Theresa,
 
 130 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 triumphantly. "That doesn't sound like the 
 noise Gene vie ve made, does it?" 
 
 " Nor is it like what you made," laughed the 
 other. 
 
 Theresa agreed that it was not, and they 
 called Ravande, who was cosily stretched at 
 full length. Faradet was running hither and 
 thither ; he shook Raton's cage in passing, and 
 gave the dog a box on the ear ; the latter raised 
 his head good-naturedly. My son Henri was 
 seated on the floor near my sofa. ' I placed my 
 hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "These children and animals can live to- 
 gether without quarrelling," I said in a low 
 tone ; ' ' why cannot my sons do as much ? " 
 
 Roger overheard me. He shook his head 
 like Ravande. 
 
 " Little girls," he said disdainfully. 
 
 "Animals, "added Henri ; but his eyes did not 
 leave the happy little group in the corner of the 
 room, and in the evening he embraced me before 
 departing for college and murmured in my ear : 
 
 " I will try to become less quarrelsome, dear 
 mother ; we can live together as well as a cat 
 and a rat." 
 
 I smiled. He had understood the example I 
 had wished to show him.
 
 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 THERE were three in the O'Meara family, 
 Thomas, his wife, and little Nora. Little 
 Nora was seven years old. 
 
 The O'Mearas were poor, and one of them 
 was not contented. This was the husband and 
 father. He had become careless of late, and 
 he did not attend to his religious duties as he 
 had formerly done. 
 
 The morning sunlight, shooting its golden 
 arrows into the O'Mearas' little room, saw a 
 very pretty picture. 
 
 Little Nora sat by her mother's side, repeat- 
 ing the following hymn : 
 
 " Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, 
 
 Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid; 
 Star of the East, the horizon adorning, 
 
 Guide where Our Infant Redeemer is laid," 
 
 " I forget the rest, dear mother," said little 
 
 131
 
 132 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Nora. It has something sweet in it about dew- 
 drops. Please say it again." 
 And Nora's mother began : 
 
 " Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining, 
 Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall " 
 
 " Oh, I remember now," cried Nora, eagerly 
 
 continuing : 
 
 " Angels adore Him, in slumber reclining, 
 Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all." 
 
 They were proceeding to the second stanza, 
 when Thomas O'Meara entered. 
 
 " Sure, and what's the use of learning the 
 child that?" he said. "She'd better be learn- 
 ing her A B C's. Go and get your primer, 
 Nora, and leave hymns to ould women and 
 them that likes them." 
 
 " I like them, father, "said Nora, raising her 
 eyes imploringly. 
 
 "Do as I bid you." 
 
 And Nora, obeyed, dampening the well- 
 thumbed primer with her tears. 
 
 Thomas O'Meara shortly afterward was dis- 
 charged by his employer, and he resolved to 
 leave Ireland and go to America. 
 
 He had but little money, and he intended 
 to let his wife and child remain in the old
 
 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 133 
 
 country until he could earn sufficient to pay 
 their passage to the New "World. 
 
 Well, he started, and Xora wept more tears 
 at his departure than she did about the hymn. 
 
 Three months passed, and one joyful day 
 Mrs. O'Meara received a letter from her hus- 
 band, inclosing a sum of money, and telling 
 her to come at once to him. 
 
 As soon as possible, Nora and her mother 
 were on shipboard, speeding over the ocean. 
 The steamer that carried them made a quicker 
 trip than usual. They arrived two days before 
 they were expected. 
 
 Thomas O'Meara had promised to meet them 
 at the landing-place, but he was not there. 
 
 Anxiously Mrs. O'Meara scanned every face 
 on the wharf that familiar one was absent. 
 
 Sick at heart, she stood, with Nora by her 
 side, waiting for his coming. Every new- 
 comer she fancied to be him, and then with 
 painful disappointment saw that it was not he 
 the expected one. 
 
 As night fell she took refuge in a hotel. Her 
 husband had forgotten to send her any ad- 
 dress, but she knew he worked on a farm ; so 
 the next morning she left the city, and went 
 out into the open country. She would inquire
 
 134 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 for Thomas O'Meara at the different farm- 
 houses. Surely the people would know him. 
 Alas ! she did not know what a large place 
 America is. 
 
 Her efforts were vain. No one knew him. 
 It was bitter cold Christmas was near and 
 Jack Frost pinched poor little Nora's cheeks 
 purple, and almost froze the tears in her blue 
 eyes. 
 
 At the end of the third day the snow began 
 to fall, and the mother and daughter found 
 shelter in a deserted tumble -down old barn. 
 Grief and anxiety had done their work. Mrs. 
 O'Meara fell sick with fever. She grew worse, 
 finally becoming delirious. 
 
 There was no house in sight. Little Nora 
 was alone with her suffering mother. It was 
 two days since they entered the barn, and 
 during that time they had eaten no food. 
 
 Poor little Nora was growing very weak. She 
 pressed her lips to her unconscious mother's hot 
 brow. It was a sad Christmas Eve. 
 
 " Poor, dear mother," she thought, "father 
 would let me sing my hymn now, to cheer her 
 up, I know." 
 
 She began the hymn in her shrill, childish 
 voice.
 
 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 135 
 
 Out on the lonely road sounded the merry 
 jingle of sleigh-bells. Two persons were in the 
 sleigh the driver and another. The moon 
 shone coldly bright on the far-reaching expanse 
 of snow. 
 
 ' ' Hark ! " said the driver it was Thomas 
 O'Meara, and the man by his side was his em- 
 ployer. " Do you not hear a sound, sir? " 
 
 "The wind?" 
 
 " Sure there's no wind at all, at all. Listen ! 
 D'ye hear that?" O'Meara reined in the horses. 
 
 Through the deep stillness of the night came 
 the child's faltering voice, singing: 
 
 " Cold on His cradle, the dewdrops are shining; 
 
 Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall; 
 Angels adore Him, in slumber reclining 
 Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all." 
 
 "That's the voice of an angel, or of my own 
 little Nora 1 " cried O'Meara. 
 
 "The voice comes from yonder barn," said 
 his employer. 
 
 Thomas O'Meara entered the barn, and found 
 his wife and child. They were wrapped up 
 warmly, placed in the sleigh, and taken to the 
 kind employer's home. 
 
 Mrs. O'Meara soon recovered, and Nora's
 
 136 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 cheeks soon grew red again. The steamer had 
 arrived two days before Thomas O'Meara 
 reached the city, to meet his wife and Nora. 
 He was almost frantic at having missed them. 
 He made a vow if he ever should regain his loved 
 ones, he would never more be careless about his 
 religious duties. 
 
 He kept that vow. He is prosperous and 
 happy; and on each Christmas Eve, he joins 
 with grateful heart in singing the hymn which 
 he once thought was useless for Nora to learn.
 
 A JUNE DAY. 
 
 / T""*HE spot in the garden which Jennie and 
 Eddie Garland chose for their play-ground 
 was very pretty. It was not far from their 
 father's house, the roofs of which could be seen 
 above the trees. Here was an open place, 
 where the grass was kept short by the constant 
 tread of their little feet. Here were their little 
 gardens and a tent, over which was unfurled a 
 tiny red, white and blue flag. 
 
 Their toys were kept in the tent, and during 
 the long, bright days there were no happier 
 children in the country than these two. Jen- 
 nie was eight years old and Eddy was four. 
 Jap was their little dog. Nobody seemed to 
 know how old he was. He looked to be at 
 least a hundred, although he could not have 
 been so old as that. He followed the children 
 everywhere, and seemed to understand what 
 they said, not only to him, but to each other. 
 
 One bright sweet-scented day in June, the 
 137
 
 138 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 children's mother gave them permission to go 
 into the big garden, which was a tangled mass 
 of roses, magnolias, honeysuckle and sweet- 
 williams. The children were not usually per- 
 mitted to go into this garden, but on this day 
 their mother said that they might go and 
 gather as many flowers as they liked, because 
 it was the eve of Corpus Christi. 
 
 " And children," she said, " I want you to 
 get the prettiest red and white roses you can 
 find for Our Blessed Lord to-morrow." 
 
 ' ' May we really pick them where we like ? " 
 asked Eddie. 
 
 "Yes, dear," said his mother, smiling the 
 kind smile that mothers smile for little boys ; 
 " but don't pick such very short stems." 
 
 "No, mother," answered Eddie. 
 
 The children went into the grounds, hand in 
 hand. When they came to their tent, they 
 thought that they would rest awhile before be- 
 ginning to fill their baskets with roses. Jennie 
 took some of her toys from the tent, and the 
 children soon drowned the hum of the bees, 
 who had a nice hive near, with their laughter 
 and shouts. 
 
 Suddenly Jennie "screeched," as Eddie ex- 
 pressed it.
 
 A JUNE DAY 139 
 
 " Oh, dear," she said, " there's a bee in my 
 stocking ! " 
 
 "Take it off quick!" 
 
 " Oh, Eddie, it will bite me ! " 
 
 "Bees don't bite; they sting," said Eddie, 
 proudly. 
 
 Jennie "screeched," and, as her stocking 
 was hanging over her shoe for Jennie was 
 not the tidiest girl in the world it was easily 
 pulled off. The question now arose, how was 
 Sir Gold Belt to be enticed out of the stocking ? 
 
 Eddie was in favor of treading on the stock- 
 ing and killing the bee ; but Jennie said it 
 would be wrong to kill a bee. 
 
 "It works hard and makes honey, you 
 know." 
 
 " But it might sting somebody else." 
 
 " It may help to make honey for our bread 
 and butter." 
 
 " So it might," said Eddie, moved by this 
 suggestion. 
 
 Jennie shook her stocking violently, threw 
 it on the ground and ran under the cedar tree, 
 Eddie taking refuge in the tent. But no bee 
 buzzed from the stocking. 
 
 " I tell you," the bee won't come out of the 
 top of the stocking, because it is afraid of us ;
 
 140 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 I'll cut a hole in the heel of the stocking, and 
 then the bee will drop out." 
 
 The stocking was laid on the ground, and 
 Eddie, taking his little pen-knife from his 
 pocket, cut a hole in the heel of the stocking. 
 Breathlessly Jennie shook the stocking. Eddie 
 and Jap watched anxiously for the bee to ap- 
 pear. But no bee came. 
 
 " I don't see it," said Jennie. 
 
 "I don't, either," said Eddie. 
 
 Jap barked, to show that he agreed with 
 them. 
 
 ' ' Here it comes ! here it comes ! " cried 
 Eddie. 
 
 Jennie dropped the stocking, and there fell 
 upon the grass a dried clover-top. This was 
 the bee ! 
 
 Jap turned it over with his nose, with a look 
 of contempt. Eddie laughed, and Jennie began 
 to cry. It was too bad to have cut a hole in 
 her stocking and to have found no bee. What 
 would mamma say? 
 
 " You told me to do it, Eddie," she said. 
 ' ' I think it was real mean ? " 
 
 "Well, why did you 'screech,' anyhow?" 
 asked Eddie, in an injured tone. "I didn't 
 say there was a bee 1 "
 
 A JUNE DAY. 141 
 
 " You did ! " said Jennie. " You said it was 
 a bee ! " 
 
 " That's a story ! " cried Eddie. " You ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 ' ' I'm ashamed of you ! " 
 
 Eddie began to cry, too, and Jap to yelp in 
 sympathy. The children were very angry with 
 each other. They picked up their baskets and 
 went into the tangled garden. 
 
 The fragrance of the honeysuckle and the 
 roses surrounded them. Above was the deep 
 blue sky, and all around the sunlit air. Climb- 
 ing, but scentless roses, wreathed the trunks of 
 old trees and summer-house. Bushes bearing 
 sweet, rich red roses stood everywhere ; above 
 them towered white roses, and here and there 
 a yellow rose lifted its face to the sun. The 
 lilac-bushes had lost their delicious burdens ; 
 but the scent of the honeysuckle more than 
 made up for the loss of the fragrance of the 
 purple and white lilacs. 
 
 In one place a red rose-bush, covered with 
 magnificent flowers, whose golden hearts shone 
 among the unfolded petals, had become en- 
 twined with a white rose-bush, whose flowers, 
 half-opened, seemed without a spot. 
 
 Jennie stretched out her hand to take one of
 
 142 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the white roses, uttering an exclamation of 
 pleasure. 
 
 "You rnustn t ao that ! " said Eddie. 
 
 " Why not?" asked Jennie. 
 
 ' ' Because mamma said it was no use pluck- 
 ing roses for the altar and offering them to 
 Our Dear Lord, if we had bad thoughts in our 
 hearts. Mamma said that the child Jesus 
 wants our hearts first, and after that, the flow- 
 ers. You mustn't offer Him white roses when 
 you are angry with me ! " 
 
 Jennie tore the rose from the bush and threw 
 it on the ground. " You're a mean boy, 
 Eddie ! " 
 
 Eddie picked up the rose. "Mamma said 
 that the white roses meant the Immaculate 
 Heart of the Blessed Mother and the red ones 
 the Heart of Our Lord. You ought not to 
 treat them so ! " 
 
 An angry flash came into Jennie's eyes, and 
 she raised her hand as if to hit her little 
 brother. It was hard to be reproved by Mm. 
 
 Then her Guardian Angel whispered in her 
 ear. She kissed the torn rose and Eddie, 
 and her tears glistened like dew-drops in the 
 white petals. 
 
 " I am sorry to have offended the dear Child
 
 A JUNE DAY. 
 
 143 
 
 Jesus and His Blessed Mother." She made an 
 Act of Contrition. 
 
 After this the day went happily, and their 
 mother smiled and kissed them when they 
 came home at dinner-time, loaded with the 
 rarest roses in the garden all with 
 stems ! " 
 
 long
 
 WILDE BY NAME AND WILD BY 
 NATURE. 
 
 AUNT MARTHA was very strict very 
 strict. It must be said, though, that she 
 had reason to be, for Kitty Wilde, her niece,' 
 was, as all the neighbors said, "Wilde by name 
 and wild by nature." She was an orphan, and 
 she had been taken by Aunt Martha when she 
 was very young. Aunt Martha was not really 
 her aunt. She was a "lone woman," whose 
 son had gone West long ago, and sometimes 
 she said to the neighbors that " she didn't 
 know what had possessed her to take Kitty 
 Wilde." Kitty was sometimes very trying to 
 Aunt Martha. 
 
 Anybody's nerves would be shocked by the 
 sight of Kitty clinging to Brindle's horns riding 
 around the East Meadow. Brindle was one of 
 Aunt Martha's three cows. This was one of 
 Kitty's amusements. She was always very 
 
 144
 
 WILDE BY NAME AND WILD BY NATURE. 145 
 
 sorry, after she had been told how dangerous 
 and annoying it was, but the next day she 
 generally forgot her sorrow, and rode Brindle 
 again. 
 
 Aunt Martha generally had " company" on 
 Friday nights, because the sweeping, the wash- 
 ing and the baking were over. The ' ' company " 
 generally was three old ladies from West Hamp- 
 ton, the town about three miles away. They 
 were very stiff, prim old ladies, and they al- 
 ways drove over in an ancient carriage a 
 " Germantown," they called it. Suddenly, 
 while they and Aunt Martha were drinking tea, 
 and exchanging cooking receipts and the news 
 of the neighborhood, a wild howl would sound 
 without, and when the four frightened old ladies 
 would hasten to the door, they would see the 
 " Germantown" dashing down the road, driven 
 by Kitty at a break-neck pace. This was not 
 pleasant, and took away the old ladies' appe- 
 tites for Aunt Martha's nice tea-cakes. 
 
 Several times when Aunt Martha had sent 
 Kitty, with her pitcher, to the spring behind 
 the house, where all day long in the hottest sum- 
 mer, the coldest water bubbled up, she had been 
 found idly ga/ing into the brook, trying wreaths 
 of daisies on her head or making paper-boats !
 
 146 STOEIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Was it strange that Aunt Martha declared, 
 over and over again , that she would go mad ? 
 The neighbors declared ' ' they didn't see how 
 she stood it." 
 
 It was agreed everywhere that Kitty was 
 good-hearted ; she never refused to do an act 
 of kindness. Farmer Birch, the richest man in 
 the neighborhood, had been so grateful to her 
 for her kindness to his little son, who had been 
 hurt by a reaping machine, that he told her she 
 might have the whole produce of his big ox- 
 heart cherry-tree for the gathering. 
 
 Kitty picked the cherries every summer, and 
 sold them to a dealer in West Hampton. Aunt 
 Martha would never touch the " cherry 
 money." Kitty carried it to the bank every 
 year. It was something for a " rainy day." 
 
 Aunt Martha loved Kitty very much, and 
 Kitty returned the love with interest. She 
 worked with energy in fits and starts. And 
 she could work, when she wanted to ; but she 
 did not always want to. 
 
 Aunt Martha would have stood everything, 
 except for Kitty's dislike to " meeting." Aunt 
 Martha was a Methodist, and she wanted Kitty 
 to be a Methodist. 
 
 Twice Kitty went to meeting. After that, she
 
 WILDE BY NAME AND WILD BY NATURE. 147 
 
 would not go again. She said the preaching 
 and the shouting frightened her. 
 
 " Shouting ! " cried Aunt Martha indignantly. 
 " You shout from morning until night, and you 
 don't seem to care. You wicked, wicked child ! 
 I don't know where you are going when you 
 die ! " 
 
 "I can't help it, Aunt Martha," said Kitty, 
 tying a new ribbon around the cat's neck ; 
 "your hymns are so sorrowful and everybody 
 is so grim, that I wouldn't be a Methodist. It's 
 not what / call religion." 
 
 " Sister Briggs, do you hear the child ? " cried 
 Aunt Martha, turning to the "company" 
 seated at the tea-table. " Give me my cap- 
 ribbon this instant ! How can you put it on that 
 nasty cat ? It cost two fips a yard ! Do you 
 hear her? How can she expect a change of 
 heart?" 
 
 Sister Briggs shook her head, swallowed 
 her tea and sang in doleful tones : 
 
 " There was a girl whom I know well, 
 
 She went unto a ball, 
 Full knowing 'twas the road to Hell, 
 Oh, it was awful, 
 Awful, Awful, 
 Oh, it was awful, 
 A a a full"
 
 148 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Kitty ran away before the pious Mrs. Briggs 
 could finish a doleful ditty very fashionable 
 among the Methodists of the neighborhood. 
 
 The four old ladies shook their heads. 
 
 ' ' I don't see whatever possessed you to take 
 Kitty Wilde," said Mrs. Briggs, " she's a bold, 
 good-for-nothing " 
 
 Aunt Martha straightened herself up and 
 peered at Mrs. Briggs through her spectacles. 
 
 "I am able to attend to my own business, 
 Sister Briggs." 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" said Sister Briggs. "I 
 thought you were too much of a Christian to 
 take offence when a neighbor gives a word 
 of advice. But I guess, if you saw your Kitty 
 tearing around the country with the Irish chil- 
 dren back of the hill, you wouldn't be so 
 touchy. Them Irish will make a Jesuit of her, 
 if you don't be careful." 
 
 Aunt Martha put down her tea-cup. 
 
 ' ' Law sakes ! " the other members of the 
 company exclaimed. 
 
 " You're not in earnest, Sister Briggs? You 
 don't mean to tell me that Kitty associates 
 with that Irish family ? " 
 
 "I saw her with these eyes picking black- 
 berries with Rose and Anna O'Rafferty to-day."
 
 WILDE BY NAME AND WILD BY NATURE. 149 
 
 Aunt Martha was silent. This was a heavy 
 blow. 
 
 The country around East Hampton was 
 peopled almost exclusively by "natives," 
 whose great-grandfathers had come mostly 
 from the North of England. A colony of 
 Irish people had lately settled among them, 
 who, though very poor, had managed to build 
 a chapel, in which a priest said Mass twice a 
 month. Rose and Anna O'RafFerty were of this 
 colony. Their father was a hard-working car- 
 penter, and an admirable man, quite as well 
 educated as the people among whom his lot 
 had been cast. Nevertheless, he was looked 
 down upon by his neighbors ; and Rose and 
 Anna were considered by the other girls as 
 "Irish." In East Hampton this word meant 
 everything that was low and coarse. 
 
 It was a blow, then, for Aunt Martha to hear 
 that Kitty Wilde had ' ' made friends " with 
 the O'Rafferty girls. She had nothing to say 
 against them ; but they were " Irish." 
 
 She was about to open her mouth to reply 
 to the last remark, when a scream rang through 
 the air and caused the old ladies to jump from 
 the table in terror. 
 
 Before they could leave the table, the door
 
 150 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of the room was thrown open and Kitty en- 
 tered, followed by two dripping figures. One 
 was Rose O'Raflerty, her frock tightly clinging 
 to her, and the water from it trickling in little 
 streams. She led a boy named Willie New- 
 comb by the hand. He was a pitiable object. 
 His hair was matted with mud, which had run 
 into his eyes, and from thence been smeared 
 over his face. His clothes were literally 
 "soaked." 
 
 Willie Newcomb was Mrs. Brigg's grandson, 
 and the apple of her eye. She seemed too 
 amazed to speak. Kitty burst out : 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Martha, Willie called Rose ugly 
 names, and said he wouldn't play with her, and 
 I got mad, and I chased him, and he lost his 
 balance and fell into the creek. / thought he 
 was going to drown, when Rose jumped in 
 after him. She can swim a little, you know, 
 and just as I thought they were both dead, she 
 caught a branch and pulled him out. O, dear, 
 it was awful ! The nasty, disagreeable boy ! " 
 
 All this was delivered so rapidly that Aunt 
 Martha made Kitty say it over again. 
 
 "I wouldn't have saved him, that's all," she 
 added. " Why, he said his grandmother 
 Briggs said Rose worshipped idols."
 
 WILDE BY NAME AND WILD BY NATURE. 151 
 
 Mrs. Briggs looked very much ashamed ; 
 but everybody else pretended not to notice 
 this remark. 
 
 Willie was put to bed at once, and Rose 
 safely ensconced in Kitty's room, much to the 
 latter's delight. 
 
 When quiet was restored, Aunt Martha and 
 her friends resumed their meal. Her brow 
 was wrinkled, and she looked anxious. 
 
 ' ' I am shocked by Kitty's unchristian senti- 
 ments towards poor Willie. She actually de- 
 clares she would have let him drown. When 
 I asked Rose, who seems to be a sweet child, 
 why she risked her life, she said : ' Oh, our 
 Lord wants us to do good to them that injure 
 us.'" 
 
 "And she a Romanist !" cried the old ladies. 
 
 " Well, for my part," said Mrs. Briggs, "I'll 
 never say anything against 'em again ! " 
 
 Aunt Martha was so much impressed by 
 Rose's action that she let Kitty go to Mass and 
 the Catechism class with her, and people say 
 that Aunt Martha herself has a " leaning 
 towards Rome."
 
 THE BOY WHO WANTED TO 
 BE OLD. 
 
 WALTER went into the library one day, 
 and found it empty. His grandfather's 
 big chair, with several books on it, stood near 
 the table. Walter lifted off some of the books 
 and climbed into the chair. Then he took his 
 grandfather's long Dutch pipe and began to 
 read. I mean to pretend to read, for Walter 
 could not read. He did not touch the pen or 
 ink, for Walter was an obedient boy. He took 
 the end of the pipe out of his mouth very soon, 
 for he found " it tasted nasty." 
 
 After awhile, Walter dropped asleep, and 
 his grandfather coming in, awakened him. 
 
 "Oh, grandfather," he said, "I dreamed 
 that I was you. How nice it must be, to be 
 you ! You can read every word in this big 
 book and do as you please ! " 
 
 ' ' I don't often read Burton's ' Anatomy of 
 Melancholy, 'and when I do, I have to use spec- 
 
 152
 
 THE BOY WHO WANTED TO BE OLD. 153 
 
 tacles. Now, you can see everything without 
 spectacles. See what an advantage you have." 
 
 " Oh, but, grandpapa, you can do anything 
 you please. You can ride a pony." 
 
 " No," said grandfather, smiling, "I can't; I 
 have the rheumatism." 
 
 Walter was silent. " But I wish I were old, 
 grandfather ; I would be independent of every- 
 body." 
 
 " No, you wouldn't ; nobody is independent. 
 Now I am too old to do anything useful. I 
 have to depend on others for many things." 
 
 " Then, it is better fun to be young and little 
 after all." 
 
 Grandfather smiled. "Most people think 
 so." 
 
 " Would you like to be young and little, like 
 me?" 
 
 "No, "said grandfather, "I am content to 
 be old and feeble ; I have lived a long time ; 
 God has been very good to me, and I hope 
 soon to join in praising Him in Heaven, if he 
 thinks me worthy, after purifying my soul in 
 Purgatory." 
 
 "Grandfather, I would like to be old like 
 you to feel that way." 
 
 "No, Walter, be content ; be as good as you
 
 154 STOKIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 can ; do your best every hour of your life. 
 That will make you as happy as any man can 
 be outside of Heaven." 
 
 Walter kissed his grandfather, and they 
 spent a pleasant afternoon together,
 
 THE LAST MEETING OF THE 
 T. I. & B. B. E.'S. 
 
 "w 
 
 IIO goes there ? " 
 Me." 
 
 ' ' That's not grammar ! " 
 
 "Yes, it is!'; 
 
 "No, it isn't!" 
 
 "I say it is !" 
 
 " My teacher says it isn't." 
 
 " What ought it to be, then?" 
 
 " I." 
 
 ' ' But the pass-word is ' Haw heads and 
 bloody bones ! ' ' 
 
 " Pass in!" 
 
 This dialogue took place between Harry 
 Jones and John McDermott. Harry was hold- 
 ing up one side of his father's cellar-door. In 
 the cellar an important meeting was about to 
 take place. Against a barrel of potatoes was 
 propped up a chair with three legs. On this 
 155
 
 156 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 chair sat the captain of the T. I. and B. B. E.'s. 
 His jacket was turned inside out, so was his 
 cap. He held a broom-stick in one hand ; and 
 there were three splashes of red brick-dust on 
 his face and hands. 
 
 Around him, grouped in a circle, were five 
 other boys, each with his coat or jacket turned 
 inside out, but with no red paint on and no 
 broom-stick. The boy with these distinctions 
 was the captain of the T. I. and B. B. E.'s. 
 He was a very generous fellow. Previous to 
 John McDermott's entrance, he had passed 
 around a very small green apple and permitted 
 each boy to take a bite from it. His name was 
 Al Smith. He said he had once killed a snake. 
 His father was a policeman. These qualities 
 made him much respected by the T. I. and 
 B. B. E.'s. 
 
 "Hail, brother!" all the T. I. and B. B. 
 E.'s cried out as John McDermott entered. 
 
 "What bring'st thou to the banquet?" de- 
 manded the captain, chewing the core of his 
 apple, which had just been given to him. John 
 pulled out of his pocket a link of Bologna 
 sausage, and held it up triumphantly before 
 the conclave. A cry of delight was given by 
 the T. I. and B. B. E.'s.
 
 THE T. I. AND B. B. E.'S. 157 
 
 " Tis well," said the captain. "Shall we 
 feast? "Would that this were the blood of the 
 savage red-skin ! " he cried, wrinkling his nose 
 ferociously. " Ha ! Ha ! " 
 
 " Give the captain the first bite ! " said Harry 
 Jones. 
 
 The sausage was solemnly presented to the 
 captain, who bit off the end. Then the owner 
 had his share, and so on. The next comer 
 admitted was Pat Brady, a fat boy with twin- 
 kling eyes. 
 
 "Hast thou brought a scalp, or perchance 
 the bloody limb of some r-r-r-r-r-roamer of 
 the for-r-r-r-r-est ? " 
 
 "Not much, me noble duke," said Pat. 
 " There was no red-skin on Broadway this 
 morning, or I should have torn him limb from 
 limb ! " 
 
 "There speaks a true T. I. & B. B. E." 
 cried the captain, smearing more brick-dust on 
 his hands, and lighting a " smoker." 
 
 " Ma said we wern't to have any matches," 
 cried Harry Jones. " I don't think it's fair to 
 come into a fellow's cellar and smoke ' smok- 
 ers '. I won't play ! " 
 
 ' ' Play ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! " said the captain of 
 the T. I. and B. B. E.'s, in a sepulchral voice.
 
 158 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Is this play? Wistest thou, rash youth, that 
 to-morrow we start on the road towards the 
 forest? Every brave will have at least ten 
 cents in his pocket and a basket of provisions. 
 We go forth to the wilds of Jersey. There 
 we will slay aye, slay, until the earth be- 
 comes as crimson as this gor-r-r-r-r-e upon 
 me ar-r-r-m." 
 
 The T. I. and B. B. E.'s trembled, while 
 the august captain waved his broom-stick. 
 
 "What are we going to do?" demanded 
 Pat Brady. " Hunt mosquitoes in Jersey?" 
 
 "Ha! ha! dost hear him, brethren of the 
 T. I. and B. B. E.'s?" 
 
 "We do!" 
 
 "Know, then, rash intruder, that we have 
 sworn to drive the red-skin from the soil. You 
 have read of Pawnee Bob, the slayer of the 
 Piutes ? " 
 
 " Don't read dime novels," said Pat. 
 
 " Maybe," continued the captain, " you have 
 not heard of Old Sleuth ? " 
 
 "No," said Pat. 
 
 "Well, I am about to lead you all in the 
 paths of these great men. I but what has our 
 new brother brought to the cause of the T. I. 
 and B. B. E.'s, with which to feast our souls ? 
 No raw sweet potatoes will be accepted."
 
 THE T. I. AND B. B. E.'s. 159 
 
 Pat suddenly drew out of his pocket a big 
 live crab. He threw it on the floor. It acted 
 as live crabs usually acted, and the T. I. and 
 B. B. E.'s yelled, scrambled over one another, 
 and scattered Mrs. Jones' ash-kettles right and 
 left. 
 
 The captain fell from his throne and sprawled 
 on the floor. Suddenly a voice was heard on 
 the stairs 
 
 "You Harry!" 
 
 A silence fell on the T. I. and B. B. E.'s. 
 The captain rose and disappeared through the 
 cellar- door. The other T. I. and B. B. E.'s 
 scrambled after him. Pat Brady was dragged 
 up the ladder, because he clung to tho last 
 boy's coat tail. 
 
 Mrs. Jones was astonished to find the cellar 
 empty. 
 
 "I say, fellows," cried Pat, when they 
 reached the street, " you're nice Terrible In- 
 dian and Big Buffalo Exterminators, when 
 you're A. O. C. A. A. W." 
 
 " What do you mean?" cried the captain. 
 
 ' ' I mean that you'd better give up reading 
 dime novels and talking nonsense about Indian 
 fighting, when you're afraid of a crab and a 
 woman ! "
 
 160 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The T. I. and B. B. E.'s were quiet. 
 
 "You're right, Pat," said the captain. 
 "Let's drop dime novels and story papers. 
 They'll never make men of us." 
 
 And the T. I. and B. B. E.'s took the cap- 
 tain's advice.
 
 A DAY AT RIDGEWOOD. 
 
 IT was comfortable and warm and cheerful 
 inside. A bright fire burned in the grate. 
 Grandmother sat at one side of the fire with 
 her knitting, Aunt Frances at the other, mak- 
 ing a little cap for Baby. 
 
 The four children, Lousia and Ellen, and 
 their cousins, Jack and Willie, were not so 
 content with the pleasant room as the other 
 people were. Snow had begun to fall, at 
 first slowly, then quickly, with many a whirl. 
 The passers-by turned up their collars, and 
 trudged along. But somehow or other, the 
 coming of the snow seemed to make every- 
 body outside more cheerful. 
 
 Jack and Willie left their building blocks 
 and went to the window. 
 
 After awhile, only a few white feathers fell, 
 slowly and reluctantly. Then the boys, with 
 brooms and shovels, began to ring bells and 
 
 161
 
 162 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 knock at doors. "Want your pavements 
 cleaned off?" 
 
 Jack and Willie looked longingly at these 
 boys at work. 
 
 ' ' Why can't we go out and shovel snow ? " 
 
 "Why can't we V" 
 
 The boys asked this question first, and the 
 %'irls imitated them. Grandmother was shocked. 
 
 "Go out on a day like this! No, indeed! 
 Did they want to get their feet wet ? " 
 
 ' ' But we have good strong shoes ! " cried the 
 children, "and Ellen and Louisa have rubber 
 boots!" 
 
 "I don't think they ought to go, do you, 
 Frances?" asked Grandmother. 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Frances, "I think you 
 might let them go. It is very jolly outside. 
 I'd like to go myself, if it were not for the 
 fact that it would look queer to see me mak- 
 ing snow-balls." 
 
 "May we go?" 
 
 "Do let us go!" 
 
 "We'll be so good, Grandmother !" 
 
 " Oh, do come, Aunt Frances !" 
 
 After a great many exclamations and en- 
 treaties, Grandmother at last consented, mak- 
 ing all kinds of stipulations.
 
 A DAY AT EIDGEWOOD. 163 
 
 Sleigh-bells sounded. The children rushed 
 to the window. A big, rough, board-sleigh 
 passed, crowded with laughing children. 
 
 " Oh, how happy they must be ! " cried Aunt 
 Frances; " I would like to have a sleigh-ride 
 myself ! " 
 
 ' ' I wish we could ! " 
 
 ' ' Here conies another sleigh ! " 
 
 Gracefully turning the corner, like a swan 
 floating on a lake, came a beautifully curved 
 sleigh, big and comfortable-looking. 
 
 The man who drove was heavily muffled in 
 furs. The children could not see his face. 
 Suddenly the sleigh was stopped at the door ; 
 and the driver ran up their steps actually 
 their steps. 
 
 The children looked at one another in breath- 
 less expectation. Who could it be? 
 
 Aunt Frances smiled. She guessed who it 
 was. 
 
 The door of the parlor opened, and a gentle- 
 man entered. He raised the visor of his fur 
 cap, and kissed them all, except Aunt Frances. 
 
 "Walter, oh, Walter!" 
 
 Walter was very jolly. 
 
 "I've come to take you all out to Ridge- 
 wood," he said. "The sleigh will be rather
 
 164 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 crowded, but you will not mind that, will you? 
 We'll have something to eat at the hotel, so 
 you needn't wait for luncheon, and the children 
 can make monstrous snow-balls on the side of 
 the hill." 
 
 Grandmother would not go. Aunt Frances 
 seemed delighted, and there was a great scram- 
 ble for coats and hats, scarfs and gloves. 
 
 Finally, everybody was helped into the 
 sleigh, and nearly smothered in buffalo robes. 
 How happy they all were ! 
 
 ' ' Get up ! " The whip cracked ; the bells 
 jingled. "Hooray!" cried the boys cleaning 
 the pavements. " Hooray !" 
 
 They passed the little church, whose golden 
 cross gleamed bright against the blue sky. 
 Father Redmond was just entering his house, 
 and he waved his hand to them. They all 
 cried out, " Good morning, Father ! " in return. 
 
 They crossed the car-tracks, passed the big 
 car-stables, rode through the Park as quickly as 
 the driving-rules would let them, and they 
 were soon in the open country. They met a 
 young man on a bicycle, making tracks through 
 the snow. It seemed very funny ; but the 
 young man had a hard time ploughing nlo ig. 
 
 Jack said that winter bicycles ought to be 
 made with runners.
 
 A DAY AT IlIDGEWOOD. 165 
 
 Walter said that the i)ropcr pronunciation of 
 the word was "bi-cy-cle, with the accent on 
 the ' cy.'" Everybody laughed at Walter, and 
 Aunt Frances said that, although it might do 
 in Greek, it would not do in English. 
 
 The children thought this very witty. So 
 did Walter, who laughed very much, which 
 induced Aunt Frances to say other lively 
 things, which sent the children into convul- 
 sions. They wanted to laugh. 
 
 They stopped to get a bunch of red berries 
 Avhich showed above the snow, and Aunt 
 Frances got out to pick up a half-frozen 
 robin, which she laid carefully in the pocket 
 of her fur wrap. 
 
 The air was fresh ; the sky all blue and 
 gold ; the bells jingled lightly ; and Walter, 
 finding the country was very quiet, and there 
 was nobody to listen, began to sing : 
 
 " The robin in his leafy tent 
 Sings all day long and is content, 
 He does not have to pay his rent, 
 He! he! he! he! he! he!" 
 
 The children screamed with delight. Walter 
 could not reach a high note, and his voice broke. 
 Then there was more delight, and Aunt Frances 
 cried :
 
 166 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Hear, hear, hear, hear, 
 
 Hear the horses neighing, 
 
 See, see, see, see, 
 See the children playing, 
 
 We, we, we, we, 
 We all go a-sleighing, 
 
 Jing, jing, jing, jing!" 
 
 The children joined in this chorus with a 
 will ; they were still singing when Walter 
 stopped the horses at Ridge wood Hotel. 
 
 It was a long wooden building, with a porch 
 running around it. It was perched on the top 
 of a hill. 
 
 The merry party were met by the landlady 
 at the door. 
 
 "Come in," she said, cheerfully. "Come 
 in ; dinner's almost ready, sir," she said to 
 Walter. "I got your note, and I made apple- 
 dumplings for dessert, as you said." 
 
 The children were charmed. They liked 
 apple-dumplings. 
 
 In another minute they were out again in the 
 snow, rolling up a big snow-ball. The whole 
 four pushed it up hill with all their might. It 
 grew bigger and bigger. 
 
 "Isn't it lovely!'" cried the girls. 
 
 They pushed and pushed. Jack stumbled 
 and fell on his face. They all laughed.
 
 A DAY AT RIDGE WOOD. 167 
 
 Jack grumbled, and asked, "How would 
 you like it, if I laughed at you?" 
 
 They laughed louder, and pushed again. 
 The snow- ball grew bigger and bigger. They 
 were near the top of the hill. Jack thought 
 he saw a bird's nest in the snow. He went to 
 get it, but it was only some dried leaves. Just 
 as he turned, Louisa fell, and the big snow- 
 ball rolled over her, knocking down Ellen and 
 Willie. It did not stop till it reached the bot- 
 tom of the hill. Aunt Frances and Walter 
 stood on the porch, laughing. 
 
 "How do you like it, now?" said Jack, as 
 the other children picked themselves up, and 
 brushed the snow from their clothes. 
 
 ' ' I'll never laugh again at a boy when he is 
 down," said Willie. "I know how it is." 
 
 ' ' And I think it's very nice of Jack not to 
 laugh at us," said Ellen. 
 
 The dinner was good ; everything was "just 
 right ; " and the drive home was the best of all 
 that happened on the ever-to-be-remembered 
 day at Kidgewood.
 
 GRACE COURT. 
 
 r "pHEY called the place Grace Court. It 
 contained about twenty-two houses. It 
 was near a great river, but the houses were so 
 high that in the hot days of summer scarcely 
 a breath of air stirred the clothes which hung 
 from the lines stretched across from house to 
 house. 
 
 Occasionally the children in Grace Court 
 saw a city sparrow, and in one corner of the 
 court there was a stunted mulberry-tree. 
 They had no other glimpses of the wonders 
 of the country than these. The boys some- 
 times, in the summer evenings, went to swim 
 in the river; and their principal amusement 
 was in avoiding the policemen who objected 
 to their jumping off anchor-chains and barges 
 at the risk of their lives. 
 
 On summer nights the sight of many poor 
 women and children sitting on the door-steps 
 168
 
 GRACE COURT. 169 
 
 and pavements and gasping for air was very 
 wretched. 
 
 Nearly all the women and children in Grace 
 Court worked at cigar-making. The men 
 found employment along the wharves. But 
 many of the men drank too much and helped 
 to make their wives and children unhappy. 
 
 It happened that some of the people in 
 Grace Court were Catholics. Good Father 
 Beresford, rector of the chapel of the Star of 
 the Sea, saw their wretchedness, and did what 
 he could to help them. It was hard for him 
 to get the children to come to Mass or to the 
 Catechism class. They had, as a rule, no 
 " Sunday clothes," and some of their mothers, 
 although they had not enough pride in their 
 children to wash their faces, had too much to 
 permit them to go to church without new bon- 
 nets and frocks. Few of these children went 
 to school. They were needed at home to 
 make cigars. 
 
 Father Beresford and all his flock were very 
 poor. It occurred to him that if he could 
 interest some kind people in his colony in 
 Grace Court, he would be able to improve 
 their condition. They needed so much that 
 he could not give them. His heart was sore
 
 170 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 when he thought of them. He had established 
 a school, but it was hard to fill it. Two good 
 Sisters of Charity taught the children that 
 came. Their parents had so much need of 
 them at home, that even these were often 
 absent. 
 
 It occurred to Father Beresford that if he 
 could start a night-school and make it attrac- 
 tive, he could induce a great many children to 
 come. But he had no money, and there was 
 nobody to teach at night. The Sisters were 
 willing to undertake this new work, but Father 
 Beresford would not hear of that. After 
 teaching all day in a close room, they ought 
 not to think of renewing their labors in the 
 evening. In this emergency, Father Beresford 
 could only ask the Sisters to pray for him and 
 his work. 
 
 In the meantime his heart sunk whenever he 
 passed through Grace Court. The parents 
 seemed to be hardened in vice. If he could 
 only reach the children, there might be some 
 hope for the fathers and mothers. 
 
 One afternoon in the spring he entered the 
 school-room. It was late in March, and one 
 of those spring showers that are the heralds of
 
 GRACE COURT. 171 
 
 April was beginning to pelt the sidewalks. 
 There was only one little girl in the school- 
 room. She was a little creature with a sweet, 
 thoughtful face, and dark-blue eyes that lost 
 their far-away look only when some sudden 
 sound startled her. She seemed very nervous. 
 She paused in her task and leaned her chin 
 upon the frame of her slate as Father Beres- 
 ford entered the room. 
 
 " You are late, Sister Rose," he said to the 
 teacher. "And, Mary, I am surprised to see 
 you here. 'Kept in,' I suppose." 
 
 Mary did not look ashamed. She only 
 pressed her chin harder against her slate, and 
 answered - 
 
 "I like to be 'kept in.'" 
 
 Sister Rose smiled a little. ' ' She is not a 
 bad child, Father ; she gets along very well 
 until school is about to close ; then she mis- 
 spells a word or makes a failure in her arith- 
 metic lesson." 
 
 At this moment a knock sounded at the door. 
 
 " Come in !" said Father Beresford. 
 
 A boy and an old woman dressed in black 
 entered. The boy Avas about fifteen years of 
 age. He bowed politely to Father Beresford 
 and Sister Rose.
 
 172 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "Pardon me," he said; " the rain came up 
 so suddenly that I took the liberty of knocking 
 at this door." 
 
 ' ' Afraid of getting wet ? " 
 
 "No, Father," answered the boy, with a 
 slight flush on his cheeks ; "I was afraid that 
 my mother might get wet." 
 
 ' ' I hope that your mother will sit down and 
 rest awhile." 
 
 The lady, who did not seem so old when 
 she drew aside her veil, thanked Father Beres- 
 ford. 
 
 "The school is open later than usual, be- 
 cause this little girl likes to be ' kept in.' " 
 
 The old lady turned towards the little girl. 
 
 "That is very strange, Father," she said; 
 "I thought little girls liked to get out of 
 school as soon as they could." 
 
 " I don't," answered the little girl. " I like 
 to stay here with Sister Rose. Sister Rose 
 does not scold. There is nobody cross here. 
 I like to be here." 
 
 Father Beresford sighed. He knew very 
 well why little Mary Thorn liked to be " kept 
 in ; " and so did Sister Rose. But the visitors 
 did not. 
 
 " What a funny little girl ! " said the boy.
 
 GRACE COURT. 173 
 
 ' ' Why do you like to be ' kept in ? ' " asked 
 the lady. 
 
 The little girl said, " I like it." 
 
 "I am Mrs. Wisby. This is my son Rob- 
 ert, Father. As we have recently moved into 
 your parish, I think you ought to know us. 
 My husband, who has just died, left me the 
 old house near White's wharves ; and as I am 
 not rich and nobody will rent it of me I occupy 
 it myself." 
 
 " You are a Catholic." 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 The priest, all of whose thoughts were intent 
 upon Grace Court, thought, " I wonder if she 
 could help me ? " 
 
 The widow's face flushed. She seemed to 
 guess his thought. 
 
 " I am in very moderate circumstances," 
 she said. "I have to be very careful. I 
 often wish I could do some good, but I can't." 
 
 Father Beresford looked at her gravely, 
 " I am not rich, Sister Rose is not rich." 
 
 " But you are rich in grace." 
 
 Father Beresford continued : 
 
 " If you have any curiosity to know why 
 this child likes to be ' kept in,' go home with 
 her."
 
 174 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Perhaps her parents might object " 
 
 " Not at all. Go home with her ; and if 
 having found out why she does not like to go 
 home, as happier children do you can do her 
 any good, let me know." 
 
 " I will. Come, Robert; come, little girl. 
 Good-by, Sister Rose." 
 
 Little Mary Thorn reluctantly put down her 
 slate, pencil, and sponge, and followed Mrs. 
 Wisby and her son. 
 
 Grace Court was not far off. Mrs. Wisby 
 talked pleasantly to the little girl as they 
 walked along, and Robert told a little story 
 about a lame robin his mother had taken care 
 of all winter. Mary listened ; but only said : 
 
 "I wish I lived away far away, where 
 there are robins." 
 
 In a short time they reached the d'rty flight 
 of stone steps leading to Grace Court. Once 
 within the narrow street without any outlet 
 which formed the court, they paused at a dark- 
 colored door ornamented with chalk-marks and 
 deep cuts in the wood-work. Mary led the 
 way up stairs. It was a dark way, and Mrs. 
 Wisby was prevented by Robert from stum- 
 bling several times.
 
 GRACE COVET. 175 
 
 Loud talking could be heard on almost all 
 the landings, and the angry voices of scolding 
 mothers were very loud. At last, when Mrs. 
 Wisby was entirely out of breath, Mary stop- 
 ped before a door on the highest landing. She 
 turned the knob nervously. The room was full 
 of smoke. A woman was frying meat in a pan 
 over the fire. She turned to Mary, dropped 
 the pan and exclaimed : 
 
 " You idle vagabond, I'll break every bone 
 in your body ! " 
 
 Mrs. "VYisby interfered. It was plain that 
 the woman had been drinking too much liquor 
 from the black bottle that stood near the 
 hearth. 
 
 " She is my aunt," says Mary. " She is 
 always this way ; so is he." 
 
 Mrs. Wisby noticed for the first tune that a 
 man lay on the uncarpeted floor. 
 
 * ' We've taken this orphan in and done for 
 her," the woman said, " but she's idle. She 
 don't want to make cigars, like the other chil- 
 dren in the court. She likes to go to the 
 Papist school around the corner. But her 
 uncle and I won't have it any more. She's 
 got to give up the school next week." 
 
 "Mary began to cry.
 
 176 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "I can't, I can't!" she .sobbed. "I help 
 you all I can, and you said I might go to 
 school." 
 
 " No matter what I said," cried the woman 
 in a fury. " I'll have no more idleness. If 
 the priest hadn't come here and over-persuaded 
 me, I should never have let you go. I don't 
 see what you mean by bringing these strangers 
 here. I suppose they brought tracts and 
 Bibles with them." 
 
 " Father Beresford sent me," said Mrs. 
 Wisby, " to see if I could do you any good." 
 
 " Of course you can," replied the woman, 
 with a coarse laugh. " Just give me enough 
 money for a quart of whiskey. Go get the 
 pitcher, Mary." 
 
 "No, I cannot do that," said Mrs. Wisby. 
 
 " Then get out o' here ! " cried the woman. 
 
 The man on the floor grunted like a pig. 
 
 " Come, Eobert." 
 
 They descended the stairs, followed by oaths 
 and curses. 
 
 At the foot of the stairs little Mary pulled 
 Mrs. Wisby's dress. 
 
 "Oh, ma'am," she whispered nervously, 
 " don't, don't let them take me away from the 
 school. Dont, don't. 1 shall die if they do !"
 
 GRACE COURT. 177 
 
 Robert was a thoughtful hoy. 
 
 The death of his father had caused his 
 mother to bear upon him more than mothers 
 do upon their sons. 
 
 " I wish I were rich," sighed Mrs. Wisby, 
 as they left Grace Court. " I wish we could 
 do something ; but I'm afraid we can't. Poor 
 little girl ! such a home. Dear, dear, what 
 can we do, Rob?" 
 
 . " A great deal," answered Robert, " a great 
 deal, little mother." 
 
 < What ? Father Beresford has failed . " 
 
 " Because Father Beresford has nobody in 
 his parish to help him." 
 
 "It is hopeless, Robert." 
 
 Robert was silent until his mother set to 
 work to get tea in the cosy little sitting-room 
 of their big house, which had been so long 
 deserted. 
 
 Robert loved the evenings spent with his 
 mother. His days were spent in an office up- 
 town, where he was studying law. 
 
 "We have too much room here, mother," 
 he said, as he helped himself to one of his 
 mother's poached eggs, and, looking at the 
 bright lamp, the pretty red curtains, and the 
 well-spread table, thought of poor little Mary.
 
 178 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "Yes," answered his mother; "the big 
 front parlor is more like a barn than a room. 
 If I could afford to have it done, I should turn 
 it into a store." 
 
 " I think I shall open a school." 
 
 "Kobert, Eobert ! " 
 
 " Yes. I have heard that Father Beresford 
 sees how hopeless it is to get working children 
 to go to school on week-days, and that he 
 wants to start a night-school. They will not 
 go to the Catechism class on Sunday, because 
 they have no clothes." 
 
 " But you can't help that." 
 
 " Just a minute, mother. Half the children 
 are made sick by the unhealthy work of cigar- 
 making. I want to teach them something else 
 to do, as well as their religion. Will you let 
 me have the use of the parlor ? " 
 
 " You have no tune, Robert." 
 
 "At night." 
 
 ' ' But our evenings our pleasant even- 
 ings ! " 
 
 "We'll have to give them up, mother, for 
 God's sake." 
 
 Mrs. Wisby sighed. The evenings with her 
 son were very dear to her. But she felt that 
 if any good could be done, she ought to give 
 them up.
 
 GRACE COURT. 179 
 
 Father Beresford was pleased when Robert 
 came to him with his plan. 
 
 "My dear boy," he said, "if you could 
 teach these children to use their hands in any 
 way that will help them to earn a living, you 
 will remove a great obstacle from my way. 
 Cigar-making injures the health of the chil- 
 dren, particularly as it is done in close, filthy 
 rooms. If I had a big room, if I could afford 
 to employ somebody to teach the boys and 
 girls any craft by which they earn a little, I 
 could teach them what I please. Their parents 
 want them to earn money as soon as they can 
 walk. Some of them badly need this money. 
 They are not all so bad as little Mary Thorn's 
 people. If I could only reach the children, I 
 could soon touch the parents. Most of the 
 children who are permitted to go to school at 
 all go to the public school. They don't learn 
 religion there, and they learn very little at 
 home." 
 
 Robert's plan was this. He had heard that 
 day that the confectioner had ordered ten 
 thousand imitation Easter eggs, but, although 
 it wanted only three weeks of the great fes- 
 tival, he had not been able to find anybody who 
 would take the control for decorating them.
 
 180 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "He knew my father well," said Robert, 
 "and that is the way I came to hear of it. 
 He supplies little pictures which the decorator 
 pastes on. But some of the eggs are really 
 painted. These, of course, we could not take 
 until some of the children have learned to 
 paint a flower or a butterfly. But, Father," 
 continued Robert, " my mother and I will try 
 to teach them in the evenings." 
 
 The priest's face flushed with pleasure. 
 "You can try!" 
 
 Robert rushed off to the confectioner's at 
 once. The matter was soon settled. The 
 confectioner even advanced some money. 
 Next day the great pile of hard, stony eggs 
 stood in Mrs. Wisby's barn-like drawing-room. 
 The carpet had been taken up long ago. There 
 was a stove there, plenty of light, and all the 
 benches from the school. 
 
 Father Beresford soon made the people of 
 Grace Court understand that money was to be 
 made in this new kind of school. Sister Rose 
 and Sister Bridget taught prayers, hymns, and 
 the catechism, with a little reading, writing, 
 and arithmetic, while the children busily 
 pasted pictures on the false eggs. 
 
 Before Easter Sunday all the decorated eggs
 
 GRACE COURT. 
 
 181 
 
 were delivered, much to the satisfaction ot 
 everybody. The children of Grace Court 
 were healthier, better, and happier. In the 
 meantime Robert had secured a large contract 
 for decorating Christmas boxes. 
 
 Mrs. Wisby'a evening classes were successes. 
 Mary Thorn showed herself so quick and care- 
 ful that she was soon promoted to be best 
 among the decorators. 
 
 And thus the industrial school helped every- 
 body. It was the beginning of a great change 
 in Grace Court.
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE 
 COUNTRY. 
 
 I. 
 
 THEIR names were Rose, Cecilia, and 
 Anna ; and, as their mother never ap- 
 proved of "nicknames," they were called 
 Rose, Cecilia, and Anna. 
 
 They were much alike in appearance, having 
 light-colored hair, worn long, bright blue eyes, 
 and sweet voices. 
 
 They were city children, and were thought 
 to be a little " old-fashioned," because they 
 had lived so much with their mother, who was 
 an invalid, and had become more quiet and 
 subdued than little girls usually are. 
 
 The winter had been long and dreary, for 
 Mrs. Desmond, their mother, had not been out 
 of bed since the feast of the Immaculate Con- 
 ception, and it was now April. In the morn- 
 182
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 183 
 
 ing, they went into their mother's room, and 
 she read their lessons with them. After that 
 they were thrown on their own resources, but 
 so anxious were they about their dear mother, 
 that they scarcely dared play for fear of dis- 
 turbing her. 
 
 One day the doctor said to Mrs. Desmond : 
 " The three little Palefaces ought to get out 
 more." 
 
 "Palefaces, repeated Mrs. Desmond. 
 "The children I mean the children, of 
 course." 
 
 " Are their faces pale?" asked the mother, 
 in alarm. " I have not noticed it." 
 
 " That is because you see them so often. 
 Seriously, the children are quite bleached after 
 their winter in this house of sickness. Can't 
 you send them into the country?" 
 
 " I have nobody to send them with. Poor, 
 little children ! If their father were alive, 
 they would be so much happier ! " 
 " Send for Aunt Susan." 
 "It is too early in the season. They will 
 catch cold in April." 
 
 " Country children do not catch cold. They 
 will be sick if you do not let them have exer- 
 cise in the open air. Send for Aunt Susan, 
 nd consult her."
 
 184 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And the doctor, who was an old friend of the 
 family, took his leave. 
 
 n. 
 
 Kose sat at the piano practising and counting 
 " one and two and three." Cecilia was crying 
 softly to herself over a seam which would go 
 crooked, and which nobody in the house had 
 time to set right. Anna was deep in her Cate- 
 chism. 
 
 " Oh, play your piece ! " said Cecilia, " It 
 may make us feel more lively." 
 
 Kose laughed. " More lively ! I've played 
 it so often I think it ought to make you 
 gloomy." 
 
 " Well," said Anna, the very little girl, " let 
 us pretend that it is a new piece." 
 
 ' ' Making believe " had great charms for the 
 children. Rose began her " piece," " The 
 Maiden's Prayer." 
 
 "How beautiful," exclaimed Cecilia, very 
 gravely. "What is the name of that lively 
 piece ? " 
 
 " The Young Lady's Aspirations."
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 185 
 
 " Oh, Rose," cried Anna, " you know it is 
 The Maiden's Prayer.' " 
 
 " But I am ' making believe.' Besides a 
 young lady is a maiden, and a prayer is an 
 aspiration. Mamma told me so." 
 
 Cecilia and Anna were both struck by Rose's 
 ingenuity. 
 
 " You are the cleverest one of this family," 
 said Cecilia; "Anna is the prettiest, and I 
 have no talent. I can't even get my seam 
 straight," Cecilia said, in a tearful tone. 
 
 "Dear, dear Cecilia!" cried Rose, putting 
 her arms around her sister, "You always know 
 your lessons, you know you do ! " 
 
 "I don't want to be pretty," said Anna. 
 " If Cecilia's ugly, I'm ugly. Everybody says 
 we're alike as two peas." 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Cecilia, refusing to be com- 
 forted, " but you have one tooth out in front. 
 It makes you look so ' cute.' " 
 
 This settled the matter. It was admitted 
 that Anna was the prettiest of the family a 
 compliment which she rejected with disgust. 
 
 After a pause Rose looked out to the rain- 
 wet street, and wished mamma would let them 
 have pet names for one another. 
 
 " I don't." said Cecilia, emphatically.
 
 186 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " It would be lovely. ' Eosie ' is prettier 
 than ' Eose.' ' Annie ' is sweeter than ' Anna." 
 
 "Don't!" said Cecilia, beginning to cry 
 again. 
 
 "Why, Cecilia!" 
 
 "Don't!" 
 
 "What are you crying for, silly?" asked 
 Eose, indignantly. 
 
 "I knew you would call me ' Silly.' You 
 two could have pet names, but I couldn't. 
 You would be sure to call Cecilia ' Silly ' for 
 short. 
 
 It was plain that Cecilia was in a mournful 
 mood. Nothing pleased her. She objected 
 to Anna's murmuring of her catechism lesson. 
 
 These three little girls, having been left so 
 much to themselves, had come to consider 
 their feelings, wants, and occupations as more 
 important than anything else in the world. 
 They were growing more selfish every day. 
 They loved their mother devotedly, but their 
 mother never exacted anything from them. 
 They had no interest outside of themselves. 
 They were kind, good-hearted children in the 
 main, they had never known the privations of 
 the poor, and they considered that there were 
 no children in the world worse off than they
 
 AVI I AT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 187 
 
 were. Cecilia was of a more melancholy dis- 
 position than the others. Her chief occupation, 
 particularly on rainy days, was to compare her 
 shortcomings and misfortunes with the advan- 
 tages of her sisters, or the people who passed 
 by tho windows of their play-room. Cecilia 
 envied the children w r ho ran through the streets 
 i:i the rain. And she often wished she was one 
 of the poor, ragged children they saw at Mass. 
 They had no scales to practice ; their mothers 
 were not shut up in dark rooms upstairs ; their 
 sisters were not so much better than they 
 were ; they could run out without their hats or 
 rubber shoes ; they could eat what they chose 
 without being bothered by anybody. Cecilia 
 often compared herself to Cinderella. And 
 the tears came into her eyes as she went through 
 in imagination, a long career of suffering. But 
 Cecilia never had a happy ending to her story. 
 She always liked to die at the end ; she did not 
 care for the Prince to come ; she concluded her 
 story by imagining herself as dead, killed by 
 her cruel stepmother, and drawn to the grave 
 in an omnibus surrounded by weeping friends. 
 The sadness of the situation, on this day in 
 April, overcame her. She burst into tears. 
 " Why, Cecilia," cried her sisters.
 
 188 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Just then a cab, with a trunk on it, drew up 
 to the door. A smiling face appeared at the 
 door of the cab. The children ran to the win- 
 dow. It was Aunt Susan's face. 
 
 m. 
 
 Their Aunt Susan was not an old lady. 
 Somehow or other Aunt Susans generally seem 
 to be old ladies. This Aunt Susan was young. 
 She smiled a great deal ; she talked a great 
 deal ; she was very good. 
 
 Eose rushed to the door. Aunt Susan 
 kissed her, and gave her a bag and several 
 bundles. Then she told the cabman to take 
 up her trunk, and kissed Cecilia and Anna. 
 
 Rose was heartily glad to see her. Cecilia 
 could not help wondering whether Aunt Susan 
 had brought her anything, and saying to her- 
 self that it would not be so pretty as the gifts 
 for the other girls. Anna was divided between 
 pleasure at something having happened and 
 the hope that Aunt Susan had brought plenty 
 of candy. She raised her chubby face to her
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IX THE COUNTRY. 189 
 
 aunt's, and that shrewd person saw her thought 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," said Aunt Susan, "I've a 
 box of chocolates in my satchel.'' 
 
 " I know the eight Beatitudes," replied 
 Anna, with pardonable pride, " and you pro- 
 mised me a doll's tea-set if I learned them." 
 
 Aunt Susan laughed. "Very well," she 
 said ; " now I must run up to see your mother. 
 Keep this satchel, Rose ; but don't open it yet." 
 
 "Oh, this is just lovely," cried Rose. "I 
 hoped and hoped that Aunt Susan would come 
 soon. And on a rainy day, too. It is just 
 lovely ! ' 
 
 Cecilia wiped her eyes and snuffled. "I am 
 always the dissolute one ; if anybody is to be 
 ostrich-eyed, I am ostrich-eyed." 
 
 Rose was accustomed both to Cecilia's tear- 
 ful moods and her habit of using words she 
 had caught up without knowing their meaning. 
 She meant " desolate" and "ostracized." 
 
 "Is Cecilia ostrich-eyed?" asked Anna. 
 "Am I ostrich-eyed, too?" And the little 
 girl stood on tiptoe to look at herself in the 
 tilted mirror over the mantel-piece. 
 
 " You are not old enough to understand yet, 
 poor dear," said Rose.
 
 190 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " She kissed you first and promised Anna a 
 doll's tea-set. She scarcely noticed me. She 
 told Anna she had chocolates in her bag, too, 
 and gave you the satchel. Xobody loves me 
 because I am the black swan of the family." 
 
 ' ' I love you ! we love you ! " 
 
 And the two little girls hugged their sister 
 enthusiastically. 
 
 Aunt Susan entered the room at this mo- 
 ment, like a spring breeze. 
 
 "Your mother is better," she said, smiling. 
 "Now you shall open the satchel, and guess 
 the news I have to tell you." 
 
 "I know the eight Beatitudes," said Anna 
 again, curling herself on the sofa next to Aunt 
 Susan. 
 
 Aunt Susan laughed. "Right through 
 without stopping?" 
 
 Anna repeated them without a blunder. 
 
 "Good, little girl!" Then she opened the 
 satchel slowly and ceremoniously. It was an 
 ordinary-looking alligator-skin bag, but it 
 seemed to hold endless treasures. There were 
 pink, green, and blue needle-cases, three boxes 
 of candy, a tiny porcelain doll's tea-set 
 wrapped in cotton, three little gold medals of 
 the Blessed Virgin, three story-books, two
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 191 
 
 pen-wipers with figures of little chickens upon 
 them, and three large doughnuts. 
 
 Anna's eyes danced with delight. 
 
 Cecilia seemed pleased, too, until Aunt 
 Susan drew out a sheet of music, "The Happy 
 Farmer." 
 
 "This is for Rose to play." 
 
 Cecilia turned away from her share of the 
 gifts. Rose always had more than she ! To 
 be sure her box of candy was the biggest, but 
 then Hose had the piece of music. 
 
 She left her gifts on the sofa and went into 
 a corner and sulked. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, Cecilia?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing, Aunt Susan." 
 
 "What is it, dear?" 
 
 "Nothing at all." 
 
 "Tell me," said Aunt Susan, coaxingly. 
 "Are you sick?" 
 
 "Oh, no," answered Cecilia. "Only I'm 
 nobody. Everybody is better treated than I 
 am. But then I can't play, like Rose, and I'm 
 not pretty, like Anna. I'm only a half-orphan, 
 with nobody to love me." 
 
 Aunt Susan was puzzled. She was too open 
 and sunny-hearted herself to understand the 
 "sulks "in other people. Not knowing what
 
 192 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 to say, she was silent. She looked at Rose, 
 half expecting her to give up her piece of 
 music to Cecilia. 
 
 " Cecilia is often this way," said Anna. "/ 
 wouldn't give her anything of mine." 
 
 "No," said Rose, devouring her caramels 
 without offering them to the others. "I 
 wouldn't cither. We don't get presents often. 
 We always keep all we get." 
 
 Aunt Susan's heart sank. The children 
 nice children they seemed, too -r- were entirely 
 wrapped up in themselves. 
 
 Mrs. Desmond had been obliged to leave 
 them so much to themselves, and not having 
 seen them for a year, she knew she was to 
 find them less perfect than she had imagined 
 them to be. Nevertheless, she was rather 
 shocked to find them all so selfish. 
 
 ' ' Suppose I had given your candy to a poor 
 little girl I saw on the train, as I came from 
 Boston ! She was dressed in black, and she 
 looked so sad, that I was almost tempted to 
 give her Rose's caramels." 
 
 "/would not have cared, so that you did 
 not give mine away," said Anna. 
 
 " I'm glad you did not do it," exclaimed 
 Rose. "I think you might give us Cecilia's 
 candy, Aunt Susan. She is not eating it."
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 193 
 
 Cecilia hurled herself from her corner, and 
 defiantly possessed herself of the rejected 
 gifts. 
 
 What shall I do with them? asked their 
 aunt of herself. She had promised their 
 mother that she would take them into the 
 country. 
 
 " Children," she said, gravely, "I want you 
 to try to think more of others. Do you think 
 the Holy Child ever thought much of Himself 
 and His own wants. I will tell you some 
 pleasant news if you will try to be more like 
 Him." Then, very timidly, for Aunt Susan 
 had little confidence in herself as a manager 
 of children, she told them of the childhood of 
 Our Lord. 
 
 "And now, little nieces," she added, "I 
 may as well tell you that your mother has 
 promised to let you go to Idlewild with me 
 for three months." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "Oh h h h!" cried the children. 
 
 "We shall fish !" said Anna. 
 
 "And see the dear little cows!" exclaimed 
 Rose. 
 
 ' ' And swing in the apple orchard ! " cried 
 Cecilia. "Oh, rny!"
 
 194 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 In the middle of a torrent of exclamations, 
 the dinner-bell rang. 
 
 IV. 
 
 May had come in before Aunt Susan and 
 the children were ready to start for Idle wild. 
 
 Idle wild was near the sea. It was a small 
 country village surrounded by farms. There 
 were many beautiful bits of scenery around 
 the place. There was one in particular on 
 Aunt Susan's father's farm, which was par- 
 ticularly lovely. Three old oaks stood close 
 together in a grassy nook, stretching out their 
 boughs to a group of younger trees wreathed 
 with climbing vines. Thus a glimpse of the 
 blue waters of the bay was framed. Here on 
 the soft grass, which in the spring was fringed 
 with early, scentless violets, in the summer by 
 tall daisies, and in the autumn by red-leaved 
 blackberry-bushes, Aunt Susan loved to say 
 her rosary quietly, and then to read or to sew. 
 "Here," she had said to herself, "I shall tell 
 the children stories every evening, if tho 
 weather is fair. It shall be the children's
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 195 
 
 spot, and the children's hour shall be when the 
 Angelas rings from the chapel over the bay." 
 
 Aunt Susan was able to do this later; but 
 she had by that time discovered that her nieces 
 needed some discipline before they were ready 
 to become like the little angels she thought 
 they ought to be. 
 
 During her stay in the house with them a 
 period reaching through the month of April 
 she became convinced that they had been 
 "spoiled" by having been kept too much in 
 their own little circle. They had always had 
 everything they wanted, and they could not 
 understand the possibility of anybody needing 
 anything. They were rapidly becoming self- 
 ish ; and the over-indulgence of their old nurse 
 helped to make them think that so long as they 
 were comfortable, nobody could suffer. 
 
 Aunt Susan was amazed by their unconscious 
 selfishness. She felt very unequal to dealing 
 with it. When she spoke of it to Mrs. Des- 
 mond, the latter only smiled, and said that old 
 maids' children were the only perfect ones in 
 the world. 
 
 Aunt Susan said nothing to Mrs. Desmond 
 after that. She spoke frequently of the life 
 of the Holy Child, and tried to teach them by
 
 196 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 example rather than precept. She soon saw, 
 however, that they were willing to accept her 
 services as a matter of course, and that the 
 more she gave them, the more they expected. 
 
 On the first of May, Aunt Susan and the 
 children, after a day of delightful excitement 
 and bustle, reached the station at Idle wild. 
 
 They were in the country at last. The sea 
 sparkled in the noon-day sun, as if some giant 
 had thrown handfuls of jewels into the waves. 
 The children first saw it through the pink and 
 white boughs of the peach, pear, and apple- 
 trees of their grandfather's orchard. The per- 
 fume of the blossoms, drifting in the fresh 
 breeze under the clear blue sky, was delicious. 
 Sir Walter, the young Alderney bull, was tied 
 to a gnarled old apple tree, and out from the 
 barn came running Aunt Susan's pet lamb. 
 Rose was wild with delight Avhen it came up to 
 her, not at all frightened. 
 
 " Even the lamb loves her better than me," 
 said Cecilia, bursting into tears. " I am only 
 an outcast. I believe I am a changeling, and 
 that mamma only adopted me." 
 
 Aunt Susan laughed. " Perhaps you ii!e:iu 
 a foundling, Cecilia dear. Don't use words 
 you cannot understand. How lonely the old
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 197 
 
 farm will bo without your grandfather. He 
 will sail from Liverpool on the first of June. 
 I do wish he were here dear, dear father ! 
 How do you do, Dick?" 
 
 Dick was a little colored boy. He grinned 
 at the little girls, and touched his cap to Aunt 
 Susan. 
 
 "Please, miss," he said, "Mom says that 
 little Plato Socrates hab de scarlet fever, and 
 she's afeard for you or de young misses to come 
 near de house. Mom sent me and my brudder 
 down to Uncle Seth's this mornin', but she tole 
 me to hang around 'bout train-time and tell 
 you." 
 
 Dick was Mom Johnston's son. Mom John- 
 ston took charge of the house in Aunt Susan's 
 and her uncle's absence. 
 
 After a shower of questions and answers, 
 Aunt Susan concluded to take the children 
 down to Allenville, one station below. She 
 would leave them there at the convent school, 
 and return to see what could be done for little 
 Plato Socrates Johnston. 
 
 The down train was almost due. Aunt Su- 
 san, leaving the trunks at the station in charge 
 of Dick, entered the train, which rushed in 
 
 the station.
 
 198 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The children enjoyed these sudden changes 
 very much. It was a long time since they had 
 had any excitement of the kind. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Oh. dear ! " cried Aunt Susan, as soon as 
 they were seated; "I have left the satchel 
 with your night-gowns in it. Wait till I conic 
 back ! " 
 
 And .she hastened from the car. A fresh, 
 pleasant, stout woman who sat next to Rose 
 seemed to gain decision from Aunt Susan's 
 action. She had looked puzzled and anxious. 
 
 " Little girl," she said to Rose, " will you 
 hold my baby, while I go out to the station 
 and buy some crackers. I guess I'll have as 
 much time as the lady who has just gone out. 
 Baby's hungry." 
 
 Rose might have said, " We have some 
 crackers in our bag." But she was not ac- 
 customed to offering courtesies to strangers. 
 The ' ' baby " a little girl of about two years 
 old was put Jnto her lap, and its mother 
 followed Aunt Susan.
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 199 
 
 This "baby" had big blue eyes, "bangs" cut 
 on its forehead, fat hands, and a pretty smile. 
 
 " Oh, how ' cunning ! ' " cried Cecilia. " Do 
 let me hold her." 
 
 But Rose held fast to the little fat thing, 
 wrapped in a heavy blue cloak. " No, her 
 mother gave her to me." 
 
 "But she laughed at me" said Anna. "I 
 want her." 
 
 "Of course, I'm nobody!" After a short 
 pause, " Why, we're moving ! " 
 
 And so they were ! 
 
 The trees and fences seemed to be running 
 past them faster and faster. 
 
 Cecilia and Anna looked at Rose with 
 affrighted eyes. 
 
 Rose was equal to the occasion. "Aunt 
 Susan will meet us at the next station. I have 
 the tickets." 
 
 How Aunt Susan was to get there to meet 
 them she did not know. She was sure, how- 
 ever, that Aunt Susan would be there. Every- 
 body in the car was busy with his newspaper, 
 his thoughts, or his neighbor's talk. The con- 
 ductor, used to seeing children travel from one 
 country station to another, took up their tick- 
 ets without giving them especial attention.
 
 200 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Allenville ! " 
 
 " Allenville ! " echoed the brakeman. 
 
 It was a large town. The delight of minding 
 the baby had occupied the children up to this 
 time. The cars stopped. Nobody got on or 
 off. 
 
 " The next station will do as well," said 
 Rose, in a superior manner. 
 
 Taylorville was the next stop. It was al- 
 most a city. They got out at Taylorville. The 
 conductor told them to take the next train back 
 to Allenville. 
 
 It was about three o'clock in the afternoon 
 when they entered the station. 
 
 " I will not mind the conductor," Rose said. 
 " I'll just buy some pop-corn for the baby, and 
 wait here until Aunt Sue and its mother 
 come." 
 
 The " baby," who could speak almost plain, 
 said her name was " Gracie." What an ex- 
 haustless fund of joy she was to the children. 
 She did not seem to miss her mother. She 
 smiled and made dimples in her cheeks, cracked 
 the pop-corn between her little teeth, and was 
 very charming to the children. The station, 
 a frame box, heated by a big stove, became 
 too hot. Rose proposed to take a walk. It
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 201 
 
 was a new surprise and joy to see " Gracie " 
 walk. She trotted along gaily. For the first 
 time the children were unselfishly happy. 
 
 " Oh, how I do love a real meat baby," said 
 Anna. " I am so tired of sawdust babies." 
 
 The weather was warm and pleasant. The 
 station was on the outskirts of the town. 
 Before they were aware of it, they had gone 
 some distance into the open lots, whose level 
 space was only broken by the high chimneys 
 of factories. A light, here and there, appeared 
 in the gray landscape. 
 
 "Why doesn't Aunt Susan come?" asked 
 Anna, whose little legs were tired. It oc- 
 curred to Rose that it was time to go back to 
 the station. 
 
 The "baby" refused to walk. She said, in 
 her funny little way, that her foot was " thore." 
 
 Rose tried to carry her. Then Cecilia took 
 a turn. It grew darker. Anna began to cry 
 and wanted to be carried too. 
 
 A fresh wind sprung up. The road was full 
 of puddles and stones. Anna dragged on to 
 Cecilia's hand. Rose stumbled onward with 
 Gracie, who bawled at the top of her voice. 
 Night had come. It was a foggy night, too. 
 The children could not see one step ahead of
 
 202 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 them. In despair, Rose sat down on the side 
 of the road. The others sat down beside her. 
 
 "Cecilia, we are the eldest," murmured 
 Rose, who was so frightened by the cold and 
 the darkness, that she could scarcely speak. 
 ""NVe must take care of these children." 
 
 "Do you really think that I can be of use?" 
 asked Cecilia, glad, in spite of all, to be made 
 a person of importance. "I I mean the 
 children are so hungry." 
 
 They were all hungry, the crackers having 
 disappeared long ago. They huddled close 
 together on a flat stone, with the "baby" and 
 Anna in the middle. The "baby," wrapped 
 in her warm cloak was asleep. 
 
 "I wish I had some bread, without butter 
 or sugar," sobbed Anna. 
 
 "This is the way poor people feel. How I 
 pity them !" said Rose. " Oh, Cecilia, just to 
 think how warm we have been kept, and how 
 cold the poor are ! " 
 
 "And how hungry !" echoed Cecilia. 
 
 "Poor little baby!" said Rose, shivering. 
 "I will put my silk handkerchief around its 
 neck. The Holy Child likes us to be kind to 
 babies." 
 
 And they said their prayers, and felt that
 
 WHAT THEY FOUND IN THE COUNTRY. 203 
 
 the Holy Child would surely send Aunt Susan. 
 Then they fell asleep. 
 
 The light of a dark lantern was cast in all 
 directions. Two policemen were walking 
 slowly along the road in search of something. 
 
 Suddenly the light flashed under Rose's 
 eyelids. 
 
 She started up. "You shan't take the baby 
 or Anna," she cried. 
 
 For the first time in her life she had thought 
 of somebody in preference to herself ! 
 
 " Here they are, Joe !" cried the policeman, 
 laughing. ' ' The little vagabonds ! " 
 
 Aunt Susan and the distracted mother, left 
 at Idlewild, had telegraphed to Allcnville, but 
 through some mistake the message was sent to 
 Allentown, three stations beyond. Telegrams 
 were then ^ent by the railroad men to Taylor- 
 ville ; and, after some delay, the children were 
 restored to Aunt Susan and the baby to its 
 mother. 
 
 When Plato Socrates had recovered from 
 the scarlet fever, the three children and Aunt 
 Susan went back to Idlewild. 
 
 One June day, as Aunt Susan sat under the 
 oaks, with Cecilia and Anna climbing about 
 her, Cecilia said
 
 204 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "I know what you meant, aunt, when you 
 said I would always be cross and disagreeable 
 until I learned how to help other people. I 
 know now how poor little children have to 
 suffer. I think the Holy Child is very good 
 to us." 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Susan, I think so too," cried 
 Rose, who was feeding her lamb some distance 
 away from them. 
 
 "I am glad," said Aunt Susan, making a 
 little prayer of thanksgiving.
 
 BIANCA. 
 
 BIANCA MALATESTA was never idle. 
 She was just thirteen years of age ; but 
 she could not remember when she had not 
 worked. She lived in a beautiful country, at 
 Sorrento, in Sicily, where oranges and orange- 
 blossoms are as common as apples and apple- 
 blossoms here. 
 
 In spite of all the beauty of the place, life 
 was not easy. Bianca's brothers, except one, 
 Giovanni, had been forced into the Italian 
 army. Bianca's parents were dead, and she 
 and Giovanni, managed the little farm. If 
 the two brothers were only back, she often 
 thought, how easy the work would be, how 
 happy life would seem ! 
 
 'We cannot have all things, my daughter," 
 said Father Caracci. "If we were truly happy 
 here, we would never want to go to Heaven." 
 
 When the good priest laid his hand on her 
 205
 
 206 STO1UE8 AND SKETCHES. 
 
 head, Bianca felt comforted. Giovanni and 
 she had at least one friend in the world. 
 
 Times were hard. The rulers of Italy are 
 no longer friends of the poor. They spend 
 large sums of money in building clumsj'' war- 
 vessels, while the poor have to work their 
 lingers to the bone to pay the taxes which 
 such extravagances entail on them. In con- 
 sequence, many poor Italians, formerly pros- 
 perous, are beggars. And yet we hear people 
 talk as if things in Italy had improved since 
 Victor Emanuel robbed the Holy Father. In 
 truth, things have not improved. The poor 
 suffer and are ground down. Sunny Italy is 
 losing its sunshine, for joy has left the hearts 
 and faces of the poor. 
 
 One day, in the orange-picking season, when 
 everybody was busy, Giovanni caught a fever. 
 Father Caracci, who was something of a doctor, 
 shook his head when he came. Giovanni was 
 a good boy ; he did not fear death , but he 
 feared to leave his sister Bianca, his "dear 
 little sister ! And the oranges still on the 
 trees, the taxes so high, and nobody to work 
 the farm." 
 
 "Trust Bianca with God and His Blessed 
 Mother," said Father Caracci. "They will
 
 BIANCA. 207 
 
 take care of her. Don't trouble yourself 
 about the oranges." 
 
 Father Caracci knew well how to console 
 the frank, kind boy, Giovanni ; and he died 
 full of faith, hope, and charity. Father Caracci 
 found it harder to console Bianca. She felt 
 herself to be all alone in the world. She 
 struggled on bravely ; but the willing hearts 
 and strong hands that would have helped her 
 were wasting away in the barracks, and poor 
 Bianca had to work for herself, with an occa- 
 sional lift from a neighbor ; but, as a rule, the 
 neighbors had enough to do to work for them- 
 selves. 
 
 Bianca struggled bravely. She had little 
 time to knit now. The work of the vineyard 
 and the little orange grove fell to her. Early 
 and late she toiled in the fields, scarcely paus- 
 ing a moment. It was all useless. The tax- 
 gatherer came several times, and one day the 
 little farm was sold. Bianca was homeless. 
 
 The blow struck at her heart. After all the 
 debts were paid, a very small bundle of neces- 
 sary things and very little money were left for 
 Bianca. She could not speak to any human 
 being in her great sorrow. Her home was 
 irone ! jjone ! The dear little house in which
 
 208 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 her mother and father had said the Angelas on 
 so many happy nights was gone ! She loved 
 each orange-tree as if it were a friend. Whither 
 could she go ? 
 
 Tears blinded her, as she saw the old house 
 and the trees swimming before. Whither could 
 she go? 
 
 The only place open to her seemed to be the 
 chapel of her Mother. With the tears fast 
 falling from her eyes, she rushed to the little 
 village church. There, before the statue of 
 Our Blessed Lady an old, but beloved 
 statue, decked by pious peasants with silks 
 and jewels she poured forth her sorrow. 
 There seemed to be no place on earth for her. 
 Oh, if the good God would only take her to 
 Giovanni ! 
 
 She was indeed alone in the world. Her 
 two brothers, Carlo and Pasquale, would not 
 be permitted to leave the army until after the 
 lapse of two years. 
 
 As she arose from her knees, she saw Father 
 Caracci waiting for her at the door of the 
 church. 
 
 "Poor Bianca." he said; "you are very 
 unhappy ; but what are your sufferings to 
 those of Our Lord."
 
 BIANCA. 209 
 
 "I have no home Father," faltered Bi- 
 anca. 
 
 "Our Lord had no place to lay his head, 
 child." 
 
 Bianca was silent for a moment, as she 
 choked down a sob. "It is true, Father. 
 If Giovanni were alive oh, if Giovanni were 
 alive ! " 
 
 The old priest laid his wrinkled hand on her 
 head. "Look at poor Beppo, Bianca. Poor 
 Beppo is only ten years old ; his father and 
 mother died last month of the fever. His 
 uncle is in America, and he wants him out 
 there. But there is nobody to take him. 
 Think of it ! Poor Beppo must go out to 
 America, where it is cold] he must leave the 
 orange-trees and " 
 
 Bianca made an impatient gesture. "What 
 are the orange-trees to me without Giovanni?" 
 
 "These are still beautiful. God made them, 
 Bianca. But poor Beppo is all alone ; nobody 
 is going to America, and I know not what to 
 do with the poor boy until some one will care 
 for him. I cannot send him alone in the ship." 
 And Father Caracci sighed. "Well, Bianca, 
 I have good news for you. The Countess Lilli 
 wants a girl in her kitchen, to peel the vege-
 
 210 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 tables and to help the cook. I spoke to her 
 about you." 
 
 Bianca's cheeks flushed. "I will not be a 
 servant, Father. I worked for Giovanni ; but 
 now that he is dead, I will not work in any- 
 body's kitchen." 
 
 Father Caracci paused in surprise. "This 
 is foolish pride, Bianca. The Countess Lilli 
 is, as everybody knows in Sorrento, a good 
 Christian, and consequently a kind mistress." 
 
 "I will not be a servant," said Bianca, all 
 her grief gone, and her cheeks flaming. "None 
 of our family ever served in the kitchens of 
 others. I have heard my father say so. I 
 would work for you, Father, if you wanted 
 me in your kitchen, but for no other. And 
 you do not want me, because you have old 
 Lorenzo Pradi. I will go to America with 
 Beppo. There, they say, one does not have 
 to work for others. There everybody is free. 
 They are not Christians there," cried Bianca, 
 in a burst of enthusiasm. "I will convert 
 them." 
 
 Father Caracci shook his head and smiled 
 slightly. 
 
 "Pride, Bianca," he said, "has never made 
 a convert. There are some very good Chris-
 
 BIANCA. 211 
 
 tians, my child, in America. People have to 
 work there as well as here." 
 
 " I have some money. I will go with 
 Beppo." 
 
 Father Caracci thought for a moment. 
 Beppo's uncle was a good man. Perhaps he 
 could find something for Bianca to do in the 
 new country. And poor Beppo sadly needed 
 a protector. Bianca was not much older than 
 Beppo ; but her independent and healthy mode 
 of life had given her the prudence arid self- 
 reliance of a woman. Beppo's uncle had sent 
 enough money to pay the passage of the person 
 who should go with Beppo. 
 
 "Well, Bianca, since you have not sufficient 
 humility to serve in the kitchen of the Countess 
 Lilli, you shall go to America." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Let me see. On Saturday next a steamer 
 leaves. Be ready to-morrow ; you will find 
 poor little Beppo up in my house." 
 
 Bianca stood a moment as if stunned ; to 
 tell the truth, she had not expected to be taken 
 at her word. Well, even a country of cold 
 and heretics would be better than to be any- 
 body's servant. 
 
 Poor Beppo was a chubby little fellow ; very
 
 212 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 lonely in the priest's large empty room. He 
 knew Bianca, and he ran into her arms. 
 
 The Countess Lilli came herself to ask 
 Bianca, whose goodness and industry was 
 known, to take service in her household, but 
 Bianca begged to be excused. On Saturday, 
 Bianca and Beppo started on their way to the 
 new world. Father Caracci gave them his 
 blessing, and he said to Bianca 
 
 "You will have to learn to be a servant. 
 We are all servants, Bianca." 
 
 Fortunately, there were few passengers in 
 the steerage when Bianca and Beppo made the 
 voyage, and the steward, who also was an 
 Italian from Sorrento, kept watch over the two 
 children during the rough passage. 
 
 On landing in New York, Bianca and Beppo 
 were taken to the uncle, who lived, with his 
 wife, in a large tenement-house. He was not 
 a rich man by any means, but his savings 
 would have bought the Malatesta farm over 
 and over again. Bianca could not understand 
 why he should live in such a dark and crowded 
 place. A little hut in Italy among the orange- 
 trees a bed in the fields there would be 
 better than this ! 
 
 Beppo's uncle smiled.
 
 BIANCA. 213 
 
 "I must work, Bianca mia. There is no 
 work for me in Italy, so here I must stay. I 
 must find a place for you, too." 
 
 Bianca said, "I will not stay." 
 
 ' ' Will you go back and be a servant in the 
 kitchen of the Countess Lilli?" 
 
 "Never," said Bianca; "I will work in the 
 fields, but I cannot be a servant, to be ordered 
 about by everybody." 
 
 Beppo was very fond of Bianca, and the 
 uncle, Avho had no children, was delighted to 
 have Beppo with him. Although Bianca's 
 pride made the uncle indignant, yet he took a 
 great interest in her. 
 
 Bianca was always busy ; she would knit 
 from morning to night, but she wanted to do 
 only what she pleased. Beppo's uncle took 
 her to his fruit stand down town, where she 
 could have been very useful, as she learned the 
 name and value of American currency very 
 quickly ; but Bianca would not stay in one 
 place all day. She wanted to work in a vine- 
 yard, as she had done in Italy. 
 
 "But there are no vineyards," said the uncle. 
 
 Poor Bianca became very homesick. Noth- 
 ing but bricks and mortar, dingy crowds of 
 people, and work in close rooms.
 
 214 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "Some day, "the uncle said, "I will go back 
 to Italy, and buy a little farm. Then I will 
 enjoy what I have worked for. That is the 
 reason I work so hard. If you, Bianca, would 
 go back to Sorrento, you must do what you 
 can get to do. Here, in this country, ' the 
 poor man who chooses loses.' " 
 
 Little Beppo did not like the new country at 
 all. It was cold. He could not see the soft, 
 blue water. There were no statues of the 
 Blessed Virgin or the Saints in the streets. 
 He could not understand it at all. Bianca was 
 his only consolation. 
 
 Place after place was found for Bianca. She 
 would not learn to make artificial flowers, be- 
 cause the room in which they were made was 
 too close ; she became impatient when the 
 foreman of a manufactory tried to teach her 
 how to pour chocolate drops into the moulds. 
 She wanted to work in the fields. She hated 
 the city. Beppo's uncle hated the city too ; 
 but he stayed in it because his work was in it 
 But Bianca could not understand this. 
 
 At last Beppo's uncle wrote back to Father 
 Caracci, who, in reply, said that Bianca ought 
 to do what her hand found to do. "Be faith- 
 ful, be careful of the small things that fall in
 
 BIANCA. 215 
 
 your way, and God will be pleased to reward 
 you for it even in this world. Remember that 
 the best thing you can do in your state of life 
 is to work contentedly at whatever God sends 
 you to do." 
 
 But in spite of this Bianca wanted to have 
 her own way. She would do nothing, except 
 what she liked to do. She helped Beppo's 
 aunt with the housework very willingly, but 
 then Beppo's aunt did not need help. "You 
 must earn your living," said the aunt, good- 
 naturedly. " There is always enough maca- 
 roni for you here, because Beppo loves you ; 
 but what will you do when we go away ? You 
 must learn to work for others, like the rest of 
 us. If you do not you will not have enough 
 money to get back to Italy." 
 
 " I hate the city," said Bianca, sullenly. 
 " I want to go back to Sorrento." 
 
 " And serve in the kitchen of the Countess 
 Lilli?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Beppo's aunt sighed. 
 
 " You cannot, Bianca mia, have your melon 
 and eat it, too." 
 
 Bianca was stubborn. 
 
 Two years went by. Beppo went to school,
 
 216 STOKIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and Bianca, in spite of all warnings, would not 
 work at the occupations of the Italians around 
 her. She said : 
 
 "I am no slave. I will not submit to be 
 told ' do this,' ' do that ' by everybody." 
 
 " ' Blessed are the meek,' " said Beppo's aunt, 
 in Italian, " ' for they shall possess the land.' 
 We who are poor must endure much in silence. 
 It is for the glory of God." 
 
 Bianca shrugged her shoulders, and began 
 to talk English with Beppo. 
 
 " You like-a school-a?" 
 
 " Ees si si!" said Beppo. 
 
 The conversation here closed. Bianca's Eng- 
 lish words were exhausted. 
 
 One evening, just as the steaming dish of 
 macaroni was placed on the table, and Beppo's 
 aunt had put a small bottle of light wine before 
 her husband, he took Beppo on his knee, and 
 said, " Now we shall go back to Italy." 
 
 " To Italy ! " cried his wife. 
 
 " To Italy?" screamed Bianca. 
 
 "/Si, si!" cried Beppo's uncle. "I have 
 worked hard, and Giovanni Tosti, to whom I 
 lent some money, paid it back with interest 
 to-day. Besides that, I have enough in the 
 bank to buy a farm and never to be afraid of 
 the taxes."
 
 BIANCA. 217. 
 
 Beppo clapped his hands. He had worked 
 too ; he had sold papers after school-hours and 
 saved every cent. 
 
 " Thanks to the Mother of God, who never 
 ceases to pray for us ! " cried Beppo. 
 
 " Ah, yes, we have worked," Beppo's uncle 
 said, looking at his wife affectionately ; 
 " worked in the cold and storm, in the heat, 
 against discouragements and hopelessness." 
 
 " And the Pagans that call Italians ' dagos,'" 
 cried Bianca, recalling certain battles at the 
 fruit-stand. 
 
 " We have had our troubles," said Beppo's 
 uncle ; "we have been frugal ; if we drink 
 wine to-night, it is the first time in many 
 years. We can forget all, except the joy of 
 going home." 
 
 Bianca was radiant. 
 
 " Oh, how I long to see Sorrento again. My 
 brothers will soon be out of the army ! " 
 
 " Are you going?" asked Beppo's uncle. 
 
 Biauca was silent. She had earned no 
 money. She had followed her own will. She 
 turned red. 
 
 " It will be hard for you, Bianca," said 
 Beppo's aunt. " You will have no home now. 
 The fruit-stand might have been yours, if you
 
 218 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 had worked for it ; but it now belongs to Gio- 
 vani Tosti, w r ho came here when you came." 
 
 Bianca began to cry. 
 
 " The baker at the corner wants a young 
 girl to help his wife in the kitchen," said Bep- 
 po's uncle, gravely. " I have promised that 
 you shall go there." 
 
 Bianca began to cry. 
 
 "Why," said Beppo, who had not been at- 
 tending to the talk, " why do you weep when 
 we are all going back to beautiful Italy ? " 
 
 This caused Bianca to cry afresh. Beppo's 
 uncle and aunt looked at each other. What 
 could they do ? 
 
 " I will go too ; I will be a servant in Italy 
 to the Countess Lilli." 
 
 " It is too late," said Beppo's uncle. " The 
 Countess Lilli died six months ago. Surely I 
 read it to you from Father Caracci's letter." 
 
 Bianca wrung her hands. She flung herself 
 on the floor in bitterness. Oh, how she re- 
 gretted her wilfulness. To see them all all 
 whom she loved go to sunny Italy and leave 
 her among strangers. HOW T bitterly had she 
 been punished ! It was too late now.
 
 BIANCA. 219 
 
 On a sunny May day the steamer sailed 
 down the bay, carrying Beppo and his uncle 
 and aunt. Bianca stood on the dock, weeping 
 bitterly. She was alone ; now she must work 
 for another, whether she would or not. 
 
 Three years passed. Bianca learned to be 
 content. She spent much of her spare time in 
 the church, praying for meekness. She neg- 
 lected nothing that was given her to do. Her 
 care was noticed by her employers and others, 
 and gained her the reward which patient in- 
 dustry always gains. One morning she bought 
 a ticket at the offices of a steamship company. 
 She had saved enough to take her home and to 
 leave her something over, for in Italy money 
 is scarce, and a little, which is hard to get, ap- 
 pears a great deal. 
 
 When she reached Sorrento, Father Caracci 
 met her with a smile. 
 
 " What have you lost, Bianca?" 
 
 " Pride and stubbornness." 
 
 " Then," said the priest, " you have gained 
 much." 
 
 Bianca's earnings helped her brothers to get 
 a small vineyard when they came out of the
 
 220 STORIES AM) SKETCHES. 
 
 army ; and now the three are very happy to- 
 gether. 
 
 The moral of my story is : 
 
 Do well whatever you can get to do, and 
 leave the rest to God.
 
 A VACATION TALK. 
 
 HE vacation days have come at last ! For 
 the last two weeks you have been count- 
 ing the days to come, as the writer used to 
 do. Suddenly for all pleasant things come 
 suddenly, no matter how long we have ex- 
 pected them the days of June pass into the 
 more glowing hours of July, and the schools 
 of children are set free ! 
 
 No more watching a waving bough through 
 the school-house window and wishing you were 
 the bird upon it. No more hoping that the 
 clock would go faster and bring nearer the 
 hour of "letting out." No more lagging steps 
 to school ! 
 
 Of course you enjoy your freedom now, and 
 
 the world seems made for you. The roses 
 
 bloom, the raspberries hide in the bushes, just 
 
 peeping out to see that you are coming, the 
 
 221
 
 222 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 streams are warmed for swimming, all nature 
 cries welcome ! 
 
 But, in spite of this, you will soon grow 
 weary, if you accept all the invitations of the 
 time, and play too much. " All work and no 
 play makes Jack a dull boy," but "all play 
 and no work" makes him an unhappy, restless, 
 and discontented boy. Before the vacation 
 days are over, you will grow weary of them, 
 if you spend your time in play, and, while you 
 will hate to go back to school, you will be tired 
 of vacation. 
 
 Do not throw your books in a corner and let 
 them become dusty. Refresh your memory by 
 a glance into your geography book, or into 
 your book of sums. Ask your father if he has 
 any bills that you can make out. Ask your 
 mother if she has any wood in the cellar you 
 can cut up for her. Don't wait for father and 
 mother to ask you. Remember that you will 
 enjoy your game of base-ball, croquet, or 
 lawn-tennis all the better if you have done 
 some earnest work. 
 
 And don't say "to-morrow." It is a word 
 that kills energy and good work. Protestants 
 are fond of saying that Spain has lost her force 
 and greatness because of her religion. This is
 
 A VACATION TALK. 223 
 
 not true. The Spaniards of to-day say " to- 
 morrow" too much. Everything is "manana." 
 "To-morrow to-morrow." Don't say "I'll 
 begin to look over my lessons to-morrow ; I 
 will learn a French verb ; I'll make sure of 
 my Latin declensions ; I will do a sum in 
 addition of fractions to-morrow!" These 
 to-morrows seldom come ! 
 
 Those of you who live in the country have 
 an open book before you the book of nature. 
 Like the melancholy Jaques, in "As You Like 
 It," you may find "sermons in stones," if you 
 will. With a book on botany or an approved 
 volume on geology, you may find profit and 
 pleasure in long rambles, besides expanding 
 your lungs. 
 
 A learned convert to the Catholic Church 
 I think it was Professor Haldemarm was once 
 asked what let him into the Church. He said 
 "bugs." His close study of the minor creat- 
 ures had made him so long to serve God, that 
 he was led into the only road to Him the 
 Church. 
 
 Now, if you take the trouble to observe 
 closely the small things around you, you, too, 
 will be charmed by the graciousness of Our 
 Lord. You will find many reasons for loving
 
 224 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Him which might have escaped you. Besides, 
 you will learn facts of practical value which 
 may be of great use to you in after life. 
 
 I may as well tell you, as an example of this, 
 the story of Ned Acton. Ned Acton was a 
 very sick boy. He could not run, swim, or 
 play ball, like other boys. He used to sit on 
 his father's door-step and watch the other boys 
 play. He had not many books ; but one day, 
 in an old "reader," he read the dialogue called 
 "Eyes and No Eyes." It is all about two 
 boys, one of whom sees everything, the other 
 sees nothing. 
 
 "Now," thought Ned, "why should I not 
 use my eyes, since they are stronger than my 
 legs and arms ? " 
 
 About this time, Father Ray, the rector of 
 the church in Holston, gave him some books, 
 one of them being a book on geology. It was a 
 simple text-book. Ned set to work to study it. 
 
 In a few days he could tell the names of the 
 pebbles and pieces of rock around his father's 
 house. The desire to gain new knowledge of 
 rocks and stones made him walk. This 
 strengthened his ankles. In a short time, 
 armed with a little hammer and his book on 
 geology, he took long rambles.
 
 A VACATION TALK. 225 
 
 "It's useless," his father said, with a sigh, 
 "but it amuses the poor boy." 
 
 Ned's future was a great trouble to his father 
 a great trouble. He was not rich enough to 
 give Ned piano or organ lessons. But he 
 longed to give him some means of making a 
 livelihood in the future. This troubled him 
 night and day. "Ah," he often said to his 
 wife, "what would become of poor Ned if I 
 were to die?" 
 
 But Ned did what his hand found to do, or, 
 rather, what his eyes found to do. He studied 
 and explored ; and exercise and interest in his 
 occupation made him stronger. He was happy. 
 His little, garret room was full of specimens of 
 quartz, crystal, and water- worn pebbles. 
 
 One day, Squire Warner, the owner of half 
 the county, stopped Ned's father in the street. 
 
 "I want you," he said, "to come with me to 
 the bank, Mr. Acton." 
 
 Ned's father was surprised, but he went with 
 him. He was more surprised when Squire 
 Warner thrust into his hand a check for five 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 "What?" stammered Mr. Acton. 
 
 " It's yours," said Squire Warner, slapping 
 Mr. Acton on the back. "I want you to use
 
 226 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 it in educating that boy of yours. I'll give 
 you five hundred more this day next year, and 
 help him along after that. With his little 
 hammer, he found copper in my west meadow." 
 
 It was true ; Ned's lonely studies had made 
 his fortune. He never became very strong ; 
 but he was strong enough to do a great deal of 
 good work, and, after a time, to help his 
 parents and the younger children. 
 
 How had he done this ? By using his eyes.
 
 A TALK IN THE FALL. 
 
 ATOVEMBER makes us think of fires, and 
 [\ the comforts of the home circle. The 
 chestnut burrs in the woods are all that remain 
 of the chestnuts, which the boys and squirrels 
 have made the most of. All Saints' Day has 
 come and passed, and All Souls' Day, too. 
 The writer hopes that you did not forget to 
 offer up your communion for the souls of the 
 faithful departed, especially for the souls of 
 your friends who have gone before. 
 
 Think a moment of how good and kind your 
 friends were to you before they died. Perhaps 
 it is your mother or your father who has gone. 
 Perhaps, the dear old grandmother or grand- 
 father. Can you be so cruel as to forget them 
 now that a prayer of yours may help them ! 
 Lord Tennyson, a poet, although not a Catholic, 
 writes these words in the "Passing of Arthur." 
 
 227
 
 228 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " If thou should'st never see my face again, 
 Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 
 Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice 
 Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
 For what are men better than sheep or goats 
 That nourish a blind life within the brain, 
 If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
 Both for themselves, and those who call them friend ? 
 For so the whole round earth is every way 
 Bound by gold chains about the feet of God." 
 
 This is worth reading. Lord Tennyson 
 found the old story of King Arthur and the 
 Knights of the Round Table a Catholic story, 
 as it was, and put it into imperishable poetry. 
 All the greatest poets the world has had since 
 the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ have 
 gotten their material from Catholic sources. 
 
 Chaucer, who wrote the Canterbury Tales, 
 was a Catholic. Shakespeare derived his in- 
 spiration from centuries of Catholic thought 
 and culture. Dry den became a Catholic. 
 Tennyson and Longfellow were most Cath- 
 olic in their best poems. 
 
 Let us not forget that the world owes to the 
 Church all the most beautiful things in Chris- 
 tian art and literature. 
 
 The writer thinks that, as Catholics, you 
 ought to try to deserve this heritage. You 
 ought to remember that non-Catholics say over
 
 A TALK IN THE FALL. 229 
 
 and over again, " Catholics are so ignorant. 
 Their Church is the mother of ignorance." 
 They do not know that the most ignorant 
 Catholic who knows his Catechism is wiser 
 than they, because, although he may not know 
 anything of art, literature, or science, he knows 
 how to work for God, and to save his soul. 
 
 But you who have opportunities, here in this 
 new world, ought to make yourself as perfect 
 as you can, that you may be worthy, in a de- 
 gree, of the Church. There is no reason why 
 you, a child of Christ and His Church, should 
 not show that you are aware that the Church 
 is the protector of civilization and knowledge : 
 that, without the Church there would have 
 been no Christian civilization. 
 
 Look at Turkey, China, and India without 
 Christianity. These countries are civilized, 
 but their civilization is not Christian. Turkey 
 is most corrupt, rotten. The politicians call it 
 " the sick man." In India and China, mothers 
 kill their little girl children, or leave them on 
 the roadside to die. ; and when a child is born 
 deaf or dumb, it is killed. And yet, Confucius, 
 the philosopher, whom the wise among the 
 Chinese adore, left many noble maxims. But 
 all the treasures of human wisdom and knowl-
 
 230 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 edge cannot save a country from corruption, 
 when Christianity does not govern it. A de- 
 vout Belgian priest has lately established the 
 first asylum for deaf and dumb at Bombay. 
 Christianity has begun to save the children. 
 
 An old friend who occasionally looks over 
 my shoulder tells me that I have been talking 
 over the heads of you children, and that you 
 do not understand what I have said. I hope 
 he is wrong, for I think you are a great deal 
 smarter than the "grown-ups" would have us 
 believe. I know when I was a boy, I hated 
 stories in "baby words," written down to me. 
 
 Jack Dowdy is the most helpful boy I know. 
 His mother is a widow ; and she makes many 
 sacrifices to keep Jack at the parochial school, 
 and Jack knows it. He said to me the other 
 day, when he brought home my washed clothes 
 from his mother's : 
 
 "Do you think it is better to become a good 
 carpenter, or a clerk, sir?" 
 
 I told him that a trade would be a good thing 
 to learn. There are too many clerks, too many 
 young men with white hands, expert at making
 
 A TALK IN THE FALL. 231 
 
 and adding up figures, and too few good car- 
 penters. 
 
 "Look, Jack," I said, pointing to a recess 
 in the wall, "I want a bookcase there; but, 
 although I have made a plan, none of the 
 carpenters can make it." 
 
 "Why?" asked Jack, looking at the plan. 
 ' ' I think if I were a carpenter / could make 
 it." 
 
 "Perhaps so. If you put brains into your 
 work, and had kept your eyes open during 
 your apprenticeship, you might. But all the 
 young carpenters I have seen say that I shall 
 have to get a 'first-class man' to do it, and 
 none of them are 'first-class' carpenters. If 
 I were a young man, I should be ashamed to 
 say it. Now I would give thirty dollars for 
 a good bookcase that can be taken apart on 
 the plan I have made." 
 
 Jack's eyes sparkled. "Oh, I wish I was a 
 carpenter ! " 
 
 "Well, now, learn a lesson, Jack, and re- 
 solve to do your best at whatever you under- 
 take. If you don't do that, you will never be 
 a 'first-class' man. Opportunities will come 
 and pass by ; you will be unable to grasp them, 
 unless you resolve to do everything well not
 
 232 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 to slur the smallest thing. To drive each nail 
 as hard as it can be driven. To have patience ; 
 never to hurry, in order to be done with a 
 piece of work." 
 
 "But, sir," said Jack, "clerks are more 
 genteel ; and mother says " 
 
 "My dear boy, you must wish to be a good 
 workman rather than to be genteel. It is no 
 advantage to have white hands. Better be an 
 honest, patient carpenter, putting brains into 
 your work, than a clerk with white shirt and 
 hands, a diamond pin, and a load of debt. 
 'Gentility' is a word that no American should 
 honor." 
 
 Jack went off. I hope he profited by my 
 sermon.
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY. 
 
 I. 
 
 JOE was taken by his aunt to a Museum one 
 day. It was a bright, clear day in winter, 
 and Joe felt very happy as he sat in the car 
 near his aunt, and asked questions about the 
 wonders to come. Would he see the Fat 
 Woman? Oh, yes. And the Little Elephant? 
 Oh, yes. And the Living Skeleton. Yes, 
 yes. And a Lion? Yes. And the Bea v ded 
 Woman ? Just then the conductor cried out, 
 " Museum ! " and the car stopped. A number 
 of children, with their fathers, mothers, uncles, 
 aunts, or nurses, got out. 
 
 A brass band was playing a march in lively 
 
 time. Indeed, it sounded as if the music was 
 
 run by steam, so loud and quick did it go. 
 
 And when the drum and cymbals came in, it 
 
 233
 
 234 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 seemed louder than thunder to Joe. His aunt 
 put her gloved hands to her ears, but Joe 
 laughed with pleasure. 
 
 " I am afraid, Aunt Lucy," he said, " that 
 you don't care for music." 
 
 " I don't call this music," Aunt Lucy said. 
 
 Joe thought Aunt Lucy was very stupid ; he 
 said : 
 
 " I think it is lovely." 
 
 There were immense pictures hung over the 
 front of the house ; pictures of all colors, red, 
 blue, yellow, and green. There was a big 
 man in a pink suit, painted on a green ground, 
 playing with two hideous serpents ; there was 
 a lady so fat, that the canvas gave out, and 
 they had to leave her with only one arm, and 
 cut off part of her shoulder. In fact, the 
 splendor of the outside of the museum was so 
 great, that Joe at once concluded it could not 
 be equalled within. 
 
 A man stood outside with a big snake coiled 
 around his arm. He said : 
 
 " Step in, ladies and gentlemen, and see the 
 giant serpent, to which this here is a mere 
 hinfant." 
 
 Joe knew by the ' ' hinfant " that the speaker 
 was an Englishman ; so, while Aunt Lucy paid
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY. 235 
 
 for the tickets at the box-office, he stepped up 
 to him and spoke : 
 
 " I say, sir, I was in London with my father. 
 Did you live in London ? " 
 
 The man grinned, and put his hand on Joe's 
 head : 
 
 " Step up, ladies and gentlemen," he bawled, 
 " and see the Live Infant Phenomenon that 
 was in Lunnon with its father." 
 
 Some people laughed ; and Aunt Lucy darted 
 up to the man, gave him " one of her looks," 
 as she afterwards said, and took Joe's hand. 
 
 " Did you see that the impertinent man was 
 exhibiting you as a curiosity, Joe ? " 
 
 " And why didn't you let me be ? " said Joe, 
 in an aggrieved tone. " I would like to be a 
 curiosity." 
 
 Aunt Lucy would probably have shaken 
 Joe after her usual brisk manner, but at that 
 moment the splendor of the museum broke upon 
 them. 
 
 There stood the Fat AVoman, one-sixth the 
 size of the canvas picture, but, nevertheless, 
 fat enough to satisfy everybody who paid a 
 dime. There was the Living Skeleton, with 
 tight velvet breeches on his bony legs. There 
 was the Circassian Girl, her hair stretching
 
 236 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 from her head, " like quills upon the fretful 
 porcupine." There was the Little Lady, much 
 smaller than Joe himself, wearing a gold watch 
 and a diamond ring. There was a lean Lion 
 in a cage, and a hungry looking Monkey in 
 another. 
 
 Joe began to ask questions, and Aunt Lucy 
 had a hard time answering them. At last it 
 was time to go. The brass band was playing 
 " Home, Sweet Home." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " said Joe, as he clung to Aunt 
 Lucy's hand in the crowd ; " I wish there were 
 more curiosities to see. Don't curiosities have 
 a lovely time ? I wish I was a curiosity ! " 
 
 " A lovely time ! " said Aunt Lucy. " How 
 silly you are, Joe ! They have a very hard 
 time, poor things ! " 
 
 "You always contradict me, Aunt Lucy," 
 said Joe, in an injured tone. " I'm sure the 
 curiosities have a good time. They just stand 
 still and do nothing, and eat peanuts. Why, 
 the Fat Woman and the Living Skeleton were 
 eating peanuts, Aunt Lucy. Oh, it must be 
 lovely ! " 
 
 Joe was a very lazy boy. He hated study ; 
 he hated work. In summer he liked to lie on 
 the grass, and in winter to lounge on a sofa
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY. 237 
 
 and look at picture-books. When he was asked 
 to go for anything for his father or mother, he 
 said, " Wait a minute." He was always saying 
 wait a minute ; for, as I said, he was a very 
 lazy boy. His health was good, and there was 
 no excuse for him. His laziness gave his father 
 and mother great concern. He never liked to 
 get up in time for Mass ; and, as he was ex- 
 pected to go every morning with his father, 
 this laziness gave a great deal of trouble. 
 
 After his visit to the museum, Joe always 
 said when he was asked to do anything requir- 
 ing exertion : 
 
 ' ' I wish I were a curiosity ! " 
 
 n. 
 
 Joe lived in a city on a river. It is a very 
 pleasant place, and so we will call it Pleasant 
 City. 
 
 One day, Joe's grandmother, who lives in 
 New York, invited Aunt Lucy to stay with
 
 238 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 her. Joe wanted to go ; but his father said 
 that, as he had been so lazy all winter, he must 
 stay at home in the spring. So Aunt Lucy 
 went alone. She travelled with Grandmother 
 up to Canada. There they saw a camp of 
 North American Indians, and Aunt Lucy sent 
 Joe a picture of them. Later, in Montreal, 
 she met a sailor who had been up in the Arctic 
 regions, and, from his descriptions, she made 
 a sketch of the Esquimaux. Joe put both the 
 pictures in his scrap-book. Aunt Lucy wrote 
 Joe this letter : 
 
 "DEAR JOE: 
 
 'Grandmother and I bought some beaded bags 
 from the Indians. They are very nice these 
 Indians to talk to. The squaws showed us their 
 papooses tied to boards. It was very funny. 
 Grandmother gave a poor sailor some money for 
 carrying our trunks up-stairs ; he told her he had 
 been up in the Arctic regions, and he talked a long 
 time about the Esquimaux, which name is, I believe 
 derived from the French words, ' Ceux qui tneoou ' 
 (Those who meoou like cats). They are strange 
 people. They live principally on fat and the blub- 
 ber of the whale. Grandmother says you may 
 come to New York, and that Coney Island is a 
 wonderful place."
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY. 239 
 
 Joe asked : 
 
 "May I?" 
 
 "No," said his father, "not until you are 
 able to read Aunt Lucy's letter. You have 
 been so lazy and idle, that you can't spell ten 
 words out of twenty, and you can scarcely read 
 at all." 
 
 Joe cried. He went to work hard, and in a 
 month he was able to spell out Aunt Lucy's 
 letter better than his father expected. So he 
 gave Joe permission to go. He was put in 
 charge of a conductor known to his father ; 
 and, after a short trip, reached Jersey City 
 in safety. There he was met by his Aunt 
 Lucy. She kissed him a great many times, 
 and took him over to the refreshment stand 
 and gave him a cup of nice chocolate. Joe 
 was in high spirits. 
 
 "But, oh, Aunt Lucy," he said; "I wish 
 I was a curiosity. Curiosities get paid for 
 doing nothing. They eat peanuts every day 
 I saw 'em at the Dime Museum at home. 
 Oh, dear, when I grow up, I am going to be 
 a curiosity." 
 
 "You will be a curiosity," said Aunt Lucy, 
 severely; "you'll be the idlest boy in New 
 York, if you don't take care."
 
 240 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 But Aunt Lucy and Joe were good friends. 
 They had so much to talk about, on their way 
 up to Grandmother's, and so much to see, that 
 this little passage of arms was forgotten. 
 
 The elevated railroad was a marvel to Joe. 
 How it flew through the air! And "inside it 
 was just like a little parlor," he said. The 
 glimpses of life he caught in the windows of 
 the houses, as the train shot past them amused 
 Joe very much. In one, he saw a little baby 
 in a hia;h chair ; in another, a small girl hav- 
 ing her hair combed ; in another, a woman 
 setting a table for dinner ; and in still another, 
 two boys making a kite. 
 
 Grandmother was glad to see Joe. The 
 lamps were lighted, and dinner was ready. 
 It was all very cheerful ; and, after dinner, 
 Grandmother gave him a big scrap-book and 
 a pocket-knife with six blades. 
 
 "Oh, dear, said Joe, " I think grandmothers 
 are almost as good as mothers." 
 
 Grandmother laughed. "Well, Joe," she 
 asked, " what will you do, when you grow up? 
 I like boys to have some idea of what they 
 will do when they grow up. What will you 
 
 be, a carpenter, a " 
 
 "Oh, nothing," answered Joe, cheerfully;
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CUEIOSITY. 241 
 
 "I don't intend to do anything, I'm going to 
 be a curiosity." 
 
 Grandmother was astonished. 
 
 Aunt Lucy explained; Grandmother shook 
 her head, and said, "What a strange boy !" 
 
 "Do you think I'm a strange boy?" Joe 
 asked, earnestly; "because, if I am, people 
 will want to see me at the museum. When I 
 grow up, I'm going to be either a Tattooed Boy 
 or a Feejee Cannibal ; because it's good fun to 
 be paid for doing nothing but just eating pea- 
 nuts." 
 
 * ' Dear ! dear ! " said Grandmother ; " I do 
 hope, Lucy, he'll grow out of this idea. We 
 never had a Tattooed Boy or a Feejee Cannibal 
 on our side of the family, had we?" 
 
 "I should hope not," answered Aunt Lucy, 
 smiling a little. 
 
 "I tell you, Aunt Lucy, as we've always 
 been good friends when you don't fuss about a 
 fellow too much, I don't mind, if I get you an 
 engagement when I grow up, as a Living 
 Curiosity. With your hair fluffed out, you'd 
 make a good Circassian Girl." 
 
 Grandmother said it was time for Joe to go 
 to bed. 
 
 On the next day, Grandmother, Joe, and
 
 242 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Aunt Lucy went to Coney Island. They started 
 from the Battery in a steamboat. The breeze 
 was fresh and cool. They had chicken and 
 ham sandwiches and cake in a pasteboard box, 
 which they could throw away when they were 
 done with it, and coffee in one bottle, and 
 lemonade in another. 
 
 Joe had never seen the sea before ; it was 
 wonderful ; but, to his mind, not so wonderful 
 as the noise of the organ around which the 
 merry-go-rounds revolved ; the sled which ran 
 like lightning on a wooden track ; the gay 
 crowds ; and, above all, the splendid scenes 
 depicted on the canvases of the museums. It 
 was strange to see men, women, and children 
 riding around to the loud music of an organ, 
 on gilded giraffes, elephants, and ostriches ; 
 but more strange, more magnificent, were the 
 attractions of the museums. 
 
 Joe would not move away from one of them, 
 where a fat woman was pictured on a yellow 
 throne, dressed in purple, with a vermillion 
 crown on her head. 
 
 "Oh, Grandmother!" Joe said, "cZo take 
 me in. I'm sure it's my Fat Woman, and the 
 Living Skeleton must be the one I saw in 
 Pleasant City. Do take me in ! "
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY. 243 
 
 Grandmother hesitated a minute, and then, 
 seeing that other boys were going in with their 
 fathers and mothers, smiled and said to Aunt 
 Lucy : 
 
 " Well, I suppose we must go." 
 
 This museum contained some curiosities Joe 
 had not seen at Pleasant City. There was a 
 Crocodile in water, a Fat Baby, and Views of 
 Europe. You looked through holes, and saw 
 these Views. The first was a temple with 
 pillars that is, a photograph of a templo 
 with pillars. "This," the man said, "is the 
 Coliseum at Rome." Then you looked through 
 another hole, and saw another temple with a 
 portico and pillars. "This," said the man, 
 "is the Acropolis at Athens." Again you 
 looked through another hole, and saw another 
 temple with pillars. "This," said the man, 
 " is a Wonder of Classic Art ; you will see it, 
 when you go to Europe." Finally, Joe looked 
 through another hole. "You now perceive," 
 said the man, "St. Peter's at Rome." But it 
 was a temple with pillars, just like the others. 
 
 "There's a great deal of sameness about 
 Europe, Aunt Lucy; I don't think I'd like to 
 go there ; it's just like Girard College in Phila- 
 delphia, /would rather stay at Coney Island."
 
 244 STOEIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 This was Joe's conclusion, having seen the 
 views. 
 
 The Curiosity of Curiosities, in this collec- 
 tion, was a Learned Pig. He could add up 
 
 figures chalked on the black-board. He could 
 
 , 
 
 dance on his hind legs. He walked around the 
 stage with a Derby hat on, like a dude. 
 
 "Oh," cried Joe, "he is a gem !" 
 
 " Come on," said his Grandmother. " Don't 
 get lost!" 
 
 Joe did not hear. His eyes and ears were 
 all for the Learned Pig. 
 
 It was getting dark. A great crowd had 
 come into the museum, and gone out again. 
 Joe was left almost alone, for his Grandmother 
 and Aunt Lucy had been carried out by the 
 crowd on its way to supper. The museum was 
 about to close for an hour, that the Curiosities 
 might have something to eat. 
 
 The Learned Pig was kept in a pen behind 
 the Fat Woman. The Fat Woman screened 
 him from view, except when he was performing 
 his tricks on the stage. Joe, in admiration of 
 the Pig, stood in front of his pen, hidden from 
 view, too. When the manager cleared the 
 tent, and a long table was brought out for 
 supper, Joe was not seen. Therefore he was
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY. 245 
 
 left between the Learned Pig and the Fat 
 Woman. 
 
 The table was spread with bread, meat, po- 
 tatoes, bottles of beer, and tea-cups. Then 
 the Fat Woman descended to take her place at 
 the head 'of the table. The Living Skeleton 
 sat on her right hand, and handed the butter to 
 everybody ; the Circassian Girl made the tea ; 
 a Two-headed Boy and the Feejee Cannibal 
 opened some bottles of beer, and the other 
 Curiosities took their places just like you or 
 me, or any less exalted mortal. There was 
 some trouble about carving the cold beef. The 
 manager, a bald man, with red whiskers, 
 wanted to do it, but the Living Skeleton would 
 not permit it. He said the manager had a 
 habit of cutting the slices of meat too thin, 
 and he would not stand that. 
 
 "If the ladies and gentlemen will excuse 
 me," said the Circassian Lady, with great 
 amiability, "I'll take off my wig and carve. 
 A wig is very warm these days." 
 
 Joe was amazed at the greediness of the 
 Living Skeleton. He had never seen anybody 
 eat so much. 
 
 " Take care," said the manager to the 
 Skeleton, "if you eat so much, you'll gain
 
 246 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 flesh. You know you weigh half a pound 
 more than you did last year. If you keep 
 on, I'll have to reduce your salary. You're 
 not worth as much as a good Boa Constrictor 
 as it is." 
 
 "I tell you," cried the Two-headed Boy, as 
 he filled one mouth with beef, and the other 
 with bread, "I must have more money. I am 
 tired of being a Living Curiosity. Are you 
 not Jim?" 
 
 The other mouth answered at once : "Yes, 
 sir ! It's no fun to be tied up the way we are, 
 making people believe there is only one boy 
 here, when there's two. I'd rather go and 
 dig cellars, I would !" 
 
 Joe was amazed. Such sentiments from a 
 Living Curiosity the happiest of beings ! Joe 
 waited for the manager to rebuke him or them ; 
 but nothing was said. 
 
 "Oh, dear," said the Fat Woman, fanning 
 herself with her handkerchief; "Tin quite 
 wretched quite! I would give all I have 
 in this world to be able to move about like 
 other people ! I'm thoroughly and utterly 
 wretched. Death would be a relief!" 
 
 Joe could endure this no longer. The 
 Learned Pig would utter sentiments of in-
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY. 247 
 
 gratitude after awhile. This thing must come 
 to an end. 
 
 "Excuse me, ma'am," said Joe, taking off 
 his hat, and stepping forward, "but I must say 
 you are very wicked. Where do you expect 
 to go when you die ? You ought to be happy ; 
 you sit still all day, and eat peanuts. I saw 
 you eating peanuts in Pleasant City, and you 
 are eating peanuts here. You ought to be 
 thankful, ma'am. Many a poor boy I mean 
 poor lady has to run around all day for other 
 people, and never sees a peanut, except on 
 Sunday." 
 
 The Circassian Lady dropped the carving- 
 knife. The Two-headed Boy grinned with one 
 mouth, and said "Put him out!" with the 
 other. 
 
 "Do I hear right?" asked the Fat Woman, 
 in surprise, turning her eyes on Joe. "Know, 
 rash youth, that I was never in Pleasant City. 
 / do not star in the provinces. It must have 
 been some base imitation. I am Madame Lur- 
 line de Chateaux -Margeaux the Great, Only 
 Original and Unapproachable Mountain of 
 Obesity." 
 
 Joe was overwhelmed. 
 
 "Where's Grandmother?" he asked, sud-
 
 248 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 denly becoming aware that he had been left 
 by his guardians. 
 
 "The poor child's lost," said the good-natured 
 Fat Woman, changing her tone. " Here, you 
 Two-headed Idiots, bring a chair for the child 
 near me. I guess his grandmother will come 
 after him. We'll keep him until she does. 
 Please pass him a slice of meat, Mademoiselle 
 Columbine," she continued, addressing the Cir- 
 cassian Girl. 
 
 "Sure I will, with a heart and half," said 
 that lady. "And will the dear child take 
 sugar in his tea? Of course. Sure, he's the 
 very image of me own brother Mick, that 
 cried so when I joined the museum. It's me 
 last year, though, wearing a wig, and being 
 stared at ! " 
 
 Joe soon felt quite at home. To the amuse- 
 ment of the Curiosities, he told them how he 
 longed to be one of them. 
 
 The Circassian Lady gave him another slice 
 of beef, cut thick, and said : "My dear child, 
 do not mind work. Work will make you 
 strong. Any honest work is good, provided 
 it's honest. This work isn't honest so far as 
 I'm concerned, for I deceive the public every 
 day. The Feejee Boy thinks the same as I do."
 
 HE WANTED TO BE A CURIOSITY. 249 
 
 "I do," said the Feejee Boy, solemnly, 
 wiping his false beard with his napkin ; "I 
 do. It's the hardest work I ever did. I'd 
 rather be a hod-carrier than stand idle here 
 day after day, and know I'm a fraud. It's 
 true, young fellow, as sure as my name is 
 George Washington Robinson ! " 
 
 "It's a loafing, idle, useless life," said the 
 Fat Woman. "It is better, my boy, to eat 
 dry bread and butter, without sugar, and work 
 honestly for it, than to eat peanuts, or even 
 roasted chestnuts, in idleness, /know." 
 
 " We know ! " cried all the Curiosities, except 
 the Learned Pig, who seemed very well satis- 
 fied with his lot. 
 
 At this moment Joe heard Grandmother's 
 voice outside. 
 
 "Good-night! Thank you all!" he said, 
 running out. 
 
 "Oh, Joe !" cried his Grandmother, " what 
 a fright you gave us ! " 
 
 It was quite dark. The light in the various 
 hotels, and places of amusement shone like a 
 great crown of rubies, diamonds, and emeralds 
 against the sky. Joe uttered an exclamation 
 of delight. Then he said, taking Grand- 
 mother's hand on one side, and Aunt Lucy's 
 on the other :
 
 250 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "I don't want to be a Living Curiosity. 
 I'm going in for honest work. Grandmother, 
 you or Aunt Lucy shall never want while / 
 have my hands." 
 
 Then they went and bought roasted sausages 
 and rolls from a German woman at a little 
 covered stand.
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 
 
 I. 
 
 LITTLE Gretchen lived with her sister, 
 Frau Julia, in a little Swiss village, high 
 up in the mountains. If you have seen the 
 trees the very green, pointed ones that 
 are sold in the toy-shops with the " farm- 
 yards " in boxes, you know what the trees 
 around Frau Julia's house were like. Frau 
 Julia had children of her own, but they were 
 two small babies ; so Gretchen, who was an 
 orphan, had no one to play with. Besides, 
 Frau Julia's babies were boys, and they did 
 not care for dolls. 
 
 Frau Julia's husband, who went often to 
 town to buy silk for the lace he and his wife 
 made, brought Gretchen several dolls. One of 
 them, named Lilia, she loved very much ; and, 
 after she had helped Frau Julia to wash the 
 251
 
 252 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 dishes, and the rosary had been said the 
 rosary was always said every night in Frau 
 Julia's house she used to sit in a corner of 
 the kitchen and wash and dress Lilia. 
 
 Gretchen was not a Swiss child ; she had 
 been born in Alsace, which formerly belonged 
 to France, but which now belongs to Germany. 
 She spoke a little German, and more French. 
 
 One day a letter, postmarked " Milwaukee, 
 U. S. of A.," came to Frau Julia's husband. 
 It was from a brother of Frau Julia's, living in 
 America. It said : 
 
 " DEAR JOSEF AND JULIA : 
 
 " I write to ask a favor, which I hope you will 
 grant. You know that my wife is dead, and that 
 I have no children. I am alone in the world. I 
 am not poor ; I have two fine farms here, and three 
 houses in the city. Can you not you who have 
 two children of your own let me have the little 
 Gretchen ? 
 
 " I send, by this steamer, a box of presents for 
 yourselves and the boys, and a sum of money for 
 Gretchen. I hope you will send her with anybody 
 who may be coming over here. If nobody is com- 
 ing, have her put in charge of the purser of the 
 steamer, and telegraph to me the name of the 
 steamer. You will find more than enough money 
 in the box to pay for everything."
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 253 
 
 Fran Julia, after she had read this letter, 
 cried, and said she could not part from Gretchen, 
 who was quietly playing with Lilia in a corner. 
 Josef shook his head, and said : 
 
 " I love the little girl, too; but she is too 
 clever and bright to be kept here among peas- 
 ants, who can do nothing but cut toys out of 
 wood." 
 
 Frau Julia fired up at this. "Cut toys! 
 Your father did it. Our boys will do it. It's 
 good enough for Gretchen." 
 
 " No," said Josef, smiling, " our boys will, 
 I hope, go with us over across the sea, before 
 they are much older. Land is cheap there, and 
 dear here. I will make farmers of them." 
 
 Frau Julia shook her head. " As you will, 
 husband. But I could not let Gretchen go, 
 unless I was sure of seeing her again." 
 
 It was agreed that Josef should take Gret- 
 chen to the steamer, and put her in charge of 
 the purser, who would land her in New York. 
 
 When Gretchen was told, she cried. Her 
 sister found her pillow wet with tears in the 
 morning ; and for a whole week the twin babies 
 were in constant danger of catching cold, so 
 often did Gretchen weep over them. 
 
 When the box from America was opened,
 
 254 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 they found nice frocks for Gretchen and the 
 babies, and gold chains for each, a huge paper 
 of candy and popcorn, a lot of dress stuifs for 
 Frau Julia, and some razors and a collection of 
 cutlery for Josef. Last, but not least, was a 
 pocket-book stuffed with notes, some for Gret- 
 chen, some for Josef. 
 
 The day of departure came. Poor Gretchen 
 hugged Lilia to her breast. Lilia, whose hair 
 had just been plaited for the tenth time that 
 morning, seemed to smile out of her china blue 
 eyes. 
 
 "At least," sobbed Gretchen, "I have 
 Lilia, I will never never part from her. 
 Never 1 " 
 
 n. 
 
 Josef had no difficulty in getting the purser 
 of the steamer to promise to keep an eye on 
 Gretchen. He found, too, a nice, motherly 
 woman, from Zurich, who, with six children, 
 were going to America. She promised, also, 
 to look after her. 
 
 " Come to America soon, brother Josef,"
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 255 
 
 Gretchen said, as she sent her last kiss to the 
 twins, " and I will say the rosary every night, 
 as Julia bade inc. And I will not lose my 
 
 money. And I will tell "but the bell 
 
 rang. Josef kissed the sad little face, and 
 jumped ashore. 
 
 Josef and Julia had a sad night. Those left 
 behind have always the worst of it. 
 
 Gretchen was amused by all the new things 
 around her. The funny way that people slept 
 in shelves against the side of the ship made her 
 laugh. And she was pleased when a kind man 
 lifted her and Lilia into their berth. Gretchen 
 was charmed. The steamer seemed to rock 
 like a cradle. Some of the passengers sang 
 Swiss songs, and others cried while they were 
 singing. Gretchen was asked to sing, and she 
 began a little Alsatian song : 
 
 " Petite berg^re qui chant toujours 
 
 Dans les champs fleuris, 
 A qui pense-tu tous les jours ? 
 Tra-la, tra-li!" 
 
 But this made her cry, too, and she sang no 
 more. Still she had Lilia. Lilia' was so good 
 to have ! She never answered back, or did 
 anything naughty. She smiled all the time,
 
 256 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and no matter what anybody said, listened po- 
 litely. When one of the little children from 
 Zurich tried to gouge out one of her blue eyes 
 with a pencil, she smiled on ! Gretchen, having 
 rescued her, felt that such meekness under 
 trial, was worthy of imitation. 
 
 The voyage across the ocean was pleasant 
 and quick. Gretchen landed at Castle Garden 
 with the rest of the emigrants. Her name was 
 taken in that pen which has been wisely built, 
 so that no new-comer can escape the vigilance 
 of the authorities. She was patted on the head 
 by kind officials and given over to a matron 
 with a kind face, who told her that a letter 
 from her step-brother in Milwaukee had been 
 received, asking the people at the Garden to 
 watch for a little girl with long blonde hair, 
 plaited at the back. Gretchen was so aston- 
 ished by the noise and the crowds that, until 
 the kind matron had done speaking, she did 
 not think of Lilia. Now, she did not under- 
 stand a word of English, so she could only 
 know that the matron was saying something 
 nice, from the kind look in her face. The 
 woman from Zurich and her flock had left for 
 the West. 
 
 " Lilia ! " cried Gretchen.
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 257 
 
 " What?" asked the matron. 
 
 " Lilia, oh, my Lilia ! "Where can she be? 
 I have lost her ! I have lost her ! " 
 
 " What's the matter with the little child?" 
 asked one of the officials. " Has she lost any- 
 body ! " 
 
 "Have you lost anybody!" asked the 
 matron. 
 
 "Lilia! oh, Lilia! Where is she?" cried 
 vjretchen, in German, wringing her hands. 
 
 "Have you lost your sister?" asked the 
 matron. 
 
 " Lilia! Oh, where shall I find thee, thou 
 dearest Lilia ? " 
 
 "Poor thing!" said the matron. "We'll 
 find your sister, though I didn't know there 
 were two of you expected. Has anybody 
 seen this little girl's sister ? " 
 
 Nobody had seen her. 
 
 In the meantime, Gretchen refused to be 
 comforted. She ran about, looking in all the 
 holes and corners. Where was Lilia? 
 
 "You won't find your sister under people's 
 feet," said the matron ; " there's no use looking 
 on the floor for her. What a queer child ! I 
 hope she isn't crazy." 
 
 Poor Gretchen still wept so piteously that
 
 258 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 everybody became interested and touched by 
 her distress. 
 
 ' ' Lilia was all I had ! Ah ! she was so good 
 so Heblichf" she said to a newspaper re- 
 porter, who could understand German. 
 
 "You'll find her, little girl," he said; "the 
 whole place is in a bustle looking for her. 
 She can tell her name, you know." 
 
 "But she can't speak," said Gretchen, 
 amazed at his stupidity, ' ' She wasn't one of 
 those that speak. She couldn't open her eyes 
 either. But she was so schonl" 
 
 The reporter was touched. "Dumb and 
 blind !" he exclaimed to the matron. "Poor, 
 poor child ! We must find her ! " And he 
 wrote a long article in his paper, in which he 
 described "Lilia, the Lost Child" in the most 
 pathetic language. Another day passed. Still 
 Gretchen lamented. The purser of the steamer 
 said there had been no dumb and blind child 
 on board. But so intense was the interest in 
 Gretchen's story, that nobody believed him. 
 A telegram came from her step-brother, saying 
 he would reach New York the following day. 
 
 How could Gretchen go away without Lilia ? 
 Oh, dear, dear ! More tears ! Suddenly, in 
 her desperation, she thought of the dear St.
 
 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. 259 
 
 Anthony of Padua, who always finds lost 
 things for people when they ask him. 
 
 "Dear St. Anthony," she said, "please find 
 Lilia." 
 
 After which, she went to her box to find a 
 collar. She couldn't get one at first, because 
 it was beneath a pile of clothes. She fumbled 
 in the box, and at the very bottom found Lilia, 
 unharmed. She remembered then that she had 
 put her treasure there on the day before the 
 steamer landed ! 
 
 The matron had tears in her eyes. There 
 was a group of anxious-looking people around 
 her. 
 
 "It's a strange mystery," the policeman 
 said ; " strange, very strange !" 
 
 "To think of that poor, deaf, dumb child 
 alone in this big, wicked city. Poor little 
 orphan ! " cried the matron, wiping her eyes. 
 
 Suddenly Gretchen burst into the room. 
 
 "I have found her ! " she cried, joyously. 
 
 "Who? when?" was the chorus. 
 
 "In my box!" 
 
 "Poor child !" said a kind-hearted Irish girl, 
 just landed. " She has gone crazy. Sure, it's 
 myself that knows what it is to loose a sister. 
 And she deaf and dumb too ! "
 
 260 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "'In my box!'" translated the German 
 clerk. In her box ! How could she find her 
 sister in a box? 
 
 Gretchen held up Lilia and kissed her over 
 and over again. 
 
 "The good St. Anthony found her." 
 
 "A doll, 7 ' cried the matron. 
 
 "A doll," cried the policeman. 
 
 "Only a doll," groaned the reporter. 
 
 "She had no sister!" cried the Irish girl. 
 "The deceiving little creature." 
 
 ' ' A DOLL ! " exclaimed everybody in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "And this is Gretchen!" cried a pleasant 
 voice, as a big, brown man caught her in his 
 arms. 
 
 "And this is Lilia, too," answered Gretchen, 
 "thanks to the good St. Anthony !" 
 
 Gretchen and Lilia are very happy on a farm 
 near Milwaukee. Lilia has lost an arm, but 
 she has herself not been lost since that awful 
 time.
 
 AT SCHOOL AGAIN. 
 
 THE first school weeks are over, and the 
 plunge back into the routine of school- 
 work has not been so bad as it looked, has it? 
 It was pretty hard to get into the old school- 
 room again and bend over books, with visions 
 of the delights of vacation times dancing be- 
 fore your eyes. It used to be hard in my time 
 very hard. 
 
 They tell me the new-fashioned school-rooms 
 are very neat and trim, with all kinds of 
 modern improvements, and smooth, varnished 
 desks. 
 
 When I was young, in an old school-house 
 by the Delaware, we had not any of these 
 things, nor any of the bright school-books, 
 full of pictures, Mr. O'Shea sends out every 
 year. I remember the ' ' History of Jack Hal- 
 yard" was our reading-book; there were one 
 or two wood-cuts in it of women and little 
 261
 
 262 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 girls in very short- waisted gowns, and little 
 boys in wide collars and tall hats. I have for- 
 gotten what it was all about now ; indeed, I 
 forget whether the hero's name was Halyard or 
 Halifax, but one of the leading incidents turned 
 on the amazement of two little Jersey boys 
 who saw a gilt-framed mirror for the first time, 
 and who thought the frame was pure gold ! 
 
 How rough and brown were the desks in 
 that old school ! There was a name that had 
 been cut in 1848 ; and on the side of our desk, 
 farthest from the teachers, a fellow had tried, 
 to cut "E pluribus unum," but had got only as 
 far as "E plur" when the rattan descended, 
 and he wept. Wood-carving was not encouraged 
 in those days ! Dear, dear ! I don't think I 
 could go to a school where the desks are new. 
 I should be constantly asking "Where are the 
 friends of my youth?" and looking for "J. 
 McGinniss, 1848," and for "Eplur." 
 
 We had Miss Edge worth's ' ' Parents' Assist- 
 ant," and the tales of the dear, delightful 
 Canon Schmid. Ah, those Sunday afternoons, 
 when catechism was over, and supper wasn't 
 ready ! How we followed Miss Edgeworth's 
 little Italian, and learned from her never to 
 threw a piece of string away, or to cut a cord
 
 AT SCHOOL AGAIN. 263 
 
 that could be untied ! And the grand people 
 in Canon Schmid's stories ! I have never 
 grown tired of them, and I hope I never will, 
 until I meet the dear old Canon in Heaven. 
 
 Ah, my dear children, be cheerful and con- 
 tent. Do your best in the present, and do not 
 spoil it by wishing to be old. You may make 
 up your mind to this : you will never be quite 
 happy in this world. These October days will 
 never come back again ; and in the time to 
 come, although you may have gained gold, you 
 will look to the gold of these youthful days 
 the gold of the mellow sunlight and yellow 
 leaves with regret. 
 
 To-day, most of you have your fathers and 
 mothers with you. What joy can equal that 
 in the future ? Perhaps you do not think much 
 of it now ; but a time will come when you will 
 think much of it. The coming days may bring 
 you the fine things you dream of, but it cannot 
 make the beloved faces younger, or bring them 
 back to you after they have gone. 
 
 There is an important thing you often forget 
 yes, you, John, Patrick, George, or whoever 
 may be reading this. The important thing is, 
 that you are getting ready for life. All this 
 going to school is only a making ready. First
 
 264 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of all, you say your prayers, learn your cate- 
 chism lessons, and attend to your religious 
 duties, to know, serve, and love God in this 
 world, and to be happy with him forever in the 
 next. In order to do your part well in this 
 world, you must fit yourself for work. You 
 must make and keep yourself healthy. The 
 bigger your lungs are, the stronger your mus- 
 cles are, the more you will be able to endure 
 in the race of life. Play hard, then. Don't 
 mind a scratch or two. Don't be idle. Run, 
 walk, play ball, keep out in the open air, and 
 have a good time whenever your parents have 
 nothing for you to do. 
 
 Don't play when you ought to work, and 
 don't fail to help mother when there's a chance. 
 What is more disgusting than to see a boy 
 standing with his hands in his pockets whist- 
 ling, while his mother almost faints under a 
 huge market-basket? or strains herself carry- 
 ing a bucket of water from the pump ? Boys 
 who can see their mothers work like slaves, 
 while they stay idle, never come to good. 
 
 You must remember that you are getting 
 ready to earn your own living, and that read- 
 ing, writing, and arithmetic will help you to do 
 that. And, while you are learning geography,
 
 AT SCHOOL AGAIN. 265 
 
 do not forget to learn the geography of the 
 place where you live. Learn the streets, the 
 names of the business firms in them, so that 
 you could make a map, if called on. There 
 was a boy, the other day, who wanted a place 
 very much. His mother was a widow. He 
 answered an advertisement. His hand-writing 
 suited the advertiser. He seemed "bright," 
 and the advertiser had almost concluded to take 
 him, so he asked : 
 
 ' ' Do you know geography ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," said the boy, proudly. "I 
 
 studied it four years in the B St. Public 
 
 School." 
 
 "Can you 'bound' Alaska, and tell me how 
 high the Himalaya Mountains are?" 
 
 "Of course, sir. That's easy." 
 
 "But I have no business with Alaska or 
 India ; I have a great deal with the firms down 
 town, here in New York. Now, how can you 
 get to East Broadway ? Where's the Chemical 
 Bank ? Where's Pearl Street ? " 
 
 The boy hesitated. "I guess I could find 
 them, sir. I don't know where they are, 
 though." 
 
 The man shook his head. He did not want 
 that boy.
 
 IN POVERTY HOLLOW. 
 
 IT was not Tim Murphy's own idea, I am 
 bound to admit. He had read of it some- 
 where ; but, as he made good use of it, I think 
 he deserves credit. At any rate, he had all he 
 wanted out of it. 
 
 Tim Murphy lived in Poverty Hollow. Pov- 
 erty Hollow was a small settlement in Carbon 
 County, Pennsylvania. A few refugees had 
 settled there during the war. They were very 
 poor they had come up from South Carolina 
 with only the clothes they had on. As they 
 were so very poor, the settlement took its 
 name from them. After a time, a coal mine 
 was found near, and a great colony of Irishmen 
 and their families settled there. Plenty of 
 money was made now, but the place still kept 
 its name. The coal mine gave out. Oil ap- 
 peared farther up the country, and Poverty 
 Hollow was drained of most of its inhabitants. 
 
 266
 
 IN POVERTY HOLLOW. 267 
 
 Some stayed. They were mostly Catholics. 
 Two of the South Carolinian families remained 
 there ; they had become Catholics too, through 
 the instrumentality of Father Byrnes, who 
 died just as Poverty Hollow began to lose its 
 people. After his death, a priest came every 
 month to say Mass. One Sunday Father 
 Mooney preached on the necessity of reading 
 Catholic books. 
 
 "You ought to be able to defend your faith," 
 he said. " I am sure you would blush for me, 
 if you saw me stand silent, ignorant, and 
 ashamed, when an unbeliever would tell lies 
 about the Church. Now I blush sometimes 
 when I see how ignorant Catholic boys so 
 bright in other things are concerning their 
 religion. ' Everybody reads the story-papers,' 
 you say. That is all the more reason why 
 you shouldn't read them. You must set f every- 
 body' an example, because God has given } r ou 
 the gift of faith. Read, all of you ; read good 
 books." 
 
 There was no Catholic book-store in Poverty 
 Hollow. There were not three Catholic books, 
 except prayer-books, in the place. On the 
 same Sunday afternoon, Father Mooney gave 
 his usual monthly instruction to the boys and
 
 268 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 girls. After the serious part of his discourse 
 was over, he told them a short version of 
 " Fabiola." The children were intensely in- 
 terested. He told them he wished he had 
 more time, to give them the whole story, but 
 that they might find it in a book written by 
 Cardinal Wiseman. 
 
 Tim went home and dreamed about Pancra- 
 tius and Corvinius. His cheeks glowed as he 
 thought of the sufferings of the early Chris- 
 tians. Oh, if he only had the book ! But the 
 book was not to be found in Poverty Hollow. 
 
 Down by the big pond, where the frogs held 
 their concerts at night, the boys of Poverty 
 Hollow used to gather. They sang songs, 
 danced, told one another the impossible ad- 
 ventures of the story-papers, and swore a 
 good deal. 
 
 Father Mooney saw that a great deal of evil 
 was caused by these meetings ; but he saw no 
 way of breaking them up, for the boys had 
 nothing to do at home. He would have liked 
 to open a library and reading-room, but the 
 three missions he served were poor, and he 
 could not ask the people for money for what 
 they would have considered luxuries. 
 
 Consequently the boys and girls were rather
 
 IN POVERTY HOLLOW. 269 
 
 rough, and certainly very ignorant of their 
 religion. Some of them knew their catechism 
 tolerably well ; others vaguely remembered it. 
 On the Sundays when Father Mooney did not 
 come to Poverty Hollow, they played cards in 
 shady places in the fields and spent what money 
 they had in smoking and drinking. They 
 were idle and listless, with no idea of anything 
 beyond the dime novels and foolish stories they 
 found over the river. 
 
 On the next Sunday that Father Mooney 
 came to Poverty Hollow, the boys and girls of 
 his class demanded a story. Father Mooney 
 told them this story in verse : 
 
 " Dona Inez was a lady, 
 
 Yery rich and fair to see, 
 And her heart was like a lily 
 
 In its holy purity; 
 Through the widest street in Cadiz, 
 
 Dona Inez went one day, 
 Clad in costly silks and laces, 
 
 With a group of friends as gay. 
 
 " Near the portals of a convent 
 
 From the Moors just lately won 
 Sat a crowd of dark-skinned beggars, 
 
 Basking in the pleasant sun, 
 One an old man he a Christian 
 
 Blind to all the outward light 
 Told his black beads, praying softly 
 
 For all poor souls still in night.
 
 270 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " ' I am but a Moorish beggar,' 
 
 Said a woman with a child ; 
 * I am but a Moorish beggar, 
 
 And the Moors are fierce and wild ; 
 You may talk of Christian goodness 
 
 Christian Faith and Charity; 
 But ril never be a Christian, 
 
 Till some proof of these I see. 
 Christians are as proud and haughty 
 
 As the proudest Moor of all, 
 And they hate the men that hate them 
 
 With a hate like bitter gall.' 
 
 " ' You judge rashly, O my sister, 
 In the words you speak to me.' 
 ' I would be a Christian, blind man, , 
 Show me Christian charity ! ' 
 
 " ' Lo! here comes proud Dona Inez, 
 
 Very rich and fair to see ; 
 I am but a Moorish beggar, 
 
 Will the lady come to me ? 
 No ! she will not, for she hatetb. 
 
 All the children of the Moor; 
 If she come, I tell you, blind man, 
 
 I will kneel and Christ adore ! 
 
 " Passing was the Lady Inez 
 
 When the dark group met her eye, 
 And she leaned from out her litter 
 
 Smiling on them tenderly. 
 ' They are poor; they are God's children,' 
 
 Said a voice within her soul, 
 And she lightly from her litter 
 Stepped to give the beggars dole.
 
 IN POVEETY HOLLOW. 271 
 
 " Sneered, and laughed, and laughing, wondered 
 
 All the other ladies gay ; 
 And the Lady Inez knew not 
 She had saved a soul that day ! " 
 
 After that Father Mooney told them how 
 beautifully God had formed the snow crystal, 
 and how the singular and wonderful forms of 
 created things were shown by means of the 
 microscope. The pupils listened breathlessly 
 as he described the phosphorescent light on the 
 sea at night. "The works of God are mar- 
 vellous," he said. "The more we know about 
 them, the greater our love for Him ought to 
 become." Father Mooney told them other 
 strange stories. He said they might all be 
 found in a book called "Familiar Science." 
 
 Tim Murphy, in his Sunday jacket, which 
 was blue with brass buttons on it, walked home 
 with Seth Gudgron. Seth Gudgron \vas one 
 of the boys whose fathers had come from South 
 Carolina. He was tall and thin, with light hair 
 and eyebrows. 
 
 ' ' I wish the priest would teach us every day. 
 The stories he tells helps a fellow to remember 
 the catechism. I wish I had that 'ere book 
 about the snow. I'd read it in the evenings, 
 and make mam and dad open their eyes ! "
 
 272 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' ' Oh, dear ! " said Tim. ' ' I wish I had both 
 that book and that about Pancratius. I've got 
 a dollar and ten cents saved up. I wonder if 
 that would buy both in the city." 
 
 "Guess not," said Seth, thrusting out his 
 long wrist about half a foot beyond the sleeve 
 of his coat, to throw a stone at a frog. "But 
 I do want that 'Familiar Science.' I never 
 cared much for books before. Who'd think 
 that a fly was almost as big as a frog under the 
 the miko " 
 
 "Microscope," said Tim. 
 
 Tim's father was the butcher of Poverty 
 Hollow. He never had time to read, and he 
 burned all the story-papers that Tim brought 
 home. Tim's mother could not read ; but, 
 above all things, she liked to have Tim read 
 her prayer-book to her at night. 
 
 "I say, Seth, have you any money?" 
 
 "Yes," drawled Seth, "I've got two dollars, 
 that is, dad's got them. Mr. Burke paid me 
 for helping him with the hay." 
 
 Tim's countenance fell. It was well known 
 that Seth's father was a drunkard. The two 
 dollars were probably spent long ago. 
 
 "I thought," Tim said, "of a plan I've read 
 about somewhere. If you bought 'Familiar
 
 IN POVERTY HOLLOW. 273 
 
 Science,' I'd buy 'Fabiola,' and we could read 
 both." 
 
 Seth's eyes sparkled. "That would be nice." 
 
 Just then Katie Murphy and her brother 
 Dan joined them. 
 
 "Wasn't the catechism class lovely to-day?" 
 she said. "Oh, dear! I wish I could read 
 some of the books Father Mooney talks about. 
 Cousin Grace sent me a very exciting book, 
 'Alice ; or The Escaped Nun.' But it was a 
 bad book, and mother tore it up. I've nothing 
 to read except the old school-books, and Father 
 Mooney forbids us to read the story-papers. 
 
 Seth and Tim looked guilty. 
 
 Dan, who was a very small boy, cried out 
 
 "I can't read, and I don't want to. Reading 
 makes you bow-legged." 
 
 Seth punched Dan, because this remark 
 seemed personal. Katie interfered ; and, after 
 a time, peace was restored. 
 
 "Have you any money, Katie?" 
 
 "Fifty cents," said Katie, proudly. "If I 
 had enough, I'd buy ' Felix Kent.' It must be 
 a lovely story, if it's anything like what Father 
 Mooney told us ; and I'd like to buy 'Fabiola,' 
 too. Oh, wasn't that lovely about the blind 
 girl, Csecilia?"
 
 274 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "I have a plan," said Tim. "We can get 
 the books." 
 
 "When Christmas comes on the Fourth of 
 July," said Seth. 
 
 "No; next week. We'll put our money 
 together, and send it to New York, and ask 
 the bookseller to send us the three books." 
 
 "No sir ee," said Seth. "You don't get 
 me to put in two dollars against your dollar- 
 and-ten and Katie's fifty. I'm not so green." 
 
 Tim reflected. " I guess you're right. We 
 byos will each put in a dollar, and let Katie 
 put in her fifty cents, because she's a girl." 
 
 Katie looked at Seth, anxiously. 
 
 "All right," he said ; "but I am to read her 
 book as soon as she gets done with it." 
 
 "Very well; and we'll send the money off 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "I'll run home now and tell dad about the 
 microscope. That'll put him in a good humor, 
 and he'll give me the dollar." 
 
 Katie tripped home lightly, dragging the 
 obstinate Dan after her. She was to read 
 those lovely books. She was very happy. 
 Her mother, being told that Father Mooney 
 had recommended the books, made no objec- 
 tion, though she said she thought the money
 
 IN POVERTY HOLLOW. 275 
 
 might be spent to better advantage than in 
 buying "fables." 
 
 Seth's father, having not yet spent all his 
 wages he was a carpenter, and a good man 
 when he was sober gave the boy his dollar. 
 Tim's father, who was always anxious to please 
 his son, added fifty cents to the fund ; so three 
 dollars were sent to New York. Back there 
 came, neatly packed, a big edition of " Fabiola," 
 with pictures ; ' ' Familiar Science ; " " Felix 
 Kent," and the prettiest book the children had 
 ever seen "The Shamrock Gone West," be- 
 sides "Cottage Conversations." These last had 
 been added, because the children Tim wrote 
 the note had explained their plan to the pub- 
 lisher. 
 
 The children were in Tim Murphy's house 
 Katie was no relation of Tim's when the box 
 arrived. 
 
 Mr. Murphy watched their faces when it was 
 opened. 
 
 "Sure," he whispered to his wife, "It's 
 worth ten dollars to see them now." 
 
 And it was ! Such pleasure, when "Fabiola" 
 was pulled out I And then the cry of admira- 
 tion when " The Shamrock Gone West," with 
 its bunch of gold primroses on the dark green 
 cover, came to light, was delightful !
 
 276 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 It happened it was on Saturday afternoon 
 when the box came, and there was no school 
 that Dick Blake, whose father was the richc.st 
 man in Poverty Hollow, but who never went 
 to Church, was there. He seized "Fabiola" 
 at once. 
 
 "This is just what I wanted to find," he 
 said, turning to page nine and reading Pancra- 
 tius' story of his quarrel with Corvinius. 
 
 "Yes," he read, "and was the cause of my 
 delay. For when we went forth from school 
 into the field, he addressed me insultingly 
 in- the presence of our companions, and said, 
 'Come, Pancratius, this is, I understand, the 
 last time we meet here (he laid a particular 
 emphasis on the word) ; but I have a long 
 score to demand payment of from you '" 
 
 "No you don't!" said Seth, closing the 
 book. " You can't read that book unless you 
 buy one, too. Wasn't that the rule you laid 
 down, Tim?" 
 
 "Yes," said Tim. " It looks mean, I know, 
 but we want to read all the good books we can, 
 and every fellow that comes in must bring in a 
 good book." 
 
 Dick's face brightened. "All right! Just 
 let me see what Corvinius did to Pancratius,
 
 TN POVERTY HOLLOW. 277 
 
 and I'll bring over The Red-headed Detective ; 
 or, Old Sleuth Still on the Trail ! ' It's boss ! " 
 
 "Xo, no!" said Katie. "Father Mooney 
 wouldn't let us read it. Our books must be 
 all good." 
 
 Dick, after a slight grumble, went out. 
 
 Tim sat down to read "Fabiola," after his 
 chores were done. Katie took home "Felix 
 Kent," and Seth rushed home with "Familiar 
 Science." The other books were left in Tim's 
 keeping. 
 
 For the first time in many years, Seth 
 Gudgron's father stayed at home that night, 
 while the boy read aloud explanation after 
 explanation of the things around him. Some 
 experiments were tried. Seth's father learned 
 with amazement of all these new wonders. 
 His mother silently thanked God. 
 
 Katie read aloud the first chapters of "Fab- 
 iola" to three girls, who stayed at home with 
 her, instead of roaming about Poverty Hollow 
 in the dark. 
 
 On the next Monday, Dick Blake brought 
 the money to buy "The Lion of Flanders," 
 which Father Mooney had recommended. Two 
 girls, friends of Katie, added a dollar each, 
 and two other good books were bought.
 
 278 
 
 STORIES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Dick Blake's father dipped into ' ' Fabiola " 
 one night, and became so interested that he 
 stayed up reading it until two o'clock. 
 
 "Mary," he said to his wife, "I think I'll 
 try to be a better Catholic. Surely, what the 
 early Christians were willing to die for, is 
 worth living for." 
 
 "Thank God !" said Mrs. Blake. 
 
 Tim Murphy was happy. As soon as Father 
 Mooney recommended a new book, it was 
 added to the library. In less than two months 
 there were twenty-five books in circulation, 
 and a change was perceptible in the contrib- 
 utors a change which Father Mooney was 
 delighted to see. Tim felt that his plan had 
 succeeded.
 
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