A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 BY 
 
 CATHARINE S. HOLMES. 
 
 CINCINNATI: CRANSTON & CURTS. 
 
 NEW YORK : HUNT & EATON. 
 
 1894.
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 BY CRANSTON & CURTS, 
 
 1894.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 REBELLIOUS EYES, 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 SUSY FIRST, 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 " THE BOY THAT USED TO LIVE HERE," 42 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA 64 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 CANDY AND QUARRELING, 87 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 PROFESSOR WEST'S ENTERTAINMENT, 101 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LITTLE COUSINS, 119 
 
 2229182
 
 4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS 145 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION 166 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MR. PETERSON, 181 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH, 204 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 HELEN AT HOME, .... 223 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM, 242 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING, 269 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 MARGARET COMES, 280 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT, . 295 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES, 320 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 GILBRRTINA'S NOSE, 338
 
 CONTENTS. 5 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 THE TRIADS OF AN EDITOR, 357 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL 377 
 
 CHAPTER XX r. 
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM, 2
 
 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Chapter* J. 
 
 REBELLIOUS EYES. 
 
 11 T^HERE won't be anything at all to do to- 
 
 1 morrow," said Gertrude Winner, as she 
 kissed her mother good-night; "so do you care 
 if I don't get up to breakfast?" 
 
 The poor little thing looked so disconsolate 
 while she stood shading her drooping eyes from 
 the brilliant gaslight, that Mrs. Winner caught 
 her hand and pressed it sympathetically. Ger- 
 tie's dreary face brightened. 
 
 "You may sleep as long to-morrow morning 
 as you possibly can," said her mother. " It will 
 be the very best thing for you. Eyes that give 
 so much trouble must be punished by being shut 
 into the dark." 
 
 Gertrude Winner was ten years old, and 
 
 7
 
 8 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 she liked to go to school. Not that she was an 
 exceptionally fine scholar. It was very seldom 
 that a word passed her in the spelling-class, and 
 she was the only little girl in the seminary who 
 thought English grammar neither dull nor dif- 
 ficult; but when the hour for history arrived, 
 she cowered behind her desk and tried to look 
 small, in hope that the dreaded questions 
 might be addressed to some one else ; and in 
 the arithmetic class her courage failed her alto- 
 gether. If her teacher had permitted it, Gertie 
 would have allowed every example to be solved 
 by her companions, and a cipher to be written 
 after her name. But Miss Pomeroy soon learned 
 to understand the nervous dread which froze 
 this lively little creature into silence at the mere 
 sight of a blackboard, and would answer objec- 
 tions with a smiling but determined, " Try it." 
 Very often a single attempt was enough to prove, 
 to the satisfaction of all beholders, that Gertie 
 had underrated her own ability. It was a sur- 
 prise to herself to see the result following so 
 easily and quickly ; and courage revived, to wither 
 again under a more difficult lesson. 
 
 Notwithstanding the shadow which this 
 hated arithmetic threw over her daily life, Ger- 
 tie liked to go to school, and had even been 
 heard to say that she was sorry when they had 
 a holiday. Unfortunately, holidays came to her
 
 REBELLIOUS EYES. 9 
 
 much more frequently than they came to the 
 average little girl or boy. The cause of this 
 was a pair of soft blue eyes, which looked straight 
 into the eyes of friend or stranger as if they were 
 quite innocent of such wicked deeds as keeping 
 a little girl out of school when she was sensi- 
 ble enough to wish to learn. Perhaps, indeed, 
 they did not believe that the fault was theirs. 
 Gertie was a cruel task-mistress, who was sel- 
 dom willing to let them rest. At morning, at 
 noon, and at twilight, they must be ready to fix 
 themselves upon a printed page, and read over 
 and over again tales of fairies, knights, an.d mon- 
 archs, which the active young brain they were 
 serving already knew well. It may be that these 
 gentle, short-sighted eyes were not so very much 
 to blame after all. Why should they be com- 
 pelled to work harder than the hands and feet of 
 their mistress ? 
 
 Whether the fault was hers or theirs, made 
 no difference in the consequence. Every once 
 in a while all books were clos.ed to Gertie, and 
 needle-work was likewise forbidden. She had 
 neither brother nor sister, and her little friends 
 spent so many of their waking hours in school 
 that they could not spare a great deal of time 
 for her consolation. Just before our story opens, 
 however, her solitude had been interrupted by a 
 brief visit from an uncle, an aunt, and lour
 
 io A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 cousins enough, you may be sure, to change a 
 quiet house into a merry one. Gertie enjoyed 
 that visit with all her heart, and was especially 
 delighted with her Cousin Hilda, whom she 
 had not seen for so long that they had abso- 
 lutely forgotten each other; but her enjoyment 
 lasted only two days, while Mr. Craig was get- 
 ting ready the new home which they had come 
 from the West to inhabit. It was in a village 
 called Hawthorn, a suburb of the city where 
 Gertie lived, and a very pretty place. 
 
 When they left, the house became a great 
 deal lonelier than it would have been if they 
 had never entered it. Gertie was almost mis- 
 erable enough to cry; but I am glad to be able 
 to state, with perfect certainty, that she shed 
 not so much as one tear. She was a brave lit- 
 tle girl, whose cheerfulness was seldom over- 
 come for longer than a very few minutes ; be- 
 sides, the crying would make her eyes ache, and 
 increase her troubles. 
 
 "I shall not get up to-morrow until ten 
 o'clock, anyway," said Gertie, as she jumped 
 into bed. "May be not till twelve. Then I'll 
 dress as slowly as I can, and then it will be 
 'most lunch-time. And after lunch it will soon 
 be two o'clock, and that will be only four hours 
 till dinner time. Yes, I guess I can get through 
 to-morrow, and there 's another day off."
 
 REBELLIOUS EYES. n 
 
 With these comforting reflections, she closed 
 her eyes and was wrapped in a dreamless sleep. 
 A certain mischievous little sunbeam must have 
 heard her planning ; although, if it were hiding 
 in her room, I can not imagine how it concealed 
 itself. For just as soon as it was allowed to ap- 
 pear in the morning air, it made a straight line 
 for Gertie's window, burst through crimson 
 shade and filmy curtain, and leaped upon the 
 helpless white lids which were trying to protect 
 the slumbering eyes beneath. 
 
 Gertie stirred, lifted one arm, and struck it 
 so forcibly against the head-board that she was 
 wide awake in an instant. 
 
 "There! What time is it?" 
 
 A glance at the small, round clock which she 
 had placed on the table near her head, made 
 her sink back disappointed. It was only half 
 past six. 
 
 " Well, I '11 go to sleep again. O, that sun- 
 beam won't let me ! Now," pursued Gertie, 
 opening her eyes and staring into the looking- 
 glass, " what can I get to hang over that window ?' ' 
 
 The mirror made no intelligent reply. It 
 suggested a towel-rack, a fan made of peacock's 
 feathers, and a picture of Undine talking to 
 Hildebrand. Disgusted with such stupidity, 
 Gertie turned her head and tried to divert her 
 thoughts.
 
 12 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "I wouldn't count sheep jumping through a 
 hole in a fence for anything. It is too silly. If 
 I 've got to go to sleep in such a babyish way 
 as that, I won't go at all. I '11 tell myself a 
 story about myself. Now ! I'm sixteen years 
 old, and I 'm a great artist. I 've just painted a 
 picture that is going to be great forever, and be 
 talked about and copied, and a statue made of 
 me. O yes, it's a picture of Hilda. I do think 
 she 's the prettiest girl I ever saw. What 
 long, lovely curls ! My eyes are open again." 
 
 They were squeezed together so tightly that 
 they could not fail to consider themselves pun- 
 ished, and Gertie took up her tale. 
 
 u Hilda is giving a party for me, and I look 
 almost as pretty as she does; for, you see, I've 
 changed a good deal in six years, and besides 
 I 'm dressed so beautifully. O, I have on a blue 
 velvet dress, with a train long enough to reach 
 almost across the room ! Will you stay shut ? 
 And a chain of diamonds in my hair." 
 
 This last sentence was spoken aloud, and in 
 most mournful accents; for Gertie was disheart- 
 ened by the unsuccessful effort to control her 
 perverse eyes. 
 
 " Is there any use to lie here and wear out 
 my nerves making my eyes strong? O, my bad, 
 wicked, precious eyes, how shall I ever be of 
 any account if you are n't willing to get well ?"
 
 REBELLIOUS EYES. 13 
 
 Gertie let herself drop slowly over the side of 
 the bed, and lie for a few minutes on the carpet. 
 Then she dressed with lingering care, making it 
 a rule that every time she crossed the room she 
 would stop long enough before the fire-place to 
 count twenty-five ticks of the loud-voiced little 
 clock. In this way she managed to dispose of 
 considerable time, but nevertheless she was in 
 the dining-room before the family had left the 
 breakfast table. 
 
 " I could n't sleep," announced Gertie, with 
 a smile as radiant as if she were stating a rap- 
 turous fact. It was not in the power of even 
 such grief as hers to obscure the joy of having 
 hot biscuits and stewed tomatoes for breakfast. 
 
 " Poor child ; what a pity !" exclaimed her 
 mother. " You have a dull day before you, I 
 am afraid. Miss Dilworth is here, and I shall 
 have to help her sew if I am to get my work 
 done. She is not certain that she can give me 
 more than two weeks." 
 
 Gertie's countenance gloomed a little. It 
 was never pleasant to have Miss Dilworth in 
 the house, and this time it was more unpleasant 
 than ever before, because she wanted her mother 
 all to herself. But not even for the sake of that 
 dear companionship would she stay in the sew- 
 ing-room. It was so disagreeable to have the 
 seamstress listening to everything she told her
 
 14 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 mother concerning her books or her friends, and 
 then making jokes on the subject for days after- 
 ward. The very worst thing about Miss Dil- 
 worth was her unbridled wit, and the next worst 
 thing was the interest she took in the affairs of 
 other people. 
 
 So Gertie wandered aimlessly into the parlor. 
 It was dimly lighted ; for although the fair Oc- 
 tober day was growing bright without, but little 
 of its sunshine was admitted. The soft twilight 
 of the room suited her eyes, which, although 
 they seldom gave her pain, felt tired and heavy. 
 
 "I'll stay here, and play I'm a fairy," she 
 decided. 
 
 This was the game which the parlor carpet 
 always suggested. It was a beautiful, summer- 
 like carpet. The velvety gray of its ground 
 showed among the manifold hues of the flowers 
 which lay wreathed and scattered upon it as if 
 it were a soft and dreamy mist. In another 
 moment Gertie was part of a wonderful scene, 
 which existed, to be sure, nowhere but in her 
 own imagination, but was none the less attract- 
 ive for that. 
 
 Deep among mountains with grass-covered 
 slopes lay a valley, crowded with flowers of 
 brighter and more varied colors than the tropics 
 ever knew. Alone, but never lonely, lived the 
 fairy owner of this delightful spot; and this
 
 REBELLIOUS EYES. 15 
 
 fairy was known in the every-day world by the 
 name of Gertrude Winner. But none of her 
 friends could follow her to the beautiful home 
 where she talked with butterflies, and was kissed 
 by thornless roses and lilies white and stately. 
 There were many little girls who played with 
 Gertie games of her own invention, and enjoyed 
 them very much ; but they could not understand 
 how she could hear the song of a streamlet 
 which never flowed, or breathe the fragrance of 
 flowers which never grew, just because the par- 
 lor carpet showed designs of violets and roses. 
 
 Through the mild, languid air blew an icy 
 breeze. Had an uninterested observer been pres- 
 ent he would not have felt it, nor remarked that 
 the blossoms drooped and faded under its touch. 
 But Fairy Gertrude saw this very distinctly, and 
 to her the atmosphere grew colder, and the 
 lovely blue sky, which had been smiling sweetly 
 downward, became dark with threatening clouds. 
 
 u It is my enemy, the King of Winterland," 
 she cried, clasping her hands, and leaning past 
 the mantel's silken drapery to look into the cor- 
 ner beyond. " He comes to destroy me !" 
 
 An ancient oil-painting hung in that corner, 
 and answered her agonized glance with a gaze 
 of stern reproof. It was not the King of Win- 
 terland, and did not like to be addressed in such 
 a frivolous manner. It was the portrait of a
 
 1 6 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 soldierly gentleman, who had been a credit to 
 the family long before this insignificant mite of 
 a Gertrude came into existence. 
 
 But Gertie was not thinking of him. 
 
 "Shall I yield to his power? Never, never! 
 I will seek the assistance of my loving friend, 
 the Queen of Summerland. This quiet valley 
 is dear to her, and she spends two months with 
 me every year." 
 
 But just as Fairy Gertrude was about to rush 
 to her powerful ally, a serious obstacle inter- 
 posed. The troops of the Monarch of Winter- 
 land, armed with spears of frost and swords of 
 glittering ice, had already arrived in a whirl- 
 wind, laid the valley waste, and passed by be- 
 fore the fairy could recover from the shock of 
 their attack. It was a law of this fairy's being 
 that she could walk only upon flowers; as she 
 had always lived where the ground was hidden 
 beneath them, the law had hitherto caused her 
 no inconvenience. But what was to be done 
 now? Not only were all her precious plants 
 lying black and lifeless, but every trace of them 
 was hidden by a deep snow, upon which a hard 
 crust had formed with surprising rapidity. 
 
 "Alas !" cried the fairy, swinging her arms in 
 frantic despair. " Must I perish here alone ?" 
 
 Such a shocking fate was altogether unnec- 
 essary, as she almost immediately recollected.
 
 REBEL LIOUS E YES. 1 7 
 
 Two roses, one dark crimson and one snow- 
 white, were fastened in the silver belt which 
 bound her gossamer robe. The blasts of winter 
 had been powerless to injure them. 
 
 "If I'm very careful I can throw down first 
 one, and then another, and make my way to the 
 borders of Summerland," reflected Fairy Ger- 
 trude. u It will be dreadfully slow work, I 
 know ; but it is better than freezing stiff, and 
 never being heard of again." 
 
 She began the wearisome journey without 
 delay. It was very exciting because of its ex- 
 treme danger. If her foot so much as slipped 
 from the silky petals to the surrounding snow, 
 she was lost. The constant stooping to pick up 
 the blossoms, and the effort to balance herself 
 upon one foot, were fatiguing even to an elf. 
 
 "Alas! I am very weary," moaned the lonely 
 traveler. " But hark ! I hear the singing of 
 birds. Can that be Summerland which looks 
 all green and blue in the distance ? Courage, 
 Fairy of the Flowers, you will soon be there !' 
 
 She had reached the home of Summer. Her 
 chilled feet were sinking into its satin-soft turf, 
 and her aching hands were stretched out toward 
 a peach tree in full bloom, when the boughs 
 of the tree swung suddenly forward and changed 
 into a curtained doorway, through which, came 
 the figure of her Uncle Edward Craig.
 
 1 8 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " Why, here 's Gertie !" cried her uncle, 
 stopping just in time to avoid a collision with 
 his startled little niece. " What is going on ? 
 Are you practicing a piece to speak in school?" 
 
 "O no, sir, I 'm not," she answered, ashamed 
 of being discovered in the midst of her play. 
 " I 'm just trying to amuse myself because 
 there's nobody here, and I'm not allowed to 
 read, and I don't know what else to do." 
 
 " That is a sad state of affairs," returned Mr. 
 Craig, drawing her down beside him on what 
 had lately been a bank of violets, but was now 
 a plush-covered sofa. " With me it is just the 
 other way. I have so much to do that I hardly 
 know what to do first." 
 
 " It 's horrid to move," said Gertie, sympa- 
 thetically. " O, Uncle Edward, you can't 
 think how I miss Hilda ! I suppose she knows 
 a lot of new girls, and has forgotten all 
 about me." 
 
 " O no," laughed her uncle. " She has n't 
 made any new acquaintances yet. This is only 
 her second day in Hawthorn. But you do n't 
 think Hilda would forget you so easily, do you ? 
 I heard her wishing, this morning, that Cousin 
 Gertie would move into the house next door." 
 
 "Is it a nice house?" asked Gertie, as 
 quickly as if she contemplated a removal. " Well, 
 we couldn't do that, Uncle Edward. I can't
 
 REBELLIO US E YES. 1 9 
 
 leave my school, and I do n't believe papa would 
 want to move his store. But after you get set- 
 tled, please, please let Hilda come up real often. 
 I suppose not every day perhaps that would 
 be too much for you to spare her but every 
 other day, can 't she ? I 'in so lonely." 
 
 " We will try to arrange so that you can see 
 each other pretty often," he answered, rising to 
 greet his sister. Mrs. Winner was delighted to 
 see him, and anxious to know whether he was 
 comfortably settled in his new home. 
 
 " We manage to get along," he replied. 
 " The carpets are down, and such heavy fur- 
 niture as we brought with us is in place. But 
 we sold a great deal, and I have n't yet entirely 
 supplied the lack. I came up this morning to 
 send down a parlor set." 
 
 "Well, I 'in glad you found time to call," said 
 Mrs. Winner. "If I can do anything to help 
 you, you have only to let me know. I wish 
 you had left Hilda here. Gertie is very lonely, 
 although she tries to be brave. She misses her 
 cousins very much." 
 
 " I '11 take Gertie home with me, if you will 
 let her go." 
 
 "O, mamma!" Gertie burst out eagerly, and 
 stood before her with clasped hands and parted 
 lips, her eyes begging permission to accept her 
 uncle's invitation.
 
 20 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "What! when you are so busy, and have so 
 much to think about? She would only be in 
 the way," objected the lady, smiling regretfully 
 at her daughter ; for she would have been glad 
 to give the patient little creature any pleasure 
 that she might request. 
 
 " Gertie is never in anybody's way ; there is 
 a great difference in people," said her uncle 
 flatteringly. "Just have her ready by the time 
 I have sent off the furniture, and we '11 give 
 Hilda a delightful surprise." 
 
 " Then you will stay to luncheon. We will 
 have it early, if you like, so that you can take 
 the 12.45 train." 
 
 " Well," agreed Mr. Craig, after a little hesi- 
 tation, " I really suppose I can not make much 
 better time. You are a long way from the stores 
 in this part of town, and I have several errands 
 weighing on my mind. So I had better attend 
 to them without delay, and talk to you after- 
 ward, if there is time to spare. Have your hat 
 and sacque on, Gertrude mine. Fortunately 
 the station is near." 
 
 It was well that Gertie was impressed with 
 the necessity of making her preparations before 
 her uncle's return, for he was occupied so long 
 that he could scarcely stay to lunch. Gertie had 
 already eaten her meal, packed her small hand- 
 satchel, and put on her wraps ; and while he
 
 REBELLIO US E YES. 2 1 
 
 drank his tea she stood beside him and kept up 
 an excited chatter. 
 
 " I '11 stay all night, mamma, if you 're sure 
 you won't miss me ; but I '11 be back to-morrow 
 morning without fail. I must, you know. The 
 society meets at two o'clock." 
 
 "What society is that?" asked her uncle, 
 while her mother laughed. 
 
 "The Society of the Merry Gift-makers." 
 Gertie plunged her hand into the pocket of her 
 coat, drew forth her gloves, and began in great 
 haste to put them on. " It meets every Friday 
 afternoon to make Christmas-presents." 
 
 " O, you are beginning early." 
 
 " You would n't say so if you knew the loads 
 of presents I have to make," returned his niece, 
 importantly. "O me! and I can't sew! the 
 doctor won't let me." 
 
 "Poor child!" exclaimed Mr, Craig, looking 
 pityingly at her weary eyes. 
 
 " I guess I can't make any presents but 
 lamp-lighters," sighed Gertie, a whimsical smile 
 flashing over her pale face. "That's all I've 
 done for the last two weeks. I 've made 
 sweet-pea lighters, and calla-leaf lighters, till I 
 can't possibly make any more. I 'm so tired of 
 them that they make me cross. And all the 
 girls say they 're tired of seeing them." 
 
 "They are very pretty things nevertheless,
 
 22 
 
 A TKOUBLESOM&NAME. 
 
 and useful, too," said Mr. Craig, rising and push- 
 ing back his chair. " Never mind, Gertie, your 
 eyes will be all right after awhile, if you don't 
 try to read every new book as fast as it is pub- 
 lished. Say good-bye to your mother ; we must 
 hurry now." 
 
 Gertie was very willing to hurry. She had 
 been trying all day to kill time, and found it a 
 pleasant change to have but few minutes at 
 her disposal. Her little feet skimmed so rap- 
 idly over the brick pavements that she forgot 
 to count how many of her short steps equaled 
 one of her companion's long ones a favorite 
 amusement when she walked with her father. 
 
 The train was in sight when they reached 
 the station. 
 
 " Just the right way to do," declared Gertie, 
 nestling contentedly into a seat, and knocking 
 off some peanut-shells which a former occupant 
 had left behind. " Who wants to get to the sta- 
 tion away ahead of time, and not have anything 
 to read ? I like to do just as we have done, 
 Uncle Edward, do n't you ?" 
 
 Uncle Edward was out of breath ; but as 
 soon as he could speak he agreed with his niece 
 that such rapid walking as theirs, and such a 
 wild rush for a car, were among the delights of 
 existence. He might not have thought so had 
 his companion been other than a pink-cheeked
 
 REBELLIOUS EYES. 23 
 
 child, with a glad gleam in her eyes, and a head 
 that kept bobbing from side to side out of pure 
 happiness. 
 
 The ride was a very pretty one; the track 
 lying, for most of the distance, along the river 
 bank. Rocky cliffs, their crevices filled with 
 fringing plants, rose up close at hand, and across 
 the smooth, steely plain of water were low hills, 
 crowded with brown and golden trees, in the 
 branches of which a faint blue mist lay sleep- 
 ing. Gertie always enjoyed' the motion of the 
 cars, and to-day she would have been pleased to 
 travel for hours, but for her wish to see Cousin 
 Hilda. Even an accommodation-train can not 
 make a ride of six miles a very long one ; so she 
 soon beheld the new brick building which wore 
 the name of Hawthorn. Her uncle sprang from 
 the train, and caught her in his arms, and they 
 started in single file along the narrow brick 
 sidewalk. 
 
 " I hope you are n't easily tired," called Mr. 
 Craig, as he went before her. "It is quite a 
 long way. Watch out for the holes, Gertie ; the 
 sidewalk needs mending." 
 
 Gertie took her steps very carefully ; but the 
 little girl who was coming toward them, appar- 
 ently just out of school, had her eyes upon the 
 new-comers, and forgot the dangers in her path. 
 She carried several books and a slate with a
 
 24 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 twisted red border, under her arm, and her empty 
 school-bag was dragging as it swung from her 
 hand. Right in her way a broken board dropped 
 abruptly to the ground, and plump into the hole 
 which it left went one unheeded little foot. 
 Books and slate flew in various directions, and 
 the latter was broken into bits. The child had 
 fallen on her face, both arms flung stiffly out ; 
 but before Mr. Craig could hasten to her assist- 
 ance she was standing bolt upright, looking at 
 him with a very offended expression. 
 
 "Are you hurt, my dear?" he asked, trying 
 not to smile. It was amusing to see her look as 
 if she had a right to be angry with him because 
 her curiosity had gotten her into trouble. 
 
 "No, not the slightest," answered the little 
 girl, very distinctly, still staring resentfully into 
 his face. 
 
 It was easy to see that she did not desire 
 their sympathy ; so they went on together, and 
 left her alone. 
 
 "She wasn't very polite, was she, uncle?" 
 Gertie asked ; but Mr. Craig laughed and re- 
 plied : 
 
 " She was mortified, Gertie. I am sure she 
 did not mean to be rude. If you ever fell down 
 on the street, you know how glad you would 
 have been to see everybody pass by without no- 
 ticing your fall."
 
 REBELLIO US E YES. 2 5 
 
 "O yes, sir," rejoined Gertie, promptly. "I 
 don't believe I blame that little girl very much ; 
 for if she knew how funny she looked it must 
 have made her feel bad. One day I was going 
 along Federal Street. It was the slipperiest day 
 I almost ever saw ; but I had n't fallen once, nor 
 I shouldn't, either, if the gutter hadn't been 
 frozen over. But right there in front of the ho- 
 tel, down I went flat on my back, uncle ; just 
 think! and my hat jumped off my head and 
 lay down beside me. I got up as quick as I 
 could, and looked all around, for I didn't think 
 I could possibly stand it if anybody was looking 
 at me ; but nobody was near enough. So I went 
 on, and pretty soon I came back the same way 
 O, Uncle Edward Craig that place was all cov- 
 ered with ashes !" 
 
 "Well, my dear?" 
 
 "Don't you see? That meant that some- 
 body had been looking out of the window, and 
 saw me fall," declared Gertie, catching her 
 breath with a sobbing sound. "Hadn't I a 
 right to be mortified then? I'd have rather 
 fallen down over and over again than see that 
 place all sprinkled with ashes to make it safe." 
 
 "Here's the house, Gertie," said Mr. Craig, 
 trying to hide his laughing eyes. " Do n't you 
 think it looks like a pretty comfortable place?" 
 
 They had paused just outside the gate.
 
 26 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Within, a carriage-drive led through the midst 
 of a smooth lawn to a large, plainly-built brick 
 mansion. Neither house nor grounds had as 
 yet lost an unoccupied appearance, but they were 
 spacious and inviting. At an upper window 
 stood Hilda, her face glowing with smiles, and 
 her hand waving a joyful welcome.
 
 Chapter* H. 
 
 SUSY FIRST. 
 
 HILDA was a remarkably pretty child, about 
 a year younger than her cousin Gertie. 
 Her long brown hair was soft and curling, and 
 her great gray eyes glimmered in a way that made 
 one think of moonlight. She had gentle, timid 
 manners, and a face which people generally felt 
 an impulse to kiss. Such a little girl is sure to 
 receive a good deal of petting, and it is well for 
 her when, like Hilda, she thinks it pleasant to 
 be petted, and is not afraid of being thought a 
 baby. Gertie loved her cousin as soon as she 
 saw her, for she was always attracted by the beau- 
 tiful and unusual ; but she loved her still more 
 when she discovered that Hilda liked her plays 
 and thought about things in pretty much her 
 own fashion. Beside Gertie felt at once that 
 Hilda was somebody who would lean upon her 
 and want to be taken care of, and in her opin- 
 
 27
 
 28 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 ion there was nothing so agreeable as taking 
 care of people. 
 
 The two children met in the hall with a vigor- 
 ous embrace. Immediately afterward they sat 
 down upon the stairs, and did not move until 
 Gertie had told all about her lonely morning, and 
 playing fairy in the parlor, and being so glad that 
 Uncle Edward came in and offered to bring her 
 to Hawthorn. Hilda said she had been every 
 bit as lonely, but Gertie' did not see how that 
 could be possible. 
 
 "You've got Ernest to play with, and 
 Blanche and Archer to talk to. I haven't got 
 anybody to-day, for that bothersome Miss Dil- 
 worth won't let me say a word. When I ask 
 mamma a question, she answers it herself. O, it 
 makes me so mad! I look this way at her." 
 Here Gertie knitted her brows, pressed her lips 
 together and drew up her chin, in a way that 
 disfigured her face very much. " But she doesn't 
 see it. O, and Hilda, you can help unpack! It 
 isn't all done yet, is it? Can't I help? 
 
 "O no, it isn't done," answered Hilda; "but 
 it isn't so very much fun. Whenever we open 
 a box to get something out, we find it isn't in 
 there after all; just things that nobody ever 
 thinks of wanting. But it is fun not to have 
 what you always had to have before. There 
 aren't any pillows to our bed Blanche's and
 
 SUSY FIRST. 29 
 
 mine. I had her sacque all rolled up but the 
 buttons hurt my ears and she had her white 
 shawl." 
 
 "All right; I'll use my satchel," said Gertie, 
 eagerly. "And what do you do for dishes, 
 Hilda? Do you have wooden plates?" 
 
 " No ; we 've got dishes enough to get along 
 with. But yesterday we didn't have. Papa 
 couldn't find -some of our boxes; they wen.t to 
 the wrong station, and didn't get here till this 
 morning. One of them hasn't come at all, and 
 Blanche actually cried." 
 
 " Why, has it got her dresses in ?" asked 
 Gertie, in a delightful state of suspense. 
 
 " It is n't that. Her dresses are in a trunk. 
 But O, the loveliest little statue that Mrs. Delp 
 gave her for good-bye ! This was the last box, 
 so it was the only place. Blanche says she'll 
 cry her eyes out if she does n't get that statue, 
 and she does n't know what Mrs-. Delp will 
 think. Do you believe she '11 be mad at her, 
 Gertie, when it isn't her fault?" 
 
 " I do n't know," answered Gertie, doubt- 
 fully. " I hope she won't. What else was in 
 the box, Hilda?" 
 
 " My silver mug," was the doleful reply ; 
 " and Ernest's ' Robinson Crusoe,' and lots of 
 other things. We think of something else all 
 the time."
 
 30 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 At this moment Mr. Craig reappeared. He 
 had put on an old coat a very old one and 
 carried a hammer in his hand, and his appear- 
 ance was so altered that Gertie hardly knew 
 who he was. Behind him came his daughter 
 Blanche, who was sixteen years old, and con- 
 sidered moving intolerably unpleasant. Her 
 burden consisted of two large, fragile vases, and 
 a load of silken scarfs, and her bro^w wore a de- 
 cided frown. 
 
 " Let me help you, Blanche !" cried the 
 eager cousin, rushing at her so unexpectedly 
 that the vases narrowly escaped destruction. 
 
 "Is it you, Gertie ? O, take care ; just 
 wait till I put these things down, and then I '11 
 kiss you ! I 'm ever so glad to see you, you 
 dear child. But you ought to have waited until 
 we get fixed up. This is the most uncomfort- 
 able place I ever saw." 
 
 " O Blanche, I think it 's just too splendid ! 
 If you are tired, you can sit still and rest, and 
 tell me what to do. I 'd like it," proposed 
 Gertie, with sparkling eyes. 
 
 "You wouldn't like it very long," returned 
 Blanche, sinking into a camp-rocker, which 
 stood in the hall, and which already supported 
 two overcoats and a sofa-cushion. " It drives 
 me wild to see things in such confusion." 
 
 The two children looked at her with wonder
 
 SUSY FIRST. 31 
 
 and respect. They thought it a fine thing to be 
 too old to enjoy the pleasing discomforts of 
 moving. Mere child though she was, Hilda 
 could distinctly remember a time when Blanche 
 trundled a hoop and ran races ; yet now she 
 would rather dress up in a tea-gown and do 
 fancy work than live in a house which curtain- 
 less windows flooded with sunshine ; where the 
 kitchen chairs stood in the parlor, and the car- 
 riage-rug lay on the porch, with a strange cat 
 slumbering thereupon. 
 
 " Papa 's going to open the silver-box," 
 shouted a youthful voice beyond a closed door. 
 This door was flung open the next instant, and 
 out rushed a boy of eleven years, whose straight 
 light hair was so short as to be almost invisible, 
 and whose dark-blue eyes were bright with 
 mischief. 
 
 " Hullo, Gertie !" cried her Cousin Ernest, 
 for this was he. " You have just come in time. 
 Lots of fun going on. I wish we 'd never get 
 fixed up at all." And away darted the excited 
 boy, calling over his shoulder : " Better hurry 
 up, Hilda ; silver-box is going to be unpacked." 
 
 " O Gertie, I Ve got to go !" exclaimed 
 Hilda, jumping up with a flushing face. Gertie 
 accompanied her into the dining-room, and 
 Blanche followed with a groan. 
 
 The dining-room \yas the center of action.
 
 32 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Boxes of various size were piled one upon an- 
 other against the walls. Mr. Craig was taking 
 out the screws which held down the lid of a 
 large wooden chest ; his wife was picking up a 
 strange assortment of articles, scattered over 
 the uncarpeted floor by many different hands ; 
 and his eldest son, Archer, held a collar-box to 
 receive each screw as it was drawn out. 
 
 To adult eyes the scene was not particularly 
 attractive, but to Gertie it was fascination itself. 
 Mrs. Craig, whose tired, pale face looked as 
 sweet and pleasant as if work and worry were 
 unknown to its owner, smiled on her as she en- 
 tered, and stepped aside to let the eager chil- 
 dren crowd around the opening receptacle of 
 mysterious treasures. When the lid swung 
 back on its hinges, free at last from the unac- 
 countably numerous screws, there was nothing 
 to be seen of the silverware for which the case 
 had been made. This was hidden beneath a 
 layer of shawls and quilts, upon which books, 
 magazines, sheets of music, photograph-frames, 
 and wall-pockets were distributed, with no eye 
 for orderly arrangement, but a most obvious de- 
 sire to utilize all available space. 
 
 " Now show us your fine secret," demanded 
 Ernest, giving Hilda a contemptuous nudge with 
 his elbow, but looking very curious despite his 
 pretended disdain.
 
 SUSY FIRST. 33 
 
 "What secret?" questioned his mother. 
 
 u Why, she 's been talking ever since we left 
 Chicago about a secret that she's got with Rose. 
 They 've been poking each other and saying, 
 1 Silver-box,' and laughing. It 's a wonder you 
 did n't hear them, mamma. They acted all the 
 time as if they thought everybody was crazy to 
 know what they meant ; and I do n't believe 
 it 's much of a surprise after all." 
 
 Mrs. Craig looked at her youngest daughter 
 with an encouraging smile. She was all ready, 
 as Hilda would have seen if she had met her 
 gaze, to be pleased with any surprise, however 
 trivial, which the child might have prepared for 
 her. But Hilda's appearance was not that of a 
 little girl who has arranged for her mother an 
 agreeable surprise. She looked rather fright- 
 ened. Her eyes were fixed upon the newly- 
 opened box ; her breathing was short, and a hot, 
 pink flush wavered upon her cheeks. 
 
 " Now we 're going to find out, Miss," said 
 Ernest, pushing past his sister. Catching the 
 corner of an old cashmere shawl, he dragged it 
 out of the chest. A crashing fall was the result, 
 and the color left Ernest's face. It was evident 
 that his hasty action had wrought mischief, 
 although the nature of the damage was con- 
 cealed by the soft folds of the wrap. 
 
 " Stand back, Ernest," said his father. 
 3
 
 34 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 The broken article, which Blanche hastened 
 to discover, was a little china vase, a pretty but 
 not costly ornament, valued because it had 
 stood for years upon the sitting-room mantel, 
 and was of convenient size and shape for hold- 
 ing a few loose flowers. 
 
 The accident sobered Ernest for a little 
 while. No one spoke a word of blame, but the 
 face of his elder sister expressed her opinion 
 that such conduct ought not to be tolerated. 
 Mrs. Craig, after she had summoned Rose to 
 gather up the sharp-edged fragments, said pleas- 
 antly : 
 
 "We have been so very fortunate with our 
 moving that we can bear a little loss like this. 
 All the best china is out, and not one piece 
 broken. It is more than I dared to hope." 
 
 Ernest went and stood beside his mother, 
 and Mr. Craig resumed his unpacking. 
 
 "What is this?" he exclaimed, pulling out of 
 a well-filled corner a most doleful figure. 
 
 It was a lank and boneless body, dressed in a 
 red cashmere wrapper. A lace-trimmed cap lay 
 limply about a battered face, upon which the 
 white enamel had cracked and afforded glimpses 
 of dark rubber beneath. Mr. Craig held it aloft 
 the sorrowful form drooping helplessly over his 
 hand and looked at it in g"reat amazement.
 
 FIRST. 35 
 
 " I am sure I put no such thing in," he said, 
 in tones of profound conviction. 
 
 "Upon -my word it is Susy First!" cried 
 Blanche, and became speechless with laughter. 
 
 Hilda had stolen to her father's side, and 
 now laid a timid hand upon the object of so 
 much wondering regard. 
 
 " Please, papa," she said in a trembling voice. 
 Her look made him yield it to her at once, and 
 without farther remark. But Ernest was not so 
 merciful. 
 
 " Ho, that's your secret !" he asserted loudly. 
 " Great secret, now is n't it?" 
 
 " I told her to throw that doll away, mamma," 
 said Blanche, recovering her voice. " You said 
 we must get rid of all old rubbish, and I do n't 
 know anything more rubbishy than Susy First. 
 You deceitful little thing, how did you manage 
 to stick it in there ?" 
 
 But Hilda could not answer. At first she 
 had only been afraid that everybody would laugh 
 at her persistent fondness for this old, wornout 
 favorite ; now all at once she felt that she had 
 really done wrong. Was it possible that in her 
 anxiety to save her doll she had deceived and 
 disobeyed her mother ? Mrs. Craig was watch- 
 ing closely ; when the curly head was slowly 
 lifted, she knew that Hilda's first glance would
 
 36 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 be toward her, and was ready to meet it with a 
 gentle, inviting look. She stretched out her 
 hand, and the mother and daughter silently left 
 the room together. 
 
 " Mamma," said Hilda, then, in a breaking 
 voice, " if I oughtn't, I did n't know it." 
 
 " Mamma is sure of that, dear. But tell me 
 how it all happened." 
 
 So Hilda told her mother that after Blanche 
 had pronounced sentence against poor Susy First, 
 and had argued that if all the dolls were kept 
 after they became aged and disfigured, they 
 would soon crowd the family out of doors. 
 Rose found her in the pantry, crying over her 
 dilapidated darling. Rose had been with Mrs. 
 Craig, first as nurse-maid and then as house- 
 keeper, ever since Blanche was an infant. Each 
 of the children had, in turn, been to her the 
 dearest of living creatures, and Hilda, as the 
 youngest, was still her pet. She pitied the child, 
 and suggested that the doll be slipped slyly 
 into one of the boxes just before the lid was 
 nailed on. 
 
 "She said you wouldn't care if it got fiere 
 without any trouble to anybody," Hilda ended, 
 beseechingly. 
 
 "But, darling," Mrs. Craig said, gravely, "I 
 should have been willing to take some trouble 
 to keep my little girl from grieving. You must
 
 SUSY FIRST. 37 
 
 not think you have done a wicked thing, nor 
 that I am scolding you, Hilda ; but I want you 
 to see that you haven't been just as kind to me 
 as you ought. If you had told me that you 
 loved Susy First too much to part with her, 
 don't you think I would have been willing that 
 you should bring her with you?" 
 
 Hilda nodded tearfully. 
 
 " I know you do," declared her mother, with 
 a kiss. "I know you would not have consented 
 that she should be put in the box if you had 
 not thought so. But you would have felt better 
 all the time, and not have been so worried to- 
 day, if you had told me about it at first, and let 
 me find a place for her. Don't you believe 
 that?" 
 
 4( Yes, mamma, I do." 
 
 "Then we understand each other," said Mrs. 
 Craig, brightly. "You must not grieve any 
 more. But, Hilda dear, one thing I should like 
 you to remember. You did not see all this until 
 I explained it to you, and there are a good many 
 things which a mother must explain to her little 
 daughter. She will not be able to do this if the 
 little daughter keeps all her puzzles and griefs 
 to herself. That is why I wish you to tell them 
 to me. Now I must go back to papa, and I will 
 send Gertie out to you. Do n't you want to 
 show her the summer-house^"
 
 3^ A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Gertie came out rather nervously. 
 
 " O, Hilda," said she, beginning to talk very 
 fast, "I didn't tell you about the little girl that 
 we met when we were coming to your house to- 
 day. Uncle Edward had just said to me that I 
 must be careful, because the sidewalk needed 
 to be mended, when the little girl came along 
 and fell down in front of us. She broke her 
 slate, and she was just as mad ! Uncle Edward 
 said she was mortified." 
 
 Hilda listened with her eyes fastened upon 
 her cousin's face, and a mournful expression of 
 countenance which did not alter in the least. 
 When Gertie ceased speaking, she remained per- 
 fectly silent. 
 
 "Come on," said Gertie, "let's go see the 
 summer-house." 
 
 The children went together across the leaf- 
 strewn lawn to the little green-painted shelter 
 which had struck Hilda at first sight as a charm- 
 ing place to play house in. Tattered morning- 
 glory vines were rattling their dry, brown stems 
 against its latticed sides, and it looked about as 
 much like the pleasant, breezy retreat which it 
 formed on a midsummer afternoon as the two 
 solemn-faced children who entered it looked like 
 the happy sprites they had been half an hour 
 earlier. 
 
 "Have you named it yet?" Gertie asked.
 
 FIRST. 39 
 
 "Named it ?" repeated Hilda, gloomily. " No. 
 Why?" 
 
 " O, I always name everything; it makes it 
 easier to talk about. Let's call it for some 
 place we 'd like to see, and then when we speak 
 of it, it will seem as if we knew all about that 
 place. Suppose we call it Kansas. What do 
 you think?" 
 
 Hilda had no objection. She was not sure 
 that she could remember the name, but it was 
 not worth while to say so. 
 
 " Then when I write to you I can ask how 
 the crops in Kansas are this year, and you can 
 say the 're all dead. That will mean these 
 vines, you know. Hilda, what is that boy 
 doing?" 
 
 She meant the boy in the adjoining place. 
 He was about as large as Ernest, and he had 
 a very round head and exceedingly round, brown 
 eyes. Hilda's attention had been caught by his 
 actions just before Gertie asked her question, 
 and now the two stood, with the brisk October 
 air playing over their uncovered heads, and 
 watched him through the doorway of the sum- 
 mer-house. His blue cap was pushed back 
 from his forehead, and fastened to its front was 
 a smair Japanese lantern. He had been running 
 stiffly and steadily up and down the entire 
 length of the fence which separated the two
 
 40 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 places, and now he stopped short and began 
 puffing and blowing. There could be no doubt 
 that he was at present an imitation of a locomo- 
 tive ; a moment later the ears of the girls were 
 pierced by a prolonged, shrieking sound. The 
 locomotive was blowing its whistle. After this 
 signal it went rapidly on its way, ringing a bell 
 which sounded very much like a human voice 
 repeating the incomprensible monosyllable, 
 "Glarn! Glarn !" 
 
 Out of the next house came a little girl, all 
 dressed for walking. She was a neat and prim 
 little creature, holding her head almost pain- 
 fully erect under its sailor hat ; and as she 
 turned toward them, coming slowly over the 
 lawn, they saw that her face wore a very self- 
 satisfied expression. 
 
 "Hilda," exclaimed Gertie, eagerly, "that's 
 the girl I told about the girl that fell down on 
 the sidewalk." 
 
 " Is it ?" asked Hilda, deeply interested. 
 "The boy won't speak to her." 
 
 "Fred! Fred!" called the little girl, stand- 
 ing close to her brother, who had again stopped 
 his train at a station, and was puffing violently. 
 He paid no more heed to her than an actual 
 steam-engine would pay to any human being 
 who stood beside its track and shouted. The 
 girl touched his arm, and, growing impatient,
 
 FIRST. 41 
 
 even shook it, but he refused to be diverted. 
 The shrill whistle rose up through the air and 
 the train started ; whereupon the determined 
 little girl threw herself directly in its way, and 
 the locomotive found a tongue. 
 
 "Look out," it said; "you'll get run over." 
 
 "Fred Tomlinson," began his sister, very 
 earnestly ; and after that, although she went on 
 speaking, Gertie and Hilda could not hear what 
 she said. But they saw her point in their di- 
 rection ; and the boy looked across the fence 
 and shook his head. 
 
 " Yes, you will," cried the girl, again raising 
 her voice ; " mamma said so." She turned back 
 to the house. The boy followed with apparent 
 reluctance, and both children disappeared 
 through the front door. 
 
 " They 're coming over here," affirmed Gertie. 
 
 " I wonder," said Hilda. 
 
 "Yes, they are," asserted her cousin. 
 " They 're coming to make a call. Now we '11 
 find out what that girl's name is. Her brother 
 is Fred. I think he 's a queer sort of boy, and 
 I guess we'd better go in and tell Ernest."
 
 "THE BOY THAT USED TO LIVE HERE." 
 
 THEY could not find Ernest at first, but he 
 was finally discovered talking over the back 
 fence with a man in a white chip hat. This 
 man had stopped to inquire whether the new 
 occupants of the place wanted either a wood- 
 shed or a chicken-coop. If they desired any 
 such things, he was the builder for them ; and 
 he magnificently offered to stock the coop with 
 fowls of the finest breed. It chanced that Er- 
 nest had been reading a serial story in the chil- 
 dren's department of one of the weekly papers, 
 the hero of which began at the age of twelve to 
 keep chickens, and thus laid the foundation for 
 the most amazing success in life. Notwithstand- 
 ing he gave away beautiful baskets of eggs to 
 every one who patted, him on the head or smiled 
 upon him in the street, he was able in a short 
 space of time to lift the family from poverty 
 42
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 43 
 
 to comfort. Having started both his younger 
 brothers on the same royal road, he departed for 
 college, wearing a heavy gold watch and chain, 
 which a circle of admiring fellow-townsmen 
 had presented him. 
 
 It is not to be wondered at that Ernest's am- 
 bition was aroused. He was not, to be sure, 
 especially anxious to go to college, but he 
 wished earnestly to become the owner of a fine 
 gold watch. Therefore he detained the carpen- 
 ter to make inquiries concerning the price of 
 chickens. The answers were unsatisfactory, and 
 both man and boy were growing tired of the 
 conversation when Gertie and Hilda appeared 
 upon the scene. The information that a boy 
 lived next door, and that Gertie was positive he 
 was coming to call, interested Ernest greatly ; 
 he took off his hat and anxiously smoothed his 
 hair, which was the chief disturber of his hap- 
 piness. It had an irritating habit of standing 
 erect, one little plume above his forehead and 
 one on his crown ; even now, closely as it was 
 shingled, he never felt fit to appear in company 
 unless what hair remained was stiffened flat 
 with a water- soaked brush. 
 
 Accordingly he went back to the house with 
 all speed. The girls followed more slowly, for 
 the way lay through an apple-orchard, and the 
 wide-spreading trees, their branches so wonder-
 
 44 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 fully curved and twisted, delighted Gertie be- 
 yond expression. She wished that summer were 
 not so far away, that she and Hilda might keep 
 house in these airy castles. 
 
 "Each in her own, you know, Hilda," she 
 chattered. " I don't believe we'll care for the 
 summer-house at all. Suppose we choose them 
 now." 
 
 But Hilda, less enthusiastic, replied that she 
 was n't quite warm, and believed she would 
 rather go in. When Ernest, his head feeling 
 very damp and chilly, descended the front stairs, 
 he saw both the girls pressed against the wall, 
 just beyond the open doorway. The two little 
 heads were so close together that Gertie's rip- 
 pling locks flowed over Hilda's darker ringlets. 
 A pair of eager faces looked up at him, and two 
 voices hissed, in a loud, excited whisper: 
 
 " Sh-h! they 're just coming up the steps.'' 
 
 A moment later and the boy Fred stood on 
 the threshold, his sister close behind him. He 
 met Ernest with extended hand. 
 
 " How do you do?" was his polite inquiry. 
 
 " How do you do ?" Ernest hurried to re- 
 spond. " Come into the parlor." 
 
 So they all formed into line and marched in, 
 Ernest first, the strangers following, Gertie next, 
 and Hilda last of all. Two of the yellow 
 wooden chairs, which looked so odd on the beau-
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 45 
 
 tiful new Wilton carpet, stood in the bay-win- 
 dow, and the boys settled themselves upon these 
 with more haste than was exactly polite. When 
 the girls were seated, they were in a straight 
 row, facing the boys across nearly the width of 
 the room. 
 
 Deep silence reigned over the party. Hilda 
 heard Rose call to Blanche, and her voice, 
 though far away, had never seemed so loud. 
 The poor little hostess began to feel very nerv- 
 ous. She looked at the carpet, and then out of 
 the window. Two or three times she was going 
 to say something, but checked herself, because 
 she was afraid it would sound silly. It was 
 quite a relief to hear Gertie's voice. 
 
 " Your name 's P A red," she announced, in 
 clear, ringing tones. As the strange boy offered 
 no denial of this statement, she added, after a 
 brief pause : 
 
 " But I do n't remember your last name." 
 
 " Tomlinson," suggested Fred. He spoke 
 very pleasantly, but seemed to have nothing 
 further to say. 
 
 " My name 's Annie Tomlinson," volunteered 
 his sister. 
 
 " O, it is?" asked Gertie, as if very much 
 surprised. "My name's Gertie Winner, and 
 this is my cousin, Hilda Craig, and this is Ernest 
 Craig."
 
 46 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Don't you live here?" inquired Annie, 
 drawing up her feet to fix them on her chair. 
 
 " No, I live in the city, on Walnut Street. 
 Were you ever there ?" 
 
 Both visitors answered at once. 
 
 " Yes, when the torchlight parade went 
 along." 
 
 " I was n't there then," returned Gertie, to 
 their evident disappointment. " I was away 
 visiting." 
 
 The subject being thus speedily exhausted, 
 the uncomfortable silence resumed its sway. 
 This time it was broken by Annie. She turned 
 so suddenly upon Hilda that the timid little 
 creature started, and demanded abruptly : 
 
 " Are these your parlor chairs ?" 
 
 " They 're our kitchen chairs," Hilda an- 
 swered, and a crimson wave rushed into her 
 cheeks, and overflowed on her brow. " Our 
 parlor furniture has n't come yet ; but I guess 
 it will to-morrow. Papa went to town to see 
 about it." 
 
 "What color is it?" pursued Annie, who 
 seemed greedy for information. 
 
 " It is n't all one color. There 's one blue 
 chair, I know, because Blanche told papa to get 
 it, and she asked him if he^did, and he said yes. 
 And I guess there 's a gold chair, and maybe 
 there 's a red one. Ernest says he hopes so."
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 47 
 
 "O, and a chair all kinds of colors! Hilda, 
 have you got that ?" eagerly inquired Gertie. 
 
 " I do n't know. I guess not." 
 
 " We 've got a new one, and it is prettier 
 than any of the rest. Where other chairs are all 
 red or all blue, it is all colors mixed up, so that 
 you can't see any of them. Mamma says it 
 looks Oriental." 
 
 "What's Oriental?" sounded Ernest's voice 
 from the bay-window. 
 
 " It is something about Persia, or somewhere 
 over there," Gertie answered, feeling that she 
 understood the word, but could not explain it to 
 her own satisfaction. "I know I read it a good 
 deal in a Persian story, but I read it in other 
 places, too." 
 
 "Ho! what do you know about Persia?" 
 called out Fred ; but his discourteous interrup- 
 tion passed unheeded. 
 
 " Our parlor chairs are all red," Annie in- 
 formed the company, " except one white chair 
 that has gold feet and a partly gold back. That 
 is what Cousin Nellie gave mamma for a birth- 
 day present." 
 
 " Next week is my birthday." 
 
 The mention of presents had brought this 
 pleasing fact to Hilda's mind. The dimple in 
 her cheek deepened as she spoke. It was such 
 a happiness to be near this important day.
 
 48 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " I s'pose you '11 be nine years old," ob- 
 served Annie, giving her a comprehensive 
 glance. 
 
 " Yes ; is that how old you are?" 
 
 " I was nine last April. I 'm taller than you 
 are." 
 
 "So you're taller than I am?" remarked 
 Gertie, cheerfully ; " and I 'm ten. But I 
 do 'nt care if I am little." 
 
 "Do you get birthday presents, or have what 
 you like for dinner ?" questioned the young vis- 
 itor. She was feeling more at her ease every 
 minute, and ventured now to pull out the folds 
 of her dress sleeve. It had rolled up under the 
 sleeve of her coat in a manner which made her 
 quite uncomfortable. 
 
 "I do both," answered Hilda, with great 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "O Hilda!" broke in Gertie, with sparkling 
 eyes. " I just believe I '11 come and spend 
 your birthday with you. You want me, do n't 
 yon?" 
 
 " O Gertie, do !" cried Hilda, giving her a 
 joyous hug. Annie saw herself left out of their 
 festive anticipations, and began to feel gloomy. 
 
 By this time the hitherto comparatively 
 silent boys were talking busily. The remarks : 
 " I was eleven in June," and " so was I, on the 
 sixteenth," were audible across the room. Now,
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 49 
 
 iii the pause of the girl's conversation, Fred was 
 heard to say : 
 
 "I don't suppose you could climb that big 
 tree down by the gate." 
 
 "I do .n't suppose you could, either," 
 promptly responded Ernest, with a close imita- 
 tion of the other's contemptuous tones. 
 
 u Well, I never tried," was the prudent re- 
 joinder ; "but the boy that lived here before you 
 came could do it He could slide up that trunk, 
 sir, before you could say a b c. There was n't 
 anything that fellow could n't climb, whether 
 you think so or not. There is n't a tree in 
 Hawthorn but what he 's been up it." 
 
 " Hum," remarked Ernest, as disrespectfully 
 as he could. But Annie began to talk with 
 much animation. 
 
 " O, the boy that used to live here, girls, 
 you ought to have seen him ! His mother said 
 she never had an easy moment when he was 
 out of her sight. Up one tree and down the 
 next I mean both about both of them. And 
 if he was carrying anything, he just dropped it 
 right on the ground ; and one time our dog ran 
 away with his new shoes." 
 
 Hilda and Gertie looked deeply interested, 
 but Ernest remarked, gloomily, " Smart boy," 
 and Fred considered himself insulted. 
 
 " O, very well, maybe you can jump better 
 4
 
 50 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 than he could. Do you know how high our 
 coal-shed is?" 
 
 "No, I don't." 
 
 "Then you come to this other window, and 
 I '11 show you." 
 
 The window flew up with a startling noise, 
 being pushed by two pairs of hands. The boys 
 crowded close together, their heads and shoul- 
 ders thrust through the aperture, and their arms 
 gesticulating outside, while their feet flourished 
 wildly within. A semicircle of girls formed it- 
 self rapidly, just beyond the reach of their heels. 
 
 " There it is, Mr. Ernest," said Fred, taunt- 
 ingly. " It is n't such a little bit of a jump 
 after all, is it ?" 
 
 Ernest measured it with his eye, preserving 
 carefully an appearance of lofty indifference. 
 Then he asked : 
 
 " What 's the name of that fellow that you 
 think was so terribly great?" 
 
 " Stephen Mountjoy. And he was n't the 
 kind of chap that you 're trying to make out, 
 either," cried Fred, excitedly. 
 
 " Well," returned Ernest, delighted with the 
 success of his attempt to irritate his visitor. 
 "I hope he could do something more than jump 
 a wee piece like that." The boys glared at each 
 other for a moment, then drew in their heads 
 and stood upright.
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 51 
 
 " Do yon want to try it ?" 
 
 " Yes; come on." 
 
 The girls were unprepared for the sudden- 
 ness of their determination, and the swiftness 
 with which they proceeded to execute it. Hilda 
 was thrown against Annie, who was knocked 
 against a chair, and struck her elbow violently 
 upon the hard wood. She had rather promi- 
 nent lips, and the discomfort of the accident 
 made them stick out farther than was usual. Her 
 eyebrows descended nearer to her cheeks than 
 you would have thought possible ; she gave a 
 short, angry growl, and then rubbed her elbow 
 in sulky silence. 
 
 "Did I make you get hurt?" asked Hilda, 
 humbly. " I did n't go to do it." 
 
 The meek, troubled expression of her gentle 
 face made Annie feel ashamed. The pain of 
 her bruise was already past. It had been only 
 a slight thing while it lasted, for small trials 
 are most likely to make people cross. Great 
 griefs leave us no strength for anger. She 
 knew that Hilda was not at all responsible for 
 the accident; but she still felt too ill-tempered to 
 say so, and therefore she changed the subject. 
 
 " Your brother will get hurt," said she, very 
 positively. 
 
 "Why, when the other boy could jump?" 
 asked Hilda. She felt uneasy for his safety, yet
 
 52 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 was determined not to allow him to be less re- 
 markable than the celebrated u boy that used to 
 live here." 
 
 "The ground was n't so hard when Stevie 
 jumped. There is n't any grass by our coal- 
 shed, and maybe there 's some boards. If I 
 was you I would n't let him." 
 
 " But he 's gone," wailed Hilda. 
 
 " Let 's run after them," Gertie suggested, 
 not altogether unselfishly, it must be confessed. 
 She was more anxious to see the proof of Ernest's 
 ability than to prevent its taking place. Both 
 her companions agreed at once. They ran off 
 as readily as their brothers had done, although 
 not quite so heedlessly. Through the kitchen 
 window Rose saw them come rushing around 
 the corner of the house, and smiled to see how 
 energetically they were running ; but she did 
 not look after them, nor dream that their excite- 
 ment had any unusual cause. 
 
 By this time the boys had reached the fence 
 which divided the apple-orchard from the 
 grounds of Mr. Tomlinson. Fred flung himself 
 over it in an instant, and Ernest followed almost 
 as nimbly, notwithstanding he was city-bred, 
 and had had little practice in climbing fences. 
 His heart beat hard, and he felt as if in a fever. 
 It is bad "enough if one of your acquaintances 
 claims to be your superior, yet there are many
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 53 
 
 ways in which you may dispute his claim. If 
 he can run faster than you, perhaps he can not 
 run so long without stopping to rest ; and per- 
 haps he is not so sure-footed, but is more apt to 
 stumble. Even if in all these respects he bears 
 off the palm, perhaps he is not bright about his 
 school-work. He may not know that Christo- 
 pher Columbus did not discover the Continent 
 of North America, but only the outlying islands, 
 or he may not be able to spell " hippopotamus." 
 If, however, you can not distance him here, it 
 is possible that his every-day shoes are patched, 
 or that he has never been to New York. There 
 must surely be some circumstance by means of 
 which you can prove yourself as good as he. 
 
 But the case is quite different when, instead 
 of boasting about himself, he boasts about a boy 
 whom you have never seen, and probably never 
 will see. For all you know, this mysterious 
 personage may be able to do all that you can do 
 and much more that you have never dreamed of 
 doing. There is only one way to silence your 
 friend when he discourses about "the boy that 
 used to live here." You must prove your tal- 
 ents by a deed so brilliant that the glimmer of 
 that other boy's accomplishments will fade away 
 forever in its dazzling light. 
 
 Thoughts something like these were hurry- 
 ing Ernest along. He did not stop to consider
 
 54 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 whether he were doing a safe or a wise thing ; 
 he only knew that he would not be sneered at by 
 Fred Tomlinson on account of Stephen Mountjoy. 
 
 "The ladder is down by the stable; help me 
 to bring it up," said Fred, in business-like tones. 
 It was a good deal of a load for the shoulders of 
 two small boys, but one is willing to work hard 
 in a great cause. They planted it unsteadily 
 against the shed, and were just beginning the 
 ascent, when three little girls arrived at the 
 fence near by. 
 
 "Don't go up, Ernest," .shrieked Hilda's 
 voice, its sweet tones shrill with anxiety. 
 "You'll get hurt if you jump. The ground is 
 harder than it was ; Annie says so." 
 
 " O, shut up !" growled Fred. I will do 
 him the justice to say that he did not often 
 speak so rudely to girls. But it is very aggra- 
 vating when your own sister tries to prevent your 
 getting fun out of a new acquaintance. 
 
 Ernest did not trouble himself to reply. 
 Since his mind was fully made up, it was not 
 worth while to waste time in argument. Hilda 
 sent after him several imploring cries, and Ger- 
 tie warned him with the declaration : 
 
 " That '3 the totteriest ladder I ever saw." 
 
 The ladder was certainly swaying, as if it 
 knew what Ernest was about to attempt, and 
 dreaded the consequence. Both boys were
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 55 
 
 upon it, Fred nearest the top, and Ernest close 
 behind him ; and neither of the two altogether 
 liked the ceaseless shivering of their support. 
 Now it became evident that instead of shaking 
 with sympathetic alarm lest the children should 
 get hurt, the ladder was preparing to do its best 
 to hurt them itself. It rocked harder, slipped, 
 and fell crashing to the ground. Fred was just 
 making the last step, and in his terror he sprang 
 to the middle of the roof; but Ernest was less 
 fortunate. He made one desperate effort to jump 
 upward, and dropped helplessly to the ground. 
 
 Such an awful chorus of shrieks went tear- 
 ing up to the cool blue sky that the inmates of 
 both houses hastened to follow the guidance of 
 the sound, and met upon the spot: Mr. Craig 
 was making so much noise with hammer and 
 nails that neither he nor Archer was attracted 
 by the outcry ; but Mrs. Craig was in the kitchen 
 with Rose, and the two flew forth bareheaded, 
 in an agony of alarm. 
 
 When the poor lady reached the fence, she 
 saw Ernest lying motionless upon the ground. 
 His face was white and still, and one arm 
 was outstretched upon the fallen ladder. Some- 
 body flung open a gate, a long distance back, 
 and called to the terrified mother to come that 
 way. It seemed to Mrs. Craig that her feet 
 were heavy and feelingless as lead. They
 
 56 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 moved when she willed it, but O, so slowly, 
 and as if they did not touch the ground ! At 
 last she reached her boy, who lay so wonder- 
 fully still that she doubted whether he lived. 
 
 But when his mother lifted him up, Ernest 
 opened his eyes and looked at her recognizingly. 
 Then, with a heart-rending groan, he closed 
 them again, and one arm dropped limp and 
 powerless at his side. 
 
 " His arm is broken !" cried his mother, sink- 
 ing upon the prostrate ladder, and holding the 
 fainting child upon her knees. "O, Hilda, run 
 for your father ; and Gertie Rose won't some- 
 body please go for a doctor?" 
 
 There was no lack of assistance. One of the 
 strangers wh.om she had seen, but whose presence 
 she had not heeded, sped away in search of a 
 surgeon, and Mrs. Tomlinson, thus strangely 
 introduced, offered all that her house could af- 
 ford, and all that it lay iri her power to ac- 
 complish. 
 
 Hilda soon came back with her father and 
 brother, and poor Ernest, moaning with pain, 
 was carried as tenderly as possible to his own 
 home. It seemed like a long journey ; every 
 step that his bearers took added to his sufferings, 
 and they moved so slowly and cautiously that 
 many minutes passed before they reached the
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 57 
 
 house. He was hardly laid upon a lounge in 
 the library when the doctor was brought in. 
 
 This doctor was a large, firmly-built man, 
 with broad shoulders and a face upon whose 
 plain features the light of a kindly spirit lay 
 like sunshine bn a rocky land. I think the 
 whole family felt better as soon as they saw him. 
 He was sympathetic without being doleful, and 
 cheerful without being coarse. His fingers 
 looked clumsy, but they bandaged Ernest's arm? 
 which was found to be broken at the elbow, with 
 touches so deft and gentle that they seemed to 
 soothe the pain they were obliged to create. Yet 
 not all Dr. Macdonald's carefulness could keep 
 the operation from hurting the poor little pa- 
 tient very much. 
 
 Mrs. Craig sat beside Ernest, supporting 
 him in her embrace. His head lay upon her 
 shoulder, and when the torture was most in- 
 tense, he would try to stifle his cries by press- 
 ing his lips against her neck. By degrees he 
 grew quieter, resting against his mother with 
 closed eyes; and when the doctor rose, pro- 
 nouncing the work of resetting and bandaging 
 complete, they spoke to the child and discovered 
 that he was in a sound sleep. Pain and excite- 
 ment had brought their own relief. He was so 
 exhausted that he could not suffer any more ;
 
 58 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 his breath came softly and easily through his 
 parted lips, but there was still a wrinkle of 
 pain on his forehead, which rest would soon 
 smooth out. 
 
 The doctor went quietly away, with an en- 
 couraging smile for good-bye. Blanche brought 
 shawls and pillows, with which the patient was 
 made comfortable; and the elders returned to 
 their neglected work, leaving Gertie and Hilda 
 to watch his slumbers. 
 
 They sat on the lowest step of the staircase, 
 just beyond the door, which they left partly open. 
 The outside door was now tightly closed, for 
 the sun was setting and the evening air quite 
 chilly; so much so, indeed, that fires had been 
 lighted in several rooms. 
 
 "He's dreadfully hurt, isn't he?" asked 
 Gertie, in a resonant whisper. 
 
 " O, fearfully. Trie doctor says he will have 
 to wear his arm in a sling for four or five weeks. 
 Isn't it such a pity, Gertie? Will he have to 
 lie on the lounge all the time, do you suppose?" 
 
 " Perhaps your papa can carry him up to 
 bed, and then down in the morning," answered 
 Gertie, thoughtfully. "I don't see why not, 
 when he carried him all the way home. O my ! 
 I hope he won't ever climb up a ladder again." 
 
 " He might get Archer to hold it, you know," 
 suggested Hilda; and at the mention of his
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 59 
 
 name her elder brother appeared, stealing in at 
 the back hall door with his shoes in his hand. 
 
 "I thought I'd better take them off," he ex- 
 plained, as soon as he was near enough for his 
 subdued accents to be audible. " How is Er- 
 nest now? Is he asleep still?" 
 
 As less than five minutes had elapsed since 
 Ernest was left alone it is not remarkable that 
 his slumbers were still unbroken. That this 
 was really the case Archer proceeded to assure 
 himself, urging the door stealthily backward, 
 and thrusting in a head over which the fine 
 dark hair rolled and twisted in short, thick 
 curls. 
 
 "Sound as a nut," he asserted, drawing back 
 with an exultant smile. 
 
 Bang! Bang! One after the other Archer's 
 thick-soled shoes slipped from his arm and 
 dropped heavily to the floor. The poor boy 
 immediately dropped after them, and the three 
 children sat immovable, fright stamped upon 
 their countenances. 
 
 In this breathless silence the peaceful breath- 
 ing of the sleeper was distinctly heard. The 
 noise had not disturbed him in the least. 
 
 "You did n't wake him up a bit," said Gertie, 
 for Archer's anxious eyes seemed to be demand- 
 ing such an assertion. " Did you ever see any- 
 body sleep so sound ?"
 
 60 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 The well-meaning but unfortunate youth 
 picked up his shoes and retired, very much re- 
 lieved to find that he had done no michief ; and 
 a question suddenly recurred to Gertie's mind 
 which she had intended to ask several times 
 before. 
 
 " Hilda, why did Blanche call that old doll of 
 yours Susy First?" 
 
 " Why, you see," answered Hilda, hesitat- 
 ingly, "why, you see, I have a liking for the 
 name of Susy, and I Ve named it to a good many 
 of my dolls. This is the one I had when I was 
 a wee little girl; that's why Blanche calls her 
 Susy First." 
 
 "Then there 's Susy Second and Susy Third, 
 just like queens," said Gertie, appreciatively. 
 "That sounds real nice, only I don't see how 
 you can keep on giving the same name over 
 and over again. I call my dolls for people in 
 the books I read, and there's so many lovely, 
 charming names that I can't get dolls fast 
 enough. Sometimes I feel as if I 'd really got 
 to have a new one because I have such a beau- 
 tiful name to give her." 
 
 " Ever and ever so many years ago," said 
 Hilda, " before I could read at all O, I could n't 
 have been very much more than a baby my 
 mamma read me a Sunday-school book. It was 
 ' Little Susy's Six Birthdays,' and I liked it so
 
 THE ROY THAT LIVED HERE. 61 
 
 much that I named my new doll Susy. That is 
 the way it began; and I do n't stop liking Susy 
 somehow, although I 'in such a great deal 
 older." 
 
 " I guess they 're cooking dinner, are n't 
 they?" asked Gertie, a waft of something agree- 
 able diverting her thoughts. " Where are we 
 going to have it, Hilda? The dining-room is 
 full of books." 
 
 " O, we eat in the kitchen now," replied her 
 cousin. "It's lots of fun. Don't you think 
 it 's queer, Gertie, that you like to do things so 
 much sometimes, when you would n't do them 
 always for anything in this world ?" 
 
 Gertie knew this to be a fact, but was quite 
 unable to explain it. 
 
 " Of course, in summer we would not like to 
 eat in the kitchen, because the range would 
 make it too hot." 
 
 u And when you have a cook, where would 
 she go to ?" questioned Hilda. " But we have n't 
 any cook yet ; nobody but Rose, that we know 
 as well as we know ourselves. The woman that 
 cleans has gone home." 
 
 Ernest's voice summoned them now. He 
 had awakened refreshed, it is true, but with an 
 unpleasant sense that he was not well ; and his 
 tones were hoarse and peevish. The. girls were 
 so sorry for him that they bore his fretfulness very
 
 62 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 patiently, and did what they could to cheer him. 
 When Mrs. Craig came in she found them all 
 three in excellent spirits, enjoying a lively con- 
 versation. 
 
 It was not at all necessary, as she soon let 
 them know, for Ernest to lie still all day, and 
 be carried up and down stairs. He could go 
 about as well as usual, except that he could not 
 use the injured arm, and must be careful to 
 protect it from shocks. As soon as he learned 
 this he felt quite recovered, and sprang up so 
 actively that his sister was alarmed. Dinner 
 was ready, so they wound their way through 
 the crowded diniiig-rooin into the kitchen. 
 
 The meal was spread upon a sharp-cornered 
 pine table, much too small to afford ample ac- 
 commodations, although there was not a great 
 deal of variety. The principal dish was an 
 oyster-stew, and the whole family liked this so 
 much that they thought it quite enough in 
 itself. It was served in a block-tin bucket, which, 
 being quite new and highly polished, twinkled 
 in the gas rays as brilliantly as if it had been a 
 silver tureen. The soup-plates had not yet 
 been discovered in the course of unpacking, and 
 a remarkable collection supplied the lack. Some 
 of the assembly took their soup from tea-cups ; 
 one had a yellow bowl, with a border of green 
 and red stripes, and another a delicate, trans-
 
 THE BOY THAT LIVED HERE. 63 
 
 parent dish, which Blanche had decorated with 
 a wreath of lilies of the valley. To Ernest was 
 assigned an aged china sugar-bowl. The chil- 
 dren considered this the most desirable of all ; 
 and by common consent it was yielded to that 
 member of the family who might be regarded 
 as in need of consolation.
 
 Chapter 
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 
 
 ERTIE could not be with Hilda upon her 
 birthday, as the two had planned. She 
 took a severe cold, and her throat became so sore 
 that it was thought best to keep her in the 
 house. This was a severe disappointment to the 
 cousins, who, although they had lived so long 
 without each other, had in a few days become 
 such intimate companions that they were not 
 contented apart. 
 
 Before going to bed on the birthday eve, 
 Gertie laid out not only the dress she would 
 have worn (or the visit, but also her hat and 
 cloak, and even her overshoes. 
 
 " I '11 be all ready," she said, with wide, 
 eager eyes, " so that if I should go, I need n't 
 lose any time. If there should n't be any sore- 
 ness in my throat, and if my neck is n't the 
 least bit stiff, you would be willing for me to 
 
 go, mamma, wouldn't you?" 
 64
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 65 
 
 " Dear," her mother answered, " it would 
 not be honest in me to say that I have any hope 
 of your being well enough to go. Instead of ar- 
 ranging for that, suppose you write Hilda a note, 
 to send with the box of candy you have for her." 
 
 "And ask her to come up?" 
 
 "Yes; she has not yet started to school, and 
 might perhaps stay with you several days." 
 
 Gertie was delighted with the suggestion. A 
 host of brilliant plans almost crowded out her 
 disappointment. She wrote Hilda a letter, al- 
 together too long to be called a note. Writing 
 was never the task to her which it is to many 
 children of her age, and it was particularly easy 
 to write to Hilda. They had so many flimsy 
 little confidences, which they called secrets, al- 
 though the world would have been welcome to 
 hear them had it but cared to listen. Then, 
 there was mention of remarkable titles, which, 
 for their own convenience or amusement, they 
 had bestowed upon their friends and relations. 
 Ernest was referred to as Astolpho, because 
 Gertie had related to Hilda many of her favorite 
 legends of French and English chivalry, and 
 Astolpho's extraordinary faculty for getting him- 
 self hurt had impressed them both, The writer's 
 signature was that of Bradamante, a most war- 
 like and successful maiden, and she addressed 
 her cousin as " darling, beautiful Angelica." 
 
 5
 
 66 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " I send you a box of candy," Gertie wrote. 
 " I did n't make it myself, but I can make choc- 
 olate creams. If you come up the day after your 
 birthday, we '11 make some, and I really believe 
 you '11 like them better than what we buy. At 
 least they don't have good ones in the stores on 
 Pennsylvania Avenue, and sometimes you do n't 
 want to go so far up-town. The only thing is, 
 that you have to be ever so careful or you '11 
 cook it too long, and if you do n't hurry it gets 
 hard before you 're ready. You zvill come, my 
 Angelica, won't you ? The doctor says my sore 
 throat is n't measles, or anything like it." 
 
 The gift and letter were dispatched early 
 in the morning, and their timely arrival found 
 Hilda in an ecstasy of happiness. Her face so- 
 bered when she learned that Gertie could not 
 be with her, but brightened again because of 
 the invitation to visit her cousin in captivity. 
 
 "When your 're very happy," she said to 
 Ernest, who reclined in state, with a many-col- 
 ored Afghan beneath his heels, "it is nice to 
 know that there 's going to be some more hap- 
 piness after this is over. Sometimes, when I 'in 
 having a good time, I wish it was going to be 
 to-morrow instead of to-day." 
 
 Ernest's only reply to this was a dark and 
 dismal groan. Of course he could not be mis- 
 erable all the time, even though his disabled
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 67 
 
 arm was a burden and inconvenience; but he 
 was subject to fits of gloom, which usually at- 
 tacked him when any one else found occasion to 
 be glad. A severe countenance and long-drawn 
 sighs reproached the offender who dared to re- 
 joice. His manner spoke distinctly to those 
 who knew him well, and said: 
 
 "To think of it! My own brother and my 
 own sister laugh and have fun just as if I hadn't 
 a broken arm." 
 
 This was very unreasonable in Ernest, and 
 very provoking too; but the rest of the family 
 tried to remember that it is not so easy to be 
 pleasant when ill or wounded as when well and 
 strong. Hilda had more than once stolen tear- 
 fully from his side when he had repaid her ef- 
 forts for his entertainment with sharp words or 
 sullen looks ; and Archer would leave him 
 abruptly, to cool his hot cheeks by a walk in 
 the open air. 
 
 "I'd be ashamed to get mad at a sick fel- 
 low," this manly boy explained to his mother, 
 " and I 'm 'most afraid I shall if I don't run 
 away for awhile. So if you want anything at 
 the store I '11 go and get it, and after I come 
 back perhaps Ernest would like to play Messen- 
 ger-boy." 
 
 Blanche was made of sterner stuff; she 
 would read aloud or play with him when time
 
 68 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 was not lacking, on condition that he showed 
 proper appreciation of her kindness; if he did 
 not, she gave him a piece of her mind, and left 
 him to himself. 
 
 "He isn't sick," said Blanche. " He can go 
 out of doors when he likes, and turn the house 
 upside-down whenever he can coax in a lot of 
 noisy boys. Besides he is eating all the time, 
 and that does n't look like a poor, suffering in- 
 valid. Everybody humors him too much ; that 
 is the whole trouble, and I at least won't 
 do it." 
 
 It might, at first thought, appear strange 
 that it should be Blanche who uttered these de- 
 cided words ; she being the one of all the family 
 who had experienced least sickness and required 
 most petting when she did not feel well. A lit- 
 tle more patience on her part would have had 
 an excellent effect on Ernest ; he was almost 
 sure to feel ashamed and repentant after the 
 sudden fiery outbursts which grieved his mother 
 and discomfited his sisters. 
 
 The poor fellow wanted to be amused. He 
 was pleased that it was Hilda's birthday, and 
 took great interest in her presents; which she 
 herself thought surpassed anything a girl had 
 ever before received on the ninth anniversary of 
 her birth. From her father there was, as usual, 
 a book ; this was a book-loving family, from the
 
 AN ARR1 VAL FROM A USTRALIA. 69 
 
 oldest to the youngest ; and the new volume 
 was Hawthorne's " Tanglewood Tales." Mrs. 
 Craig had found in one of the city stores a set 
 of dishes that were fairy-like, not only in size, 
 but also in fragility and transparency; and 
 Blanche had embroidered Hilda's initials upon 
 a dwarfish outfit of table linen which prettily 
 seconded her mother's gift. Blanche was a 
 wonder-worker when she had a needle in her 
 hand, and was scarcely less skillful with her 
 paint-brush ; so the beautiful table-cloth and 
 doylies lay in a blue silk case, decorated with a 
 wreath of wild roses. 
 
 Archer's gifts were generally made striking 
 by the original way in which they were pre- 
 sented. The penknife which he had bought 
 for Hilda was wrapped in several sheets of court- 
 plaster and inclosed in a box tightly fastened 
 with strips of the same. 
 
 "You '11 be sure to need it," he said, quietly, 
 when she laughed for amusement ; and so she 
 did. Gertie's letter was handed her soon after- 
 ward, and she would not let slip so excellent 
 an opportunity for putting the little tool to use. 
 One slender blade, bright with danger, flashed 
 into sight from the tortoise-shell handle, and al- 
 most immediately a drop of red blood hung upon 
 a small forefinger. But as the wound was not 
 very painful, it was rather agreeable to have the
 
 70 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 court-plaster cut ; and the patch upon her hand 
 added to her birthday elegance. 
 
 Ernest had commissioned his mother to buy 
 a sheet of paper dolls, and was not above help- 
 ing his sister cut out their remarkable ward- 
 robes ; but as he insisted upon lying on his back 
 while he flourished the scissors he did not do 
 his work very neatly. Hilda trembled for her 
 German countess's bonnets, and Mrs. Craig for 
 her son's eyes. 
 
 It was at lunch-time that the great surprise 
 of the day occurred. They were all gathered 
 about the table when the door-bell rang ; and 
 they did not know how noisily they had been 
 chattering until the unexpected sound warned 
 them that a stranger was near. In the hush 
 which the shock of the discovery dropped 
 upon the group, a footstep became audible in 
 the hall a slow, cautious footstep. Evidently 
 some one was trying to steal upon them with- 
 out warning; but who could it be? 
 
 The door was thrown open with a force 
 which caused it to strike against the wall, and 
 the twelve staring eyes of the astonished family 
 beheld a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a 
 weather-browned face and a merry smile. He 
 stood still upon the threshold, apparently wait- 
 ing for an invitation to enter ; and a flush of 
 embarrassment began to burn on his bronzed
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM A USTRALIA. 7 1 
 
 cheek when he saw only amazement on faces 
 which he had hoped would beam with wel- 
 come. 
 
 Suddenly Blanche sprang from her chair 
 and cried out : 
 
 " Mamma Craig, do n't you know Uncle 
 Gilbert?" 
 
 Mr. Craig upset a glass of water, and Archer 
 jumped up so heedlessly that his chair fell back- 
 ward upon the carpet, but neither of them 
 reached the intruder as soon as Mrs. Craig, who 
 glided noiselessly from her place and lay in the 
 eager arms of her only brother. 
 
 "O, Gilbert!" she said, her eyes overflowing 
 with happy tears, " to think that you should 
 have come upon me so suddenly that I didn't 
 know you! To think that there could be any 
 circumstances under which I should not know 
 you, when I have been waiting and longing for 
 you all these years." 
 
 " I I was beginning to think it was Uncle 
 Gilbert," observed Archer. His eyes were 
 nearly as large and round as Hilda's doll-plates ; 
 and he stood at his uncle's side with his napkin- 
 ring in one hand and a buttered slice of bread 
 in the other. 
 
 " But you did n't think best to mention your 
 suspicion," interposed the sarcastic Blanche, 
 who had resumed her seat and looked quite
 
 72 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 calm and undisturbed. "What praiseworthy 
 reserve! Now I spoke as soon as I thought." 
 
 44 Yes, Blanche may claim to be the first to 
 recognize you," said her radiant mother, lead- 
 ing her brother to the place which had speedily 
 been prepared for him at table. "How did you 
 do it, dear, when he has changed so much ? 
 And you were only a child when he went 
 away." 
 
 u O, I 'in not likely to forget Uncle Gilbert," 
 declared Blanche, with a shrug of her slight 
 shoulders. " I 've had too many good times 
 teasing him. He was the easiest person to 
 tease that ever I saw. I do n't believe he has 
 forgotten or forgiven me, either." 
 
 Uncle Gilbert smiled rather uneasily, and 
 looked at the speaker across a dish of stewed 
 apricots. He saw a thin and self-possessed young 
 lady in a neatly-fitting crimson dress. She had 
 a sharp nose, and straight, heavy, black eye- 
 brows ; her dark hair was braided and coiled 
 very tightly, and a narrow velvet ribbon was 
 bound over the crown of her head. Although 
 she seemed to be on easy terms with him, he 
 did not feel acquainted with her ; yet she 
 vaguely reminded him of an equally thin and 
 sharp-nosed child, who had caused him a great 
 deal of annoyance and perplexity in years that 
 were past.
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 73 
 
 Like many shy and reserved young men, 
 Gilbert Pitcher had always been timid in the 
 company of children. He found them incon- 
 veniently quick to see what was not intended 
 for their eyes, and with a merciless habit of say- 
 ing exactly what one did not wish them to say, 
 and precisely at the time when silence was most 
 desirable. Blanche had been a quick-witted, 
 superficially brilliant child not one whom it 
 was easy to pet and love. Now, as he watched 
 the careless movements of the young lady oppo- 
 site, he traced more and more plainly her like- 
 ness to the little girl he had left when he sailed 
 to Australia eight years before. The very 
 color of her dress reminded him of a red frock, 
 braided in black, worn by her upon the day 
 when she corrected his pronunciation of the 
 word piano, in the presence of some visiting 
 ladies. He had never enjoyed her society after 
 that day. 
 
 Blanche was growing tired of being looked 
 at so earnestly. She turned her unwavering 
 eyes upon him in such a determined manner 
 that his gaze faltered and fell. 
 
 "Have you come home to stay?" she ques- 
 tioned, placidly. 
 
 " My plans do not reach very far into the 
 future," her uncle answered. "I have work 
 enough to do to keep me in this country at least
 
 74 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 a year, although it is not likely to be severe or 
 continuous. I expect to have a good deal of 
 spare time on my hands," he added, smiling at 
 his sister. 
 
 "O, don't go so far away again!" she 
 pleaded. Since his entrance she had scarcely 
 taken her eyes from his face. A flood of tender 
 memories made eating and speaking alike well- 
 nigh impossible; for her brother's abandon- 
 ment of his native land had been preceded by 
 their mother's death, and the breaking up of the 
 old home. Gilbert had never imagined existence 
 without his mother. She was in all his plans. 
 Her death was a blow as unexpected as if he 
 had thought her life could end only with his 
 own. For some years they had dwelt alone to- 
 gether under the roof which had sheltered him 
 from early childhood. After she left him he 
 rented the house and sailed away. No foreign 
 country could be half so strange a place as 
 that familiar town when her form had vanished 
 from its streets. 
 
 "I wish he'd go again and take me with 
 him," volunteered a bluff voice under Mr. 
 Pitcher's elbow. That gentleman started, and 
 turned to look at the boy beside him, over 
 whose noble forehead a short lock of hair was 
 bristling fiercely. 
 
 "Is it possible that this is Ernest?"
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 75 
 
 " That is Ernest, and there is Hilda," said 
 their mother, enjoying his surprise. 
 
 Now the shameful confession must be made 
 that Uncle Gilbert had not noticed Hilda at all. 
 Excuse may be found in the embarrassment 
 which Blanche had caused him. He gazed 
 dreamily at the blushing little face with its en- 
 gaging expression of shy pleasure, and tried to 
 believe that he had never seen it before. 
 k " Hilda? What, the baby ?" 
 
 " Not very much of a baby any longer, are 
 you, dear?" said Mr. Craig. " This is her 
 birthday, Gilbert, and she is nine years old. 
 You are just in time to help her celebrate her 
 anniversary." 
 
 Hilda smiled at her uncle as if she were 
 very glad that he happened to arrive on that 
 particular day ; and he suddenly remembered 
 that deep down in his trunk lay a large and 
 handsome doll, bought during the week which 
 he had spent in London. It was not with any 
 thought of Hilda that the purchase had been 
 made. Why should he spend so much money, 
 and buy so brittle a toy for one whom he recol- 
 lected only as a clear-eyed infant, not able to 
 articulate his name ? No ; he blushed to re- 
 member that he had actually expected to give 
 the doll to Blanche to that very grown-up 
 young lady. It almost took his breath away to
 
 76 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 imagine how offended she would be if he should 
 carry out his intention. 
 
 But it was just the thing for a birthday gift 
 to Hilda. As soon as he thought of it, he was 
 as eager as a child for the arrival of his trunks, 
 for he wanted very much to see the doll in the 
 delicate hands of his youngest niece. There 
 was something about that little girl which at- 
 tracted him more than children were wont to 
 do ; and he was glad to find that, as is fortu- 
 nately often the case, this liking received an 
 immediate return. The bashful man and the 
 timid child were the best of friends before an 
 hour had passed by. Hilda sat on his knee be- 
 side the library window, and Ernest drew a 
 chair close to them ; two prattling tongues were 
 loosed upon the contented stranger. 
 
 "I can show you all my presents without 
 getting down," said Hilda. " There 's my dishes 
 and my doyly-box over on the book-shelves, out- 
 side the glass door ; and my book 's on the 
 lounge, and the paper dolls are on the table. O, 
 but the candy Gertie sent is up-stairs. Do you 
 know Gertie, Uncle Gilbert?" 
 
 " Why, really I 'm afraid I do n't." 
 
 "Never mind," she said, consolingly. "/ 
 did n't know her till two weeks ago ; but I wish 
 I had. I just believe you '11 like her better than
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 77 
 
 anybody else outside your own family, I 
 mean." 
 
 " Shall I like her better than you ?" asked 
 Uncle Gilbert, with a kiss. It was really re- 
 markable how fond of this child he already felt. 
 Perhaps it was partly because she was so pretty, 
 yet surely no one ever had a sweeter face nor 
 gentler manners. 
 
 Hilda laughed shyly. She did not know 
 how to answer this question ; besides it was 
 Ernest's turn to talk. 
 
 " Are you coming to the show to-night, 
 Uncle Gilbert?" he asked. "It is to be in 
 the dining-room no admission except on in- 
 vitation." 
 
 " If anybody will invite me, I shall most cer- 
 tainly be there. What kind of a show is it ? A 
 menagerie ?" 
 
 " O, Uncle Gilbert !" cried Hilda, in a little 
 laughing scream. 
 
 " No, sir ; it is n't. Come on out into the hall 
 and see," said Ernest, carefully picking up his 
 injured arm, as he always did when he remem- 
 bered it. 
 
 Mr. Pitcher took Hilda's hand and followed 
 his nephew, to gaze upon a great white placard 
 which obs?ured the mirror in the hat-rack. A 
 painstaking hand had covered a sheet of fools-
 
 78 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 cap with large black letters : " Professor West's 
 Great Legerdemain Entertainment : at 7-3 
 P. M." 
 
 "Ah, indeed!" said the uncle, when Ernest 
 had read this aloud, and Hilda had repeated it. 
 " That must be a very interesting exhibition. 
 And who is Professor West? A friend of 
 yours?" 
 
 " And yours too," chuckled Ernest. 
 
 "It's Archer, Uncle Gilbert; it's our Ar- 
 cher," declared Hilda, in suppressed tones, jerk- 
 ing his arm to draw his head downward. "O, 
 I want to ask him you '11 wait for me won't 
 you?" And, pausing until her bewildered rel- 
 ative had nodded an assent, she disappeared 
 through the doorway. 
 
 In about half a minute she was back again, 
 flushed and radiant. 
 
 " I wanted to ask him if I might tell you 
 about his name. He said I mustn't let any- 
 body know, but I thought he would n't mind 
 you, and he says of course he does n't. There 
 Professor West! It is part of his own real 
 middle name. You did n't know that, did you ? 
 Archer Westbrook Craig." 
 
 " Do you see ? West West^rc*^," added 
 Ernest, kindly seeking to make the explanation 
 clear. 
 
 " I see. I shall be deeply interested. Do
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 79 
 
 you think Professor West will permit me to be 
 present?" 
 
 " O, he wants you ever so much. Here 
 come your trunks, Uncle Gilbert." 
 
 The arrival broke up the party, and when 
 Hilda next saw her uncle it was half an hour 
 later. She was sitting in a low chair at her 
 mother's side ; the little, brown head rested on 
 Mrs. Craig's knee, and the soft eyes were partly 
 closed. They were not talking ; but the child, 
 while she felt a gentle hand stroking her brow, 
 and wandering lovingly among her ringlets, was 
 experiencing that sweet, uncompreheuded joy 
 which comes occasionally in childhood, and fixes 
 itself in the memory. Years after Hilda would 
 think of that hour, remembering its strange, 
 quiet happiness, and the tender touches on her 
 silky hair. 
 
 Uncle Gilbert came shyly into the room, 
 wearing an expression of mingled expectation 
 and timidity. Through her half-shut eyes Hilda 
 beheld his ruddy face, and thought he looked 
 " queer," before she noticed that he was carry- 
 ing something which rose above his shoulder 
 something white, and gleaming, and beautiful. 
 Then she sat up and gazed, with a fast-beating 
 heart, at the loveliest doll she had ever seen. 
 
 It resembled a little girl about five years old ; 
 eyes like the sky on a summer evening, and
 
 8o A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 cheeks with the pink of a sunset cloud. A cloak 
 of white cashmere, delicately embroidered, hung 
 from her shoulders to her pearly slippers; from 
 a fluffy cap soft, yellow ringlets escaped to stray 
 over her neck, and a heap of tiny curls lay 
 lightly on her forehead beneath a bow of ivory 
 silk. There was a moment of intense silence 
 then this wonderful apparition lay in two slen- 
 der, trembling arms. 
 
 "O, what! Uncle Gilbert? Did you" 
 
 "I thought you weren't too old to care for 
 a doll," said the uncle, rubbing his hands in the 
 greatness of his satisfaction. 
 
 " But is it truly for me ? O, I never saw 
 such lovely curls and such a beautiful cloak! 
 Uncle Gilbert !" 
 
 The doll went softly but suddenly into Mrs. 
 Craig's lap, for Hilda must have both hands 
 free to hang about her uncle's neck. I would 
 not like to be compelled to give a positive opin- 
 ion as to which of these two felt most delight. 
 A child can be so very, very happy ; a rose-glow 
 of gladness can rise suddenly above its horizon, 
 and spread in an instant over all the dark and 
 dingy hues that even in such a youthful life 
 must often appear. But, on the other hand, I 
 am inclined to think that a grown person who 
 dearly loves a little child is fuller of bliss than 
 any child can be.
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 81 
 
 Blanche had been reading by the window ; 
 she came with her finger in her book to learn 
 the cause of so much excitement. I do not 
 know where Ernest had been, but he was on 
 the spot before his more slowly-moving sister. 
 
 "O, the darling, precious, sweet little thing!" 
 cried Blanche, amazing her uncle by falling into 
 an unexpected rapture. He had not imagined 
 that such a self-controlled personage would be- 
 stow more approval upon the toy than could be 
 expressed in a cold word. But that shows how 
 little Mr. Pitcher understood human nature. A 
 girl of sixteen is sure to be capable of a great 
 deal of enthusiasm, even if, as is sometimes the 
 case, she neither shows nor feels it when older 
 people expect to call it forth. 
 
 A pretty doll in a store-window could make 
 Blanche stop in the winter air until her teeth 
 chattered and her feet grew numb. She said 
 quite openly that she did not believe she could 
 ever have laid aside her own playthings if 
 Hilda's had not remained for her consolation. 
 This partiality was of great benefit to the 
 younger sister ; it kept her dolls' wardrobe well 
 supplied. The numerous Susies dressed in the 
 height of style, for Blanche liked to sew for them ; 
 her eyes were quick to see, and her needle ready 
 to follow her will. Having such a capable and 
 willing seamstress always at hand, Hilda felt no 
 
 6
 
 82 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 need to learn to sew, and as a consequence she 
 never had learned. Both her mother and sister 
 were shocked when they remembered her ig- 
 norance ; and she was beginning to feel that 
 the long-threatened lessons could not be much 
 longer delayed. 
 
 " Look at those cunning little hands, almost 
 exactly like a real baby's!" raved the enthusias- 
 tic Miss Craig. " Hilda, I '11 knit you the cutest 
 pair of silk mittens." 
 
 " O yes, Blanche. Blue or pink?" 
 
 " White, child. Nothing else would be half 
 so pretty. But I 've got a lovely piece of sal- 
 mon-colored cashmere that will make her a 
 cloak for every day; this will soil so easily. 
 Uncle Gilbert, you certainly have a great deal 
 of taste, or else the dolls in London are all 
 beauties. Which is the truth ?" 
 
 The bright, saucy smile that gleamed from 
 beneath the girl's dark brows lighted up her 
 plain features and made her much prettier. 
 
 " Such a handsome doll must not be without 
 a name," said Mrs. Craig, " and it seems to me 
 that Uncle Gilbert ought to choose it. What 
 do the rest of you think?" 
 
 " No, no," interposed Mr. Pitcher, fright- 
 ened by the suggestion ; "I do n't know any- 
 thing about dolls. Hilda can think of a pretty 
 name, I am sure. Can't you, Hilda?"
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 83 
 
 The little girl glanced shyly up and nodded. 
 Her lips were just opening when Blanche 
 cried out: 
 
 "Susy, I suppose!" and went into a gale of 
 laughter which seemed to her uncle absolutely 
 without provocation. 
 
 u Ah, pshaw, Hilda !" broke in Ernest, who 
 had been standing aloof, his one unhampered 
 hand thrust into his pocket, " do give us a 
 change. You've got a dozen Susies now, at the 
 least calculation." 
 
 The partial uncle glared at his elder niece, 
 and then at his nephew. The mirth of the one 
 and the disgust of the other, were explained to 
 him by Ernest's last sentence, but by no means 
 made to appear reasonable. If Hilda chose to 
 bestow the same name upon every doll in her 
 possession, what did that signify to any one 
 else? Was it any reason for making her un- 
 happy? The darling's drooping eyelids were 
 heavy with hanging tears. 
 
 Blanche met his indignant look with a tran- 
 quil smile. 
 
 " If I only dared," she began, in sugary ac- 
 cents, " I should like to suggest a pleasing sub- 
 stitute for the somewhat time-worn appellation 
 which my sister threatens to bestow. Why not 
 call the doll Gilbertina, my dear, and pay a very 
 pretty compliment to your benefactor?"
 
 84 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Now I think that is the very thing," de- 
 clared Mrs. Craig. " It is new and striking. 
 I don't believe any of your friends own a Gil- 
 bertina. Besides, it would be ever so nice to 
 name her for your uncle, wouldn't it?" 
 
 " Well," agreed Hilda, faintly. 
 ' "I am sure I am flattered," said Mr. Pitcher, 
 
 V 
 
 with a large smile under his golden-brown mus- 
 tache; " yet I feel that I am assuming a terri- 
 ble responsibility. What are my duties to- 
 ward a namesake, Blanche ?" 
 
 " You must give her a new dress every 
 year," was the laughing reply. 
 
 " And a watch and chain when she's twenty- 
 one," added Ernest. 
 
 Every one was merry excepting Hilda. There 
 was a stiff little smile on her lips, but her 
 eyes were downcast and her face did not look 
 glad. 
 
 " There goes the bell !" shouted Ernest. " It 's 
 Fred and Annie, I guess. They said they were 
 coming in." 
 
 Attempting to leave the room in the heed- 
 less manner to which he had long been accus- 
 tomed, he ran against the partly closed door, 
 and the bandaged arm met the unyielding knob 
 a great deal more hastily than it should have 
 met anything so hard. 
 
 " Ow !" ejaculated the boy, pausing scarcely
 
 AN ARRIVAL FROM AUSTRALIA. 85 
 
 an instant, although the pain was shooting to 
 his finger-tips. It was, to his mind, absolutely 
 necessary that he should reach the head of the 
 staircase before Rose opened the hall-door. 
 
 "Hello, Fred!" cried the voice of one in- 
 visible to young Mr. Tomlinson, as he entered 
 the house. Although his eyes discerned noth- 
 ing of the speaker, he was not taken by sur- 
 prise. He had hung over a balustrade almost 
 every day for years. 
 
 " Yes, it 's they," reported Ernest, hurrying 
 back into the room. u Come on, Hilda ;' Annie's 
 down-stairs." 
 
 u Take Gilbertina," and Blanche gave the 
 smiling, rosy countenance a loving pat, as if 
 she were really reluctant to let it leave her arm. 
 " I '11 look in the piece-bags and make her some 
 things right away." 
 
 " Then you '11 need her, won't you ?" asked 
 Hilda, her hand still hanging at her side. " I '11 
 just let you keep her, Blanche; she might get 
 hurt if I took her down-stairs." 
 
 "Why, they want to see your birthday pres- 
 ents ; that what 's they said they were coming 
 for," Ernest reminded his sister. " And you 'd 
 better hurry down," he added, beginning his 
 clattering descent to the parlor. 
 
 " O, then you must certainly let them see 
 Gilbertina," said Mrs. Craig. " The boys will
 
 86 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 not be rough with such a beautiful creature, I 
 am sure." 
 
 " Yes, do n't be afraid to play with your doll," 
 entreated Uncle Gilbert. " She 's meant for 
 that, and not for show. A toy that is too fine 
 to be played with, ought not to be made, and it 
 never would be sold if everybody thought as 
 I do." 
 
 Gilbertina went slowly out of the room, her 
 creamy cloak flowing over Hilda's white apron. 
 The mother noticed that the child moved re- 
 luctantly, and that the sparkle was gone from 
 her eyes ; but she only thought that Hilda was 
 not in the mood for seeing' visitors, and would 
 have been better pleased if her little friends had 
 staid at home.
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 CANDY AND QUARRELING. 
 
 BUT Mrs. Craig was mistaken. It was no 
 disinclination to society which made the 
 little feet linger on almost every step of the 
 long flight. Although Annie was not always in 
 a pleasant mood, she could be a very agreeable 
 playmate. Moreover, she was the only little 
 girl in Hawthorn with whom Hilda had, as yet, 
 become acquainted ; and children are lonely 
 without companions of their own age. 
 
 Can you guess where the trouble lay? No- 
 where else than in the name which another had 
 chosen for the new doll. Not one of the com- 
 pany which had made merry over Blanche's 
 suggestion had any idea that every smile of 
 theirs pricked into the sensitive little heart 
 which all wished should be perfectly happy, 
 especially on this day. She never doubted that 
 they were making fun of the name ; that by its 
 
 87
 
 88 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 means not only her precious doll, but also her- 
 self, would become a laughing-stock to her 
 friends. 
 
 Perhaps you think she was very silly. Well, 
 children whose years number no more than nine 
 are not often noted for wisdom. A great many 
 little girls may wonder why she did not speak up 
 at once; say that she thought Gilbertina a hid- 
 eous name, and that she could not, for an in- 
 stant, consider its acceptance. People differ 
 very much, even when they are of equal age ; 
 and you will never understand my Hilda if you 
 do not bear in mind that her nature was timid 
 and dependent. For one thing, she lacked con- 
 fidence in herself; for another, she was exceed- 
 ingly careful not to hurt other people's feelings ; 
 and because she had only a child's standard to 
 measure by, she sometimes suffered a good deal 
 of mental distress, which an older person could 
 instantly have relieved. Mrs. Craig was aware 
 of this characteristic you remember how she 
 had spoken to Hilda when the invalid traveler 
 came to light out of the silver box but not 
 even her discerning watchfulness could follow 
 the workings of this odd little mind. 
 
 As soon as Blanche had spoken, and her 
 mother replied, Hilda considered it settled 
 that the doll must be named Gilbertina. She 
 must wear that horrifying polysyllable wherever
 
 CANDY AND QUARRELING. 89 
 
 she went, like a badge which could not fail to 
 draw attention and awaken scorn. It was not 
 only that to decline it would be a rudeness 
 toward her kind uncle, it might also be a grief 
 to her mother, who held him so dear. This is 
 the way it seemed to little Hilda, and the possi- 
 bility that any course of action could give pain 
 to her mother was a reason for deciding against 
 it without an instant's delay. 
 
 Ernest was at the foot of the stairs, waiting 
 very impatiently. 
 
 " Why do n't you walk faster ? You crawl 
 like a snail. I've got all your things here; but I 
 did n't take them in because I knew you 'd want 
 to show them yourself. Did you bring your 
 candy?" 
 
 "No, I forgot; but I can go up and get it 
 after I 've been in. Come on, if you 're ready," 
 and Hilda walked into the parlor as a person 
 with a tormenting tooth might enter a dentist's 
 office. 
 
 " How do you do, Annie? How do you do, 
 Fred?" 
 
 Annie was one of those unfortunate beings 
 who can never quite forget themselves. Such 
 people need our pity, for they miss a great deal 
 of pleasure. Their admiration of everything 
 desirable is mixed with regret because they 
 can not have it for their own. This is not only
 
 90 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 wrong, but also most absurd, as any child can 
 see, who will give it a moment's thought. Sup- 
 pose we might have all that is worth having, 
 what could we possibly do with our splendid 
 possessions? We should have more toys than 
 we could play with ; more books than we could 
 read ; more pictures than we could look at ; 
 more friends than we could visit. Does it not 
 make your head swim to imagine such a state 
 of affairs ? 
 
 Now this poor, jealous Annie had so much 
 curiosity that she could not rest until she had 
 seen her friend's birthday presents ; yet she 
 knew in her foolish little heart that she was 
 going to be unhappy if she found them very 
 nice. So, partly to keep up her spirits, and 
 partly to make an impression on Hilda, she had 
 slipped on her finger a very pretty ring set with 
 a ruby garnet. It was much too large, and she 
 had been forbidden to wear it until she had 
 grown enough to do so with safety ; but, I am 
 sorry to say, this was not the first time that she 
 had taken it slyly from its case. 
 
 " Is that a new doll ?" inquired the young 
 lady visitor, pointing with the jeweled finger. 
 
 " Yes ; my birthday gift from Uncle Gilbert. 
 Do n't you think her slippers are just as sweet 
 as they can be ?" asked Hilda, hurrying to speak 
 of something with which no fault could be
 
 CA ND Y AND Q UARRELINC. 9 1 
 
 found, and failing to catch the sparkle of the 
 very prominent red stone. 
 
 " Who 's Uncle Gilbert ?" asked Annie, with 
 a tolerant smile. 
 
 At this moment Ernestdiverted their thoughts 
 by dropping the greater part of his load, and 
 only saving the box of dishes by means of a 
 wild and most ungraceful leap. Dainty bits of 
 linen fluttered about him like snowflakes. Then, 
 as if by magic, the storm changed to a rain of 
 colored fragments of paper, under which a boy 
 lay groaning on the floor, his mouth drawn in a 
 grimace of pain almost under his left ear. 
 
 " O, Ernest ! O, my things ! O, Ernest, your 
 elbow's going right into my blue silk box!'' 
 screamed Hilda, too frightened about her trea- 
 sures to pity her writhing brother. 
 
 "Take your old box!" shouted the sufferer, 
 abruptly ceasing to groan, and sending the 
 fragile azure case spinning to its owner's feet. 
 " Ain't you ashamed to talk about your old 
 things when your brother 's nearly killed ? 
 Your dishes have broken my arm over again ! 
 I feel as if I 'd like to step on them !" And he 
 glared so ferociously in their direction that Hilda 
 sprang hastily over his recumbent legs to bring 
 the innocent china from the neighborhood of 
 feet so destructively inclined. 
 
 " But I am sorry, Ernest," she said, timidly,
 
 92 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 doubtful what change his mood would next un- 
 dergo. It was a little difficult to know how this 
 variable youth liked to be treated ; that which 
 softened his auger on one occasion might only 
 increase it on the next. " I am, truly, whether 
 you believe it or not." 
 
 " Why did n't you help carry your things, 
 then ?" he demanded, sitting up and sulkily nurs- 
 ing his wounded limb. " You might have 
 known I could n't carry them all when I 've 
 only one arm to do it with. O my, but this 
 does hurt !" he added, as an irritating twinge re- 
 minded him what an ill-used mortal he was. 
 
 All this time Fred had been collecting the 
 scattered treasures, and Gilbertina had been 
 smiling over Hilda's shoulder straight into An- 
 nie's disapproving countenance. It is not in 
 little girl nature to resist such a look from a 
 beautiful doll ; so, almost before she knew it, 
 Annie had her hands on the softly clad shoul- 
 ders and was gently drawing the white figure 
 from Hilda's grasp. 
 
 "Can't I hold her a little while?" 
 
 Her request was granted at once. Ernest 
 was in a chair by this time, quite recovered 
 from his injuries and beginning to be cheerful 
 again. It seemed possible that the visit might 
 turn out pleasantly after all. 
 
 " Did your uncle buy the doll in Australia?''
 
 CANDY AND QUARRELING. 93 
 
 inquired Annie, stroking with soft, admiring 
 touches the lace about the pretty puppet's neck. 
 
 "Rather," sneered Fred. "Annie supposes, 
 Ernest, that Australia is as full of stores as New 
 York. What would you think, miss, of just 
 nothing but hills and fields and the huts that 
 the gold-diggers live in? Didn't know they 
 found gold in Australia, did you ?" 
 
 Here Ernest took up the cudgel of contempt 
 and rushed against him, not from any chivalrous 
 wish to defend a lady, but for the ever-present 
 love of combat. 
 
 " You need n't think you know all about it. 
 My uncle was there eight years, and he did n't 
 dig a grain of gold. He went after seeds or 
 trees or something." 
 
 Hilda looked uncomfortable. Why could n't 
 the boys talk pleasantly, and not spoil her birth- 
 day with their quarrelsome tongues? She had 
 never inquired how Uncle Gilbert occupied him- 
 self during his foreign sojourn, but she usually 
 pictured him sitting upon a rock with kanga- 
 roos hopping over his feet. 
 
 "Let's have some candy," she suggested. 
 
 Not one of her hearers offered even the 
 mildest objection ; on the contrary, their faces 
 betrayed more eagerness than they would have 
 deemed it polite to express in words. The 
 candy effected an instant increase in sociability ;
 
 94 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 the chairs were drawn into such a small circle 
 that there was some knocking together of knees. 
 Fred lifted the lid from the box, and, after a 
 close inspection, pronounced the candy to be 
 Creamer's Best, following this statement with 
 the information that it cost seventy-five cents a 
 pound. Annie then wanted to know how many 
 pieces there were in a pound, and Hilda emptied 
 the box in'o her lap with the intention of 
 counting. She did not count, however, because 
 she could not recollect how many pieces had al- 
 ready been eaten ; but both girls made the firm 
 resolution to number carefully the contents of 
 the next pound-box of candy which came into 
 their hands. 
 
 Conversation flourished splendidly, sweetened 
 by chocolate mysteries and cream-caramels. 
 
 " When are you going to start to school?" 
 inquired Annie. "There's a girl that asks me 
 every day. She knows somebody in Chicago, 
 and she wants to find out if you know her too." 
 
 "I guess I don't," returned Hilda, with a re- 
 gretful shake of the head. "I do n't remember 
 anybody in Chicago that knew anybody here. 
 Tell me something about your school. Have 
 you got a nice teacher?" 
 
 " No, I do n't like him ; he has pets," was 
 the energetic reply; and Fred added, while he 
 stirred the candy with his fingers, in search of
 
 CANDY AND QUARRELING. 95 
 
 another creamed walnut: "You're just right, 
 he has, Ernest. There 's a fellow at school that 
 would n't get half as good marks as I, and he 
 gets a great deal better because he 's Mr. Pe- 
 terson's forty-second cousin." 
 
 " I see you going off some mornings," said 
 Hilda to Annie. "You go over the hill, don't 
 you ? Will you show me the way when I 
 start?" 
 
 u Yes, I will. It 's a short cut, and you go 
 through the yards of two girls that I know. 
 Shall you begin to-morrow ?" 
 
 "No; we 're not going till next week. If it 
 is a nice day I shall go to see my Cousin Gertie 
 to-morrow. She 's got the sore throat, and she 
 sent me this candy because she could n't come." 
 
 " Ho!" suddenly interjected Fred, "she said 
 she lived on Walnut Street, and yet she did n't 
 see the biggest torchlight parade that ever went 
 along. Now, I 'd like to know how that could be." 
 
 "Why, Fred Tomlinson, she said she was 
 away from home!" exclaimed his sister, much 
 shocked by the implied doubt of Gertie's truth- 
 fulness. Fr.ed looked at her with one eye shut, 
 and began to whistle. He had discovered, 
 through frequent experiments, that nothing irri- 
 tated her so much as this incomprehensible an- 
 swer to her reproofs. 
 
 This time she paid no attention to his rude-
 
 96 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 ness, but began to inspect very carefully the 
 embroidery upon Gilbertina's cloak. She was 
 nearsighted, yet she did not need to hold her 
 face quite so close to the work ; her nose almost 
 touched it. When Fred's right eye had stared 
 at her drooping lids for some moments, in the 
 hope of seeing her lift them suddenly, to fling 
 him a stinging glance of indignation, his brain 
 and muscles grew tired. But he felt more than 
 ever inclined to hurt somebody's feelings. When 
 a boy has made up his mind to tease, a single 
 failure is not enough to discourage him. 
 
 All of a sudden Annie's hands were jerked 
 violently apart, and her astonished eyes beheld 
 the helpless Gilbertina riding up and down the 
 room on Fred's shoulder. He was trying, with 
 tolerable success, to behave like an untamed 
 colt ; she was bouncing into the air and back 
 again to her insecure seat, in a manner that set 
 her curls and draperies to flying wildly, and 
 gave her a terrified aspect, very touching to the 
 tender hearts of her admirers. 
 
 Both girls made a frantic rush upon the 
 offender, but he was too quick for them. The 
 attack only served to increase his speed, and Gil- 
 bertina's danger. The mad gallop continued 
 about the room to the tune " Marching Through 
 Georgia," the whistled strains of which were as 
 loud and torturing as the united efforts of two
 
 CANDY AND QUARRELING. 97 
 
 boys could effect. Annie stood still, one hand 
 laid upon the piano, her eyes glowing with 
 anger ; but Hilda had returned to her chair, and 
 sat as still and nearly as white as if she were 
 frozen. 
 
 Poor little Hilda ! While she sat, so pale 
 and silent, she was trying hard to keep her 
 temper. There was a humming in her head ; 
 she was shaking all over. Every minute she 
 expected to see Gilbertina dash downward, and 
 hear the dreadful, smashing sound which would 
 announce the destruction of her dear, beautiful 
 head. It was a severe trial, and, so far, she 
 was bearing it well. 
 
 "Here she is!" shouted the remorseless 
 Fred, stopping his gallop with a jolt, which 
 knocked the unfeeling bisque nose against his 
 more sensitive ear. " Looks as if she earned 
 her living in a museum. What do you call this 
 beauty, Hilda?" 
 
 " Gilbertina," volunteered her brother, see- 
 ing that she did not mean to speak. Then he 
 laughed an ugly, contemptuous laugh, which it 
 would have hurt his mother to hear, and added, 
 with a foolish swagger : 
 
 " We're going to patent it.' r 
 
 " Well, that is a name, I must say," declared 
 Annie, and her tone made Hilda shrink over the 
 arm of her chair. 
 
 7
 
 98 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " Gilbertina, Filbertina !" sang Fred, hold- 
 ing the doll by its dainty, dimpled fingers, and 
 dancing it wildly about the room. The tossing 
 form, with its white cloak blowing like a snowy 
 clond over its head, seemed to Ernest and Annie 
 very ridiculous and amusing. They applauded 
 with screams of laughter. 
 
 " O, Fred Tomlinson, give me back my doll !" 
 
 Hilda did not recognize her own voice. It 
 was thin and sharp, and cut through the air 
 like a steel blade. She sprang upon the tor- 
 menting boy and tore Gilbertina away, as if she 
 had suddenly changed into a small whirlwind. 
 The three merry children were so taken by sur- 
 prise that they could not speak a word. They 
 had a glimpse of a hot, distorted face, under a 
 streaming torrent of tears, and then there was 
 the sound of a great sob as the doll and its 
 owner vanished through the doorway. 
 
 Ernest was the first to recover the use of his 
 tongue. 
 
 " Should n't wonder if she was mad," he re- 
 marked, nodding his head in the direction of his 
 sister's flight. "I didn't know it, did you? 
 Did she hurt your finger?" 
 
 For Fred was supporting one hand upon its 
 mate, and looking at it with a sad countenance. 
 
 " Well, she 's made it bleed," he replied, try- 
 ing to speak like a hero who conceals the pain
 
 CANDY AND QUARRELING. 99 
 
 of a dangerous wound. U I think I had better 
 go home and put some court-plaster on." 
 
 Hilda was flying through the hall and up 
 the stairway to her mother's room. Mrs. Craig 
 sat there with her brother, wandering with him 
 in memory through the summerland of their 
 childhood, sighing now and then fora face which 
 the earth had hidden for years, and smiling al- 
 most as soon with the thought that the dear one 
 was nearer than before. 
 
 Into this peaceful place rushed the weeping, 
 sobbing Hilda, startling her uncle so that he 
 jumped to his feet. His sister flashed him a 
 significant glance ; he understood at once, and 
 went quickly and silently out of the room. Of 
 course a little girl in trouble would like to be 
 alone with her mother. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Craig, the slender, 
 shaking figure already in her arms, " try to stop 
 crying as soon as you can, so that you can tell 
 me what is the matter. I hope my darling has 
 not hurt herself in any way." 
 
 And after that she did not speak again for 
 some minutes, although her heart was anxious. 
 Such stormy, uncontrollable grief was very unlike 
 Hilda, and aroused the fear that a really serious 
 accident had occurred. The child struggled 
 with her sobs. They were growing less violent, 
 and her tears had ceased to flow, when a door
 
 100 .A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 below shut with a bang, stout little boots hur- 
 ried up the stairway, and Ernest bounced into 
 the room. He looked as wild as if he had just 
 escaped the clutches of a witch. He was in 
 such a hurry to speak that his tongue became 
 entangled in the string of words. 
 
 " O ma-ma tn ma !" stuttered he, " you j-just 
 ought to have seen how Hi-ilda behaved." Here 
 he wisely paused and took a long swallow, alter 
 which he was able to proceed more elegantly : 
 "I never saw anything like it. Fred and Annie 
 have gone home, and Annie says she '11 never 
 speak to her again. And Fred says he 's going 
 to tell everybody they need n't spend their 
 money to see wild animals, for he can show 
 them a genuine jungle-tiger any time they '11 
 come to this house." 
 
 "O mamma, do n't let him!" screamed Hilda. 
 "O, I never will again! I didn't mean to! 
 But, please can't you stop him before he does?" 
 
 " Hush, hush, Hilda," entreated Mrs. Craig, 
 for the child's unusual vehemence really fright- 
 ened her. "You may be sure that nobody will 
 pay any attention to Fred if he says such fool- 
 ish things. Lie down on the lounge, and 
 when you feel able you may tell me all about 
 it. Ernest, you had better brush your hair. It 
 will be dinner-time before long, and you are not 
 fit to come to the table."
 
 Chapter* VJ. 
 
 PROFESSOR WEST'S ENTERTAINMENT. 
 
 " I HAVE been such a bad girl, mamma," Hilda 
 1 began, in a trembling voice, her face sunk in 
 the downy, flowered cushion. " He made me so 
 mad that I thought I could n't help it; but now 
 I know I could, because it wasn't right. O, I 
 can't tell you all I did ; I 'm afraid I can't re- 
 member it all. I screamed, and I cried, and I 
 snatched Gilbertina away. What shall I do if 
 they won't forgive me, mamma?" The reddened 
 eyelids shook, and two silent tears slid over the 
 pale cheeks, to be softly caught on mamma's 
 pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " What made you so angry, my dear? It is 
 that which I do not understand. Were you 
 quarreling with Annie?" 
 
 " O no, ma'am, not with Annie," answered 
 Hilda, with some surprise. It is funny how 
 
 101
 
 102 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 often she forgot to explain things to her mother, 
 really expecting her to understand without being 
 told. " It was Fred that snatched Gilbertina 
 out of Annie's lap, and rode her on his shoul- 
 der. I 'm afraid he 's spoiled her hair ; and O, 
 I thought he was going to break her all to 
 pieces ! But, mamma, I tried not to be cross, 
 and presently I did n't want to speak at all. I 
 felt so bad I just wanted to be still and see 
 what happened." 
 
 "Dear child!" said her mother, and kissed 
 her. But Hilda shrank from the caress, feeling 
 that she did not deserve it, and turned her wide, 
 sorrowful eyes upon Mrs. Craig's pitying face. 
 
 "But you know I did get mad, after all." 
 
 " My poor little Hilda ! Go on, and I will 
 listen." 
 
 It was getting harder to speak. Hilda's ex- 
 citement was wearing off, and they were near 
 to a very sore subject. She clasped her hands 
 together. 
 
 u He made fun of her name. Then I screamed 
 before I thought." 
 
 " Did that trouble you more than the fear 
 that she would be broken ? You need not have 
 minded Fred's nonsense, darling ; he was trying 
 to tease." 
 
 Now the tumbled brown head turned rapidly 
 over, and nothing was to be seen of it but a
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. 103 
 
 tangle of bronze ringlets. A sunbeam sprang 
 upon them and drew forth glints of gold. 
 
 " He laughed and Ernest laughed," affirmed 
 a smothered voice. 
 
 For a moment Mrs. Craig did not reply, and 
 this was because she wanted time fos thinking. 
 She had caught a glimpse of the trouble which 
 was disturbing the sensitive young soul, but 
 was inclined to believe herself mistaken. 
 
 "Are you ashamed of Gilbertina's name, 
 Hilda? Would you like it to be changed?" 
 
 "O no, ma'am ; don't change it!" cried Hil- 
 da, bringing her face hastily into view. " Uncle 
 Gilbert would n't like . No, no ; I do n't want 
 it changed ! You do n't think it is an ugly 
 name, do you, mamma?" 
 
 " I think it is very pretty ; but that makes 
 no difference, if you would like something else 
 better," was the smiling answer. 
 
 Mrs. Craig was convinced, by Hilda's earnest 
 refusal to change the name, that her doubts con- 
 cerning it had begun with Fred's teasing. If 
 she had known how the child had looked upon 
 it from the first, she would have insisted that it 
 should be abandoned at once. 
 
 What a foolish Hilda ! She wanted to do 
 right, but she persisted in trying only in her 
 own way. If she had but turned to her mother 
 with the whole truth, her trouble would have
 
 104 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 vanished like a snowflake smitten by sunlight. 
 She would not willingly have told a falsehood 
 nothing could have shocked her more than 
 the suggestion of such a thing but she had 
 touched the shining truth with a careless hand, 
 and its silver radiance was dimmed. 
 
 "Suppose we send for Annie to come over," 
 suggested Mrs. Craig, observing Hilda's dis- 
 quietude, but mistaking its cause. " If you have 
 a little talk together, I think you will very soon 
 forgive and forget." 
 
 " Now? Right now, do you mean? I 'd like 
 to see Annie, but I don't believe she'd come." 
 
 Mrs. Craig saw that the proposal had given 
 her comfort, and at once sent Rose w r ith the in- 
 vitation. A slowly-moving little figure arrived 
 at Mr. Tomlinson's gate on the inside just as 
 the messenger reached it from without. Annie's 
 red hood was pulled so far over her forehead as 
 almost to cover the fringe of straight, dark hair 
 and one of her scarlet-mittened hands made an 
 involuntary movement upward, as if she felt 
 that her face must be hidden. Not only her 
 countenance, but also the way that she carried 
 herself, showed that she felt ashamed. 
 
 "Mamma said Hilda couldn't be feeling 
 well," she began, looking not at Rose, but at 
 the graveled path, "so I thought I'd go back 
 and see if she was sick."
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. 105 
 
 There was embarrassment on both sides 
 when the little girls met. Hilda said, weakly : 
 
 "I'm very sorry, Annie;" and Annie re- 
 plied, twisting the strings of her hood with 
 such force that she pulled one of them off: 
 
 "Are you?" She knew that her response 
 was ungracious, although she had meant it to 
 be quite otherwise ; and when she noticed how 
 troubled her friend looked, she added, with a 
 pleasant smile, "I know;" and Hilda felt her- 
 self forgiven. 
 
 "When will Archer's show begin?" asked 
 Annie, after the reconciled playmates had ex- 
 changed friendly glances for two silent minutes. 
 
 "At half-past seven ; but if the dining-room 
 is cleaned out soon enough, then it will be 
 earlier. I think you had better come over right 
 after dinner, so you '11 be sure to be in time." 
 
 "Well, we will," promised Annie, rising and 
 whipping the air with the detached hood-ribbon. 
 " So I '11 go home now, for it 's 'most dinner- 
 time." 
 
 Before an hour had passed away, she was 
 back again, accompanied by her brother. Three 
 excited children burst into the hall through as 
 many doors to receive them.. Archer came from 
 the dining-room, and the noise of sweeping fol- 
 lowed him out. 
 
 " Rose is hurrying up Emma," he reported.
 
 106 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " She says the room will be ready in five min- 
 utes. I'm going up-stairs to get fixed. Ernest, 
 you tell all the folks, won't you? They 'd bet- 
 ter be right here when the door opens." 
 
 In response to an urgent summons the en- 
 tire household gathered in the hall ; less rapidly, 
 however, than the manager of the evening's en- 
 tertainment thought becoming. He held the 
 door slightly ajar, and refused to admit any one 
 until the assemblage was complete. Then, with 
 majestic grace, he flung the portal wide, and 
 marched slowly to the far end of the room. 
 
 Professor West was now seen to be tastefully 
 attired in a blue dressing-gown and a crimson 
 velvet smoking-cap with waving golden tassel. 
 He stood in front of the sideboard and beside 
 the dining-table, reduced to its smallest dimen- 
 sions, and supporting a large pasteboard box, a 
 glass tumbler, and a white plate. The profound 
 silence and dignified aspect of the magician 
 hushed the merriment of the guests, and they 
 took their places very quietly. Every invitation 
 had been honored ; even Emma, the colored 
 cook, who had been with them only two days, 
 was there. She had pulled her chair apart from 
 the others, and was eying Archer's preparations 
 with a solemnity which suggested disapproval. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," began the profes- 
 sor, in a voice not altogether steady, " I have
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. 107 
 
 upon the table a box full of bran, from which I 
 propose to fill this now empty tumbler. Simple 
 bran, you observe," he went on, dipping the 
 glass several times into the box, and pouring 
 back what he had taken up, that the audi- 
 ence might assure themselves of his honesty. 
 " Now, I set the tumbler upon the table. Do 
 you see that it is filled with the bran ?" 
 
 " Yes," chorused four shrill voices. 
 
 "Very good. I now throw over it my pocket- 
 handkerchief. Keep your eyes fixed upon me, 
 if you please, that you may be quite certain I 
 do not deceive you. When I covered the 
 glass with my handkerchief it was full, was it 
 not?" 
 
 "Yes sir; it certainly was." 
 
 The answer came from Uncle Gilbert, who 
 was certainly not the least interested spectator. 
 He was bending forward over Hilda's shoulder, 
 and his large, wind-battered face was round with 
 smiles. Archer drew the handkerchief aside 
 with a quick, unexpected movement. 
 
 " Indeed, to me the tumbler appears quite 
 empty." 
 
 There was a shout of surprise. Not a parti- 
 cle of bran remained in the glass, through which 
 showed the wine-red hue of the table-cover. 
 None had fallen upon the cloth. How could a 
 handkerchief, lying lightly over the top of a
 
 io8 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 tumbler, suck up the whole of its dry contents, 
 and hold them invisible in its threads ? 
 
 " Well done, my boy !" cried Uncle Gilbert, 
 applauding with hands as well as voice. Hilda's 
 repeated pleadings, " But how did you? Archer 
 do tell us how you did it, won't you, Arch?" 
 fluttered forth unheeded. The professor's face 
 was flushed with triumph. His first effort had 
 met with unqualified success. 
 
 "You will now be permitted to observe the 
 marvelous operation of the Mysterious Tele- 
 graph," he announced, pushing his cap farther 
 back upon his head, thrusting his hands into his 
 pockets, and immediately drawing them out 
 again. " I see in the audience a gentleman lately 
 returned from Australia. He is sure to have 
 plenty of gold and silver about him, and I will 
 there'ore ask him to lend me a dime." 
 
 Uncle Gilbert laughed until he was purple in 
 the face, and tumbled against Blanche in the 
 effort to get out his purse. 
 
 "Put your mark upon it," directed the pro- 
 fessor, who was leaning back against the side- 
 board in the repose of conscious power. " Now, 
 Blanche, if you '11 lend me your handkerchief 
 I '11 roll the coin up without looking at it." 
 
 "And then what?" gasped Annie, almost 
 breathless with interest. Professor West did 
 not seem to hear her. Such a great man could
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. 109 
 
 not allow himself to be interrupted by the un- 
 timely queries of a little girl. Blanche shook 
 out the crepe lisse niching in her sleeves, some- 
 what wrinkled by Uncle Gilbert's inconveniently 
 prominent elbow, and smilingly produced a 
 transparent white handkerchief. 
 
 " I 'in assistant !" cried Fred, jiftnping from 
 his chair, and receiving the coin and handker- 
 chief with a bow, which awakened the envy of 
 Ernest, and the admiration of the other chil- 
 dren. Professor West looked his approval, 
 rapidly rolled the handkerchief into a wad, and 
 ordered that it be returned to its owner. Then 
 he drew a ball of scarlet yarn from his pocket 
 and dropped it into the tumbler. 
 
 "Here, Fred," said he, the shining of his 
 eyes showing how much he was excited, " take 
 the loose end of this yarn, and hold it still until 
 I tell you what to do next. Now, Blanche, will 
 you please shake the coin out of your handker- 
 chiel?" 
 
 Annie's head obstructed Hilda's view, and 
 Hilda's. curls bothered Annie. Ernest tramped 
 on Uncle Gilbert's toes, and Uncle Gilbert 
 leaned too heavily on Ernest's broken arm. All 
 this was because everybody was so eager to see 
 the silver dime fall from Blanche's pocket- 
 handkerchief. But, although Blanche did her 
 best to gratify them, they saw nothing of the
 
 1 10 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 sort. The square of embroidered lawn was un- 
 folded before their eyes, shaken and reshaken in 
 the air, but no shining little circle fell from it, 
 and no tinkle or thud, however faint, greeted 
 their expectant ears. 
 
 " It has fallen into the plaits of your dress, 
 Blanche," said her mother. 
 
 But though the dress was as thoroughly 
 shaken as the handkerchief had been, the bit of 
 silver was not brought to light. Uncle Gilbert 
 actually dropped upon his hands and knees in 
 hope of finding the coin on the carpet. The 
 entire audience was excited. Professor West 
 alone looked placid and unamazed. 
 
 "It isn't there," said he. 
 
 The universal expression of countenance be- 
 gan to change from astonishment to sheepiness. 
 Mr. Craig was the only one who retained suf- 
 ficient buoyancy to respond: 
 
 " So it appears." 
 
 "By the Mysterious Telegraph it has passed 
 to the center of that ball of yarn," proceeded 
 the professor. "Unwind it, Fred." 
 
 Fred obeyed him ; and the younger portion 
 of the audience, carried away by the rapturous 
 interest of the moment, made simultaneously a 
 rush for the table, and crowded around him 
 much more closely than he thought pleasant. 
 
 "Ho, it isn't there!" cried Ernest, laying
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. in 
 
 his bandaged arm against the tumbler. This 
 was to insure his position. No one dared to 
 treat that arm in a manner deliberately rough. 
 
 "Is it there, really, Archer?" asked Hilda, 
 turning her pink face appealingly toward the 
 magnificent magician. 
 
 Tinkle, tinkle ! Something hard struck 
 against the glass, and Fred dropped the wool in 
 delighted surprise. 
 
 "It is! it is!" shouted he; and the two 
 little girls immediately became a chorus, and 
 echoed his exclamation in piercing tones. 
 
 "Give it to Uncle Gilbert I mean, return 
 the coin to the obliging gentleman whose prop- 
 erty it is," commanded Fred's superior. " Now 
 please examine it carefully, sir. Do you find it 
 identical with the one which you handed me, 
 and which you marked?" 
 
 " O, so I did mark it, to be sure," recol- 
 lected Mr. Pitcher, screwing up his eyes for a 
 searching gaze. " Indeed it is no other than 
 my own. There 's the dollar mark, as plain as 
 a pipestem, that I scratched on it with my pen- 
 knife. See, Blanche." 
 
 "What?" demanded Ernest, incredulously, 
 
 cautiously bestowing the usefully useless arm 
 
 upon his uncle's shoulder. "Not really the one 
 
 that he wrapped up in Blanche's handker- 
 
 chief?"
 
 112 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " To the best of my knowledge, the very 
 same," replied his uncle; smiling. " Professor 
 West, I congratulate you. You have talents 
 which ought to be displayed to the world." 
 
 And then he carefully returned to Ernest 
 the inconvenient loan of his arm, and leaned 
 back in his chair, beaming with contentment. 
 
 "But is he a real true magician, Uncle Gil- 
 bert? Is he, mamma? Is Archer?" cried Hilda, 
 bewildered by the amazing power which her 
 brother had exercised, and not certain what she 
 ought to believe. 
 
 "I make no pretensions to magic," said the 
 honest conjuror, letting his friendly glance rest 
 for a moment on Hilda, in its roving around the 
 room. "What I do is mere sleight-of-hand. Any- 
 body could learn as much or, may be not just 
 anybody, " he corrected himself, determined that 
 modesty should not prevent his speaking the 
 exact truth; "but a good many other people 
 could if they choose." 
 
 This straightforward statement was ap- 
 plauded by the gentleman from Australia. 
 
 " Here is a small china doll," said Professor 
 West, undoing a twist of brown paper and hold- 
 ing up the toy as he mentioned it. Hilda stood 
 on tiptoe, but sank back into her chair when 
 Annie pulled her sleeve. 
 
 " He bought it at Lanahan's store," she de--
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. 113 
 
 clared, in a buzzing whisper. " I saw them 
 there just the other day." 
 
 "And what, Professor West, do you propose 
 to accomplish with the doll?" inquired Mr. 
 Pitcher, who was enjoying himself very much. 
 
 "If the gentleman will kindly excuse me for 
 saying so," returned the vivacious professor, " I 
 should prefer him to find that out for himself." 
 Whereupon the uncle and nephew united in a 
 hearty laugh. 
 
 Suddenly the professor's brow clouded ; his 
 face took on a watchful and perplexed expres- 
 sion. He stooped to the floor, drew the palm of 
 his hand aimlessly over the table-cover, then 
 stood erect and stared dubiously at the audience. 
 
 " Why, where can that doll be ? I had it a 
 moment ago." 
 
 " Have you lost it?" 
 
 "It was right here, and now it is gone. I 
 see," said Professor West, severely, "that I am 
 not the only artist in the room. Some one else 
 understands sleight-of-hand and has stolen the 
 doll away. It is of no great value, but that 
 was n't the sort of thing to do. Will you please 
 give it back ?" 
 
 Silence was the only reply. The children 
 looked from one to another of the company and 
 then at the stern face of the professor, who, 
 such was the gravity and majesty of his de- 
 
 8
 
 114 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 meaner, really seemed to have ceased to be 
 fourteen-years-old Archer Craig, and become a 
 powerful and irritated stranger. 
 
 "Please oblige me," he urged. "The toy 
 is really not worth stealing. You can buy one 
 just like it for five cents." 
 
 "Why, Archer," broke forth Fred, "I don't 
 believe anybody here took it. Now, honest, 
 I do n't. They could n't take it that way if they 
 wanted to. Are you sure you didn't lose it un- 
 der the sideboard?" 
 
 "Young man," said Professor West, with an 
 attempt at a ferocious glare which was a total 
 failure and set him to blinking wildly, "you 
 talk like a person who is trying to conceal his 
 guilt. I am obliged to ask you to let me ex- 
 amine your pockets." 
 
 A storm of applause from the grown people 
 brought a dark flush of pride to Archer's cheek, 
 and overwhelmed his juniors with surprise. 
 Fred's face reddened also, and grew rather sul- 
 len, but he manfully stood his ground. 
 
 " I do n't care if you do look in my pockets. 
 You can turn them inside out, if you want to. 
 As if I 'd steal a baby doll !" 
 
 The noble scorn expressed in this speech 
 caused a second round of applause, and brought 
 a hearty " Hurrah for you, Fred !" from Mr. 
 Craig. Fred, still bewildered, but understand-
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. 115' 
 
 ing well enough that he was by no means an ob- 
 ject of derision, held his arms stiffly upward and 
 fixed a haughty stare upon his accuser. 
 
 " Your character is cleared from all suspi- 
 cion," solemnly declared Professor West, after 
 scratching his hand on a nail in one of his vic- 
 tim's pockets. " It gives me pleasure to feel 
 that you are, as I have always maintained, an 
 honor to the neighborhood. Allow me to beg 
 your pardon." 
 
 He made a stiff little bow, which Fred an- 
 swered with one which he tried to make as 
 formal. 
 
 " But it must be clear to you all," proceeded 
 the professor, "that I can not allow the matter 
 to rest where it is. Fred Tomlinson has n't 
 stolen the doll that is certain ; but that does n't 
 prove that every one else is innocent. You 've 
 all got to be examined; and I '11 begin with you, 
 sir," said he, pouncing upon Ernest, who invol- 
 untarily thrust out his protector, the bandaged 
 arm. 
 
 Amid much hilarity the search proceeded. 
 The little girls were at first inclined to be 
 frightened, but soon decided that, as everybody 
 was so merry, the whole thing must be a splen- 
 did joke, and joined in the laughter without 
 questioning what it was about. The examina- 
 tion was too brief to be thorough ; indeed, there
 
 n6 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 was one person in the room whose pocket the 
 apparently relentless professor did not touch. 
 He contented himself with squeezing her hand 
 and bringing his mouth close enough to her ear 
 to whisper, "Dear mamma!" then went on as 
 contentedly as if his self-appointed task had 
 been conscientiously performed. 
 
 " Every one has been examined now except 
 Emma," said the professor, starting toward her 
 across a vacant space. Emma had risen, and 
 was standing with her arms thrown over the 
 back of her chair. A gleam of fright came into 
 her eyes, which only her mistress observed. 
 
 "It is nothing but a joke, Emma; never 
 mind," said Mrs. Craig, encouragingly. The girl 
 still seemed anxious, and regarded Archer with 
 suspicion. A moment later a violent shudder 
 shook her frame. The triumphant boy was hold- 
 ing the doll above her head, and loudly de- 
 claring that he had drawn it from her pocket. 
 
 " Why, Emma," cried Rose, laughing heart- 
 ily; "did I ever think that of you?" Emma 
 tried to speak, but fright stiffened her tongue 
 and closed her lips. The children surrounded 
 her with shouts, so excited as to be, for the 
 time, beyond their parents' control. She stood 
 for a moment like a hunted creature at bay, 
 then suddenly burst away from them through
 
 THE ENTERTAINMENT. 117 
 
 the door. A hush dropped upon the room she 
 had deserted. 
 
 " O Archer," said Rose, grown suddenly grave, 
 " I do n't believe you ought to have done that 
 indeed I do n't. As sure as you live, Emma is 
 crying." 
 
 "Is she?" cried the professor, instantly trans- 
 formed into a pale and conscience-stricken boy. 
 "O mamma, do tell me what to do! I didn't 
 mean to make her feel bad. Rose, I wish I had 
 hid the doll in your pocket; you wouldn't have 
 cared, would you?" 
 
 "If I go to her, maybe I can make her see 
 that you were just in fun," said good-natured 
 Rose. 
 
 But this was not, by any means, an easy thing 
 to do. Emma was seated beside the kitchen 
 table, her face hidden upon her folded arms. 
 When Rose spoke to her she lifted her head ; 
 she had stopped crying, but she looked much 
 disturbed. 
 
 " Miss Rose," said she, with quiet earnest- 
 ness, "sure enough, I don't know how it come 
 in my pocket." 
 
 " Master Archer put it there himself, Emma. 
 He only did it for a joke. No one thought for a 
 moment that you would steal." 
 
 Emma's eyes rolled incredulously.
 
 Il8 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "He couldn't have put it there, Miss Rose. 
 He was away 't other end of the room." 
 
 "But I had two dolls, Emma; don't you un- 
 derstand?" broke in Archer, peering anxiously 
 over Rose's shoulder. " That one was in your 
 pocket 'most as soon as you came into the room." 
 
 It could be read upon Emma's countenance 
 that she began at last to understand the real 
 state of affairs. She looked at the gayly-dressed 
 professor in sober silence, then rose and took 
 down her hat and cloak from their hook behind 
 the door. She never spent the night at Mrs. 
 Craig's, for she and her mother had a comfort- 
 able home about a quarter of a mile away, in 
 what the old colored woman called " a blue cot- 
 tage shanty."
 
 YJJ. 
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 
 
 WHEN Hilda's eyelids began to draw apart 
 the next morning, in answer to Blanche's 
 repeated call, the thought, " I 'm going to 
 Gertie's to-day," had sole possession of her 
 mind. It was there as soon as she woke, just 
 as if it had busied her brain all night, yet for 
 hours she had been too sound asleep to be con- 
 scious of any thoughts at all. Now, just as she 
 was ready to spring from her bed, eager to pre- 
 pare for her short journey, a sound struck upon 
 her ear which made her bright eyes darken. 
 She lay back upon her pillow and listened. 
 Rain was falling upon the roof, and springing 
 from eaves and window-sills. It was neither a 
 light, drizzling rain which might pass away 
 with the morning mists, nor a vehement, rat- 
 tling shower which would be likely to exhaust 
 
 119
 
 120 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 its strength before long, and leave a clear day 
 behind it, but a steady downpour, loud only 
 because there was so much of it the kind of a 
 rain that we welcome if we wish an uninter- 
 rupted morning for indoor work. 
 
 " Blanche," said Hilda, in a weak voice, with 
 a fluttering sigh between her words, u it 's 
 raining." 
 
 Blanche was crossing and recrossing the room 
 while she braided her dusky locks. This al- 
 ways had to be very tightly done, because she 
 said she felt nervous if there was the least bit 
 of looseness about her hair; and the work 
 aroused so much energy that she could not keep 
 still, but walked from door to window and back 
 again, until three shining plaits were finished 
 in faultless style. 
 
 "Well, I should think it was," she retorted, 
 stopping in front of the looking-glass. " That 
 need n't surprise you nor anybody else that has 
 lived here this fall. I have seen as much rain 
 in the last month as I 've seen in any three be- 
 fore." 
 
 " But will mamma let me go to the city, do 
 you suppose?" asked the dismal-faced little 
 sister. 
 
 "Let you go to the city! You must be 
 crazy, Hilda. I do n't believe you have the 
 faintest idea what a day it is. Get up and look
 
 LWTLE . CO USINS. 1 2 1 
 
 out of the window, and then talk about going 
 to the city." 
 
 Hilda crawled languidly over the foot-board, 
 and peeped through the curtains. It seemed as 
 if there were enough water in the scene to 
 moisten a whole continent. There was no ap- 
 parent break in the long, heavy lines striking 
 dully upon the soaking sod ; and the storm had 
 built itself a lofty tent of gray, thick and solid 
 enough to dwell in for twenty-four hours, if not 
 for many more. 
 
 She turned sorrowfully away. Blanche, in 
 her garnet morning-gown, was a pleasant spec- 
 tacle after such a view of outside dreariness. 
 
 "O, I did so want to go to Gertie's!" 
 
 "Well, you can't," was the true but comfort- 
 less rejoinder. 
 
 The older girl was more interested in her 
 white mull neck-scarf than in the little one's 
 disappointment. 
 
 Hilda said no more, being really too sad to 
 talk. She followed her sister down-stairs and 
 into the dining-room, without caring whether 
 any one wished her good-morning or not. 
 
 That was the way she felt; but if her father 
 had not at once stretched out his arms (he was 
 nearest the door), and her mother had not sent her 
 a look which showed that she regretted the wreck 
 of her little girl's plans, Hilda would have found
 
 122 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 another grief much harder to bear than the loss 
 of her visit to Gertie. After two loving kisses, 
 the blue of her eyes was cleared of its borrowed 
 clouds ; she went to her place with a lighter 
 step, and told Rose that she would like her eggs 
 scrambled instead of boiled. 
 
 "I believe," remarked Blanche, who began 
 to take an interest in the situation, " that I will 
 make Gilbertina's cloak to-day, and then she 
 can wear it when she goes visiting to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 Hilda dropped her fork upon her cup of 
 chocolate, and a brown stain on the table-cloth 
 was the result. 
 
 " To-morrow, Gilbertina go visiting ! But 
 do you mean that I can go to Gertie's to-mor- 
 row, mamma, can I?" 
 
 " Why, I hope so, darling. Of course I do 
 not know. If the weather should continue as it 
 is to-day, your going would be out of the ques- 
 tion ; but that is very unlikely. Anyhow it is 
 only putting off the pleasure for a little while. 
 There will be sunshiny days some time." 
 
 " I was afraid there would n't be any more 
 this week, and I 've got to go to school next 
 Monday," said Hilda, bestowing upon Rose a 
 ravishing smile in return for the scrambled eggs. 
 u Then to-day I '11 read my new book, and 
 Blanche will make the cloak, and to-morrow
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 123 
 
 Gertie will be all the gladder to see me because 
 I did n't come before." 
 
 Having submitted to her disappointment so 
 bravely and patiently, Hilda found the day 
 neither long nor dull. Blanche took such pains 
 with the little cloak that it was, when finished, 
 a marvel of neatness and beauty. A ribbon of 
 corresponding hue replaced the white one upon 
 the doll's cap. Then Gilbertina, manteled 
 and decked for her journey, was primly arranged 
 in the little arm-chair, which had been bought 
 for Blanche when she was four years old. 
 
 " O, you dear doll!" exclaimed Hilda, gazing 
 at her with big, lustrous eyes. " You are just 
 as lovely as you can be. O, you are!" 
 
 " You speak as if you were bidding her an 
 everlasting farewell," said Blanche, laughing at 
 Hilda's regretful tone. " Do n't you forget to 
 tell Gertie her name ; now mind. Do n't you 
 make a mistake and tell her it is Susy One 
 Hundred and Eleventh." 
 
 And Blanche glanced at her little sister mis- 
 chievously. She loved to tease, and, like many 
 other people, could not understand that jokes 
 which did not hurt herself might, nevertheless, 
 be painful to others. 
 
 "I never had but five Susies and two heads; 
 I counted them all," returned Hilda, with a 
 dignified.^air, which amused Blanche highly.
 
 124 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Then she carefully picked up the chair, and 
 carried it into the darkest corner of her bed- 
 room. Nobody was there to see how lovingly 
 she pulled the soft dress over the tiny slippers, 
 nor to laugh at the mournful tone in which she 
 murmured, as she kissed the hard, chilly fore- 
 head : 
 
 " O, you poor Gilbertina ! Anyhow you 're 
 my darling doll." 
 
 The griefs of children are sometimes ridicu- 
 lous in the sight of their elders; yet the sigh 
 which stirred Gilbertina's airy curls had, after 
 all, as real a cause as many that are breathed 
 by men and women. 
 
 The rain lasted all day. In the night the 
 wind arose and flung itself against the north- 
 ward window of the girls' room, catching it be- 
 tween its teeth as if to tear it from its frame. 
 Blanche awoke with a start, but Hilda slumbered 
 unmoved through all the clattering and bang- 
 ing that Boreas, after a nice long rest, found 
 himself able to create. The morning dawned 
 much colder. Hilda, while she dressed, watched 
 it come slowly out of a thin mist, growing 
 brighter and brighter, until her heart leaped 
 with the glad assurance that the day would be 
 fair. 
 
 Streaks and blotches of snowy vapor still 
 whitened the sky when she walked out of the
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 125 
 
 gate in her new green coat with Astrakhan 
 trimming, and her graceful, broad-brimmed hat. 
 Gilbertina was in her arms, looking so sweet 
 that her one fault (which, indeed, was not 
 her fault, but her misfortune) was altogether 
 forgotten ; and Archer was by her side, swing- 
 ing her pretty sealskin satchel as high as his 
 short arms would permit. 
 
 At about the same time Gertie Winner was 
 kissing her mother good-bye, and starting for 
 the Lincoln Street Station to meet Cousin 
 Hilda. The village of Hawthorn was so near 
 the city that it took the trains only about twenty 
 minutes to come thence to this outer depot, and 
 Gertie was determined to be on time. 
 
 The house in which she lived was one of 
 eighteen, all exactly alike, which stretched in a 
 row from one street-corner to another. They 
 had pretty little front porches, the roofs painted 
 blue inside, and supported upon slender pillars. 
 If you stood on a porch at either limit of the 
 line, you could look through a long, azure-ceiled 
 arch to the other end. Every house had a little 
 green door- yard with gray stone curbing, and it 
 was not at all difficult to make a mistake, and 
 ring a stranger's door-bell when you intended 
 to ring your own. 
 
 "It isn't so bad," Gertie had told Hilda, "if 
 you come along from Branch Street. Then you
 
 126 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 can count five houses, and the sixth is ours. But 
 what will you do if you come down from Rob- 
 ert Street? Who wants to be bothered with 
 counting thirteen houses? You can tell by a 
 lamp-post if you watch well enough, and if the 
 parlor curtains are apart you can see papa's 
 picture." 
 
 It was only after dark that there was any 
 trouble ; the number above the door showed 
 plainly enough in daytime, but did not light up 
 well at night. Gertie came down the steps 
 with a run and flirt and jump, and looked 
 up at the window as she passed to kiss her hand 
 to her mother. No matter how often she went 
 out alone, a glance toward that second-story 
 window always showed her a smiling face and 
 slender, waving hand. 
 
 A brisk walk of six or seven minutes brought 
 the child to the little smoke-barkened building 
 which afforded entrance through a half-glass 
 door to the oddly-shaped waiting-room. A 
 counter extended along the apartment, a glass 
 case covering a third of its top at each end, 
 while the space between supported a large pair 
 of scales. One of the cases protected an assort- 
 ment of uninviting candy ; the other sheltered 
 varieties of cigars and plug tobacco; and the 
 shelves upon the wall behind were given up to 
 the same staple luxuries. Underneath a heavy
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 127 
 
 blue iron chandelier, with white globes of the 
 ugliest kind, stood the station mistress, a pleas- 
 ant-faced woman, with smooth hair and lady- 
 like deportment. Gertie knew her very well. 
 They exchanged greetings, and then the little 
 girl sat down on the bench beside the bay- 
 window a dingy window, which was shelved 
 within, and latticed with iron on the outside, 
 and which served as a baggage-room for country 
 people who marketed in the city. 
 
 " I wish I knew what time it is," thought 
 Gertie in about a minute and a half, glancing at 
 a vacant place on the highest shelf, where the 
 clock was wont to stand. It had told so many 
 falsehoods that it had been sent away for cor- 
 rection. "I'd like to know that it was some 
 time, even if it was n't right. After this, when 
 I come to meet Hilda, I shall bring a book to 
 read." 
 
 Two or three school-girls came in just then, 
 young persons of sixteen or seventeen, and 
 Gertie became interested in watching them. 
 They were dressed very prettily, with faultless 
 gloves and shoes of the neatest fit. She thought 
 they were young ladies, and wondered why they 
 took seats so far apart that their conversation 
 had to be loud enough for strangers to hear, 
 and why they so frequently got up and looked 
 out of the window, only to laugh. Pretty soon
 
 128 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 there was a roar and a rush, and the train was 
 there. Gertie flashed through the doorway, and 
 stood still to see from which of the two cars 
 Hilda would emerge. Passenger after passen- 
 ger alighted; women shawled and women veiled ; 
 men who walked briskly, and men who swung 
 their shoulders lazily ; but no little girl with 
 long brown ringlets. 
 
 Was it possible that Hilda would not come? 
 No, it was not ; Gertie decided that in an in- 
 stant, and went back into the waiting-room. 
 
 " Mrs. Hansen," she said for the station- 
 mistress was resting her arm upon the candy- 
 case, a far-away, dreamy look in her eyes "is 
 this the train that I came to meet? I don't 
 know I guess there isn't any other but I 
 came to meet my cousin, and she isn't here." 
 
 " What train did you think it was ?" asked 
 Mrs. Hansen, sympathetic but helpless. The 
 door opened before Gertie could answer, and of 
 course they both looked in that direction. In 
 came a little girl in green and black, with a 
 very scared face, and a hat a great deal too 
 much to one side. 
 
 " Why, Hilda," exclaimed Gertie, springing 
 forward, " I did n't see you get off!" 
 
 " No, I know it. I pretty near got carried 
 past." 
 
 Hilda's voice was hurried and sounded as if
 
 UTTLE COUSINS. 129 
 
 she could not breathe easily. Her eyes were 
 on the point of overflowing, and when she 
 leaned against her cousin she trembled so that 
 she shook Gertie's arm. 
 
 "Well, nevermind; you're all right now," 
 said Gertie, encouragingly ; for she was such a 
 little woman that she saw at once that Hilda 
 was excited and ought to be petted and soothed.. 
 The poor little thing had never before made 
 even such a short journey alone. She had not 
 been sure that she recognized the station, and 
 had hesitated to leave the car until the bell was 
 pulled and the wheels began to roll onward. 
 
 " Then I saw the grocery-store at the cor- 
 ner, and the man has such a funny name " 
 Hilda was proceeding when a shriek of delight 
 cut her short. 
 
 " O, you darling Hilda, whose lovely doll? 
 Is it a birthday present? Who gave it to you? 
 I never did no, I don't think I ever did see 
 such a sweet one? Can't I carry it for you, be- 
 cause you've got your satchel?" 
 
 " O yes, you may," answered Hilda, gazing 
 at the charming little face with a proud smile, 
 as Gilbertina was transferred to Gertie ; " but 
 I would n't let everybody. It is a secret and 
 you mustn't tell but I love her better than 
 any other of my dolls, and I've only had her 
 two days." 
 
 9
 
 130 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Did you get her on your birthday?" in- 
 quired Gertie, squeezing Gilbertina's feet in an 
 ecstasy of admiration. 
 
 " Yes; my Uncle Gilbert got her in London. 
 He isn't your uncle, and you don't know him 
 yet; but when you do you'll love him 'most as 
 much as I do ; and so he will you too. He 
 came from Australia himself." 
 
 " Have you got her named yet?" asked Ger- 
 tie, heedless of all which did not directly con- 
 cern the lovely creature in her arms. "If you 
 haven't, it isn't any matter. I know lots of 
 splendid names." 
 
 "Yes, she's named," answered Hilda, trying 
 to speak carelessly. " Named for Uncle Gil- 
 bert." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Gilbertina. Blanche made it out of Gil- 
 bert. Don't you know? like Georgiana comes 
 from George." 
 
 "O," cried Gertie, stopping to stare at Hilda 
 with clear, astonished eyes, " I don't like that a 
 bit! I really don't." 
 
 " It is made out of my Uncle Gilbert's 
 name," returned Hilda, with a brave show of 
 defiance. She was too loyal to speak her own 
 disapproval, even to her cousifi and dearest 
 friend. 
 
 "Well, anyhow it doesn't seem to suit this
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 131 
 
 doll, because she is a little girl. A doll called 
 Gilbertina ought to be a grown-up young lady, 
 and very, very stylish. She ought to have black 
 hair, and be just as slender as a post, with a tiny 
 bit of a waist and a long train. Now that 's what 
 I think Gilbertinas all ought to look like ; I 
 do n't know whether you think so or not." 
 
 " Yes, I do," declared Hilda, before whom 
 this vivid and attractive word-picture had raised 
 a vision of a tightly-laced and handsomely 
 dressed society belle. It seemed to her that if 
 her treasure were such a doll as Gertie described 
 she could hear her spoken of as Gilbertina with- 
 out either shame or disapproval. 
 
 " So, on that account, I should change her 
 name," added Gertie, as if the affair were 
 settled. 
 
 "But I'm afraid Uncle Gilbert mightn't 
 like it. I'm afraid he'd think I didn't like 
 him," Hilda said, with a wrinkled brow. "I do 
 want to, Gertie; you can't think how much." 
 
 "You ask your mamma what she thinks 
 about it," said her cousin, encouragingly. 
 " Then do you want me to name her? I '11 find 
 something lovely. Let me see ; Isobel Camp- 
 bell Edith Plantagenet no, you want it for a 
 little girl. Well, I '11 tell you ; you talk to your 
 mamma and get it all arranged, and then I '11 
 have the name ready. Here 's home."
 
 132 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 A black-and-white kitten rushed out as soon 
 as the door was opened. It turned at once, 
 however, and walked back ; but when Hilda at- 
 tempted to stroke its fur, it scampered along the 
 hall and was lost in the shadow. 
 
 " O, that 's a bad kitten !" said Gertie. " Come 
 up to my room, Hilda. Quillup his name is. 
 It is for Quilp in 'Old Curiosity Shop,' but I 
 changed it just a little because he was such a vil- 
 lain. But Quillup is bad enough for anybody. 
 He isn't our cat; he just came here; and we 
 had two kittens of our own, and Quillup drove 
 them away. He loses himself outside the fence, 
 and pretends he can 't get through, and he 
 screams and cries till you 'd think his heart was 
 broken. But when he wants to come back he 
 comes ; and he won't let you bring him in if 
 you try. Here we are. Take your things off. 
 I've cleared you out the middle bureau-drawer." 
 
 Gertie's room was a very pretty one, with 
 cherry-wood furniture and pale-blue walls. A 
 good many pictures hung around, cut, for the 
 most part, from magazines, and provided with 
 home-made frames; for she was a handy little 
 thing, and fond of attempting new work. 
 
 " They 're putting up a house on the yard 
 that the German Church stands in," remarked 
 Gertie, rushing to the window, with her hat in 
 her hand and one arm freed from heir coat.
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 133 
 
 " I wish they would n't. We used to could see 
 clear through to Newton Street. Oho ! look 
 here, Hilda ! There 's four windows dancing on 
 top of the wall. That 's happened since I went 
 away." 
 
 The brick-work of the lower story being 
 complete, the upper window-frames had been 
 erected, and now presented an insecure and 
 rather ghostly appearance. 
 
 " I 've watched that house ever since it was 
 begun," proceeded Gertie, " and so I sort of 
 know how to do it. Of course I do n't mean I 
 really could build one myself, but only that I 
 think I have got the general idea. My papa 
 says no one will ever be sorry for getting a gen- 
 eral idea of everything that comes in his way." 
 
 Mrs. Winner entered just' then, having 
 escaped for a few minutes from the loquacious 
 and witty Miss Dilworth, who, much to Gertie's 
 disgust, had not yet completed the work for 
 which she was required. The dresses which 
 Miss Dilworth made were almost always satis- 
 factory when finished, but the making of them 
 was a discouragingly slow process. Gertie 
 thought she might sew a great deal faster if 
 she tried. 
 
 " If she just would n't fold her hands every 
 time anybody says what kind of a day it is. 
 Hilda, she makes mamma do all the basting and
 
 134 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 hand-sewing or ever so much of it any way 
 and yet she was all last week making over 
 mamma's plum-colored cashmere. And if she 
 hasn't some one to talk to, she sings 'Sweet 
 Genevieve ' over and over and over. I used- to 
 like that song, and now I hate it." 
 
 Mrs. Winner laughed ; then told Hilda what 
 pleasure her visit would give the whole family, 
 and how especially glad, on Gertie's account, 
 she was to have her with them. 
 
 "Gertie has no duties," she said. "Her 
 eyes relieve her from all work, and yet she 
 isn't grateful to them." 
 
 "Indeed I'm not!" cried Gertie, shaking 
 her fist at two great blue eyes, which gazed 
 upon her from the looking-glass. 
 
 " So you will have nothing to do but amuse 
 yourselves. Will you be able to do that, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "O yes J m," Hilda answered. " Here is my 
 doll. Do you like her, auntie?" 
 
 Certainly Mrs. Winner liked Gilbertina. 
 She was as much charmed with her remarkable 
 beauty as everybody else had been, and she 
 complimented Blanche's sewing in terms which 
 Hilda treasured up to make her sister's eyes 
 brighten. 
 
 " Now, mamma," said Gertie, with an air 
 of responsibility, " I was thinking how we had
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 135 
 
 better arrange so that Hilda could enjoy herself 
 the most. You know she came up to make 
 chocolate creams ; but I thought we would n't do 
 that right away." 
 
 " I would n't make them before luncheon," 
 replied her mother, laughing. " It is twelve 
 o'clock, and Nelly is busy in the kitchen." 
 
 " Well, and not before dinner, either. Listen, 
 mamma, and see if you do n't like what I thought 
 we 'd do. Let 's not make chocolate creams 
 until evening ; then Nelly can leave us alone, 
 and it will be ever so much more fun. And 
 after lunch Hilda and I will go up-town, and 
 call in at papa's store, because she has never 
 been there yet, and I want to get a little glass 
 for my gold-colored burnt-match receiver. How 
 will that do ? Is n't it a good plan ?" 
 
 Both Mrs. Winner and her niece agreed that 
 it was excellent. So, as soon as luncheon was 
 over, hats and cloaks went on, and the cousins 
 started out. The air was still damp, and the 
 wind blew briskly, but the sky was perfectly 
 clear. The trees were almost bare, and stretched 
 forth innumerable prickly twigs, a few dying 
 leaves shaking and shining in the pure sunlight. 
 The walk to the street-car was a very short one ; 
 but they had to go carefully over the crossings, 
 which were bedded in thin, black mud. It was 
 pleasant to be settled safely in the car. Not
 
 1 36 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 many people were there when they entered, and 
 Gertie began to chatter briskly, pointing out the 
 various objects of interest. At first these lat- 
 ter consisted chiefly of groceries and butcher- 
 shops, with a smoky factory and one cheap 
 trimming-store. 
 
 " Here 's the corner where they 're putting 
 up some more new houses," said Gertie. It was 
 a pretty row of three-storied bricks, with bay- 
 windows, and long porches furnished with slen- 
 der, red columns. Their jaunty modern air con- 
 trasted inharmoniously with the neglected field 
 from which they rose. 
 
 u O, I think it was just a shame to put these 
 houses here ! There used to be the loveliest 
 haunted house, Hilda, that ever you saw ; 
 black as a stovepipe, and the windows broken 
 in, and a stone doorstep sunk way into the 
 ground farther on one side than the other; and 
 the yard just bristled with weeds. It looked as 
 if no one had stepped on it for years ; but I 've 
 seen dirty children playing there when I went 
 past." 
 
 "But was it a really haunted house?" asked 
 awestruck Hilda, watching the brilliant, chang- 
 ing face of her cousin. Gertie had such a vivid 
 imagination that she saw romances painted on 
 the most commonplace of tottering old walls. 
 
 u No, it was n't, because there is n't any-
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 137 
 
 thing of the kind. But, Hilda, it could have 
 been just as well as not. One night I was walk- 
 ing past there with papa it was as much as 
 nine o'clock. That house was as still and 
 black as a hole dug out of the ground, until I 
 lifted up my eyes and there was a light in the 
 up-stairs window the middle one. Nor it was n't 
 a still light, either ; it sort of shook and went 
 without going, as if the kind of a ghost that car- 
 ries a tall silver candlestick with a wax taper in it 
 was coming up the staircase. Well, thought I 
 to myself, now it is n't really possible that house 
 is haunted after all, is it? So I thought, Sup- 
 pose the cold ghost-air should blow right down 
 on us as we're going past. And I shrugged 
 up close to papa till he said : 'Are you chilly, 
 dear?' Then I asked him what he supposed 
 made that light, when we knew for certain there 
 weren't any people in there; and he showed 
 me that it was the reflection from the windows 
 of the house across the street. That was every 
 bit of truth there was about it" 
 
 " O !" breathed Hilda, relaxing with a sigh 
 from the suspense in which this animated nar- 
 rative had held her. 
 
 " Would you have been afraid if you had 
 seen it?" 
 
 " I do n't know I think perhaps not," was 
 the doubtful answer ; yet in her heart Hilda felt
 
 138 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 pretty certain that not even an icy draught of 
 air, that most blood-curdling horror of all, could 
 frighten her very much while she felt her 
 father's strong, warm fingers clasped about her 
 own. 
 
 " My papa says there is n't any doubt that a 
 great many ghost-stories grow out of things just 
 as easy to understand," observed her cousin, 
 with an aspect of profoundest wisdom. " Peo- 
 ple get scared very easy, and then they tell 
 what they think they saw, when they did n't 
 see it" 
 
 "Then they aren't speaking the truth." 
 
 " But they do n't mean to tell a story ; we 
 mustn't be too hard on them," returned Gertie, 
 with wide, earnest eyes. " I honestly believe it 
 is wicked to get frightened when you can help 
 it, Hilda ; because then, as likely as not, you '11 
 deceive people without meaning to. And that 
 would be dreadful, wouldn't it?" 
 
 Hilda's conscience felt a twinge of pain as 
 she listened. She remembered that her mother 
 had asked her whether she would like Gilberti- 
 na's name to be changed, and the quickness 
 with which she had answered " No." Had she 
 told a falsehood then, without meaning it? If 
 not, why did the sudden recollection make her 
 feel like frowning at herself? 
 
 The car was fast filling, and Gertie became
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 139 
 
 so interested in certain fellow-passengers that 
 she forgot to talk. Directly across the aisle sat 
 three elderly, we^l-dressed women, who had en- 
 tered separately, and seemed overjoyed to see 
 each other. All were smiling and cheerful. 
 They looked like kind, happy-hearted ladies, 
 who had passed through a good many years of 
 life, and lost neither hope nor benevolence. Two 
 of them wore sealskin wraps, and the other a 
 checked cloth cloak; two had their frosty hair 
 crimped on either side of their winter-bright 
 faces, and the third had gray-streaked bangs. 
 This last did most of the talking; her tongue 
 spun a rapid thread of words, frequently broken 
 by laughter, in which her companions joined. 
 
 "Yes," she said, continuing some remark 
 which her little admirer had not caught, "like 
 he does. He says he makes it a point never to 
 remember anything. 'Why, don't you remem- 
 ber this?' they say. 'No, I don't; I don't re- 
 member it at all; it must have happened before 
 I was born.' Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 u Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" laughed the chorus. 
 
 One of them wore pear-shaped black ear- 
 rings, so long that they touched her shoulders 
 and scraped back and forth. 
 
 Presently the talkative old lady was again to 
 be heard in the midst of a sentence. 
 
 u Sweetest little story you ever read about
 
 140 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 how he lost his memory. First he dreamed he 
 lost it, you know. Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 Gertie was so fascinated by this jovial trio 
 that she forgot all else, and stared at them until 
 one of the ladies the one with the ear-rings- 
 gave her a nervous, worried glance, and mur- 
 mured something which caused the chief speaker 
 to lower her voice. Then Gertie blushed to 
 think she had forgotten her manners, and turned 
 her head to look out of the window. Why, where 
 were they? They were close to the bridge which 
 led over the river to the neighboring city, and 
 her father's store lay a long distance behind. 
 
 "O, we 've come too far!" exclaimed Gertie. 
 "Hilda, we've come too far!" and she bent for- 
 ward to signal to the conductor. 
 
 But that functionary was standing with his 
 back to the door, intently regarding something 
 in the increasing distance. By this time Hilda 
 was ready to sink with mortification, for the 
 three old ladies had suspended their conversa- 
 tion, and were watching the agitated little 
 maiden as if they were very much afraid of 
 what she might be tempted to do next ; and a 
 young man who sat near them was so much 
 amused that he seemed to be upon the point of 
 laughing aloud. Finally Gertie leaned over her 
 cousin and pounded on the door and window 
 with such force that Hilda almost expected to
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 141 
 
 see the glass panes fly into bits. This brought 
 the conductor out of the mist of thought. He 
 looked over his shoulder with a frown, and, in 
 response to Miss Winner's imperative nod, 
 stopped the car at about equal distances between 
 two crossings. Two disgusted little girls picked 
 their way heedfully through the mud, and paused 
 as soon as they reached the pavement to inspect 
 their shoes. 
 
 " I polished them just before we came away," 
 said Gertrude, mournfully. "Now I know my 
 papa will think I did n't care how I looked." 
 
 "They aren't as bad as mine," said Hilda, 
 equally depressed ; " but, anyhow, I guess we 
 did n't get our dresses muddy, and I thought 
 for certain we would. Where is uncle's store, 
 Gertie ? I do n't see anything that looks like it." 
 
 "As sure as anything, Hilda Craig, I let that 
 street-car drive on and on, and we've got ever 
 so far past. I don't know what you'll think of 
 me," said Gertie, humbly. 
 
 Hilda was indeed very much surprised ; but 
 that was because she had such unbounded con- 
 fidence in her cousin. It was not easy to sus- 
 pect Gertie of making a mistake. The walk 
 back did not seem so very long, and when they 
 entered the store they saw Mr. Winner at once. 
 His face lighted up when they appeared. 
 
 What a fascinating store it was ! Delicate
 
 142 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 china and diamond-like glass covered the walls 
 and tables, and almost covered the floor. At first 
 Hilda hardly dared to take a step ; it seemed 
 impossible to move amid this beautiful and brit- 
 tle collection without injuring something costly ; 
 but Gertie went about like a humming-bird, 
 swift and sure. 
 
 " What I want, papa," she soon found oppor- 
 tunity to say, " is a little glass like the one I 
 got here last week. I know just where it is, 
 and I can get it without bothering you." 
 
 " My daughter is thoroughly conversant with 
 the stock," laughed Mr. Winner, to the gentle- 
 man with whom he had been talking when the 
 children entered the store. u In case of a strike, 
 I believe she might prove a valuable assistant. 
 Did you find what you wanted, dear?" he asked, 
 as the humming-bird in hat and gloves flew 
 briskly to his side. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I found it all right, and I thought 
 I 'd better take two while I was about it ; be- 
 cause I might want another, and it 's some 
 trouble to come for it just the minute it 's 
 needed. Besides, they get broken very easy," 
 panted Gertie, speaking with more and more 
 difficulty, because she had lost her breath and 
 could not be silent until it should be fully re- 
 covered. " Now, Hilda, you come with me, and
 
 LITTLE COUSINS. 143 
 
 I '11 show you the cunningest little cups you 
 ever saw." 
 
 " What was it you said you wanted the little 
 glass for?" inquired Hilda, holding her skirts 
 tightly as they passed some slender gilded vases 
 nearly as tall as she was herself. 
 
 " A burnt-match receiver. Don't you know? 
 You crochet it out of silk and put the glass in, 
 and silk balls to trim it with, and a ribbon- 
 hanger. O, you never told me what you 're 
 making for Christmas ! Haven't you begun?" 
 
 " Why, no, I have n't," and Hilda hesitated. 
 "But I'd like to ever so much, Gertie, if there 
 is anything you can teach me." 
 
 " I can teach you no end of things," was the 
 prompt and encouraging reply. a Now, how 
 would you like a match-receiver like mine ? 
 I '11 give you my other glass." 
 
 "I don't believe I ever could. You see," ex- 
 plained Hilda, with an effort, " I can 't do very 
 much not yet. I never learned to sew, so 
 you 'd better not teach me anything very hard." 
 
 " Can 't you really sew?" asked Gertie, over- 
 come with astonishment. The ready blush 
 stained Hilda's cheek, and she pouted, half with 
 vexation, half with shame. 
 
 "I don't think I'm so very old," said she, 
 in an injured tone. " There are n't many little
 
 144 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 girls that can do a great deal when they are 
 nowhere near ten years old yet." 
 
 U O, you mustn't get mad!" cried Gertie, 
 alarmed. " I like you just as well as if you 
 knew how to sew. Of course it doesn't mat- 
 ter a bit when you 're only nine years old ; but 
 if I were you I 'd learn right away, because 
 pretty soon you'll be ten. I know a nice thing 
 for you to do. It is card-board book-marks. I 
 used to make lots of them before I learned how 
 to do other things. They have words stamped 
 on them, and you get split zephyr and sew 
 through the holes. Shall we buy one?" 
 
 " Could I, do you think ?" exclaimed Hilda, 
 her annoyance forgotten and her face spark- 
 ling. "I'd just love to, if I could." 
 
 "Yes, it's easier than you'd ever believe. 
 Let 's say good-bye to papa, and then we '11 go 
 straight to Miss Tilly's. That 's the best place 
 to buy such things."
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 
 
 THE store of Miss Tilly Fellows was a very 
 pleasant place. It was of modest propor- 
 tions ; but its one window was brilliant with 
 cleanness, and the ribbons, neck-ties, and other 
 small trifles therein displayed, were so arranged 
 that they seemed to have been tenderly laid in 
 their places by a hand that loved them. A bird- 
 cage hung just behind it, the inhabitant of which 
 was a canary of unusual size, possessing a voice 
 much more remarkable for strength than sweet- 
 ness. Miss Tilly liked to hear him sing ; but 
 she was, so far as I am aware, the only person 
 who enjoyed the performance. He was de- 
 tested by fine-eared customers, who, however, 
 generally respected the feelings of his admira- 
 ble mistress, and left the store rejoicing that it 
 was so easy to get out of sound of his music. 
 He screamed at all hours of the day, and fre- 
 
 10 145
 
 146 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 quently late in the evening, and was not com- 
 monly regarded as one of the advantages of the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 An open stove stood in the back part of the 
 room, and not far from this, in a be-ribboned 
 rocking-chair, sat Miss Tilly. She was a tall, 
 stout woman, about fifty years old, with pale 
 eyes and hair, but rosy cheeks and a radiant 
 smile. A little table stood at her elbow, heaped 
 with bright-colored silks and worsteds of deli- 
 cate hues. 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Miss Tilly," cried Gertie 
 Winner, bursting into the shop and holding the 
 door open for her companion to follow. Miss 
 Fellows rose to her feet and came forward, not, 
 indeed, very rapidly, but much faster than she 
 was accustomed to move. She loved Gertie 
 dearly ; had made her dainty caps and fairy-like 
 Afghans when she was a baby with great eyes, 
 and hair not worth mentioning ; and no matter 
 how frequently the little girl visited the store, 
 she could not come often enough to satisfy its 
 owner. 
 
 " I am going to give you a good scolding," 
 said she, in gentle tones. As the canary's voice 
 was much louder than might be expected from 
 so small a bird, so was Miss Tilly's softer and 
 sweeter than her appearance led one to antici- 
 pate. Her foot fell heavily and her arms had an
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 147 
 
 awkward swing, but her speech was always 
 pleasing and refined. " You get into the street- 
 car to go to papa's store, and right past poor me 
 you go, without even waving your hand." 
 
 " Well, honestly, Miss Tilly, I have n't been 
 past but once since I was here, and then I 
 wasn't going to papa's store. I went to the 
 'Mother Goose' entertainment. I didn't see 
 you at the window till we were pretty nearly 
 past, and then I did wave my hand, but you 
 did n't notice it. Who do you s'pose this is ? 
 It is my own cousin, Hilda. Do you remember 
 we showed you her photograph once, and you 
 said she was pretty? She has moved to Haw- 
 thorn, and now we can see her often; and O, 
 we 're so glad she and I !" 
 
 " She is prettier than her picture," said com- 
 plimentary Miss Tilly, laying her large hand 
 lightly on the child's hair and kissing her fore- 
 head, exactly as she had already done to Gertie. 
 Hilda, who was generally so timid with strangers 
 of all classes, felt at ease with this sweet-natured 
 woman at once. 
 
 " Miss Tilly dear," said Gertrude, affection- 
 ately, " have you got any more card-board book- 
 marks ? Hilda wants to buy one." 
 
 "With the mottoes? Yes, I think I have," 
 replied Miss Tilly, putting on her spectacles and 
 taking down a flat, green pasteboard -box.
 
 148 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " There," she added, removing the cover, " look 
 through them and find what you want. I 
 have n't as nice an assortment as I used to have ; 
 they aren't as much the fashion as they were 
 awhile ago, but occasionally somebody wants 
 one." 
 
 "'Home, Sweet Home,' 'Think of a Distant 
 Friend,' 'I Love You,' 'To My Dear Brother,'" 
 read Gertie, thoroughly inspecting the collec- 
 tion. "That's all the different kinds. Which 
 do you want, Hilda? Whom is it for?" 
 
 "I don't know," her cousin answered, 
 blankly. She had not thought so far as that. 
 
 "Then you'd better take 'I Love You' or 
 ' Home, Sweet Home,' because they '11 do for 
 anybody." 
 
 "I think 'I Love You' is nice," suggested 
 Hilda, as Gertie waited for her to speak. 
 
 "All right. She just wants one to-day, Miss 
 Tilly, and I guess she '11 get some shaded red 
 split zephyr to work it with. Do you want red, 
 Hilda, or blue?" 
 
 " O, I suppose I '11 take red," answered Hilda, 
 wishing that Gertie would make the purchase 
 without referring to her. 
 
 Miss Tilly would not let them leave without 
 first partaking of ginger cookies. She kept 
 house in two tiny rooms back of the store. In 
 the most remote of these she prepared her own
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 149 
 
 meals and baked cakes for her numerous young 
 friends. The cookies were served on a heavy, 
 crooked-edged plate, ornamented with a slate- 
 colored landscape. This plate, as Gertie speedily 
 informed her cousin, was exactly as old as its 
 owner, having been bought on the very day of 
 her birth. 
 
 Hilda was anxious to go, for she wanted to 
 begin her book-mark. Fancy-work was still pro- 
 hibited to Gertie, although her eyes were grow- 
 ing better. Books were no longer forbidden, but 
 she might not read as much as she wished 
 (which, indeed, was a great deal), and often 
 found time pass very slowly. Therefore, it gave 
 her great pleasure to act as Hilda's instructor ; 
 and the work progressed so rapidly that three 
 large letters were finished before Mr. Winner 
 came in and the family were summoned to 
 dine. 
 
 Gertie permitted no lingering at table that 
 evening. Her repeated reminder that the choc- 
 olate creams could not be made until Nelly had 
 abandoned the kitchen produced an amiable de- 
 sire on the part of her parents to get out of the 
 way as soon as was convenient. As they passed 
 into the hall, she flung open the kitchen door 
 and summoned the maid. 
 
 "Now, Nelly, everybody has gone, and Hilda 
 and I are going right away, unless you want us
 
 150 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 to help you ? Do you ? Shall we carry out the 
 plates?" 
 
 u No, indade," answered Nelly, who was 
 good-natured unless somebody tried to share the 
 work, which she regarded as entirely her own. 
 "Jist you two yoong ones skip up the stairs, and 
 iverything will be ready in no time. Mysilf is 
 wantin' to git through as much as yees want it." 
 
 " You see," Gertie explained to Hilda, as 
 they crowded up the staircase with their arms 
 around each other a mode of advance which 
 bumped the former against the wall and the lat- 
 ter against the banisters "she is going to buy 
 her winter cloak and hat this evening, and so 
 she 's in a hurry to go. It is a good thing for 
 us, isn't it?" 
 
 "Will it be long before she's ready, do you 
 think?" asked Hilda, as they entered her aunt's 
 room. 
 
 Mrs. Winner was sewing beside her work- 
 table, upon which a lamp was burning beneath 
 a rose-tinted shade. 
 
 " Not so very long, but long enough for you 
 to work some more at your motto," was the busi- 
 ness-like reply. " You take this chair, because I 
 do n't need to be near the light. You 're get- 
 ting along splendidly ; I wish you 'd bought 
 two." 
 
 But Hilda did not echo the wish. She seated
 
 CHOCALATE CREAMS. 151 
 
 herself upon the chair which her cousin had 
 drawn up for her accommodation, and lifted the 
 book-mark from her aunt's mending-basket. 
 But she looked doleful, and her movements 
 were slow. The fact is that she was already 
 tired of her task, fascinating though she had 
 found it at first, and was disposed to think that 
 the weakness of Gertie's eyes was not such a 
 very sorrowful infliction, since it rendered needle- 
 work impossible. 
 
 " I suppose we might play something, if we 
 knew what to play," said the unoccupied mem- 
 ber of the group. u But what's that noise?" 
 
 " It sounds like a knock," replied Mrs. Win- 
 ner, when she had listened a moment ; " but it 
 is very faint. I hardly think it worth while to 
 go to the door ; but it will give you something 
 to do if you don't mind traveling up and down 
 stairs, and it is just possible that some one is 
 there." 
 
 Climbing stairs was nothing to Gertie. She 
 had the hall-door open in a few seconds, and as 
 she drew it inward, a short and chubby figure 
 followed a small girl of four or five years, bare- 
 headed and cloakless, although the wind which 
 rushed after her was sharp enough to make one 
 shiver. 
 
 She was a very charming apparition, in the 
 cleanest and prettiest of long, white aprons,
 
 152 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 which allowed only a bordering of her bright 
 dress to be seen. A round, cheerful face smiled 
 confidingly upward, beneath a crown of reddish- 
 brown curls, and a silvery voice composedly 
 inquired : 
 
 "Must I come in now?" 
 
 " O, Florence Atchison, you 've run away 
 again ; and what a bad, bad, bad girl you are !" 
 cried Gertie, hugging her so hard that they 
 both gasped for breath. " Come straight up to 
 mamma's room and get warm. Your hands are 
 little frogs. I should be dreadfully ashamed to 
 have frogs for hands if I were you." 
 
 This made Florence laugh. She entered Mrs. 
 Winner's room with the smiling self-possession 
 of an invited guest, and, in answer to the ques- 
 tion how she came thither at such an hour and 
 in such a plight, she said, with a mischievous 
 smile : 
 
 " I came out when papa went, but I did n't 
 let him know." 
 
 " That 's the way she does ; she watches till 
 the door is open, and then she slips through. I 
 never saw such a wicked little thing as you are, 
 Florence ; but you 're just as sweet as a peach 
 and sugar, too. Can't she stay, now she 's here, 
 mamma? I know she would like to see us make 
 chocolate creams." 
 
 " Wrap a shawl about you, darling ; run in
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 153 
 
 and let Mrs. Atchison know where she is. We 
 shall be glad to have her stay awhile, if her 
 mother is willing." 
 
 It did not take long to obtain the desired 
 permission, for the little runaway lived in the 
 adjoining house. She helped to make -time pass 
 pleasantly until the kitchen was ready for the 
 children, and also afforded Hilda a welcome ex- 
 cuse for neglecting her work. Nelly presently 
 stopped, on her way to her room, to tell Gertie 
 that she might begin her candy-making, and 
 that everything necessary was on the table. 
 Upon this there was a rush down-stairs. Flor- 
 ence was forgotten; but, being perfectly capable 
 of looking out for herself, she left the room and 
 trotted after them as speedily as her short legs 
 would permit. 
 
 "Everything on the table! and the sauce- 
 pan itself isn't there!" said Gertie, contemptu- 
 ously, her voice half-drowned in the alarming 
 clatter she was raising among the pots and ket- 
 tles. "Why can't anything ever be got at with- 
 out lots of other things banging down?" she 
 demanded, emerging from her search with fiery 
 cheeks. 
 
 " You have n't put your apron on yet, and I 
 wish you'd tie mine, if you please," said Hilda, 
 determined to begin aright. 
 
 Gertie seized upon the apron-strings as if
 
 154 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 she had not a minute to spare, and pulled them 
 into a bow which was tight, but not beautiful. 
 
 " You make the cream out of sugar, you 
 know," she lucidly explained "pulverized sugar 
 and water. After it is boiled you make it into 
 little, tiny balls, and when the chocolate is 
 melted, you roll them in. Somebody must grate 
 the chocolate. I expect you want to do that." 
 
 "O yes," returned Hilda, with sparkling eyes. 
 "You can sit right beside me and talk to me, 
 Florence," she added, benevolently, feeling very 
 old and experienced. 
 
 "There 's that bad Quillup !" exclaimed Ger- 
 tie, dropping a paper of sugar to rush at the 
 kitten, who retreated beneath a chair and stared 
 at her with glassy, yellow eyes. " Down-stairs 
 you 're going, you nuisance," shaking it vio- 
 lently when she had succeeded in drawing it 
 from its refuge. " I do n't like to feel toward a 
 cat as I feel toward you. Where's my precious 
 Isabel, that you coaxed away so you could live 
 here all alone?" 
 
 The kitten turned its head languidly from 
 side to side, apparently seeking the lost Isabel 
 in the four corners of the room. 
 
 "Look, Hilda!" cried Gertie, much amused. 
 " He pretends he 's looking for her. Honestly, 
 he 's smart ; but then, as my papa says, he 's 
 vicious. O, I wish you could have seen Isabel
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 155 
 
 St. Leger! She was the prettiest and the smart- 
 est cat anywhere around. He was jealous of 
 her indeed he was and he cheated her through 
 a hole in the fence. O, it makes me so mad to 
 think about it!" 
 
 She opened the cellar-door, and thrust the 
 accomplished villain in upon the top step. He 
 turned his back and sat quietly down, evidently 
 resigned to his fate ; while Gertie almost fell 
 over Florence, who had come close behind her 
 and was raising her voice in protest. 
 
 " You can't have him, darling. Gertie's 
 ever so sorry, but she will not have that creature 
 running round under foot when she is trying to 
 cook. Go and tell Hilda about your poor dog- 
 gie. What was it the bad boys did to him ?" 
 
 "O, zey put a chain round his neck and 
 made it all sore," said the easily-diverted Flor- 
 ence, rounding her mouth to show her sympa- 
 thy ; " and his leg was runned over ; and a boy 
 frew a stone at his face and made it all sore, 
 too." 
 
 "O my ! what a pity!" exclaimed Hilda, 
 laughing so that the grater fell to the floor. 
 "That's one of the sorrowfulest stories that 
 ever I heard." 
 
 "There can 't be much of the dog left, can 
 there?" asked Gertie, who was roasting herself 
 beside the fire. The top of the range was
 
 156 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 rapidly becoming red-hot, and the mixture in 
 the sauce-pan was boiling furiously. 
 
 "I don't know what's ze matter wis zat 
 dog," continued Florence, with animation. " He 
 just puts his paws up on you, and kisses you all 
 over." 
 
 At this point she attempted to rest her el- 
 bows on the table, and plunged them instead 
 into the powdery heap of grated chocolate. Of 
 course the plate upset, but fortunately it was 
 upon Hilda's clean apron ; the accident caused 
 the young confectioners no trouble beyond one 
 speechless moment of agonized suspense. 
 
 " Time 's up !" called Gertie, excitedly. 
 "Doesn't the clock say sixteen and a half min- 
 utes to eight? Well, don't look any longer, 
 Hilda, if you can't tell right away; I'm pretty 
 sure it does. Off comes the cream. Now we 
 have to make it into balls double-quick time, 
 or it will get so hard we can't manage it." 
 
 " I want to make ze balls," announced Flor- 
 ence, trying to roll up her sleeves. 
 
 "O, the cunning little thing! Let's let her, 
 Hilda," proposed tender-hearted Gertrude. " But 
 your hands aren't clean enough, Florence, pet. 
 Shall Gertie wash them?" 
 
 Florence looked her disapproval, yet allowed 
 herself to be dragged to the sink and scrubbed 
 with ivory soap. Gertie rubbed with such en-
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 157 
 
 ergy that the tender little hands grew deeply 
 red. The victim shivered and drew in her 
 breath with an " O O!" which affected a pause 
 in her torture. 
 
 "It doesn't hurt if you do rub it on the sore 
 place," said Florence, bravely, telling this obvi- 
 eus fib with a fortitude worthy of a nobler ut- 
 terance. 
 
 Gertie screamed with remorse; she fondled 
 the wee, dripping hand until Hilda calmly re- 
 marked, as she patted a sugary lump, that the 
 cream was getting as hard as ice. The united 
 efforts of the three, soon covered a large sheet 
 of paper with tolerably white marbles ; and the 
 sport of rolling them in chocolate had just be- 
 gun when the bell rang and Florence was sum- 
 moned home. 
 
 She was not a bit sleepy, and had been enjoy- 
 ing herself very much, but she neither cried nor 
 pouted. With ladylike composure she seated 
 herself upon the floor, and quietly said : 
 
 " I will come as soon as Gertie gives me 
 some choc'late creams." 
 
 "I'll get you a little saucer to carry them 
 on ; you don't care if it is broken," rejoined her 
 hostess, bringing out a rosebud-sprinkled piece 
 of china, which looked as if it had been bitten 
 by a mouse. " Do n't you eat them to-night; it 
 is too late ; and besides, they aren't so good till
 
 158 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 the next morning. Kiss me, you darlingest 
 little dear. When will you come to see me 
 again?" 
 
 " Wednesday," gravely promised the child, 
 as she clasped the saucer carefully with her 
 mite of a hand and walked away. 
 
 The candy-making was completed with alt 
 possible speed, and the plate of chocolate-creams 
 set upon a shelf in the pantry. The clearing- 
 up after such a frolic is never very interesting, 
 but Gertie was determined to leave things as 
 nice as possible. The sauce-pan was filled with 
 water and left in the sink ; all the other utensils 
 were washed and put away ; then the chief-cook 
 heaved a sigh of relief and pulled down her 
 sleeves. 
 
 " Now, Hilda, you can go on up-stairs. I '11 
 just brush off the stove-hearth and sweep as 
 well as I can with my little broom. Then I '11 
 be ready. You be thinking up something nice 
 to do;" and the tired but energetic arms seized 
 the broom, and began to wield it as diligently 
 as if they were not aching. 
 
 Hilda was half-way to the staircase when an 
 agonized shriek tore through the air. It told 
 so plainly of fright and pain that the mother, 
 who sat reading in a distant apartment, let her 
 book fall, and ran with a fast-beating heart. She 
 passed Hilda at the kitchen door, and rushed in
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 159 
 
 to find Gertie walking round and round, her 
 hands clasped over her forehead and her face 
 flooded with tears. 
 
 "Mamma, I don't know how it happened," 
 she sobbed, when she was able to speak. "I 
 was sweeping up close to the stove, and my 
 head bumped against the tea-kettle spout but 
 it did n't upset. It hurts so I can 't stand it." 
 
 She was a brave little thing, and already 
 gaining control of herself; so that Mrs. Winner 
 was able at once to examine the injury. All 
 the delicate forehead was scarlet with scalding, 
 so sore that even mamma's touch was painful. 
 The tea-kettle was bubbling furiously, and a 
 funnel-shaped vapor was rising from its mouth. 
 Into this steam, and not against the vessel it- 
 self, Gertie's head had gone. Her injuries were 
 by no means serious, although the first shock 
 of pain had been so severe as to wring that 
 sharp cry from a child who would suffer a great 
 deal rather than alarm her mother. 
 
 Soothed and comforted, the wounded brow 
 treated with a cooling lotion, and a white band- 
 age bound around her head, Gertie lay at rest 
 upon the lounge, and began to believe that she 
 was not so dreadfully hurt after all. Ever since 
 her mother had said, with a thankful look, " My 
 dear child, we can not be too grateful that your 
 eyes are uninjured," the thought of the trouble
 
 160 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 that might have been, made the trouble that was 
 seem very small indeed. 
 
 " I 'm sorry this keeps me from entertaining 
 you, Hilda," she said, with noteworthy polite- 
 ness. "You aren't having a bit good time, and 
 it is all my fault." 
 
 " O, why, Gertie Winner? I don't see how 
 you can talk so !" returned her cousin, taking a 
 seat at her side, and giving her a look of heart- 
 broken affection. " It is n't your fault that you 
 burned yourself, when you were making choco- 
 late creams for nothing at all but to show me 
 how. What shall I do to amuse her, auntie? 
 Gertie, do you want me to tell you a story?" 
 
 ."Well, thank you; I guess you needn't 
 bother," said the patient, stirring uneasily. 
 " I 'm not near sick enough for that. I 'd feel 
 pretty well if my head did n't ache ; and, any- 
 way, I almost do." 
 
 The truth is that Hilda's stories were never 
 very interesting. Their incidents and charac- 
 ters were easily recognizable as borrowed from 
 her cousin's more vivid tales, and they were 
 constantly interrupted by lengthy pauses, ex. 
 ceedingly tiresome to the listener, which Hilda 
 found necessary because she had to think what 
 to say next. 
 
 " I 'd rather play than listen to stories, if you 
 do n't mind," Gertie continued. " I 'm sort of
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 161 
 
 nervous, and I 'm afraid I could n't keep still 
 enough. My feet want to punch something all 
 the time." 
 
 "Well, we might play 'Editor's Office,' " re- 
 turned Hilda, reflectively. "You be the Editor- 
 just keep still, and not do anything and I '11 
 write something and bring it to you, and you '11 
 see whether you '11 print it or not." 
 
 " Why, I never played that." 
 
 Gertie was much attracted by the idea; she 
 sat up, with her face full of interest. 
 
 " No, I did n't, either; but I 've heard Archer 
 talk, and I thought it might be a real nice 
 game. I '11 have to have some paper and a 
 pencil." 
 
 " You will find both in the upper drawer of 
 my writing-desk," said Mrs. Winner, who felt 
 that she, too, could enjoy the play. Gertie never 
 found her mother's presence embarrassing, no 
 matter how original her games might be : 
 knights, ladies, flower-girls, and brigands all 
 the well-known heroes and heroines of ro- 
 mance raved of love and war with a most 
 amazing lack of reserve. But if any other grown 
 person entered the room, the imaginary guests 
 from the Middle Ages departed at once, and only 
 a quiet child was left. 
 
 " Shall I take this, auntie ?" asked the would- 
 be author, holding up a block of ruled note- 
 
 ii
 
 1 62 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 paper. A little gold pencil completed her outfit, 
 and made her feel that writing with such a pretty 
 thing must be easy and agreeable. 
 
 " What must the Editor's office be like?" in- 
 quired Gertie, flying excitedly from her couch. 
 The charming face of Gilbertina caught her eye. 
 That neglected maiden was resting peacefully 
 against the pillows of the bed, a model of ele- 
 gant composure. 
 
 " I '11 have Gilbertina for my beautiful blonde 
 daughter sha' n't I? A sick editor ought to 
 have some one to take care of him. Now, let's 
 spread the Afghan so it will hang over the side 
 of the lounge and look like a Turkish rug. I 
 think this will be a splendid play." 
 
 Hilda helped to arrange the drapery, and 
 then retired to her writing. The editor removed 
 his child's hat and cloak, and laid a silk chair- 
 scarf over her shoulders ; then cradled her in 
 his arms, and regarded her with an expression 
 of unutterable woe. Before the expected contri- 
 bution was ready, this tragic countenance had 
 been several times disarranged by an uncon- 
 trollable yawn. 
 
 " Now, I '11 knock on this chair, and you can 
 tell me to come in," said Hilda, rising and 
 shaking out her skirts. 
 
 " No, I must send my daughter. Wait a min- 
 ute, please. You do n't care if I call her Amabel,
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 163 
 
 just for this evening, do you ? It is n't chang- 
 ing her name; just playing it's something it 
 isn't; like you're not an author and I'm not 
 an editor." 
 
 U O, I do n't care the least bit," replied Hilda, 
 and knocked so energetically on the back of a 
 rocking-chair that it flew precipitately forward 
 and struck her wrist in its return. 
 
 "Amabel, my beautiful blonde daughter, go 
 to the door," groaned the Editor, dismally, 
 stretching himself hastily on his back. " Now 
 pretend she 's there, Hilda, and I '11 talk for 
 her." 
 
 u Good evening, my dear madam," squeaked 
 an infantile voice, supposed to belong to the 
 charming Amabel. "Won't you please come 
 in quick, and not keep the door open? I'm 
 afraid my papa will take cold. He is n't very 
 well this evening, because he has burnt his head 
 on the tea-kettle, but he '11 be glad to see you 
 anyhow." 
 
 " I just thought I 'd show him something 
 I 've been writing," said the visitor, advancing 
 toward the lounge. " How do you do, Editor ? 
 I hope your head doesn't ache too bad to read 
 this." 
 
 "O no; my eyes aren't hurt; so I can read 
 it just as well as not," returned the Editor, ea- 
 gerly extending his hand for the manuscript.
 
 1 64 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " I do n't know as there will be any paper 
 this week not if I don't get better ; I can tell 
 you that but next week I '11 have to have a big 
 one to make up. Is this a story or poetry?" 
 
 "It's poetry," was the bashful answer. Now 
 that it was written, Hilda felt a little reluctance 
 to let even Cousin Gertie see her production. 
 But she yielded the tablet, the uppermost sheet 
 of which was half covered with penciled-lines. 
 The following is a copy of what Gertie read : 
 
 " The Months of Winter. By Hilda B. Craig, aged nine 
 years old. 
 
 " 'T is Winter, and I sorry am 
 
 That such the case it is ; 
 Yet we must it indure ; 
 
 Ah, Winter ! hard indeed it is 
 For the breaved poor !' 
 
 "^-reaved, I s'pose you mean," was the 
 first criticism. "Why, Hilda, what do you call 
 bereaved poor? '" 
 
 " People that have n't enough to eat, nor any 
 fire, nor anything," replied the poet, kicking 
 her feet discontentedly against her chair. Who 
 likes to have his verses examined in a cold and 
 fault-finding spirit? 
 
 "I don't hardly believe that's right," said 
 Gertie, glancing at her cousin out of the corners 
 of her eyes. She did not want to make her 
 feel badly, yet her mistake ought to be cor-
 
 CHOCOLATE CREAMS. 165 
 
 rected. "I always thought bereaved was not 
 having something that you used to have." 
 
 " Well, they used to be warm enough in sum- 
 mer time," was the triumphant answer. "Any- 
 how I don't think you're talking very much 
 like an editor. Why do n't you tell me how 
 you like my poetry?" 
 
 "Well, Miss Craig, your poetry is very ex- 
 ceedingly splendid," declared Gertie, assuming 
 a pompous manner. " I '11 be sure to have a 
 paper this week, so's to print it right away. 
 Don't be in a hurry, ma'am. I haven't any- 
 thing at all to do except stay here and keep 
 thieves out. If it wasn't for that, I 'd go home." 
 
 " Well, I guess I 'd better not stay now ; be- 
 cause if you like my poetry, I expect you 'd 
 like some more, and that 's all that is written 
 yet. I can write you just as much as you 'd 
 like to have; it isn't very hard." 
 
 "All right; but then you must take my pa- 
 per all the time, and give me the money for it. 
 Of course, when it's my own paper, I can't let 
 folks write in it for nothing." 
 
 The clock began to strike at this moment, 
 and when its strokes had numbered nine, the 
 Editor kissed his mother good-night and aban- 
 doned his office. For once, at least, Gertie was 
 not sorry to go to bed. Pain and excitement had 
 made her feel weak and tired.
 
 Chapter* 
 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION. 
 
 YET when her room was darkened and she 
 lay in bed, her eyes would not stay shut, 
 nor would her tongue consent to be still. She 
 had stated the case exactly when she called her- 
 self " sort of nervous." Although she no longer 
 suffered pain, the restlessness of her body and 
 mind was its result. 
 
 "Let's talk awhile, Hilda," she suggested. 
 " I want to ask you what made you think of 
 playing ' Editor's Office.' You do n't know any 
 editors, do you?" 
 
 " No, not any real ones; but Archer is a kind 
 of an editor the kind that doesn't print." 
 
 "O, I didn't know that?" Gertrude ex- 
 claimed. " Do tell me all about it. I can not 
 sleep, Hilda Craig ; and you can't either, can 
 you?" 
 166
 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION. 167 
 
 " May be I could," answered Hilda, eva- 
 sively. 
 
 At any rate she was not likely to sleep at 
 present. Gertie's curiosity was excited and 
 must be gratified before either little maiden 
 slumbered. Archer's editing was one of the 
 various means which this remarkable boy em- 
 ployed to occupy his spare time. 
 
 " He has his paper every week, and writes 
 it on a sheet of foolscap paper," explained his 
 sister. " All of us give him things for it 
 Blanche and Ernest and me and Rose cuts 
 pieces out of the newspapers for him to copy 
 when he hasn't anything else." 
 
 " Do you write for a real true paper, your- 
 self?" questioned Gertie, enviously, and with a 
 sudden increase of respect for the little cousin 
 whom she had regarded as very young and 
 inexperienced. 
 
 u I do when he can't get anybody else," 
 honestly replied Hilda. " If Blanche will write, 
 then he does n't want me, and I 'd rather he 
 would 'nt. I wish I didn't have to do it at all." 
 
 "O, I'd like to!" cried Gertie, enthusiastic- 
 ally, grasping the bedclothes to draw herself 
 into a sitting posture. This caused her cam- 
 panion some annoyance ; and when, a moment 
 later, she let herself fall with a thump upon the 
 pillows, Hilda groaned and wriggled irritably.
 
 1 68 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " O, my darling Angelica," exclaimed Ger- 
 tie, seizing her cousin's hand, "get Archer to 
 let me write for the paper, won't you ? Tell 
 him I'll do something for him if he will." 
 
 u Yes, I'll tell him," agreed Hilda; "but 
 now, Gertie, hadn't we better go to sleep? To- 
 morrow afternoon I 'm going home, you know, 
 and I '11 tell Arch just as soon as I see him. 
 You need n't be a bit afraid that I '11 forget." 
 
 " No, do n't you, please. I can't go to sleep ; 
 but I '11 keep still and think up the splendidis- 
 sest story. The little girl 's name is Ivy, Well, 
 good-night." 
 
 Hilda's response was a drowsy murmur. 
 The poor child sank to sleep almost as soon as 
 the promise of quiet was given, and very prob- 
 ably could not have kept awake five minutes 
 longer even if her cousin's talking and jerking 
 had continued. 
 
 Gertie squeezed her eyelids together, pressed 
 her finger-tips into the palm of her hand, and 
 decided at once that Ivy should be the young- 
 est of six sisters. They should dwell in a two- 
 roomed cottage, and carry water from a well 
 three miles distant, in a gloomy and tiger-in- 
 fested forest. The delightfully dreadful possi- 
 bilities of a daily walk through such a thicket 
 soon soothed her into unconsciousness. 
 
 " Afe-oo, me-oo," was the remark which
 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION. 169 
 
 broke the last light chains of Hilda's slumber 
 next morning. She thought it sounded like a 
 cat, but was astonishingly loud ; and while she 
 still wondered where the animal whose voice 
 she heard could be, Gertie opened her eyes, and 
 began to laugh. 
 
 "Hear that Quillup," said she. "He 
 would n't come into the house last night, and 
 now he 's hungry." 
 
 A knock at the door informed the girls that 
 breakfast-time was nearing. There was a fire 
 in the grate, burning busily at a heap of coals. 
 Some one had already been in the room to care 
 for their comfort, but had worked so noiselessly 
 that they had not even dreamed her near. 
 
 " It 's ever so much colder," said Gertie, 
 buttoning her shoes on the hearth-rug. " That 
 will make our chocolate creams all the nicer. 
 I did n't count them, Hilda, did you ? but I 
 know there 's a good many." 
 
 " I think there 's twenty-three, and Florence 
 Atchinson had four besides. We '11 have them 
 for dessert for breakfast, won't we ?" 
 
 Hilda paused in her hair-brushing to wait 
 with some anxiety for her cousin's reply. She 
 need not have doubted her willingness. Gertie 
 gave a ready assent, and nodded violently as she 
 hung up the buttoner. 
 
 The melancholy mewing continued until they
 
 170 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 were completely dressed; and before leaving the 
 room they flung up the window to look at the 
 repentant wanderer. He redoubled his shrieks 
 when he heard the raising of the sash, and ran 
 for the side door as fast as three white legs and 
 one black one could carry him. 
 
 "Bad cat!" shouted Gertie, shaking her fist. 
 
 Quillup only yelled the louder, and put his 
 front paws against the wall, as if he were so 
 wild with despair that he thought he could 
 climb up. An amused face looked from a 
 window of the next house, first at the cat, and 
 then at the two little girls, who beat an imme- 
 diate retreat. They did not like to be laughed 
 at. Quillup was admitted as soon as they went 
 down-stairs, and showed his gratitude in his 
 own peculiar fashion by rushing hurriedly past 
 them, and hiding behind one of the kitchen 
 doors. 
 
 It was three o'clock when Hilda put on her 
 wrappings and took up her satchel. Gilbertina 
 was in Gertie's arms, for the cousins would part 
 only at the train. People soon to separate are 
 generally supposed to have a good deal to talk 
 about, yet it sometimes happens that they find 
 little to say to each other. These two small 
 people had been very happy together, and 
 hoped to have such a pleasant time soon again ; 
 yet they walked along the street in silence,
 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION. 171 
 
 until the interesting subject of the doll's name 
 recurred to Gertie's mind. 
 
 " I do n't know why you feel so about call- 
 ing her something else," she began, holding up 
 the doll before its owner's eyes, as if she thought 
 that so much beauty must melt the stoniest 
 heart. " She 's too pretty to be spoiled with 
 such a name as Gilbertina," and Gertie made a 
 wry face. 
 
 " Do you think my mamma would want her 
 called anything that would spoil her?" demanded 
 Hilda, throwing back her head, and speaking in 
 a tone intended to be withering. 
 
 Any reference to Gilbertina was sure to 
 affect her unpleasantly. But Gertie was not a 
 bit crushed. She was too much in earnest to be 
 sensitive. 
 
 " No," she answered, seriously; " but grown- 
 up people do n't always know what children like. 
 I expect your mamma keeps on thinking that 
 you 'd rather have Gilbertina than any other 
 name, and here are you and I real worried 
 about it." 
 
 Hilda stared hard at a swinging sign across 
 the street, but she was thinking of something 
 quite different from it. What Gertie had said 
 was much the same thing as that which her 
 mother had tried so earnestly and lovingly to 
 impress upon her some time before. Mingled
 
 172 A TROUBLESOME NAME, 
 
 with the mortification which made her eyelashes 
 droop to her cheeks when Gilbertina's name 
 was mentioned, came the misgiving that she 
 was not acting toward her mother as she ought. 
 
 " You can do something that I can't," said 
 Gertie, abruptly. " I just could n't keep from 
 telling my mother everything. O, it 's so nice 
 to talk to her ! One reason I like to have nice 
 things happen is, so I can tell them to her. 
 And if anybody is hateful, or I do n't have a 
 good lesson at school, I begin to stop feeling 
 bad as soon as I think how she will look when 
 she knows. Sometimes after I 've gone to bed 
 I remember something I 've forgotten to tell her, 
 and then I can hardly wait till morning. O, I 
 do like my mother, Hilda !" 
 
 " Why, of course you do," said Hilda, 
 laughing. 
 
 U O no, not of course," returned her cousin, 
 earnestly. " You mean because she 's my 
 mother; but that isn't the only reason. It's 
 because she 's my mother, you know ; but it 's 
 more than that, too. It 's because she 's so very, 
 very nice." 
 
 Hilda had no answer ready ; therefore she 
 changed the subject. Where they were walk- 
 ing the pavement was thickly strewn with yel- 
 low and brown leaves, that rustled as they 
 stepped among them. " It will take a lot of
 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION. 173 
 
 people to clear these away if they want to get 
 it done before the snow comes," she observed. 
 
 " I wish they would n't clear them away at 
 all," was the unexpected reply. " I like to see 
 them." 
 
 " Do you ?" asked Hilda, eying the leaves 
 doubtfully, and trying to understand this singu- 
 lar preference. "Why?" 
 
 " O, because they make me think of some- 
 thing," Gertie answered, dreamily. 
 
 " What do they make you think of?" 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, I do n't know. But 
 they do make me think of something, and it 's 
 something that I like." 
 
 "It is funny that you don't know what 
 you 're thinking about," commented Hilda. 
 "They won't stay as nice as they are now, you 
 know. When it rains, the mud will splash all 
 over them, and they '11 make the street just 
 awful. You do n't like them that way, do you?" 
 
 "No; not a bit," Gertie hastened to assure 
 her. 
 
 When the little girl with the big doll entered 
 the car at the Lincoln Street Station, more than 
 one pair of eyes dwelt upon her with pleasure. 
 It is not every day that such a pretty child and 
 such a pretty toy are seen in each other's com- 
 pany. But every seat was occupied, and the 
 rows of comfortable and complacent people con-
 
 174 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 fused the timid young traveler so much that she 
 did not know what to do. She was standing 
 quite motionless in the aisle, her eyes fixed 
 upon the floor, and her face flushing with em- 
 barrassment, when a gloved hand touched her 
 lightly on the shoulder, and a pleasant voice 
 asked : u Won't you come and sit beside me?" 
 
 It was a great relief to Hilda to see what 
 an attractive young lady had spoken to her. 
 She was plump and smiling, with soft blue 
 eyes, and loose masses of light-brown hair. A 
 tightly-fitting black cloak covered her dress, 
 and a music-roll was resting upon her knee. 
 
 "I think there will be room enough for all 
 three," said the young lady, courteously admit- 
 ing Gilbertina's claim to consideration. "What 
 a very beautiful doll you have, and how prettily 
 she is dressed ! She looks as if she were quite 
 new; is n't she?" 
 
 "I've only had her just since last Wednes- 
 day," answered the child, and held Gilbertina 
 toward her new friend for a closer inspection. 
 
 The offer was accepted with the greatest 
 readiness, and seemed to give the lady much 
 pleasure. She talked on in tones that were 
 carefully kept low. Her words were distinct, 
 and Hilda was glad that the crowd of strangers 
 could not hear a conversation not intended for 
 them to share.
 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION. 175 
 
 A more agreeable young lady is seldom met. 
 You might be sure from her face and manner 
 that she meant what she said that so large 
 and lovely a doll is something to make one 
 really grateful. And she noticed what some 
 people would have passed by unobserved, how 
 nicely the ribbon on her cap matched her cash- 
 mere cloak. 
 
 " Yes, Blanche did it. Blanche is my sister," 
 Hilda shyly replied. " You do n't live in Haw- 
 thorn, do you ?" 
 
 " No, I live in the city ; but I am now on 
 my way to Hawthorn. Is that where you live?" 
 
 The speaker placed Gilbertina carefully on 
 the seat, and looked at Hilda as if something 
 else had aroused her interest. 
 
 "Just since two weeks ago. Before that I 
 was born in Chicago, and lived there all my life. 
 But my papa wanted to move his store to this 
 city, and, of course, we could n't stay so far 
 from him." 
 
 Hilda was getting so well acquainted with 
 her new friend that she gathered courage to put 
 a question which had been floating about in her 
 brain for some minutes. With a glance at the 
 music-roll she ventured to inquire : 
 
 "Are you going to Hawthorn to take a 
 music-lesson ?" 
 
 " No, I 'm going to give one," the lady an-
 
 176 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 swered, and Hilda involuntarily turned her head 
 to look into the face at her side. It surprised 
 her to hear that this young girl was a teacher, 
 for she seemed scarcely older than Blanche. 
 
 "I'm going to take music-lessons," she ob- 
 served, with apparent irrelevance. 
 
 "Are you?" asked the young lady. 
 
 She looked down at the little girl, as if 
 there was something else she wanted to say. 
 For a minute she gazed at the cliffs past which 
 the train was running. They were covered 
 with thin fragments of grayish-brown stone, and 
 just at this point were cleft by a narrow, precip- 
 itous ravine, through which tumbled a hurry- 
 ing stream of coffee-colored water. When she 
 looked back again she said, with a smile : 
 
 " I should like very much to know your 
 name, and if you do n't mind my asking it I will 
 tell you mine in return. It is Esther Madison." 
 
 " Mine 's Hilda Craig," was the ready reply. 
 "Fred Tomlinson is going to take music-lessons 
 too. He lives next door to us." 
 
 " Yes, I heard about him, and am going to 
 see Mrs. Tomlinson to-day. Did you ever hear 
 Fred play on the piano?" 
 
 "A little," nodded Hilda. "O, he can go so. 
 fast you hardly hear what he is playing! He 
 says he knows all kinds of music ; but then he 's 
 been taking a few odd years, I guess."
 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION. 177 
 
 Miss Madison did not seem so much im- 
 pressed by this information as Hilda had ex- 
 pected. She smiled a little, but, instead of ex- 
 pressing admiration of Fred's attainments, she 
 asked, in a voice which sounded as if she were 
 trying to keep from laughing : 
 
 " What does ' a few odd years ' mean ?" 
 
 "Several," answered Hilda, rather shortly, 
 and began to feel uncomfortable for the first 
 time since she had taken her seat. 
 
 A fancy for repeating words and expressions 
 which she did not clearly understand, sometimes 
 made this dear little girl ridiculous. It would 
 have been better if she had always been con- 
 tent to talk like a child, and not pretend to 
 know as much as older people. 
 
 Miss Madison observed her confusion and 
 felt sorry for her. She tried to find something 
 else to talk about, and it was not her fault that 
 she suggested the very sorest subject that could 
 possibly have been touched. 
 
 " We have told each other our names, but 
 you have not introduced this pretty doll. I am 
 sure you have chosen a name for her a great 
 deal more magnificent than either of ours." 
 
 " No, it is n't," said Hilda, hastily. Then 
 she checked herself. After a short pause she 
 began again, but not nearly so fast. " At least 
 I do n't know whether you '11 like it or not. It 
 
 12
 
 1 78 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 was my uncle that gave her to me, and his 
 name is Gilbert. So Blanche thought I ought 
 to name her after him, and she said for a girl 
 that would be Gilbertina." 
 
 " So this is Miss Gilbertina Craig," said Es- 
 ther, with a funny little bow that made the 
 child's sober countenance light up with a smile. 
 " O, Hilda, this makes me think of a doll that I 
 used to have, and I think I must tell you about 
 it. I was a little bit of a thing not more than 
 three years old, at the very most and I had al- 
 ways plenty of dolls ; for I was the youngest of 
 the family, and had my sister's old toys, as well 
 as the presents that came to myself." 
 
 " I had one of Blanche's," interjected Hilda, 
 quite happy again ; "but I was only a baby, and 
 I pushed it under the lattice on the balcony up- 
 stairs, and it fell on the bricks and smashed its 
 head. Blanche ^did n't like that." 
 
 " Well," went on Esther, " one day my father 
 brought me home a wax doll, with its head 
 painted to look as if it had yellow hair drawn 
 up very high and tight. I had a sister who liked 
 to name my dolls, just as Blanche does yours, no 
 doubt, and she said that this one must be called 
 Charlesine from Charles, my father's name." 
 
 " Charlesine," Hilda repeated. 
 
 Involuntarily she was comparing the name 
 with that of Gilbertina, and wondering whether
 
 A TRAVELING COMPANION. 179 
 
 it were quite as absurd. It would have relieved 
 her mind to think so, but her candid opinion 
 pronounced it much prettier. 
 
 "Poor Charlesine!" laughed Miss Madison. 
 "One day I left her on the hearth-rug, and my 
 sister stepped on her head. She had long felt' 
 a great desire to know what made a doll's eyes 
 open and shut ; so she was n't a bit sorry for 
 what she had done, because it gave her a chance 
 to find out." 
 
 " But was the doll spoiled?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed. I did n't care very much ; I 
 was too little. My sister discovered that its eyes 
 were bits of glass, and that when it lay down on 
 its back a weight dropped in its head and pulled 
 them shut. It was such a satisfaction to her to 
 know this that I am really glad the accident 
 occurred. 
 
 " I like to know it, too," said Hilda, con- 
 vinced that Miss Madison was the most interest- 
 ing young lady she had ever met. 
 
 The car was stopping now at the Hawthorn 
 depot, and Esther insisted on carrying Hilda's 
 bag. Archer was at the steps to help his sister 
 off. He looked very much surprised when a 
 real young lady, with a notably business-like 
 air, put a satchel into his hand, saying, briskly : 
 
 " I have no doubt that this is my friend Hil- 
 da's brother. You take the lower board-walk, I
 
 i8o A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 understand, and I take the upper ; so we shall 
 have to separate here, but I hope we shall meet 
 again." 
 
 Then away she went, with a firm, rapid 
 tread, which caused Archer Craig to gaze after 
 her admiringly. 
 
 Fred Tomlinson was standing outside of his 
 father's gate as the brother and sister passed. 
 He looked quite desolate, for he had just quar- 
 reled with Ernest, and was feeling the want of a 
 playmate. But when his eye fell upon the doll, 
 whose face Hilda was hiding against the furry 
 trimming of her coat, it sparkled with a gleam 
 of animation. 
 
 " Hullo, here 's Gilbertina Filbertina!" cried 
 the pitiless tease. " How much did they give her 
 for showing herself off in the museum ?"
 
 MR. PETERSON. 
 
 '"PHE morning of the second day of November 
 1 was white with frost. An ashy mist rolled 
 in long, narrow waves from a pale-blue sky, 
 which it left streaked as if with snow. If any- 
 body thrust his head through a window, the 
 chilly breezes ran over his face and lingered in 
 his hair, making him feel in a moment that he 
 would take cold if he did not withdraw himself 
 from the wind. 
 
 Yet the front door of Mr. Craig's house was 
 half open, and while one boy stood upon the 
 threshold, another leaned against the wall out- 
 side. They were whistling in unison, long prac- 
 tice having enabled them to do so to their entire 
 satisfaction, but kept turning their faces anx- 
 iously toward the fence which divided their 
 home from that of their nearest neighbor. 
 
 181
 
 1 82 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 In the hall a little girl, whose ringlets were 
 shining with smoothness, and who wore a de- 
 lightfully fresh white apron, found it utterly im- 
 possible to keep still. She entertained herself 
 by mounting to the third step of the staircase, 
 placing her feet carefully side by side, so that 
 the ankles touched, and jumping to the floor. 
 The interest of this amusement grew with every 
 repetition, and the ascent was accomplished 
 more rapidly each time. When the boy in the 
 doorway turned round and, spoke to her, the 
 sudden interruption made her stagger against 
 the balustrade. 
 
 " Say, Hilda," he remarked, swinging a sil- 
 ver watch, " why don't you put your things on? 
 We '11 have to hurry like fun when Fred and 
 Annie come. It 's only ten minutes to school- 
 time now." 
 
 "O Arch, is it?" cried Hilda, running away, 
 with both hands pressed against her dizzy head. 
 
 When she returned, Fred and Annie had ar- 
 rived ; the former was stamping over the porch 
 with his hands in his pockets. As Hilda rushed 
 hastily out and Archer banged the door, he re- 
 marked, as if it were nothing to him, that, in 
 his opinion, they could not possibly get to school 
 before it opened. Punctuality was a virtue much 
 esteemed in the Craig family. Accordingly, 
 Fred's observation alarmed all the children, as
 
 MR. PETERSON. 183 
 
 he intended it to do. Nevertheless, Hilda said, 
 reprovingly, to her brothers: 
 
 " Boys, you never kissed mamma good-bye." 
 
 " Did, too ; kissed her half an hour ago," re- 
 torted Ernest, starting down the steps. An in- 
 stant later Fred Tomlinson found himself walk- 
 ing alone behind two very clean and stiff little 
 girls, who paid him no attention whatever. 
 Both the other youths had mysteriously van- 
 ished, but soon came clattering after him, pant- 
 ing and happy, their mother's kisses fresh upon 
 their lips. 
 
 This gave the girls quite a start, for Fred had 
 lingered to avoid their uninteresting company. 
 
 The school to which the children were going 
 had been chosen for them because it was, with 
 the exception of the public school, the only one 
 in Hawthorn. As its session was short, Mr. 
 Craig preferred it to one which would keep the 
 scholars at their books all day. 
 
 Captain Serenus Peterson, the teacher, was 
 a gentleman who had tried his hand at various 
 occupations, without seeming to derive a great 
 deal of profit from any. He had received a col- 
 legiate education and entered the army, which 
 he left because his health broke down. After he 
 had been a clerk in one house and a salesman 
 in another, a friend put him in charge of a 
 small grocery-store ; but his natural restlessness
 
 1 84 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 soon demanded a change, and for years after- 
 ward his wandering course was hard to trace. 
 He hung about Washington, hoping for a Gov- 
 ernment office ; went to Europe as secretary for 
 a traveler who hoped to make a fortune by 
 means of a book descriptive of Holyrood Castle, 
 Mount Vesuvius, the Swiss resorts, and the char- 
 acteristics of the German nation ; and finally 
 arrived in Hawthorn, where he immediately 
 opened a school. 
 
 This event occurred in March ; by the mid- 
 dle of May he had twenty scholars, and at the 
 end of June he gave a summer vacation to 
 eleven. He did not lose heart, however, but in- 
 formed the faithful remnant that the school 
 would reopen on the 8th of September on 
 which date he was lying ill at his sister's home 
 in Louisville, having succumbed to malarial in- 
 fluences. This circumstance made the vacation 
 two weeks longer, and decidedly increased his 
 popularity among the few pupils who were per- 
 mitted to await his return. 
 
 Hilda's heart was beating with anticipation 
 as she walked along the narrow bank which 
 bordered the rough country road. It was her 
 first start to school ; she could read well, and 
 write a little in a large, round hand ; but that 
 was about the extent of her education, and she 
 felt that she had a great deal to learn.
 
 .I//?. J>ETE#SO.\\ 185 
 
 Alter crossing a stream, which cut directly 
 under the road and fell musically over a slight 
 descent just before it reached the bridge, they 
 began to climb a path which ran like an up- 
 ward-circling shelf around the slope of the hill. 
 It was narrow enough in certain spots to make a 
 timorous child like Hilda draw toward the inner 
 side ; but her companions enjoyed tramping 
 along the edge and watching loosened bits of 
 pebbly earth plunge down among the ever- 
 greens and crackling brown weeds. Far below 
 lay, long and slender, the motionless, dull-colored 
 creek, which not infrequently overflowed its 
 bounds, dashed upon the roots of the neighbor- 
 ing oaks and maples,, and caused the thick un- 
 derbrush to float its feeble branches on a murky 
 pool. 
 
 "There's the school-house," announced 
 Annie. 
 
 A sharp turn to the right had brought them 
 in sight of a grassy level, clear but for a sprink- 
 ling of great nut-trees and two dark-red frame 
 buildings. 
 
 These latter were very unequal in size, and 
 the smaller one was known as the Peterson In- 
 stitute. It had been built for a doctor's office, 
 and was not widely separated from the neigh- 
 boring house. There the teacher had, without 
 difficulty, secured board and lodging, and had
 
 1 86 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 found, in the vacant office, a school-room fully 
 as large as he was likely to require. 
 
 "The scholars are out of doors, and it's 
 three minutes after nine," observed Archer, 
 looking at his watch. 
 
 It had just returned from one of its frequent 
 trips for repairs, and was more than ordinarily 
 precious. 
 
 "Come on, boys! Who'll get there first?" 
 shouted Fred, dashing off without giving his 
 friends a fair chance for a start. Notwithstand- 
 ing this dishonest dealing, they reached the 
 group as soon as he did. Ernest, in spite of his 
 clogging arm, was so light and quick that he 
 found himself a little ahead. 
 
 "Where's the old man?" puffed Fred, be- 
 stowing upon his victorious rival a kindly nod of 
 commendation. Fred was foolish enough to be- 
 lieve that such a disrespectful reference to his 
 instructor was a really graceful form of speech. 
 
 " He 's late again, and I 'm pretty near 
 froze," grumbled a little girl with a large nose 
 and straight, yellow hair. She had her hands 
 in the pockets of her jacket, and was dancing, 
 first on one foot and then on the other, to keep 
 herself warm. " I think it 's a shame to have to 
 wait out here, when we have so far to come, and 
 he has n't at all. I did n't hardly finish my 
 breakfast, I was in such a hurry."
 
 MR. PETERSON. 187 
 
 A boy with a pale face and a very nice suit 
 of clothes stepped up to Archer. He was one 
 of the neatest boys ever seen ; his boots well 
 polished and his hat well brushed. 
 
 "Mr. Peterson is my father's cousin," said 
 he, confidentially. "It is awfully hard for him 
 to get up in the morning. Sometimes Mrs. 
 Worth gets so tired pounding his door she just 
 gives up and goes away; and so he's late for 
 school. He never means to be." 
 
 " Barn Simeral," interrupted Fred, thrust- 
 ing himself between the two, " where 'd you get 
 to know Archer Craig ?" 
 
 "O, I thought that's who it was," returned 
 Barnard, easily. "I've seen him at the store; 
 his post-office box is twenty-seven. Well, fel- 
 lows, upon my word, the last time Mr. Peterson 
 staid at our house the ham and beefsteak all 
 dried to splinters waiting for him to get up to 
 breakfast. At last our Carrie went into the 
 parlor and played Hail Columbia, and she and 
 Johnny and I all sang it as loud as we could 
 yell. That fetched him. We heard his feet 
 come thump on to the floor 'cause his room 
 was over the parlor and I stood on my head 
 against the double doors, and Carrie laughed so 
 she fell off the piano stool," 
 
 "You're his cousin," said Fred. "Why 
 don't you go over and rouse him up ?"
 
 1 88 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "I'm not his cousin!" cried Barnard, indig- 
 nantly. "My father is his cousin ; not I. He's 
 'most fifty years old." 
 
 Hilda was not talking to anybody ; she was 
 leaning against the bole of a tree and watching 
 her brothers with a wistful countenance, while 
 Annie Tomlinson flew from one to another of 
 the strange girls. She had something to say 
 to each in turn, but made none of them ac- 
 quainted with her friend, though all stared at 
 her curiously, and the maid with the yellow 
 locks asked : 
 
 "Is that Hilda Craig that came with you?" 
 
 Presently a figure in a woolly overcoat hur- 
 ried toward them. It was a man with a light- 
 brown beard and a thin, anxious face. His 
 height was less than the average ; he was very 
 slightly built and looked delicate. None of the 
 children, excepting Barnard Simeral, offered 
 him a morning salutation, and he only nodded 
 to them. Hastily unlocking the door, he went 
 straight to his desk, and rang the little silver 
 call-bell thereupon ; then kept his eyes and 
 hands employed with the arrangement of his 
 books while the scholars were taking their 
 places. 
 
 " I don't believe that man has had a bite of 
 breakfast," whispered a voice in Archer's ear, 
 and Barnard crowded past him, knocking him
 
 MR. PETERSON. 189 
 
 against a sharp corner in his effort to push 
 through the doorway. 
 
 The school-room presented an unconven- 
 tional appearance. A revolving arm-chair and 
 a massive desk with rolling top accommodated 
 the master very comfortably ; for the pupils 
 there were plenty of cane-seated chairs, but 
 each was required to bring his own desk. This 
 peculiar exaction had not been made known to 
 the Craig family, three members of which were 
 now standing against the wall, very red-faced 
 and abashed. 
 
 "O!" ejaculated Mr. Peterson, glancing up 
 and beholding the unhappy trio. He knew 
 who they were ; their father had made arrange- 
 ments for their attendance ; and he shook hands 
 with them now, and hoped that they would like 
 the school. 
 
 "Have you any old tables any stands or 
 anything at home, that you could send here? 
 My pupils all provide their own desks; we are 
 not yet quite ready to fit out the room." 
 
 " Just any old table, sir ?" asked Archer, who, 
 although it was five years since he began to 
 scribble his name, age, and residence through 
 Osgood's Spelling-book and Harper's Geog- 
 raphies, had never had such an experience 
 as this. 
 
 "Just anything at all anything at all will
 
 190 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 do," replied Mr. Peterson, looking nervously 
 around the room. " Madeline Williams, is Helen 
 Bland coming to-day?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir," answered the girl with 
 the straight, light hair. She did not raise her 
 eyes from her book. Mr. Peterson gazed at her 
 as if he felt that he ought to reprimand her for 
 her lack of respect, but would much rather 
 not do so. 
 
 " It is so late now, I imagine she will not be 
 here. I was a little late myself," confessed poor 
 Mr. Peterson, with a shadowy smile. " So you 
 can have her desk for to-day," and he indicated 
 a heavy,' mahogany table a handsome, old- 
 fashioned piece of furniture with a marble top 
 which was located near a window. 
 
 It was oblong in shape, and soon there was 
 a boy at either end and a blushing little girl 
 at one side. Archer's eyes twinkled with fun ; 
 almost involuntarily he tapped lightly upon the 
 marble, and murmured, in a tone of command: 
 
 "Here, waiter; ice-cream for three." 
 
 Mr. Peterson turned his melancholy gaze in 
 their direction, but said nothing, although the 
 fact that Ernest was shaking with laughter 
 could scarcely have escaped his notice. A girl 
 who was just entering the door thought that he 
 was looking at her, and nodded with much com- 
 posure as she went to hang up her hat and cloak.
 
 MR. PETERSON. 191 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Peterson. Has school 
 begun already?" 
 
 "You are late again, Helen very late, in- 
 deed," returned her instructor, with some show 
 of annoyance. "This really will have to be 
 stopped." 
 
 " Well, I can't help it," rejoined the girl. 
 " I could n't find my gloves, and Mrs. Snider 
 would n't let me come without them." 
 
 She stopped short at this point, for while ad- 
 vancing toward her desk, the amazing fact that 
 three strangers were grouped around it and 
 viewing her with obvious interest had filled her 
 with astonishment. 
 
 "Of course I did not expect you at such an 
 hour as this," said Mr. Peterson, with an effort 
 after severity, " so I let these young gentlemen 
 and this young lady have your place. We will 
 have to see what can be done." 
 
 A different arrangement for the boys was 
 effected with very little difficulty, and Hilda re- 
 mained as Helen's guest. The latter shoved 
 her chair noisily over the floor as she took her 
 seat, spent some time in piling her books into 
 an unsteady tower, drew her slate to her, and 
 began to write upon it with a squeaking pencil. 
 Then she pushed it toward her companion, and 
 Hilda read, in large and distinct characters : 
 
 "How do you do?"
 
 192 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 When she lifted her eyes, Helen was nod- 
 ding energetically, and her face was wreathed in 
 smiles. To such a polite greeting a response 
 was necessary. Hilda grasped the pencil and 
 wrote the same words, since she could think of 
 nothing better to say, inclosing them in brackets, 
 a touch of elegance which produced a visible 
 effect. 
 
 The impression which Archer had at first 
 received, that the management of the school 
 was novel and peculiar, deepened as the day 
 wore on. Mr. Peterson had a cultivated mind. 
 He was a man of books, but he was not quali- 
 fied for a teacher. The Craig children had in- 
 creased the number of his pupils to fifteen six 
 girls and nine boys and I do not know how he 
 could have attended to any more, because nearly 
 every one formed a class by himself. The first 
 hour was given to arithmetic, and when the last 
 of the numerous recitations in this branch of 
 science had been heard, the teacher looked 
 around the room as if he were not certain what 
 ought to come next. 
 
 "Archer Craig," said he abruptly, "I think 
 your father told me you want to study Latin." 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the boy, recovering from 
 the start which this unexpected address had 
 occasioned. " I 'm at the fifth book in Caesar." 
 
 " O, I did n't understand that ; I thought
 
 PETERSON. 193 
 
 you were only a beginner, and could go in with 
 Barnard Simeral." Mr. Peterson had a helpless 
 look. " Well, I shall have to hear you alone. 
 Probably you are not prepared for to-day. Study 
 as much as has been your custom, and be ready 
 to recite to-morrow." % 
 
 He pulled out his watch, glanced at it, and 
 thrust it back into his pocket. It was only ten 
 minutes after ten ; at half-past that hour the 
 pupils were to have a recess of five minutes, 
 " merely," so their teacher had elegantly ex- 
 plained, " to break the too severe strain of un- 
 interrupted application to books." 
 
 At present the children did not seem to be 
 injuring themselves by excessive study. There 
 was not an idle one among them, unless it 
 might be the new-comers ; all the rest were dili- 
 gently employed in more or less profitless 
 amusement. Barnard Simeral was drawing a 
 pig on the fly-leaf of his new Latin grammar ; 
 a boy with a sooty nose was making faces at a 
 little maid in spectacles ; Helen Bland was con- 
 scientiously dog's-earing every page in her 
 Fourth Reader; and two other girls were whis- 
 pering together behind a big geography. 
 
 " Ernest is going to begin Latin, sir," sug- 
 gested Archer. Mr. Peterson brightened. 
 
 " O, very well. Then, Barnard, you and 
 Ernest bring your books and come up."
 
 194 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 As there was no lesson to hear, only a few 
 explanations to be made, he found time before 
 half-past ten to listen to the class in the First 
 Reader, consisting of a boy of five and a girl of 
 six. Then the bell tingled, and a rush for the 
 door resulted. Helen rose and faced Hilda, 
 who was rising also. 
 
 " What 's your name ?" demanded the former, 
 without any circumlocution. 
 
 " Hilda Craig." 
 
 " Mine is Helen Bland. How old are you ?" 
 
 " Nine," answered Hilda, happy that she did 
 not have to say eight. 
 
 "Well, I'm eleven. Don't let's go out of 
 doors ; let 's just stay here, and I '11 tell you 
 who the girls are," said Helen, resuming her seat. 
 " That 's Adela Williams," pointing to the large- 
 nosed damsel, who was " smoothing down her 
 yellow hair " with the comb which kept it from 
 covering her face. 
 
 "Adela!" exclaimed Hilda. "Why, I 
 thought Mr. Peterson called her Madeline." 
 
 " He calls her that almost nearly all the time. 
 O, but does n't it make her mad ?" chuckled 
 Helen. " She 's tried every way to make him stop, 
 but it seems as if he can't. In spelling-class she 
 gets him to hear us out of her book, and it's got 
 ADELA Williams, with two lines under it, writ- 
 ten at the top of every page. And all of us girls
 
 MR. PETERSON. 195 
 
 talk and talk about Adela, and say her name 
 very hard whenever he comes around." 
 
 "I like Madeline for a name," observed 
 Hilda, who found the truth in this case rather 
 disappointing. 
 
 " Well, but you would n't want it if it was n't 
 yours, would you? I'm sorry all my life that 
 I was n't named Lauretta (is n't that the sweetest 
 name ?) but I would n't allow anybody to call 
 me anything else but Helen. Over there, get- 
 ting a drink of water, with glasses on, is Cecie 
 Phillips. She has to study harder than the rest 
 of us, because she 's going to be a teacher. You 
 know Annie Tomlinson ; and that little girl," 
 Helen made a grimace, "that's Ruth Raymond. 
 She 's anything but nice. A regular little prig, 
 that would faint if she tore her dress. Now, 
 what do you think of that, Hilda, when she 
 is n't quite six years old ?" 
 
 "Well, I think it is queer," replied Hilda, 
 and before anything else could be said the bell 
 rang, and eighteen noisy boots tramped into the 
 room. 
 
 The scholars brought their lunch, and ate it 
 during a noon intermission half an hour in 
 length, while their teacher dined at his board- 
 ing-house. At half-past one they were out of 
 school for the day. 
 
 Hilda and Helen picnicked upon the marble-
 
 196 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 topped table, elegantly provided with stiff paper 
 napkins torn from Helen's copy-book. They 
 shared egg sandwiches and sponge-cakes, and, 
 having cut an orange into halves, were just 
 ready for the last course when Adela Williams 
 implored them to come out and play Desert 
 Island. 
 
 They offered no objection, for the name 
 sounded most attractive. At the side of the 
 school-house a rope swing was fastened to the 
 bough of a walnut-tree. Adela explained that 
 each was in turn to tumble from the swing 
 regarded in the light of a sinking ship and 
 drop to the bottom of the hollow which lay close 
 at hand. She herself went first, that the others 
 might understand exactly how to proceed, fell 
 gracefully from the rope, made several wild 
 clutches at the branches far above her head, and, 
 rolling down the slope, lay perfectly still. 
 
 Cecie Phillips followed. She was a large, 
 heavily-built girl of thirteen, not equal to the 
 gymnastic feats of her lighter companions ; but 
 she entered heartily into the sport, and made 
 her way laboriously to the spot where Adela 
 lay. Annie rolled after her. 
 
 "You go next, Hilda. You're my precious 
 little sister that I will see safe before I ever try 
 to save myself," cried Helen, lugging her friend 
 to the swing.
 
 MR. PETERSON. 197 
 
 Hilda was not particularly delighted with 
 the role assigned her, for what she called " play- 
 ing baby " was her especial dislike. Neverthe- 
 less, any part in this new game was exciting. 
 Her descent to the desert island which, contrary 
 to all accepted ideas, lay lower than the sea-level, 
 was accomplished so easily and gracefully that 
 Adela received her with a hug. 
 
 But Helen's performance bore away the 
 palm. She stood upright in the swing, and 
 twirled herself around until the rope was tightly 
 twisted. At this interesting moment it broke, 
 and the star performer fell with all her weight 
 upon her admiring companions. Cecie extri- 
 cated herself with a groan, Adela screamed, and 
 Helen lay like a block of wood, having decided, 
 with praiseworthy presence of mind, that she 
 was nearly drowned, and must await resusci- 
 tation. 
 
 " My beloved sister has fainted!" cried Hilda, 
 misunderstanding her intention. " Has any- 
 body got a fan ? Yes, here is one in a trunk 
 that has lost its lid, but everything in it is as 
 good as new," and, breaking a switch from a 
 blackberry-bush, she flapped it about the suf- 
 ferer's face in a way that soon brought her to 
 life. 
 
 "Ruth Raymond isn't rescued yet," said 
 Adela, observing a small face peering scornfully
 
 1 98 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 down at thein. "Catch hold of the end of the 
 rope, Ruth, and roll down." 
 
 "I wouldn't," replied Ruth, with a superior 
 air. "The ground is muddy, and you' dwesses 
 will be all spoiled." And she walked away, 
 followed by a jeering laugh. 
 
 "Truly though, girls, we '11 take cold if we 
 do n't get up right away," said thoughtful Cecie. 
 " What do you want us to do now, Adela? Make 
 a fire and dry our clothes?" 
 
 "Yes, we must do that first," agreed Adela, 
 glad to have assistance in planning. 
 
 A pile of sticks was speedily collected, but 
 the lighting was purely imaginary. The play 
 progressed finely ; for all were well-read in 
 " Swiss Family Robinson." It occurred to Cecie 
 at last that this noon half-hour had never before 
 seemed so long. 
 
 " Here comes Mr. Peterson now !" she ex- 
 claimed. " What 's the matter with him, girls? 
 He looks as cross as a bear." 
 
 Mr. Peterson did look cross, and worried 
 too. He paused only a moment to say: 
 
 "Girls, come in and get to work at once," 
 in a tone much harsher than he was accustomed 
 to use ; then turned on his heel and walked back 
 to the school-house. 
 
 Not a boy was there when they entered; but 
 Mr. Peterson called a class without making the
 
 MR. PETERSON. 199 
 
 least reference to the absentees, who, in about 
 ten minutes, came stealing softly in. Some of 
 them looked frightened, and all a little ashamed. 
 
 "Now," said Mr. Peterson, when his watch 
 told him it was time for dismissal, " will the 
 boy who stole my bell walk -up and return it to 
 my desk? The boy who stole it, I say," he re- 
 peated, with a cruel emphasis upon the ugly 
 word ; " for it was nothing less than theft to come 
 in here while I was absent, and remove an arti- 
 cle upon which, as you well know, I am de- 
 pendent." 
 
 The fall of bits of coal, loosened by heat, 
 could be heard within the stove. Mr. Peterson 
 sat waiting, his sad, tired face turning from side 
 to side, with a pathetic expression of inquiry. 
 
 " Let me tell you," he said, dryly, " that 'ob- 
 stinacy in this affair will avail nothing. Imme- 
 diately after dismissal I shall search your desks, 
 and if the bell is not discovered, shall, without 
 delay, inform your parents." 
 
 An anxious whispering began in one corner. 
 Then, to the amazement of the curious girls, a 
 long, lank figure stumbled up the aisle a figure 
 almost six feet tall, its tiny head covered with 
 short black curls. It was Franky Chester, a 
 youth of eighteen, whose body had far outgrown 
 his mind. His vacant face wore a sheepish 
 grin, as he placed before his teacher the miss-
 
 200 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 ing bell. Over Mr. Peterson's face swept a 
 startling change ; surprise, pity, and anger were 
 all mingled. The sharp orbs of Helen Bland 
 assured her that tears were in his eyes. The 
 boy lingered, twisting his fingers, looking up at 
 the ceiling and down at his feet by turns, until 
 the master said quietly : 
 
 " You may go to your seat, Franky." 
 
 Then he began to smile, and went back 
 with the same uneven gait which had brought 
 hitn to the desk. On the way he nodded his 
 head, giving a low, pleased chuckle, toward a 
 boy with smoothly brushed hair, and shoes that 
 were remarkably clean and shining considering 
 the fact that he had been racing over a soil but 
 recently soaked with rain. This boy did not 
 seem to notice Franky's nod ; he was very busy 
 with his books. 
 
 When Mr. Peterson spoke again his voice 
 was very stern. 
 
 " There is in this room a boy who is more 
 contemptible than I would have believed any 
 scholar of mine could be a boy who not only 
 will stoop to foolish and reprehensible practical 
 jokes, but, having committed them, will shove 
 the burden of blame upon one whose peculiar 
 affliction ought to make him an object of ten- 
 derness and respect." 
 
 There was so much feeling in his tone, so
 
 MR. PETERSON. 201 
 
 much dignity in his manner, that every one in 
 the room was impressed. Helen laid down her 
 head and began a loud sobbing ; her nerves 
 were easily affected. Hilda stared at her broth- 
 .ers, vaguely wondering whether there was any 
 reason for being frightened ; and she saw Archer, 
 lips very white, but head high and shoulders 
 well squared, leave his place and walk up to his 
 teacher. It was hard for him to speak, any 
 one might see that, but Mr. Peterson gave him 
 no help. 
 
 " I'm I 'm partly to blame," Archer began, 
 in a quick voice. The gaze which was bent 
 upon him did not soften ; its severity seemed to 
 sting him into courage. "Mr. Peterson," he 
 said, boldly, "I beg your pardon. I was one of 
 the leaders in what was done, and I '11 take any 
 punishment you may think best." 
 
 "That is all very well, Archer. So far as 
 the first misdemeanor is concerned, this confes- 
 sion goes a long way toward covering your fault. 
 But how about your conduct toward Franky 
 Chester? Was it manly, do you think?" 
 
 "It was horrid!" the boy burst out. "But, 
 Mr. Peterson, I never meant to let him bear the 
 blame. We got him to take the bell just be- 
 cause he was the only fellow in the room ; the 
 rest of us were outside when we made up our 
 minds, and we called to Franky to bring it out.
 
 202 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 If I had known he would walk up when you 
 asked us, I'd have told him he mustn't think 
 of it." 
 
 This ingenuous confession made the teach- 
 er's lips twitch a little, but his smile was faint 
 and soon gone. Archer did not observe it. 
 
 " I did n't know Franky had the bell, but I 
 feel like a sneak when I think how it has turned 
 out. Whatever you say I must do, sir ; I '11 be 
 glad to do it. I can't feel worse than I do 
 now." 
 
 The boy looked really noble ; there was such 
 earnestness in his face, such a lovely light of 
 truth beaming from his eye. I know that Mr. 
 Peterson admired him, and that something 
 stirred the man's heart as it was wont to stir 
 when he read of heroes who have battled for the 
 right and loved justice better than life itself. 
 
 " Shake hands with me, Archer. I do not 
 wish to punish you ; your conscience has al- 
 ready done that. I want to thank you, because 
 you have lightened my heart. You have made 
 it possible for me to feel again the hope for and 
 interest in my boys which I had so nearly lost. 
 As for the rest of you," he said, addressing the 
 school, " each knows for himself how far he is 
 to blame. The trick which you played upon 
 me was an unworthy one, but it was of a boy- 
 ish and thoughtless nature. I was angry at
 
 MR. PETERSON. 203 
 
 first, because it gave me serious annoyance. 
 Boys will be boys, and we older people some- 
 times have to make an effort to remember the 
 fact. But no such excuse can be made for him 
 who used as a cat's-paw one whose very inno- 
 cence he made an instrument of evil. He may 
 perhaps congratulate himself on his successful 
 deceit when I say that I shall not try to dis- 
 cover the wrong-doer. That there is one chief 
 offender I am certain. Archer Craig was sur- 
 prised that the bell should be in Franky's posses- 
 sion some one knows who put it there. That 
 is all. You have had, this afternoon, an ex- 
 ample of just and honest behavior ; may it 
 work to your profit !" 
 
 He gave the signal for dismissal, and began 
 to arrange his desk. All through his speech 
 Hilda had been gazing at her brother with a 
 heart full of pity and eyes full of woe an ex- 
 hibition of love which Archer found very annoy- 
 ing. He said to himself that he did wish she 
 would stop staring at him.
 
 Chapter* 
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 
 
 THERE was a comfortable assembly in Mr. 
 Craig's library that evening. The weather 
 had grown cold enough to make a brightly- 
 lighted and thoroughly-warmed room a most 
 agreeable place. The father of the family sat 
 reading on one side of the wide, heavy desk 
 which marked the center of the apartment, and 
 his oldest daughter sat reading on the other 
 side. They seemed to be very much absorbed 
 in their books; the unsubdued chattering of the 
 group beside the fire did not disturb them in 
 the least. 
 
 Uncle Gilbert was the principal figure of 
 this group. He sat in a straight-backed rock- 
 ing-chair, with Hilda upon his knees. Ernest 
 lounged upon the rug at his feet, and the two 
 children were giving an unabridged account of 
 
 the day's adventures at school. 
 204
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 205 
 
 Two members of the household were not 
 there. In her own room Mrs. Craig was talking 
 with Archer. There was no lamplight ; the 
 grate was ruddy with hot coals, and the cur- 
 tains were drawn aside to let the room fill with 
 the radiance of the moon. 
 
 Archer had been telling his mother all about 
 the prank in which he had played a leading part, 
 and the unexpected trouble into which it had 
 plunged him. She knew what a stranger like 
 Mr. Peterson could not know that the boy was 
 incapable of imposing on one who was weaker 
 than himself; and therefore she understood 
 perfectly the shame and sorrow into which the 
 accusation had plunged him. 
 
 " Now, mother," he said, his self-respect re- 
 covered through her sympathy, " do n't you 
 think it is queer that I should have got into such 
 a fix without doing anything to deserve it? I 
 do n't just blame Mr. Peterson ; I see well 
 enough how it must have looked to him ; but 
 how did, things get twisted so it came to look 
 that way?" 
 
 " Do you mean how did the bell come into 
 Franky Chester's hands ? I do not know that, 
 my dear, nor do you." 
 
 Archer started, and looked up at her with a 
 strange expression. 
 
 "O, mother!" he exclaimed, "I can't help
 
 206 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 thinking I do know. At any rate, I know who 
 was going to hide the bell in his desk he 
 carried it under his coat when we went in and 
 he whispered to Franky just before he started 
 up. But I do n't see how anybody could be so 
 mean, and he seemed like a first-rate fellow." 
 
 The boy heaved a deep, troubled sigh. After 
 a short pause he went on : 
 
 " But I did n't mean that. What I meant 
 was that I did n't do such a contemptible thing, 
 and yet Mr. Peterson believed that I did. It 
 wasn't anything very bad to hide the bell; it 
 was only a joke.." 
 
 " Is it nothing more than a joke to take that 
 which does not belong to you, Archer?" 
 
 The question was put very quietly, yet there 
 was a meaning in it which did not escape the 
 boy. He drew his hand from the arm of his 
 mother's chair as if it had been stung, and 
 looked at her with honest, reproachful eyes, full 
 of amazement and pain. 
 
 "You wouldn't call that stealing, .mother? 
 We never meant to keep it." 
 
 " Do you suppose, my boy, that I could 
 think for a moment that you did? And yet 
 you were guilty of theft. It is a cruel word, 
 but I do not wish to spare your feelings. The 
 disgrace which overtook you was a lesson 
 which you have failed to understand, and
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 207 
 
 which, therefore, I must try to explain. Were 
 you not stealing from your teacher, even though 
 you meant to restore his property before long ? 
 It was his during the few hours that you kept 
 it, as well as at any other time." 
 
 "Yes, it was," agreed a smothered voice; 
 "but I never thought before that such a thing 
 was stealing." 
 
 "No, dear, and for that reason I blame you 
 very little. You meant no wrong. But I want 
 my boy to be honest in that which is least. I 
 want him to have such a fine sense of honor 
 that the tiniest fraud will wound it." 
 
 "So do I!" exclaimed Archer. His mind 
 was following hers, and had caught a glimpse 
 of the pure, strong character which she believed 
 he would attain. " But, mother, how shall I 
 keep from making mistakes ? You say you 
 do n't blame me much, because I did n't think 
 I was doing wrong. But next time maybe I 
 won't think so, either ; and I would n't feel so 
 mean again not for a good deal." 
 
 His mother smiled with amusement, but 
 also with pride and joy. She laid her hand on 
 the crisp, brown curls, and it rested there like 
 a benediction. For a moment she did not speak, 
 but Archer did not wonder at her silence. He 
 had a hushed feeling ; it seemed as if she were 
 offering up a prayer for him.
 
 208 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Dear Archer," she said at length, "when 
 a person understands that ignorance of the right 
 is itself a fault, he is very near to wisdom. I 
 am full of hope for you, because I am sure that 
 you love what is good. Now let me teach you 
 a simple rule one that the smallest child could 
 follow, as well as my wise and manly boy." 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 " It is only this: never do what you are un- 
 willing to confess. Do n't you see how such a 
 rule would have saved you to-day ? If Franky 
 Chester had not gone forward with the bell, 
 would you have made known your share in its 
 disappearance?" 
 
 " No," replied Archer, honestly, "I would n't. 
 I thought we could put it back after school, and 
 he never would know who had taken it," 
 
 "But why did you not wish him to know?" 
 
 " Why, because " a sudden flush rushed 
 over the candid face " because he would be 
 sure to be angry. O, mother, it does sound like 
 such a mean thing to say!" 
 
 "And it is a mean thing, Archer. By your 
 own act you made an enemy of truth. Do you 
 see now that you were wrong from the first, and 
 might have known that you were wrong? You 
 deliberately trampled upon the rights of your 
 teacher, causing him annoyance and mortifica- 
 tion ; that was in itself a dishonest act. And
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 209 
 
 immediately, without knowing it, you were num- 
 bered among those who love darkness better 
 than light, for it had become your interest to 
 conceal the truth." 
 
 Archer's head sank lower and lower ; he 
 could not look into his mother's eyes. But she 
 laid her hand upon his, and went on : 
 
 " Dear Archer, I think a great deal about 
 your future life. Whether it be long or short, I 
 want it to be honorable to yourself and satisfac- 
 tory to God. I want you to be brave, diligent, 
 and kind ; but, more than anything else, I want 
 you to be true. Truthfulness is the only foun- 
 dation of genuine worth. There are many peo- 
 ple who would be shocked at a great deception, 
 yet do not hesitate to practice small ones. Be 
 such a lover of the truth that your tongue will 
 refuse every utterance which is even tinged with 
 falsehood, and will never consent to be silent 
 when it ought to speak. Be the champion of 
 truth, Archer; be truth's knight." 
 
 "Mother, I will," he answered, and the ring 
 in his voice proved that he gave a faithful heart- 
 promise. "I'm so glad we've had this talk to- 
 gether. I always wanted to be truthful, and I 
 believed I was ; but now it seems to me as if 
 there never was a day when I did n't come pretty 
 near to a lie. Why, it is so easy ; you do it with- 
 out thinking." 
 
 H
 
 210 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " Yes, dear, you will have to be always on 
 the watch. It is, as you now understand, a dif- 
 ficult thing to preserve a white and spotless con- 
 science. But you are a knight whose King is 
 certain of victory. If you are truth's knight, 
 Archer, who is your King?" 
 
 His eyes gave the answer, but his lips trem- 
 bled so that he could not speak. 
 
 " Christ says, 'I am the Way, the Truth, and 
 the Life,' " solemnly repeated Mrs. Craig. 
 
 Archer never forgot that conversation. How 
 could he, when it was for him the beginning of 
 a new life ? He could not remember the time 
 when he had not been obedient to his parents, 
 and, heedful of their commands, trying to do 
 right. But a light dawned upon him that even- 
 ing which never faded from his sky. He was a 
 regularly-enlisted soldier in the great battle of 
 the world. 
 
 The next morning was so cold that the three 
 Craig children, accompanied by Fred Tomlinson, 
 mounted the hill with no waste of time. Annie 
 decided to shorten her walk by taking the route 
 she had mentioned " through the yards of two 
 girls that I know;" but Hilda preferred to go 
 with her brothers. When she reached the 
 school-room she found it warm and cheerful, the 
 sun pouring through the windows and seconding 
 the efforts of the fire. All the other girls were
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 211 
 
 there before her. Helen Bland seemed to have 
 turned over a new leaf; for she and Ruth Ray- 
 mond were established in chairs near the stove, 
 and their wraps hung upon the wall. Cede, 
 Annie, and Adela were still shivering ; their 
 faces were red from the bites of the wind ; they 
 were stamping their feet and rubbing their 
 hands on one side of the stove, while a crowd of 
 boys performed in like manner on the other. 
 Mr. Peterson was writing at his desk. He did 
 not lift his head, nor show in any way that he 
 felt the steady, earnest gaze with which Archer 
 regarded him all the way up the aisle. 
 
 Helen made a rush upon Hilda. 
 
 U O, Hilda Craig," she cried, seizing both her 
 hands and kissing her bright, cold cheek, " I 
 think you 're the cutest girl I ever saw. Do sit 
 with me again to-day, won't you?" 
 
 "I guess I'll have to, if you don't care," 
 answered Hilda, releasing her hands, and hold- 
 ing them before her face to shield it from the 
 blazing fire. " Papa is going to buy us some 
 desks in town, but they can't get here before 
 evening." 
 
 "Well, what did you bring for lunch?" in- 
 quired Helen, suddenly rushing from the senti- 
 mental to the practical. "I brought some of 
 those mango pickles that I told you about ; had 
 to tease awfully for them, too. But I told Mrs.
 
 212 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Snider all about you, and that, if she did n't let 
 me have them, you 'd think they were n't as 
 good as I said, and she was ashamed of them." 
 
 " But I should n't," protested Hilda, shocked 
 to think what an idea of her disposition the un- 
 known Mrs. Snider must have received. 
 
 " Ho, she knows that as well as I do. I only 
 said it to make her laugh." 
 
 Barnard Simeral was standing so close to 
 Archer that their shoulders touched; but he 
 kept his face turned away, looking steadily 
 through the window. He had left school in a 
 great hurry the day before, not stopping to speak 
 to any one ; and now Archer wondered whether 
 he had taken offense at conduct so different from 
 his own. There was no enmity in Archer's 
 heart, but he felt timid because he was not cer- 
 tain of the other's feelings. While he was still 
 wondering what he ought to do, and wishing 
 that Barnard would turn around, Mr. Peterson 
 rang his bell, and for an instant their eyes met. 
 Archer was ready with a friendly nod and smile ; 
 but he could not decide, as he went to his seat, 
 whether Barnard had returned his greeting. 
 There was no smile on the boy's face ; that was 
 certain. There was an odd look, which might be 
 called either sullen or troubled, just as one hap- 
 pened to interpret it. 
 
 The lessons went on more smoothly to-day.
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 213 
 
 Mr. Peterson was much less confused, but his 
 face was sadder; or else Archer noticed it more 
 closely than before. The boy was beginning to 
 find a fascination about the schoolmaster, who 
 had at first appeared so ridiculous. His quiet 
 manner seemed really dignified. 
 
 Franky Chester was, of course, solitary in 
 all his studies. He stood beside the black- 
 board, a tall, lank figure, with sunken chest and 
 bending neck, while Mr. Peterson read aloud a 
 simple sum. Then he began to write, forming 
 the figures very carefully. 
 
 "A man bought two cows," announced the 
 teacher, book in hand. " Each cow cost twenty- 
 five dollars. How much did the two cows 
 cost?" 
 
 Franky wrote down the figures, drew a line 
 beneath them, and was instantly lost in thought. 
 He was a pathetic object ; the simple, earnest 
 creature, so intent upon his duty ; a man al- 
 ready in stature, but never to be more than a 
 child in mind. 
 
 Mr. Peterson waited awhile ; but as, at the 
 end of five minutes, his tall scholar showed no 
 symptom of readiness, he decided to improve 
 the time by hearing the class in the Fourth 
 Reader. The selection for the day was " Bruce's 
 Address to his Army," a selection delightful to 
 Adela Williams, who possessed a romantic and
 
 214 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 warlike spirit. When- her turn came to read a 
 few lines she rose in haste, repeated the Scotch 
 words as if she loved them, instead of hesitat- 
 ing, stumbling, and making faces, as her class- 
 mates had done, and finished with a fiery and 
 scornful 
 
 "Traitor! coward! turn and flee!" 
 
 Here her emotions so overcame her that a 
 resounding stamp of her stout pebble-goat shoe 
 emphasized the exhortation. Mr. Peterson 
 smiled, and so did some of the children. Adela 
 was quite unconscious of her demonstration, and 
 took her seat with glowing cheeks and spark- 
 ling eyes. 
 
 "Have you got that yet, Franky?" asked 
 Mr. Peterson, while the class, flapping their 
 books, marched down the aisle. 
 
 "Yes, sir," a deep voice responded, and 
 Franky falteringly began : 
 
 "If a man bought two" here he paused, 
 stared anxiously at the board and shook his 
 head. It was evident that he had quite forgot- 
 ten the nature of the purchase. 
 
 "Cows," suggested his teacher. 
 
 " If a man bought two cows, and each cow 
 cost twenty-five cents, two cows would cost 
 fifty cents," Franky finished with a sigh of re- 
 lief, yet stood staring doubtfully at the board, 
 as if he did not believe the solution correct, al-
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 215 
 
 though with all his going through the calcula- 
 tion he could not see where the fault lay. 
 
 " Rather cheap cows," observed Mr. Peter- 
 son, with a smile; and, as if his remark were a 
 signal for which all had been waiting, a chorus 
 of laughter filled the' room. It startled the 
 teacher and his class of one. Franky turned 
 from the board, and faced his schoolmates with a 
 gentle, foolish smile; Mr. Peterson frowned, and 
 rapped the desk with his lead-pencil. 
 
 Archer's first impulse was to look at Barn- 
 ard. He knew, in a hot flash of feeling, that 
 he could not help being angry if Barnard were 
 laughing. But although Barnard was looking 
 directly at poor, puzzled Franky, there was not 
 a gleam of amusement on his dark face, which, 
 drawn by some influence, turned in an instant 
 toward the boy who was watching him so 
 closely. Something like defiance changed his 
 countenance, and he twisted his lips into a con- 
 temptuous smile. 
 
 Ernest had a double share of pie that noon, 
 for Archer would not stay to eat his piece. He 
 had seen Barnard Simeral slip out of the room 
 alone, and had made up his mind that he could 
 not rest any longer without trying to make him 
 speak. Indeed it seemed to him that he had 
 never before felt so eager to be on good terms 
 with one who showed a disposition to ignore
 
 216 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 him, and he could not explain the feeling to 
 himself. It was the first growth of the seed 
 sown in his soul on the preceding evening. 
 
 Barnard was leaning against the wall just 
 outside the doorway, slowly eating a piece of 
 gingerbread. The fixed -gazed with which he 
 regarded the top of a leafless walnut-tree a short 
 distance away suggested a scientific interest in 
 the twisting of its twigs. 
 
 "Hullo, Barn!" exclaimed Archer, a jolt 
 of his neighbor's elbow assisting his words to 
 announce his presence. 
 
 He felt nervous and even timid ; it required 
 an effort of his will to make his tongue move. 
 Barnard brought his eyes leisurely from the tree- 
 top to the anxiously pleasant face beside him. 
 
 "How do you do?" he responded, coldly. 
 
 His manner was very grave and aristocratic. 
 
 " Let's take a walk up the hill a piece," sug- 
 gested Archer, blandly. "I don't believe I care 
 about standing here ; it's likely to give a fellow 
 a cold." 
 
 Barnard stooped to brush a crumb of ginger- 
 bread from his neat shoe. Then, without an- 
 swer, he began to walk, and Archer, gladly 
 recognizing this tacit and ungracious consent, 
 kept at his side. 
 
 "I suppose we shall have snow pretty soon," 
 said Archer, although there was nothing to sug-
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 217 
 
 gest such a probability just then. The sky was 
 serenely blue, looking lovingly at them through 
 a lace-work of black boughs which was woven 
 over the whole slope. 
 
 "Where's the best place to slide?" he con- 
 tinued, as his companion did not speak. "I 
 hope I can keep from getting mad," he whis- 
 pered to himself, " but I feel awfully like it." 
 
 "Arch Craig," said Barnard, turning ab- 
 ruptly upon him, "what did you do that for 
 yesterday?" 
 
 "Do what?" Archer was about to inquire, 
 but he checked the unnecessary question on 
 the tip of his tongue. " I suppose," he said, 
 bravely, "you mean about my telling Mr. Peter- 
 son I helped to take away the bell." 
 
 " Of course I mean that," rejoined Barnard, 
 a dull light of resentment in his eyes. " You 
 took a nice way to show off; now did n't you? 
 And not a bit of use in it, either. Mr. Peterson 
 did n't say a word to ' Seven Footer.' ' This 
 was the humorous title which the lads had 
 chosen to bestow upon Franky Chester. " He 
 went right to blowing the rest of us up." 
 
 " O, that wasn't why I did it," cried Archer, 
 catching eagerly at a chance to disclaim a too 
 lofty motive for his conduct. " I knew he 
 would n't hurt Franky, or blame him, either. 
 But, do n't you see, I was all broke up at seeing
 
 21 8 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 that poor silly fellow walk up there as innocent 
 as a rabbit ; did n't know that anybody had 
 done anything wrong; just sort of thought 
 there was some fun somewhere. It went down 
 my back like a cold streak of lightning. I was 
 that surprised I kept saying, ' Hullo ! hullo !' to 
 myself, before I knew what I was doing." 
 
 " Uinph," sneered Barnard. " Who took the 
 bell, if it was n't that loony Seven Footer?" 
 
 Archer's excitement cooled. He glanced at 
 his companion's sulky face, and pressed his lips 
 together before he spoke again. 
 
 "You and I were talking about it the first of 
 all," he said, quietly. 
 
 It was not necessary to add, " And you, Bar- 
 nard, suggested the prank to me." 
 
 "Well, I say you made a fool of yourself," 
 Barnard raised his voice, and his features worked 
 angrily. " And you 've put me in a pretty nice 
 position, too. You said you did n't know Franky 
 had the bell." 
 
 "Neither I did." 
 
 " No ; you knew I had it, and I s'pose you 
 went and told that I had." 
 
 "Look here, Barn," said Archer, quietly still. 
 " I won't stand that. You know I did n't tell." 
 
 " Know you did n't tell right then," Bar- 
 nard almost shouted, for he was losing all con- 
 trol of himself; "but I don't know that you
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 219 
 
 did n't tell afterward. Or, any rate, you've told 
 your folks at home." 
 
 "Honestly, Barn, I haven't told a solitary 
 person," said Archer, very earnestly. " I would n't 
 be so mean. Now, do you think I would ? Do 
 you for a fact ?" 
 
 The angry boy felt the influence of this manly 
 self-restraint. 
 
 "Well, I'm sure I hope you wouldn't," he 
 said, gloomily. " No, I don't believe you would. 
 But I did n't think you 'd go back on all the rest 
 of us the way you did." 
 
 " I 'm sorry if you think I went back on you. 
 I do n't think there was any going back about 
 it, for I only told on myself. Mr. Peterson must 
 know all the boys were in the joke, because we 
 all came into the room together ; but if he 
 knows any more, he got it from some one else 
 than me." 
 
 There was a silence. Barnard began to walk 
 faster. Archer drew out his watch and looked 
 at it, remembering, with disappointment, that it 
 was at least five minutes slow. The half-hour 
 of freedom was almost gone. 
 
 " Barn," began Archer, in a changed voice, 
 " I feel gladder every minute that I told on my- 
 self, and you 'd be happy too if you 'd own up." 
 
 " Who said I was n't happy now ?" demanded 
 Barnard, gruffly.
 
 220 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Well, nobody said so," admitted the other, 
 a little abashed ; " but I did get the notion some- 
 how, from the way you act. You know it really 
 was n't fair to steal Mr. Peterson's bell away, 
 when it takes such a little thing to put the poor 
 man out ; and he 's behaved like like a regular 
 good fellow, I think." 
 
 It was just that which Barnard's active con- 
 science had been telling him all day. He knew, 
 better than the other scholars, the genuine up- 
 rightness and tender, kindly heart of the man 
 whose imperfections were more plainly to be seen 
 than his many good qualities. All day long Mr. 
 Peterson had been very gentle to him, but the 
 sadness never left his face. 
 
 "Let's go back," said Barnard, briefly. 
 
 He slackened his pace when they reached 
 the school-house door. It was a hint for his 
 companion to stop there, and Archer understood. 
 There was a noise inside the building, as if a 
 number of boys were enjoying themselves unre- 
 strained ; but he lingered without while he 
 watched his late companion cross the little space 
 of dark ground, strewn with decaying leaves, 
 which separated the school-house from its larger 
 neighbor. Then he went in. A circle of chairs, 
 resting upon their sides, inclosed the leaping and 
 writhing forms of Ernest and another boy of his
 
 A KNIGHT OF TRUTH. 221 
 
 age; and Fred Tomlinson, standing just outside 
 the pretended cage, was shaking his teacher's 
 ruler, and rattling off a glib speech to an admir- 
 ing throng of spectators. 
 
 "Walk right in, Mr. Craig," he shouted. 
 " Crowds turned away daily. Come in and see 
 the only genuine Wild Men of Borneo. They 're 
 the terror of the neighborhood ; but we 've penned 
 them up at last." 
 
 Ernest made a spring toward his brother, 
 lost his balance, and fell over the wall of chairs. 
 Fortunately it was his sound arm which went 
 under, but the fall hurt him enough to make 
 him sober and sulky, and to end the game. He 
 walked to the far side of the room, and the 
 other Wild Man kicked his way out of the cage, 
 and followed, leaving the showman to put things 
 in order. Fred went good-naturedly to work, 
 with the remark that you could n't expect sav- 
 ages to behave like white men, and Archer lent 
 his assistance unasked. 
 
 "Well, I never did!" suddenly ejaculated Fred, 
 when the task was completed, and he had time to 
 look out of the window. "Now, you see, Arch, 
 I was n't giving you chaff when I said Mr. Peter- 
 son was partial. There he is, walking all around 
 with Barn Simeral, and looking as pleasant as 
 pie. Barn's giving himself airs, I should remark.
 
 222 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 He won't have anything to do with us fellows 
 to-day ; but you 'd think he was ten feet high to 
 see him now. Here 's the way he looks." 
 
 And Fred threw his shoulders back, held his 
 face upward, and stretched his mouth in a grin 
 of such enormous size, that it certainly could 
 not have been becoming to any one smaller than 
 the giant whom he declared Barnard resembled.
 
 Chapter 
 
 HELEN AT HOME. 
 
 SCHOOL was not out till two o'clock to-day. 
 This, as the Craig children now learned, 
 was the case every Tuesday and Friday ; for on 
 those days 'fcthe professor " came from the city 
 to give instruction in French and penmanship. 
 The " professor " was a very busy man, the 
 favorite French teacher of the neighborhood, 
 but a warm personal friendship had secured his 
 services for Mr. Peterson's school. 
 
 "Now," said Helen Bland, as she tramped on 
 Hilda's toes, and tumbled the latter's hat and 
 cloak on the floor in an attempt to be extraor- 
 dinarily polite, and hand her friend's wrappings 
 gracefully down, " you 're going straight home 
 with me. Did you know it ?" 
 
 "O no, I can't, Helen. Mamma won't know 
 what has become of me anyhow, we 're so late. 
 I 've got to hurry home just as fast as ever I can.'* 
 
 223
 
 224 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Why, you needn't rush yourself. If she 
 was scared out of her senses, she 'd have sent 
 up to find out." 
 
 " O, I don't think she's scared out of her 
 senses," returned Hilda. " It is n't that. I 'in 
 afraid she '11 think I 've been kept in ; and 
 would n't that be dreadful?" 
 
 Hilda's raised eyebrows and drawn lips 
 showed that it was indeed a fearful thought to 
 her. It was the boast of her brothers and sis- 
 ters that not one of them had ever been " kept 
 in," and Hilda felt that she could never hold up 
 her head if punishment so disgraceful should 
 fall to her lot. 
 
 " Ho !" cried Helen, laughing Iteartily, "what 
 an awfully funny little thing you are ! Nobody 
 hardly ever gets kept in here ; but when I went 
 up to the public school I was, often and often." 
 
 " Not really, truly kept in, Helen ?" 
 
 "Indeed, upon my word, I was," replied 
 Helen, with unnecessary earnestness. " Two 
 or three times a week, at any rate ; until I just 
 made up my mind I could n't stand it. It took 
 up too much of my time." 
 
 Hilda wondered how the required change 
 was brought about whether Helen's behavior 
 improved, or her teacher was reasoned out of 
 the mistake of punishing a girl who had not 
 time to be punished but before she could put
 
 HELEN AT HOME. 225 
 
 her thoughts into form of a question, Annie called 
 her from the door. 
 
 "Are you going home to-day or to-morrow, 
 Hilda? I won't wait any longer." 
 
 " Well, you need n't, Miss Tomlinson," re- 
 turned the ever-ready Helen. "Hilda isn't 
 going with you; she's going home with me." 
 
 "O, is she?" 
 
 The green-eyed monster peeped out between 
 Annie's dark lashes. She looked so crestfallen 
 that Helen added, with the air of one confer- 
 ring a great favor : 
 
 "You may come, too, if you like." 
 
 "But, Helen, truly and honestly, I can't go, 
 unless I go home first and tell mamma!" cried 
 Hilda, agonized between her desire to accept the 
 invitation, and her determination not to distress 
 her mother. 
 
 "O, if that 's what you want, I'll go home 
 with you while you ask her," was the accommo- 
 dating reply. " I can just as well as not." 
 
 "If you will," said Hilda, delightedly, "I'll 
 be just as much obliged as ever anybody was. 
 " I 'm sure she '11 let me go." 
 
 So the three walked down the hill together; 
 Annie a little gloomy at first, but soon recover- 
 ing her spirits, because, as she Tiad decided to 
 make one of the party, she might as well enjoy 
 herself. Blanche Craig caught sight of them 
 
 15
 
 226 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 just as they reached the home gate, and, with 
 her hand on the latch, stood smilingly waiting. 
 Although the fact has not before been mentioned, 
 Blanche also was going to school. Every morn- 
 ing she went to the city, and she was just now 
 returning thence for the day. 
 
 The three little girls saw a slender young lady, 
 very neatly and prettily dressed in garnet and 
 black, with a few nicely bound books on her 
 arm. She saw three children of very unequal 
 sizes, with untidy hair, and cloaks blowing open 
 over wrinkled white aprons, jolting along side 
 by side. 
 
 "Why, Hilda!" she cried out in her pleasant- 
 est tones, with a smile for each of her sister's 
 companions, "is it possible you are just getting 
 home? I do hope you haven't been kept in." 
 
 "There, I told you what everybody would 
 say," declared Hilda, with a grieved look. " I 
 have not been kept in, Blanche. You know very 
 well I would n't be. We 've got to be this late 
 every Tuesday and Friday so 's to study writ- 
 ing and French." 
 
 "O, French I'm glad of that!" said Blanche, 
 holding the gate open lor the little ones to pass 
 in. " And I do hope you have a good teacher. 
 At Miss Stilewell's we have a splendid one- 
 Professor Clavel. He is considered the best in 
 the city."
 
 HEL EN A T HOME. 227 
 
 " Why, Professor Clavel is our teacher !" re- 
 turned Annie, who found herself walking at 
 Blanche's side, while the two others, in their de- 
 sire to keep in a straight line, were rising above 
 their companions on the higher ground which 
 bordered the path. 
 
 " Is he? Really I am pleased to hear that. I 
 want our children to be well grounded in French, 
 for I believe it to be a most valuable accom- 
 plishment." 
 
 Annie thought Blanche's way of speaking 
 very absurd ; for she knew Miss Craig's age to 
 a day, and regarded her as very little older than 
 the " children " who were her brothers and 
 sister. 
 
 "Come -into the library, Hilda; I want to 
 show you something," Blanche said, as she 
 opened the front door. 
 
 Mrs. Craig was there, sitting by the fire, book 
 in hand, wondering why Hilda was so late. She 
 n\ade the fire burn up brightly, and summoned 
 the four girls to gather about the grate. They 
 all looked cold, but healthfully so ; their cheeks 
 were red and their eyes brilliant. Hilda was on 
 one side of her mother in an instant, and Helen 
 came shyly to the other. Something about 
 Mrs. Craig attracted the wHd little creature at 
 once. 
 
 " Helen wants me to go home with her,
 
 228 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 mamma; can I? She wants me to find out 
 where she lives." 
 
 " Yes, you may go, dear, certainly, if it is 
 not too far." 
 
 Then she smiled on her daughter's little 
 friend, and asked : 
 
 "How far is it, Helen?" 
 
 " 'Most to the railroad ; that red house that 
 needs painting," answered the irrepressible child, 
 her gray eyes dancing with glee. 
 
 Hilda was immediately seized with amaze- 
 ment ; because she had passed that house every 
 time she went to the city and every time she 
 returned therefrom, and yet had never surmised 
 that it was Helen's dwelling-place. 
 
 " Well, Hilda, you are the coolest child I 
 ever saw," complained Blanche, from the has- 
 sock upon which she had dropped. "Don't you 
 want to know what I 've got? It 's a present for 
 Gilbertina." 
 
 " Yes, indeed I do, Blanche, only I had n't 
 time to say so." 
 
 Her sister unfolded the little parcel which 
 she had been holding with apparent careless- 
 ness, and brought to light a doll's hat a marvel 
 of pink-and-white beauty, with creamy, rose- 
 touched feather-tips. 
 
 " I saw it in a store-window, and I just 
 could n't help buying it," she said, meeting her
 
 HELEN AT HOME. 229 
 
 mother's laughing eye. " It is a good thing I 
 have a monthly ticket, for I had n't money left 
 to pay my way home. The way they charge for 
 doll's things is perfectly fearful. Run and get 
 Gilbertina, Hilda ; do. I 'in not quite certain 
 this hat is large enough for her; and if it isn't, 
 I don't know what will become of me." 
 
 As will be observed, Blanche had rather an 
 exaggerated way of speaking. Yet it is not 
 strange, considering how much money she had 
 thrown away upon this bit of finery, that she 
 was anxious to be assured that it was not quite 
 unavailable. But the hat was far too small ; it 
 perched above Gilbertina's changeless, innocent 
 face with an odd and most ungraceful effect. 
 
 " O, can't you make it do? What a shame! 
 What a pity!" cried the children, crowding 
 around. 
 
 " It 's not a bit of use," cried Blanche, losing 
 her temper, and flinging the pretty trifle upon 
 the floor. Hilda instantly picked it up and be- 
 gan to smooth the fairy-like plumes. " Serves 
 me right," continued the older sister, in a milder 
 but very fretful voice. " Such a baby as I am, 
 throwing away my money on dolls' nonsense ! 
 I dare say one of the Susies can wear it. Give 
 it to whichever one it fits, only please keep it 
 out of my sight." 
 
 On the whole, Hilda was not sorry that one
 
 230 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 of the dear but neglected members of her large 
 family was to have something new and pretty. 
 Gilbertina had plenty of clothes ; Blanche in- 
 sisted on sewing for her; but, for all she cared, 
 the old favorites might go in rags. Helen and 
 Annie waited yet a little longer, while their 
 friend went to put the hat away in her doll's 
 bureau. When she returned, Blanche was speak- 
 ing, and the words caught her ear. 
 
 " O, mamma, I 've found a music-teacher for 
 Hilda. I 'in sure you can't do any better." 
 
 " Who is it?" quietly asked Mrs. Craig. 
 
 "A schoolmate of mine Esther Madison 
 the nicest girl in the school. She 's coming to 
 see you this afternoon. I told her to, and tried 
 to get her to stay to dinner, but she would n't 
 hear of it. She 's getting up a class down here. 
 Fred Toinlinsou is to be in it." 
 
 "A schoolmate of yours! She must be young." 
 
 " She only takes French and music ; but she 
 is young yes, indeed. Now, think what a splen- 
 did girl she is! She's hardly eighteen. She's 
 getting up a class down here because there 's a 
 better field than in the city. Her aunt lives 
 here, and has helped her some." 
 
 "Mamma, I'd like to take," said Hilda. "I 
 know Miss Esther. Don't you remember I told 
 you about the young lady that rode with me 
 when I came away from Gertie's?"
 
 HELEN AT HOME. 231 
 
 "Yes;" and the remembrance was more to 
 Mrs. Craig than Blanche's eager praise. The 
 description which Hilda had given of her trav- 
 eling companion had sounded very pleasantly in 
 the mother's ears. 
 
 Helen was impatient now, and not without 
 reason. She had Gilbertina in her arms, and 
 insisted upon her going with them. 
 
 " She shall get acquainted with my dolls. 
 They '11 all look like frights beside her ; but 
 then I '11 play they 're jealous, and shut them up 
 in the closet. That will be lots of fun." 
 
 Master Fred Tomlinson had been to the 
 store there was only one in the village to see 
 whether the latest mail had brought the letter 
 which his mother was expecting. As the letter 
 was not there, he saw no necessity for returning 
 home at once. So he stopped to hinder two 
 smaller boys from building a fire on the corner 
 near by. He found a large stick, and managed 
 with it and a pair of stout shoes to beat out the 
 struggling flames and scatter the kindling-wood. 
 This accomplished, he started on his homeward 
 way, leaving one child in tears and the other so 
 enraged that his yells brought Mr. Lanahan to 
 the doorway of the store. 
 
 "That Fred Tomlinson is the worst boy in 
 the township," he remarked to the loafers who 
 kept each other company upon his porch. They
 
 232 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 agreed with him, and Jell to relating tales in 
 which Master Tomlinson figured as the hero of 
 several startling exploits. 
 
 Meanwhile the subject of their conversation 
 was wearing out the toes of his shoes by trying 
 to kick away every bit of wood which lay in his 
 path. It was rather difficult work, for they were 
 frozen fast to the ground. After a particularly 
 severe brit finally successful effort, he raised his 
 eyes and saw his sister and her two companions 
 nearly upon him. The fact that Hilda was 
 crowding close to Helen, and holding her cloak 
 over something which the latter carried, did not 
 escape his notice. As Helen suspected no need 
 of concealment, she soon elbowed the anxious 
 Hilda aside, and the blue eyes and flaxen curls 
 of the amiable-looking Gilbertina appeared. 
 
 Fred took off his cap and made a low bow. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Miss Gilbertina Filbertina. 
 How did you leave the other folks in Ketchem's 
 Museum ? Did the giant ask after his friend, 
 Mr. Frederick Tomlinson? Give him my re- 
 gards when you go back, and tell him I '11 
 be pleased to fight him whenever it 's con- 
 venient." 
 
 "Silly thing!" exclaimed his sister, pushing 
 past. Helen began to laugh, but Hilda seized 
 her by the arm, pleading: 
 
 "Hurry up. Run, run!" and always ready
 
 HELEN AT HOME. 233 
 
 for a race, Helen dashed away. Fred made no 
 attempt to follow them, but sent a long, clear, 
 derisive whistle through the air. 
 
 "O I think he 's awfully funny !" panted 
 Helen, stopping and holding her hand to her 
 side. "What did he call your doll? It sounded 
 too queer for anything." 
 
 "Never mind; he's a bad boy," said Hilda, 
 shortly. 
 
 " But what was it?" 
 
 " Gilbertina Filbertina." It was Annie who 
 spoke. " Hilda Craig, how dare you call my 
 brother a bad boy?" 
 
 "You know he is yourself," said Helen, scorn- 
 fully. "What's the use of fighting about that? 
 Gilbertina Filbertina! And he wanted to know 
 how she left the folks in Ketchem's Museum. 
 Gilbertina Filbertina !" 
 
 The jingle seemed to appeal strongly to Hel- 
 en's sense of the melodious. She chuckled, and 
 went on repeating it softly, while Hilda walked 
 silently beside her with quivering lips. Helen's 
 home, as she had said, was not far from the 
 railroad depot ; the last of a line of four or five 
 houses built by some of the earlier residents of 
 Hawthorn. The gate stood hospitably open, and 
 two dogs were fighting in the yard. 
 
 " Get out," said Helen, mildly, to these lat- 
 ter. They paid no attention to her command,
 
 234 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 and she did not repeat it. " Come on, girls," 
 she said, and ushered them into a dark hall. 
 
 "Now the first thing is to find out where 
 Mrs. Snider is. " Mrs. Sni-der-r-r!" call-ed Helen, 
 mounting the first two steps of the staircase, 
 and shouting lustily. A voice immediately re- 
 plied: 
 
 " I 'm in my room, child. Do n't call so 
 loud. You ought to know where to find me." 
 
 Apparently she was quite right, for Helen 
 looked over the balustrade to say, " I supposed 
 she was there. We'll go right up," and led the 
 way to a room in which a neat, elderly woman 
 sat sewing. 
 
 It was easy to see for whom she sewed. She 
 was putting the daintiest possible patch into a 
 fine white apron, evidently quite new but badly 
 torn, and a dress-skirt, hanging loose from the 
 band, lay over a chair beside her. Her face 
 was homely, but the smile which she gave her 
 little charge was bright with affection. 
 
 As far as she knew how, Mrs. Snider acted 
 a mother's part toward the child who had been 
 given to her care five years before. Helen was 
 carefully nursed through juvenile ailments, and 
 anxiously watched when well. Poor Mrs. Sni- 
 der labored energetically to keep her neatly and 
 prettily clothed, but that was an almost impos- 
 sible task.
 
 HELEN AT HOME. 235 
 
 " Here 's Hilda Craig and Annie Tomlinson, 
 Mrs. Snider. Now, just you look and tell me ; 
 did you ever, in all your life, see anything as 
 lovely as this doll?" 
 
 "O my! isn't that pretty?" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Snider, adjusting her spectacles. " Well, well ! 
 Lace and embroidery, and flannel fit for a baby 
 princess ! Well, well !" 
 
 It was pleasant to see the delighted ten- 
 derness with which the rough, brown fingers 
 touched the delicate garments. 
 
 "Well, we're going into the play-room 
 now," remarked Helen, taking the doll again 
 into her own hands; " but first, please tell us 
 where the doughnuts are." 
 
 "What a child!" laughed the good-natured 
 housekeeper. " You 've eat 'most the whole of 
 those doughnuts yourself. Don't ask me where 
 they are ; I do n't know whether there are any 
 at all. I have n't seen them since you were at 
 them this morning." 
 
 " O, then I know where they are well enough. 
 Back yonder 's the play-room, girls ; you go 
 there, and I'll bring up the doughnuts." And 
 then there was a sound which might have 
 frightened a nervous person into the belief that 
 somebody was falling down-stairs, but it was 
 only Helen descending in her usual loud and 
 hasty fashion.
 
 236 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " Two apiece and one over there were," she 
 said, when she rejoined her friends. "At first 
 I thought we 'd divide that one, but then I con- 
 cluded to leave it for papa this evening. If he 
 doesn't want it (and I don't much believe he 
 will), I can eat it up for dinner." 
 
 Helen's play-room was a narrow strip of an 
 apartment, with unpapered walls. Everything 
 in it was in the wildest confusion. An open 
 picture-book was crushed beneath the rocker of 
 a small chair, over the back of which hung by 
 one arm a doll which had lost half its hair. A 
 pile of saw-dust (probably produced by the am- 
 putation of the missing arm) lay upon the flow- 
 ered spread of a gilded toy bedstead. Frag- 
 ments of scorched paper were scattered over the 
 floor, in the center of which stood a half-burned 
 tallow candle in a blue tin candlestick. 
 
 Helen stumbled over this last-named object, 
 and was instantly reminded of pleasures past. 
 
 " If I did n't have the best fun day before 
 yesterday," said she, sitting comfortably down in 
 the middle of the floor, and beginning on her share 
 of the cakes. " I made believe my doll Henry 
 that's he under the bedstead ; maybe you don't 
 see him was mad because his uncle left all 
 his property to his old aunt, and so he burned 
 up the will. I got the candle out of the kitchen, 
 and I expect Mrs. Snider does n't know where
 
 HEL EN A T HOME. 237 
 
 it is : I never thought of that before. Well, 
 just while he 's holding it in the flames, along 
 comes his brave cousin, Bertha, and tries to 
 snatch it away. But she can't he 's too quick 
 but she burns her arm so it has to be cut off; 
 and I did it with a dull knife', so it took a good 
 while. I have n't had so much fun for a long 
 time. Would you like to play it now ? We 
 could cut off Bertha's other arm." 
 
 Hilda shuddered at the idea, and it was de- 
 cided that they should play Cinderella instead. 
 The title-role was assigned to Gilbertina. Helen 
 and Annie were the wicked sisters, and Hilda 
 the fairy godmother. They were so much in- 
 terested in the play that the sun was low before 
 the visitors remembered that they must be going 
 home. Helen walked with them three -fourths 
 of the way. She forgot to put on her mittens, 
 and ran all the distance back with red and sting- 
 ing hands. 
 
 Hilda went into the library as soon as she 
 entered the house. There was Mrs. Craig, her 
 hands busy with the lace which she knit so beau- 
 tifully. There, also, was Blanche, and beside 
 Blanche sat the young lady whose acquaintance 
 Hilda had made on the cars. The child stood 
 still, blushing and smiling. Just because she 
 liked Miss Esther, and was glad to see her, she 
 was as dumb as the tongueless doll in her arms.
 
 238 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Why, there's Hilda!" cried Miss Madison, 
 holding out her hand. " Hilda and Gilbertina! 
 I am very glad to see my fellow-travelers again. 
 Are you quite well, Hilda ? You must be, with 
 such eyes and such cheeks." 
 
 " O, I 'm very well," Hilda answered. Esther 
 had been in the house about half an hour, and 
 in that time she had become a friend of the 
 family. For it soon transpired that she was the 
 niece of one of Mrs. Craig's oldest friends, and 
 that her aunt, Mrs. Wraxall, was actually living 
 in Hawthorn. This discovery changed the face 
 of affairs, and Esther readily agreed to dine 
 with her friends. But first she had a lesson to 
 give to Fred Tomlinson; and she rose, with a 
 little sigh of regret, to go to him. 
 
 " It is a mistake to be faint-hearted at the 
 beginning," she remarked ; " but I have, some- 
 how, a dread that that boy will prove unman- 
 ageable." 
 
 " He 's a horrid boy, Miss Esther," said 
 Hilda, suddenly. " You won't like him a bit." 
 
 Everybody looked at Hilda then, surprised 
 that she should offer her opinion so abruptly and 
 positively; and, of course, Hilda hung her head 
 and blushed, and wished that she had not spoken. 
 
 "Is he really so bad?" asked Esther, paus- 
 ing with her hand on the door-knob. " Tell 
 me what he does."
 
 HELEN AT HOME. 239 
 
 " He 's a tease," faintly explained the child, 
 expecting the laugh which immediately followed. 
 Esther said, " Well, I hope he won't tease me, 
 for I do n't feel inclined to be patient," and then 
 took her leave for a little while. 
 
 Fred met her in his mother's parlor, with his 
 hand very clean and red. He nodded to his 
 teacher, and then rushed to open the piano. 
 Esther rather enjoyed that music-lesson, for 
 Fred's replies and remarks were both amusing. 
 
 " I took one term and a half," said he. 
 " Went through one exercise book, and learned 
 thirty-seven pieces." 
 
 This sounded very magnificent, but Esther 
 was not overcome. 
 
 "Have you played scales?" 
 
 "No, ma'am. Never heard of them." 
 
 " Then it is high time you did." And she 
 played the scale of C. 
 
 "O, yes'm!" shouted Fred. " Yes 'm, 
 yes 'm ; I 've had those things." 
 
 " How many of those things have you had ?" 
 asked his teacher, giving up the effort to keep 
 her face straight. 
 
 "Two," was the immediate reply; but when 
 she asked him what two they were, he informed 
 her : 
 
 " You play one with one hand, and the other 
 with the other."
 
 240 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 When she went back to Mr. Craig's, the 
 door was opened by Hilda, who ushered her 
 without warning into the library. So unex- 
 pected was her entrance that it greatly startled 
 a gentleman who was sitting by the nearest 
 window. A small boy was his vis-a-vis, and 
 the knees of the two supported a checker-board. 
 As the smiling-faced young lady appeared, the 
 board went crashing to the floor, and tiny red 
 and white wheels rolled rapidly in every di- 
 rection. 
 
 u Now, Uncle Gilbert, that was all your 
 fault," loudly complained Ernest, dropping from 
 his chair and scrambling after the escaping toys. 
 " The game 's all spoiled, and just when I was 
 going to beat, too. What made you lift your 
 feet up like that? I think you ought to have 
 been more careful." 
 
 " Ernest, that is not the way to speak to your 
 uncle," said Mrs. Craig, coming quickly around 
 the center-table to relieve the embarrassment ot 
 her brother and her guest. Ernest was behind 
 the lounge by this time. He was still too angry 
 to feel ashamed of himself. The game had been 
 very exciting ; it was drawing to a conclusion 
 likely to be satisfactory to Ernest, and all his 
 hopes had been put to flight by the strange and, 
 to him, utterly incomprehensible conduct of his 
 uncle.
 
 HEL EN A T HOME. 24 1 
 
 Uncle Gilbert was able to acknowledge the 
 introduction to Esther, but scarcely to do more. 
 His face was almost purple with confusion. 
 Poor Uncle Gilbert! He had been trying to 
 amuse the owner of the broken arm with the 
 game which had delighted his boyhood, but his 
 unconquerable bash fulness seemed to have 
 brought his good intentions to naught. 
 
 Blanche asked Esther to give an account of 
 her half-hour with "the worst boy in the town- 
 ship." Ernest found the conversation uninter- 
 esting, and, having gathered up the checkers, 
 decided to leave the room. It was his intention 
 to pass his uncle without one glance ; but when 
 he found his hand seized, he stood still without 
 the slightest struggle for escape. He would at 
 least be dignified. Uncle Gilbert kept him only 
 long enough to slip something hard and cold 
 into his palm. When Ernest was alone in the 
 hall, he saw that it was a silver dollar, and he 
 rightly decided that his uncle had now made 
 ample amends for his fault. 
 
 16
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 
 
 THE next week was marked by two impor- 
 tant events Gertie came, and Uncle Gil- 
 bert went away. The latter would return before 
 Christinas, but Gertie's visit was to be of indefi- 
 nite duration. Her mother's only sister, who had 
 been ill for some time, had been ordered south 
 as the only chance of regaining her health ; and 
 she had sent so pathetic an appeal for Mrs. Win- 
 ner's company that it could not be resisted. It 
 was not really hard for her to arrange to go ; 
 she had an excellent housekeeper. The only 
 trouble was leaving husband and daughter ; but 
 both would be well cared for. To the joy of the 
 entire Craig family, it was decided that Gertie 
 should come to them. 
 
 So one bright, cold Tuesday afternoon a pro- 
 cession marched to the Hawthorn depot, com- 
 posed of three Craigs, two Tomlinsons, Barnard 
 Simeral, and Helen Bland. A smaller commit- 
 242
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 243 
 
 tee could not receive Gertie as such a welcome 
 guest deserved. She was neither timid nor self- 
 conscious ; yet I am sure she would have felt 
 some embarrassment if she had heard all the 
 flattering information concerning her which her 
 relatives gave their friends. Fred and Annie 
 had already made her acquaintance, and began 
 to feel proud of the fact. 
 
 The brakeman looked very much disgusted 
 when a throng of children pressed so close that 
 the passengers could hardly alight. But not so 
 looked a pale-faced little girl, with fair hair 
 blowing over her shoulders and a brown and 
 white basket in her hand. Her great blue-gray 
 eyes gazed anxiously into the crowd, for they 
 did not see very well ; but a sparkling smile 
 danced over her features when she discerned her 
 cousin's much-admired ringlets. 
 
 " Hullo, Gertie !" shouted Archer and Er- 
 nest ; but Gertie could not speak to any one 
 until she had given darling Hilda the longest, 
 strongest hug that dear child had received in 
 many days. 
 
 " O, you 're going to stay a great, great 
 while !" exclaimed Hilda, joyfully. " Did n't you 
 bring anything but that basket? Do you s'pose 
 you can wear my dresses?" 
 
 " O, my trunk 's along they 're putting it 
 off; and I 've brought 'most everything I 've got.
 
 244 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 This isn't clothes," laughed Gertie, picking up 
 the basket, which she had dropped in the mo- 
 ment of meeting. "All of you guess what 's 
 in it." 
 
 The comprehensive nod which Gertie gave 
 to the group served as an introduction. It 
 showed that she recognized them all as friends, 
 and they no longer felt themseles strangers. 
 One of Gertie's most charming traits was the 
 ability to do just such little things as this to put 
 people at ease. She never thought about her 
 actions ; she simply felt that it would be best to 
 do a thing, and did it naturally and gracefully. 
 
 Immediately every one became interested in 
 the basket. Fred guessed that it might contain 
 Christmas presents, and Helen called out " Pop- 
 corn ;" but before any one else could speak, an 
 unexpected sound made them spring back and 
 stare at each other, their countenances blank 
 with amazement. 
 
 " Me-oo !" cried a voice from the basket. 
 The first syllable was high and shrill, the sec- 
 ond very urgent ; at the same time a scratching 
 and tumbling could be heard beneath the lid. 
 
 " O Gertie," said Hilda, a dawn of intelli- 
 gence in her eyes, "have you " 
 
 "I couldn't leave my dear Quillup, could I, 
 Hilda? Our housekeeper does n't like cats, and 
 I was afraid she would n't give him enough to
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 245 
 
 eat. It takes a great deal of meat to satisfy 
 him. Miss Tilly said she 'd keep him for me, 
 because she knew I loved him. He has been a 
 very bad cat at times, but I love him anyhow. 
 But you see, poor Miss Tilly has that horrid bird 
 (she thinks it 's nice), and she supposes every 
 cat that looks at it is going to eat it up. She 
 would be worried sick if my Quillup was there, 
 though she 'd never be cross to him never. So 
 I thought, Why not take him along? You 
 don't mind, do you?" 
 
 " I like it to exceeding," answered Hilda, 
 making one of her queer errors of speech, as 
 she usually did when particularly anxious to say 
 the correct thing. Quillup had evidently deter- 
 mined that he would be imprisoned no longer ; 
 he was making such forcible efforts to escape 
 that he would certainly have succeeded if the 
 lid had not been securely fastened down with 
 several yards of twine. 
 
 "You don't suppose he'll burst the basket, 
 Archer, do you?" questioned Gertie, appealing 
 to this cousin because he was generally held, 
 among the children, to be exceptionally wise and 
 discreet. 
 
 "Well, we mustn't be quite sure," replied 
 the oracle, taking the agitated basket carefully 
 upon his arm. " It looks pretty strong ; I do n't 
 believe he can. But the best thing to do is to
 
 246 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 get him home, and let him out as soon as pos- 
 sible. I '11 take him, and Barn and I will hurry 
 on ahead." 
 
 Gertie willingly resigned her charge, and found 
 leisure to become better acquainted with Helen 
 and Annie. Both invited her to visit them after 
 school on the following day, and in pressing their 
 respective claims came near getting into a quar- 
 rel. But Gertie was equal to the occasion. 
 
 " I have n't the slightest idea where Helen 
 lives. You all know that, don't you? Well, 
 then, if she lives the same side of uncle's that 
 Annie does, I'll go to see her second; but if 
 she lives the other side, I '11 go to see her first. 
 That fixes it," and she beamed triumphantly 
 upon the rival claimants. 
 
 " She does n't ! We 've gone past her house 
 already!" cried the exultant Annie. "You've 
 got to come to my house first." Hilda showed 
 as much disappointment as Helen, but Gertie 
 said, placidly : 
 
 " All right. What 's the difference, when 
 I 'm going to stay, nobody knows how long, and 
 can go to see you both more times than any- 
 body would want to count ?" 
 
 It was a very happy time for Hilda. Her 
 work at school was pleasant, and by no means 
 difficult. She had agreeable companions, and 
 plenty of outdoor sport in the most delightful
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 247 
 
 kind of winter weather cold enough to be 
 frosty, brilliant with blue sky and golden sun- 
 shine. There was an occasional light snow, 
 which gave the children opportunity for coast- 
 ing, and vanished be r ore that amusement had 
 grown wearisome. Above all, she had Gertie with 
 her all day long. Gertie was, as Mr. Craig had 
 asserted, never in anybody's way ; yet she was 
 always near when her presence was desired, 
 ready to talk and play when others felt sociable, 
 and quietly occupied with books or sewing when 
 they were not inclined to be lively. She had 
 the gift of tact, which, united with a loving 
 heart, makes the most delightful people we 
 ever meet. 
 
 But all the while one unchanging trouble 
 crept along Hilda's happy days, entwined itself 
 with her work and play, and repeatedly lifted 
 up its ugly head to look into her face. It was 
 the trouble of Gilbertina's name. I do not 
 know whether many children could suffer so 
 acutely from such a cause ; but I know that one 
 little girl could and did suffer agonies of shame. 
 Nor is it difficult for me to understand this; be- 
 cause I was once acquainted with a child so timid 
 and shrinking, that a stranger's kindly notice was 
 painful to her. If she dined away from home, 
 she hoped that no one would speak to her at the 
 table ; it was misery to be the object of atten-
 
 248 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 tion. Yet she was neither reserved nor unsocial, 
 only so bashful that she had not courage to be 
 satisfactory to herself, and attractive to others. 
 
 Gilbertina was so big and beautiful that 
 there was no chance of her escaping observation. 
 Blanche was devoted to her ; therefore a hand- 
 some wardrobe was added to her charms. She 
 looked so lovely in the artistic costumes, that 
 Blanche's zeal increased instead of diminishing. 
 Her friends became interested, and assisted her 
 with many bits of costly dress-goods and delicate 
 embroidery. Gilbertina went robed like a young 
 princess. Of course so much beauty must not 
 be hidden away. Blanche fell into the habit of 
 exhibiting the doll to callers. To avoid the 
 trouble of bringing it from the play-room, she 
 suggested that Hilda might as well leave it in 
 the library, and hemmed a square of silk illu- 
 sion to protect its beauty and elegance from 
 dust. Veiled like a bride, Gilbertina reclined 
 upon the sofa cushion, unless some one was in- 
 dolently inclined, and placed her upon the table, 
 or the ever-anxious Hilda hid her in the darkest 
 corner of the room. 
 
 It was hard to hear the constant repetition of 
 that detested name, sounded sometimes in won- 
 der, oftener in ridicule. Grown-up people said 
 it was charming, but they laughed as if they 
 meant the contrary. Every once in a while,
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 249 
 
 too, some dreadful boy seized upon the helpless 
 puppet, and wrung the heart of its affectionate 
 owner by the dazzling exercise of his wit. Boys 
 are never slow to discover opportunities for 
 teasing. They understood that Hilda was 
 ashamed of the name, and delighted to bring it 
 often to her ears. 
 
 You may be sure that Mrs. Craig was still 
 ignorant of her little daughter's suffering, or she 
 would have put an end to it without delay. 
 Who will say that Hilda did not deserve to suf- 
 fer for her lack of confidence in so gentle and 
 tender a mother? 
 
 Gertie visited Annie Tomlinson on the day 
 after her arrival, and Helen wanted her the next 
 afternoon. But Hilda persuaded Helen to come 
 home with her instead. 
 
 "Then we'll go to see you to-morrow," she 
 promised. " I do n't want to go to-day, because 
 I 've got to take my music-lesson, and it 's away 
 in the other direction. Let 's play till it 's time 
 to go, and then we '11 come back and play some 
 more." 
 
 Three little girls in a play-room full of pretty 
 toys must be very queer little girls if they can 
 not have a good time. The minutes glided so 
 rapidly away that their passage would have 
 been unnoticed, if Archer had not chanced to 
 enter the room and draw out his silver watch.
 
 250 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "O, what time is it, Arch?" inquired Hilda, 
 pausing in the act of suspending a doll's ham- 
 mock from the back of a rocking-chair to a hook 
 screwed into the wall. 
 
 " Quarter after three," carelessly replied her 
 brother as he vanished through the doorway. 
 Then Hilda stood up. 
 
 " Girls, we '11 have to get ready to go." 
 
 The others stared at her. 
 
 "Why, Hilda Craig, you don't have your 
 lesson till four o'clock." 
 
 Hilda was always ahead of time ; it was a 
 family characteristic; but this was a little worse 
 than usual. 
 
 " The way of it is this," she exclaimed, 
 " Lucy Effingham is sick at least she was yes- 
 terday, and I s'pose she is to-day. I have n't 
 heard anything dissimilar. So may be Miss 
 Esther might like to give me her half-hour, and 
 get through that much sooner. Should n't you 
 think perhaps she might?" 
 
 "Yes," and Gertie began at once to pick up 
 the playthings. " We '11 get our things on 
 right away." 
 
 So they did. Helen was the first to declare 
 herself ready, but then she neither buttoned her 
 cloak nor tied the strings of her hood ; and she 
 remembered, after they were beyond the gate, 
 that she had left her overshoes under the hat-
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 251 
 
 rack. Her tardy memory caused some delay, but 
 did no harm, for Miss Esther was not in the 
 music-room when they arrived. She did not 
 know that Hilda had heard of Lucy's illness, 
 and, expecting to have an idle half-hour, had 
 concluded to spend it in making a call. 
 
 Esther had found that she could save time 
 and strength by securing a room in which to 
 give lessons. She had found this room with 
 the Misses Fremont. These ladies lived in a 
 double cottage through the center of which ran 
 an unusually wide hall. Miss Fremont kept 
 house on a limited scale ; she could scarcely do 
 more, and give the constant attention required 
 by her invalid sister, Miss Cynthia. They lived 
 in one half of the cottage ; the other half was 
 furnished, but rarely used. The cheerless life 
 of the two sisters often touched the hearts of 
 the kindly villagers ; but there was no disputing 
 the fact that things might easily have been bet- 
 ter with them. Miss Fremont need not have 
 worked so hard ; Miss Cynthia might have had 
 more comforts, and, perhaps, been altogether 
 cured, if they had not been so anxious to save 
 their money. 
 
 It was this miserly trait which had influ- 
 enced them to rent their parlor to Esther Madi- 
 son. They disliked such a free entrance of 
 strangers, especially children ; but they never
 
 252 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 occupied the room, aiid could not resist the few 
 dollars which it would bring them. Separated 
 by the broad hall and walls of old-fashioned 
 thickness, they had thus far experienced no in- 
 convenience. 
 
 Into this parlor came three little maidens, 
 each with a doll in her arms; the prudent Ger- 
 tie had suggested that, in case they were too 
 early, they might go on with their play. 
 
 "Miss Esther isn't here," observed Hilda, 
 depositing her music-roll upon the table. 
 
 " Well, we don't care; do we, girls?" asked 
 Gertie, eagerly. "It will be lots of fun to play 
 here. Let's have it that the dolls have gone 
 away for the season. This room makes me 
 think of a summer hotel." 
 
 Perfraps the pictureless walls were the chief 
 cause of this resemblance. There was a large- 
 figured carpet, its too-brilliant colors happily 
 softened by time; lead-colored blinds darkened 
 the windows, and a square table of gigantic size 
 filled a considerable space in the center of the 
 apartment. A large grate was full of coals, 
 blazing high and merrily, and the warm air 
 gave proof that the fire was not lately kindled. 
 Esther was very particular about that fire; a 
 small, but sturdy neighbor received excellent 
 pay to take care of it on Mondays and Thurs- 
 days. A square piano, with a faded green cover,
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 253 
 
 stood between the hall door and one of the 
 broad-silled windows. 
 
 " So it does me," said Helen. " I 'm Mrs. 
 Leonidas Lynchpinne that 's a name I read in 
 an Oliver Optic book and I had a party last 
 night in the hotel parlor. You two were in- 
 vited, and so were your daughters." 
 
 " Yes, and my Rosalind is sick this morning 
 on account of it," promptly rejoined Gertie. 
 "She ate too much ice-cream. I don't know 
 what to do with that child to teach her man- 
 ners. She certainly is greedy." 
 
 " Have you had a doctor for her?" 
 
 "No, not yet; but perhaps I'll have to. 
 Her neck is so stiff I 'm afraid the bones in it 
 will break. Do you know where I can get a 
 
 doctor, Mrs. Lynchpinne? Or do you, Mrs. 
 
 what 's your name, Hilda?" 
 
 " Mrs. Admiral Nelson, I guess." Hilda had 
 been looking over Harper's Monthly the even- 
 ing before, and remembered a picture of the 
 great Englishman. 
 
 " Well, I may as well be the Empress of 
 Japan," said Gertie, her imagination soaring to 
 an unexpected height. " How is your sweet 
 little Gilbertina, Mrs. Admiral?" 
 
 " She 's well ; her appetite is so small she 
 never eats more than a quarter of a saucer of ice- 
 cream, even if it 's a five-cent saucer."
 
 254 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " Then, if she 's ready, she can go to school 
 with my Luly," said Helen, hustling that 
 yonng lady's arms into the sleeves of her sacque, 
 which she had taken off but a minute before. 
 In an impromptu play it is often impossible to 
 know what will happen next. 
 
 " School at a summer hotel !" 
 
 This amazed outcry made Helen pause, but 
 in a moment she was ready to maintain her po- 
 sition. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," she responded, slyly slipping 
 off the doll's jacket; " I don't allow my daugh- 
 ter to waste her time in summer any more than 
 in winter. So I brought a governess along, and 
 she has lessons on the side-porch." 
 
 " Then I '11 have to be governess," said Ger- 
 tie, delightedly, " and you can have two chil- 
 dren. Mrs. Lynchpinne, I hope your daughter 
 Lulu knows her spelling to-day. I had to give 
 it over to her, because she spelled three words 
 wrong." 
 
 "What were they, ma'am?" inquired the anx- 
 ious mother. " Three words are too many for 
 any girl to miss. Why did n't you tell me, so I 
 could tie her to the bed-post?" 
 
 "Rhinoceros, and hippopotamus, and ocelot," 
 replied the governess, reading the words from 
 her handkerchief. 
 
 "Then I shan't whip her," declared Mrs.
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 255 
 
 Lynchpinne. "You oughtn't to have put three 
 such hard words into one lesson. Why, she 's 
 only six years old! How do you spell ocelot, 
 Gertie? Is it o-c-e-1-o-t?" 
 
 "Yes; and Lulu spelled it o-c-e-1-i-t." 
 
 "Suppose we don't play 'Summer Hotel.' 
 Let's play 'Life on the Plains,"' suggested 
 Hilda. 
 
 "O, do do let's!" screamed her accommo- 
 dating companions; "and I want to be a cow- 
 boy," added Helen. 
 
 "No, Helen, you mustn't. You must live 
 in the block-house, like the rest of us, and take 
 care of the children. This whole room is the 
 block-house, and the windows are the port-holes 
 that we look through to see the cow-boys and 
 Indians riding along together. I hear them 
 now." 
 
 If JVIaster Tomlinson was a cow-boy, he had 
 become one since school was dismissed that day; 
 yet it was certainly his voice that went echoing 
 through the still, clear air: 
 
 "Hi, Er-r-nest!" 
 
 "It's that dreadful Fred Tomlinson. O, 
 girls, I do hope they won't come here." 
 
 " Well, but maybe they will ; and so now 
 we 've got something to be afraid of," exclaimed 
 Gertie, quick to seize opportunities. "That will 
 make it more real. O, Mrs. Leonidas Lynch-
 
 256 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 pinne, tell your daughter not to stick her head 
 out of the port-hole ! She 's such a frivolous 
 child, I 'm constantly suffering anxiety about 
 her." 
 
 U O, you need n't mind. I 've told her once 
 to keep her head in, and that is enough ; I 
 shan't tell her again. If she gets transfused 
 with an arrow, it 's her own fault, and there will 
 be more cornmeal for the rest of us to eat." 
 
 The unnatural mother meant to say trans- 
 fixed, instead of transfused; but her indifference 
 to her daughter's fate was forgotten in an in- 
 stant, because a round, reddish face, with round, 
 bright eyes, appeared on the outside of the win- 
 dow. A veritable cow-boy would not have been 
 a more unwelcome apparition. 
 
 " Hullo, girls!" shouted Fred, grinning in a 
 friendly manner. Neither smile nor speech re- 
 plied to his pleasant greeting. Three pairs of 
 eyes looked straight into his face, expressing as 
 much dignity and disapprobation as they possi- 
 bly could. This was not a wise way for the 
 girls to act. It made Fred remember how fre- 
 quently they suffered from his teasing, and cast 
 about in his mind for new ways of taxing their 
 patience. He was bending forward in an awk- 
 ward fashion, which suggested that his footing 
 was not secure, and they now observed that his 
 shoulders were strapped with twine.
 
 77V THE MU^IC-ROOM. 257 
 
 "What has that boy got on?" asked Helen, 
 her curiosity awakened. " I '11 just creep up and 
 see." 
 
 " O Helen Lynchpinne, do n't you go near 
 that port-hole !" screamed Gertie, unwilling to 
 relinquish the play. " That's Buffalo Bill, and 
 all his Indians are behind him." 
 
 Buffalo Bill heard this shriek, and delight 
 made him totter so that he almost fell on his 
 face. 
 
 "Hurry up, chaps!" he called, to his invisi- 
 ble companions. " Here are the girls in a fort, 
 and we 're the Indians come to attack them. 
 Walk right in the front door, gentlemen. I 'in 
 the man to show you the way." 
 
 Such a clattering sounded a moment later on 
 the painted hall-floor that the girls forgot every- 
 thing else in wondering what could be the cause 
 of it. Then a hand slowly pushed back the 
 door, and three elevated figures walked unstead- 
 ily into the room. 
 
 They were mounted upon stilts made of tin- 
 cans. Long loops of stout string were passed 
 through holes bored in the sides and slipped 
 over the shoulders of the wearer. Of course the 
 boys could not stand upright ; they were pulled 
 forward with each step, and looked both un- 
 graceful and uncomfortable. But they were 
 lully compensated by two agreeable things. 
 
 17
 
 258 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Everybody stared at them, and they made a 
 great deal of noise. 
 
 The girls could not keep from laughing. 
 
 " Surrender !" cried the leader of the attack. 
 "Yield your arms, or we'll put every man, 
 woman, and child to the sword." 
 
 "Yes; throw up your arms," squeaked the 
 second in line. It was Percy Merrill, a boy 
 whose voice was thin and shrill, and close be- 
 hind him came Ernest Craig. 
 
 " No, we're going to defend ourselves;" and 
 the valiant Gertie seized the poker and advanced 
 resolutely upon the enemy. Helen instantly 
 grasped the tongs and followed. Hilda hesi- 
 tated, with Gilbertina tucked for safety under 
 one arm. As no better weapon was at hand, she 
 picked up her music-roll and joined the defense. 
 This unexpectedly warlike attitude took the boys 
 by surprise. Their position was not secure 
 enough to promise victory in a fight, and they 
 were compelled to beat a retreat. They backed 
 as rapidly as possible to the wall, and supported 
 themselves against it, looking as helpless as 
 Humpty-Dumpty just before his famous tumble. 
 
 "Don't stick that poker in my eye!" yelled 
 Fred. " Mind what you 're about, Gertie Winner ; 
 there 's no fun playing with you. That 's just 
 the way, when we 're having a good time you 've 
 got to go and spoil it."
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 259: 
 
 "We were having a good time before you 
 came in," retorted Gertie, stoutly. " We did n't 
 want you ; and what will Miss Esther say, do you 
 think, if she comes in and finds you spoiling the 
 carpet with tomato-cans ?" 
 
 "O, and Miss Cynthia Fremont is sick!" 
 chimed in Hilda. " I 'm just as afraid as I can 
 be of Miss Fremont getting mad. Do get down, 
 Ernie ; I '11 help you." 
 
 Ernest glanced dubiously at his leader, and 
 found him already descending from his metallic 
 height, assisted by his victorious enemy. The 
 cans lay together upon the floor, displaying 
 glaring representations of well-developed ears of 
 corn, and smooth, scarlet tomatoes, and the 
 youths found leisure to wonder how the girls 
 had been employing themselves before their 
 arrival. 
 
 " I 'm going to tell Miss Madison how you 
 spoil her room," threatened Fred. " She 's as 
 particular as an old maid about it ; makes you 
 wipe your feet on the door-mat every time you 
 come." 
 
 " Well, we did wipe our feet on the door- 
 mat, Mr. Fred. You have n't got anything to 
 tell her. We thought she 'd want to give Hilda's 
 lesson early, and that is why we came. It was 
 just for her sake." 
 
 " Hi, Gilbertina !" shouted Fred, descrying
 
 260 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 that long-suffering damsel hiding her face under 
 Hilda's arm. " Was the poor little creature 
 'most smothered ? Give her to me to take a 
 music-lesson. I 've just been hired as assistant 
 teacher at a salary of five hundred dollars a 
 day." 
 
 " Fred, let her alone ; let her alone !" com- 
 manded Hilda, desperately, trying to make her 
 way toward the door. But she was too late ; the 
 rough boyish hand was crushing down the lovely, 
 flaxen ringlets. 
 
 "If you don't give her to me I shall pull," 
 he asserted, with a hard look of determination 
 in his dark eyes. 
 
 Pull that delicate darling's hair ! Hilda 
 loosened her hold in a second, and Fred was 
 away to the piano. He perched the unfortunate 
 doll upon the music-rack, and began running 
 his hands rapidly up and down the key-board. 
 Swaying his body to and fro, throwing back his 
 head and stretching his eyes, he was his own 
 ideal of a great performer. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, since you ask it I 
 will kindly consent to play my latest composi- 
 tion. It is called the ' Gilbertina Filbertina 
 Waltz,' named for the beautiful young lady who 
 is sitting on the piano this minute. She 's a 
 lunatic, you know ; you can tell that from her 
 name. Here goes !"
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 261 
 
 A thundering crash at one end of the piano 
 was followed by a shrill shriek from the depressed 
 keys at the other. Then Gilbertina fell down. 
 Her blue dress and pale-yellow locks flashed 
 over the front of the piano, and struck upon the 
 floor. There was a general rush to pick her up, 
 but Fred was not ready to relinquish his victim. 
 
 " She 's only fainted," said he, with profes- 
 sional calmness. " Do not let the audience be 
 alarmed. I will revive her with the prick of a 
 pin. Aha! she's all right again, and now she 
 will sing us a solo." 
 
 Quiet tears were beginning to steal over 
 Hilda's cheeks, but no one remarked them. In 
 truth, every one else found Fred very entertain- 
 ing, and he did not seem to them to be doing 
 anything very bad. 
 
 " Here 's the stage," cried Helen, sweeping 
 all the books to the center of the table, and 
 piling them one upon another. " Lean her up 
 against these." 
 
 " Much obliged to you, ma'am. Now, Craig 
 and Merrill, we three will be the orchestra. 
 One of you can beat the drum on a can, and the 
 other can play the fife." 
 
 " Shall I get under the table and sing for 
 Gilbertina?" eagerly inquired Helen. 
 
 " Yes," answered Fred, holding up the cover 
 that she might creep underneath, .' We '11 play
 
 262 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 first, and when we stop you begin to sing. Now 
 wait till I get ray cymbals. Strike up, boys." 
 
 Most extraordinary was the noise which 
 struck upon the ears of Esther Madison as she 
 stepped from the porch into the hall. At the 
 same moment Miss Fremont, in bonnet and 
 shawl, came hastily from her sister's room, im- 
 mediately opposite the parlor. She had just re- 
 turned from an errand, and had found Miss 
 Cynthia almost wild w T ith anxiety, because of 
 the sounds to which, for the last ten minutes, 
 she had, been obliged to listen. They seemed 
 to her nervous ears to indicate the destruction 
 of furniture, and to threaten the invasion of her 
 own apartment. In the midst of her account 
 the clatter of tin, combined with the squeaking 
 of a human voice, and the stamping of feet, cor- 
 roborated her amazing tale, and caused her 
 tongue to stiffen with fright. 
 
 "Miss Madison!" exclaimed Miss Fremont, 
 "what does this mean?" Her long, meager 
 face was white with rage and alarm. 
 
 "I can not imagine, Miss Fremont, I assure 
 you," was the only reply which Esther could 
 give, as she hurried to open the parlor door. 
 The two ladies, as they paused indignantly upon 
 the threshold, saw three boys grouped about 
 the center-table. One was energetically beating 
 in the sides of a vegetable can, one playing an
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 263 
 
 imaginary fife with might and main, and the 
 third clashing two cans together, with a noise 
 surpassing all his companions could produce, 
 and whistling " Yankee Doodle " while he 
 worked. At the opening of the door every arm 
 became motionless, jovial smiles vanished, and 
 the members of the orchestra hung their heads 
 with unbecoming sheepishness. The sudden 
 silence gave no warning to Helen, and the 
 thick table-cover prevented her seeing what had 
 happened. She supposed that the overture was 
 ended, and the time for her performance had 
 come ; so, raising her voice, she sent forth un- 
 abashed, the loud, clear notes of 
 
 "The owl and the pussy-cat went to sea 
 In a beautiful pea-green boat." 
 
 "Hush this minute!" cried Miss Esther, ad- 
 vancing with hasty steps to Ernest's side, and 
 laying her hand imperatively upon the arm 
 which had supported the invisible but undenia- 
 bly audible fife. You may imagine how her 
 voice startled the prima donna's substitute. 
 Helen's head emerged from the heavy drapery, 
 hair bristling over it in a fine fuzz, and eyes 
 and mouth all opened wide. 
 
 "How dared you come into my room in my 
 absence and raise such a disgraceful uproar?" 
 Esther's voice shook and her eyes flashed. How
 
 264 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 could she help being angry ? She felt herself 
 responsible for what had occurred during her 
 absence, and dreaded lest it might occasion the 
 loss of the apartment. " Hilda, is it possible 
 that you are here too? you and Ernest? I 
 never dreamed that I must not trust you." 
 
 When the orchestra began its noise Hilda 
 had retired to the back window, and as soon as 
 Gertie discovered that she was crying, she had 
 followed and tried to console her. The entrance 
 of Miss Esther and the terrible Miss Fremont 
 had done what Gertie's kisses and comforting 
 could not do it had stopped the flow of tears. 
 But this unmerited accusation was more than 
 she could bear. She burst into a passionate fit 
 of weeping, struggling to tear herself from her 
 cousin's arms and rush out of the room. But 
 Gertie held her fast. 
 
 " Miss Esther, do n't let her go," she pleaded^ 
 earnestly. "It isn't her fault; no, indeed it 
 isn't. She feels worse than you do." 
 
 Distressed though she was, Esther perceived 
 that here was something which she did not un- 
 derstand. She took Hilda's hand and held it, 
 while she ordered the boys to pick up the cans 
 and leave the room. Helen was compelled to 
 follow them ; for there could be no doubt that 
 she, at least, had had a share in the disturbance. 
 When Esther turned to speak to Miss Fremont,
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 265 
 
 she found her gone. Perhaps she was too much 
 disgusted to linger, or it may have been that she 
 feared to leave her sister longer alone. 
 
 "I must go and speak to Miss Fremont," 
 said the young teacher, releasing Hilda's hand. 
 "Sit down by the fire and wait till I come back. 
 I will not be long." 
 
 Miss Fremont and her sister were already 
 calm, but very frigid and unbending. They ad- 
 mitted that the disturbance did not seem to be 
 Esther's fault, but repeatedly declared that she 
 must not let it happen again. It soon became 
 evident that they did not intend to make her 
 abandon the room, and, greatly relieved, the 
 poor girl went back to the waiting children. 
 
 They were crouched upon the hearth-rug, 
 lifting two sad and timid faces as she entered. 
 She closed the door, drew a chair near to them, 
 and kindly asked : 
 
 "Will you tell me now how all this hap- 
 pened ? I do not know anything about it, and 
 I would like to understand." 
 
 Nothing is so likely to quiet any one, es- 
 pecially a child, as quietness in another. Gertie 
 and Hilda began at the first and told her, help- 
 ing each other along, that they had come to the 
 room early, and why they had done so, about 
 their playing together, and the appearance of 
 {he boys just in time to represent Indians at'
 
 266 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 tacking the fort. They left nothing out; but 
 toward the conclusion of the account, Gertie 
 had to do all the talking. Hilda struggled 
 awhile with her emotion. She turned her 
 head aside, and opened and shut her eyes to 
 scare the tears away. But it was of no avail ; 
 they would come. She laid her head on her 
 cousin's shoulder, and cried with all the bitter- 
 ness of real sorrow. 
 
 " My dear little Hilda," said Esther, pitying 
 her very much, "don't cry; you have done 
 nothing which should make you ashamed. I 
 am quite certain that neither you nor Gertie 
 was to blame." 
 
 But Hilda did not lift her head, nor did her 
 weeping cease. Esther tried again. 
 
 " Is it because I was angry with you at first? 
 I am very sorry for it. You do not want to 
 make me feel badly because I made a mistake?" 
 
 Still no answer. Hilda really wanted to 
 speak ; to tell Miss Esther that she loved her, 
 and thought her very kind. But the poor child 
 was so miserable that she could only go on 
 crying. 
 
 Her two companions looked at each other 
 anxiously. Gertie's eyes dilated ; she believed 
 that she understood. 
 
 "I do believe her heart is broken," she mur- 
 mured. " O, Miss Esther, that bad Fred
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 267 
 
 Tomlinson has done it. He lias teased her 
 about Gilbertina until she can't bear it any 
 longer." 
 
 "About Gilbertina? What can you mean?" 
 
 "Just about her name," returned Gertie, 
 impressively. " Nothing else at all. And it 
 is n't Hilda's fault that Gilbertina's got such a 
 name. She does n't " 
 
 Hilda lifted her head from her cousin's 
 shoulder, sat straight up, and gazed at her re- 
 proach fully. 
 
 "You mustn't talk so, Gertie. You don't 
 know why I cried any more than Miss, Esther 
 does, and you need n't pretend you do." 
 
 The sudden change from despair to indigna- 
 tion overwhelmed Gertie with astonishment, 
 and struck Esther as so funny that she narrowly 
 escaped laughing aloud. She knew, however, 
 that the best she could do was to divert Hilda's 
 thoughts. Besides, the afternoon was slipping 
 away. She rose, and laid her hand lightly on 
 the brown ringlets. 
 
 "Are you ready for your music-lesson ? I 
 have not much time to spare." 
 
 Gertie went out before they began ! Poor 
 child! Her cousin's incomprehensible behavior 
 cut her to the heart. Hilda did not look at her 
 as she walked to the piano; she held her head 
 erect, and seemed to wish to look as if she had
 
 268 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 not been crying nor feeling the least bit badly. 
 " I do n't suppose she wants me to wait for 
 her," thought the innocent little offender, her 
 faithful heart very heavy. She went sorrow- 
 fully along the rough, frozen road, a broken 
 stream of luster from the sinking sun quivering 
 on the way before her. As she opened her 
 uncle's gate she saw Annie Tomlinson coming 
 around the neighboring house. Nobody must 
 stop her now. She started to run, and did not 
 stop until her hand was on the knob of the 
 side door.
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 
 
 A VERY unhappy Gertie crept stealthily up 
 the stairs and into the guest-chamber where 
 she and Hilda slept. She did not want to see 
 any one, for she could not bear a word. Up to 
 this time the little cousins had never quarreled 
 with each other, and the present state of affairs 
 seemed to Gertie too dreadful to be endured. 
 
 There was a deep, cushioned chair beside 
 the window, and into this she crept, alter noise- 
 lessly closing the door. The lowering daylight 
 shone on the white wall of Mr. Tomlinson's 
 house like a mantle of thin golden stuff woven 
 by the fairies. The sky was a pale, wintry 
 blue ; over the horizon rose, like a breath, a 
 green-gold luster; and the snow on every roof 
 in sight was touched with a tint of rose. 
 
 The beautiful scene caught Gertie away from 
 her grief; but she came back to it in a minute, 
 
 269
 
 270 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 and laid her head on the soft arm of the chair 
 with a long, helpless sigh. 
 
 O, she felt so lonely ! Hilda was angry 
 with her. Hilda had her parents and brothers 
 and sisters to sympathize with her and take her 
 part. Gertie's mother was far away in the South) 
 and she could see her father only once or twice 
 a week. It had never occurred to her till now 
 what a dreadful thing it is to- be away from 
 home. Then, in thought, she floated away to 
 the city. How wide and bright and clean 
 looked Walnut Street, with its rows of hand- 
 some houses and lines of slender, bare-armed 
 trees ! She went through every room of her 
 dear home, pausing longest where she had so 
 often sat with her mother. She involuntarily 
 put up her hand, and it touched a tear half-way 
 down her cheek. This would not do. 
 
 "Stop crying, Gertie Winner!" she com- 
 manded, shaking herself as hard as she could. 
 " I must divert myself. Now, if I only had n't 
 written to mamma to-day, I might do that. I 
 wrote her four pages, and told her about school 
 and Helen Bland and how Quillup was getting 
 along." 
 
 Quillup ! To be sure. What a shame that 
 she had not thought of that dear cat since early 
 in the morning ! Was it not likely that he was 
 as lonely as she was herself?
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 271 
 
 " For ' cats do not love people, but places,' ' 
 quoted she, getting nimbly on her feet. " I 
 read that somewhere, and it 's just about all 
 the consolation I have when I see how he 
 won't be still and let us put him where we 
 want to." 
 
 A very close watch was kept upon " Mr. 
 Quillup," as Archer called him. If, while he 
 was in the kitchen, the outside door was for a 
 moment left open, he must be tightly clasped 
 in somebody's arms, or he would be out of doors 
 like a flash; and then, coax as one might, he 
 would not come in until he chose. There was 
 great danger that he might sometime choose not 
 to return at all, for he seemed rather discon- 
 tented." 
 
 "Is Quillup all right?" called out his eager 
 little mistress, fluttering into the kitchen. 
 
 Emma was just crossing the floor with a 
 large dish of macaroni, which she was about to 
 put into the oven. Her hands were fully occu- 
 pied, and, as she did not think it worth while 
 to answer the question in words, she nodded 
 her head toward the table. Under the table 
 crouched Quillup, vigorously gnawing a lamb- 
 chop, his head so far to one side that it almost 
 lay on the floor. The favored animal had meals 
 served to him at all hours of the day. 
 
 " Now you 've had enough to eat," said Ger-
 
 272 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 tie, getting down beside him. " I want you to 
 come to me." 
 
 Quillup suffered himself to be dragged from 
 his repast without protest. He hid his head 
 under her arm, and was absolutely motionless. 
 
 At this moment one of the doors opened, and 
 Gertie glanced up to meet Hilda's solemn gaze. 
 Hilda had evidently just come in ; she was still 
 hatted and cloaked, and held her silk mittens in 
 her hand. For one instant the cousins looked 
 straight into each other's eyes. Gertie began 
 to flush and tremble, but Hilda's face did not 
 change. She drew back and shut the door, and 
 her slow footsteps were heard upon the stairs. 
 
 Certainly it can not have been more than 
 three minutes after this that Blanche tried to 
 open the play-room door. It was locked, and 
 when she had shaken it a voice was heard, de- 
 manding: 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 " Blanche," replied the owner of that name- 
 " Open the door, Hilda." 
 
 " No, you can't come in," firmly replied her 
 sister. " Won't you please go and find Gertie, 
 and tell her that I want her?" 
 
 "How ridiculous!" exclaimed the older girl, 
 provoked and yet amused. " What are you 
 doing that you are n't willing for other people 
 to see ?"
 
 fN THE fffU^TC-ROOM. 257 
 
 " What has that boy got on ?" asked Helen,, 
 her curiosity awakened. " I '11 just creep up and 
 see." 
 
 " O Helen Lynchpinne, do n't you go near 
 that port-hole !" screamed Gertie, unwilling to 
 relinquish the play. " That's Buffalo Bill, and 
 all his Indians are behind him." 
 
 Buffalo Bill heard this shriek, and delight 
 made him totter so that he almost fell on his 
 face. 
 
 "Hurry up, chaps!" he called, to his invisi- 
 ble companions. " Here are the girls in a fort, 
 and we 're the Indians come to attack them. 
 Walk right in the front door, gentlemen. I 'm 
 the man to show you the way." 
 
 Such a clattering sounded a moment later on 
 the painted hall-floor that the girls forgot every- 
 thing else in wondering what could be the cause 
 of it. Then a hand slowly pushed back the 
 door, and three elevated figures walked unstead- 
 ily into the room. 
 
 They were mounted upon stilts made of tin- 
 cans. Long loops of stout string were passed 
 through holes bored in the sides and slipped 
 over the shoulders of the wearer. Of course the 
 boys could not stand upright ; they were pulled 
 forward with each step, and looked both un- 
 graceful and uncomfortable. But they were 
 lully compensated by two agreeable things.
 
 258 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Everybody stared at them, and they made a 
 great deal of noise. 
 
 The girls could not keep from laughing. 
 
 " Surrender !" cried the leader of the attack. 
 "Yield your arms, or we'll put every man, 
 woman, and child to the sword." 
 
 "Yes; throw up your arms," squeaked the 
 second in line. It was Percy Merrill, a boy 
 whose voice was thin and shrill, and close be- 
 hind him came Ernest Craig. 
 
 "No, we're going to defend ourselves;" and 
 the valiant Gertie seized the poker and advanced 
 resolutely upon the enemy. Helen instantly 
 grasped the tongs and followed. Hilda hesi- 
 tated, with Gilbertina tucked for safety under 
 one arm. As no better weapon was at hand, she 
 picked up her music-roll and joined the defense. 
 This unexpectedly warlike attitude took the boys 
 by surprise. Their position was not secure 
 enough to promise victory in a fight, and they 
 were compelled to beat a retreat. They backed 
 as rapidly as possible to the wall, and supported 
 themselves against it, looking as helpless as 
 Humpty-Dumpty just before his famous tumble. 
 
 "Don't stick that poker in my eye!" yelled 
 Fred. " Mind what you 're about, Gertie Winner ; 
 there 's no fun playing with you. That 's just 
 the way, when we 're having a good time you 've 
 got to go and spoil it."
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. ' 259 
 
 "We were having a good time before you 
 came in," retorted Gertie, stoutly. " We did n't 
 want you ; and what will Miss Esther say, do you 
 think, if she comes in and finds you spoiling the 
 carpet with tomato-cans ?" 
 
 "O, and Miss Cynthia Fremont is sick!" 
 chimed in Hilda. " I 'm just as afraid as I can 
 be of Miss Fremont getting mad. Do get down, 
 Ernie ; I '11 help you." 
 
 Ernest glanced dubiously at his leader, and 
 found him already descending from his metallic 
 height, assisted by his victorious enemy. The 
 cans lay together upon the floor, displaying 
 glaring representations of well-developed ears of 
 corn, and smooth, scarlet tomatoes, and the 
 youths found leisure to wonder how the girls 
 had been employing themselves before their 
 arrival. 
 
 " I 'm going to tell Miss Madison how you 
 spoil her room," threatened Fred. " She 's as 
 particular as an old maid about it ; makes you 
 wipe your feet on the door-mat every time you 
 come." 
 
 " Well, we did wipe our feet on the door- 
 mat, Mr. Fred. You have n't got anything to 
 tell her. We thought she 'd want to give Hilda's 
 lesson early, and that is why we came. It was 
 just for her sake." 
 
 u Hi, Gilbertina !" shouted Fred, descrying
 
 260 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 that long-suffering damsel hiding her face under 
 Hilda's arm. " Was the poor little creature 
 'most smothered ? Give her to me to take a 
 music-lesson. I 've just been hired as assistant 
 teacher at a salary of five hundred dollars a 
 day." 
 
 " Fred, let her alone ; let her alone !" com- 
 manded Hilda, desperately, trying to make her 
 way toward the door. But she was too late ; the 
 rough boyish hand was crushing down the lovely, 
 flaxen ringlets. 
 
 "If you do n'.t give her to me I shall pull," 
 he asserted, with a hard look of determination 
 in his dark eyes. 
 
 Pull that delicate darling's hair ! Hilda 
 loosened her hold in a second, and Fred was 
 away to the piano. He perched the unfortunate 
 doll upon the music-rack, and began running 
 his hands rapidly up and down the key-board. 
 Swaying his body to and fro, throwing back his 
 head and stretching his eyes, he was his own 
 ideal of a great performer. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, since you ask it I 
 will kindly consent to play my latest composi- 
 tion. It is called the ' Gilbertina Filbertina 
 Waltz,' named for the beautiful young lady who 
 is sitting on the piano this- minute. She 's a 
 lunatic, you know ; you can tell that from her 
 name. Here goes !"
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 261 
 
 A thundering crash at one end of the piano 
 was followed by a shrill shriek from the depressed 
 keys at the other. Then Gilbertina fell down. 
 Her blue dress and pale-yellow locks flashed 
 over the front of the piano, and struck upon the 
 floor. There was a general rush to pick her up, 
 but Fred was not ready to relinquish his victim. 
 
 " She 's only fainted," said he, with profes- 
 sional calmness. " Do not let the audience be 
 alarmed. I will revive her with the prick of a 
 pin. Aha! she's all right again, and now she 
 will sing us a solo." 
 
 Quiet tears were beginning to steal over 
 Hilda's cheeks, but no one remarked them. In 
 truth, every one else found Fred very entertain- 
 ing, and he did not seem to them to be doing 
 anything very bad. 
 
 " Here 's the stage," cried Helen, sweeping 
 all the books to the center of the table, and 
 piling them one upon another. " Lean her up 
 against these." 
 
 " Much obliged to you, ma'am. Now, Craig 
 and Merrill, we three will be the orchestra. 
 One of you can beat the drum on a can, and the 
 other can play the fife." 
 
 " Shall I get under the table and sing for 
 Gilbertina?" eagerly inquired Helen. 
 
 " Yes," answered Fred, holding up the cover 
 that she might creep underneath. " We '11 play
 
 262 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 first, and when we stop you begin to sing. Now 
 wait till I get my cymbals. Strike up, boys." 
 
 Most extraordinary was the noise which 
 struck upon the ears of Esther Madison as she 
 stepped from the porch into the hall. At the 
 same moment Miss Fremont, in bonnet and 
 shawl, came hastily from her sister's room, im- 
 mediately opposite the parlor. She had. just re- 
 turned from an errand, and had found Miss 
 Cynthia almost wild with anxiety, because of 
 the sounds to which, for the last ten minutes, 
 she had been obliged to listen. They seemed 
 to her nervous ears to indicate the destruction 
 of furniture, and to threaten the invasion of her 
 own apartment. In the midst of her account 
 the clatter of tin, combined with the squeaking 
 of a human voice, and the stamping of feet, cor- 
 roborated her amazing tale, and caused her 
 tongue to stiffen with fright. 
 
 "Miss Madison!" exclaimed Miss Fremont, 
 "what does this mean?" Her long, meager 
 face was white with rage and alarm. 
 
 "I can not imagine, Miss Fremont, I assure 
 you," was the 'only reply which Esther could 
 give, as she hurried to open the parlor door. 
 The two ladies, as they paused indignantly upon 
 the threshold, saw three boys grouped about 
 the center-table. One was energetically beating 
 in the sides of a vegetable can, one playing an
 
 fN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 263 
 
 imaginary fife with might and main, and the 
 third clashing two cans together, with a noise 
 surpassing all his companions could produce, 
 and whistling " Yankee Doodle " while he 
 worked. At the opening of the door every arm 
 became motionless, jovial smiles vanished, and 
 the members of the orchestra hung their heads 
 with unbecoming sheepishness. The sudden 
 silence gave no warning to Helen, and the 
 thick table-cover prevented her seeing what had 
 happened. She supposed that the overture was 
 ended, and the time for her performance had 
 come ; so, raising her voice, she sent forth un- 
 abashed, the loud, clear notes of 
 
 "The owl and the pussy-cat went to sea 
 In a beautiful pea-green boat." 
 
 " Hush this minute !" cried Miss Esther, ad- 
 vancing with hasty steps to Ernest's side, and 
 laying her hand imperatively upon the arm 
 which had supported the invisible but undenia- 
 bly audible fife. You may imagine how her 
 voice startled the prima donna's substitute. 
 Helen's head emerged from the heavy drapery, 
 hair bristling over it in a fine fuzz, and eyes 
 and mouth all opened wide. 
 
 " How dared you come into my room in my 
 absence and raise such a disgraceful uproar?" 
 Esther's voice shook and her eyes flashed. How
 
 264 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 could she help being angry ? She felt herself 
 responsible for what had occurred during her 
 absence, and dreaded lest it might occasion the 
 loss of the apartment. " Hilda, is it possible 
 that you are here too? you and Ernest? I 
 never dreamed that I trmst not trust you." 
 
 When the orchestra began its noise Hilda 
 had retired to the back window, and as soon as 
 Gertie discovered that she was crying, she had 
 followed and tried to console her. The entrance 
 of Miss Esther and the terrible Miss Fremont 
 had done what Gertie's kisses and comforting 
 could not do it had stopped the flow of tears. 
 But this unmerited accusation was more than 
 she could bear. She burst into a passionate fit 
 of weeping, struggling to tear herself from her 
 cousin's arms and rush out of the room. But 
 Gertie held her fast. 
 
 " Miss Esther, do n't let her go," she pleaded^ 
 earnestly. "It isn't her fault; no, indeed it 
 isn't. She feels worse than you do." 
 
 Distressed though she was, Esther perceived 
 that here was something which she did not un- 
 derstand. She took Hilda's hand and held it, 
 while she ordered the boys to pick up the cans 
 and leave the room. Helen was compelled to 
 follow them ; for there could be no doubt that 
 she, at least, had had a share in the disturbance. 
 When Esther turned to speak to Miss Fremont,
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 265 
 
 she found her gone. Perhaps she was too much 
 disgusted to linger, or it may have been that she 
 feared to leave her sister longer alone. 
 
 "I must go and speak to Miss Fremont," 
 said the young teacher, releasing Hilda's hand. 
 "Sit down by the fire and wait till I come back. 
 I will not be long." 
 
 Miss Fremont and her sister were already 
 calm, but very frigid and unbending. They ad- 
 mitted that the disturbance did not seem to be 
 Esther's fault, but repeatedly declared that she 
 must not let it happen again. It soon became 
 evident that they did not intend to make her 
 abandon the room, and, greatly relieved, the 
 poor girl went back to the waiting children. 
 
 They were crouched upon the hearth-rug, 
 lifting two sad and timid faces as she entered. 
 She closed the door, drew a chair near to them, 
 and kindly asked : 
 
 "Will you tell me now how all this hap- 
 pened ? I do not know anything about it, and 
 I would like to understand." 
 
 Nothing is so likely to quiet any one, es- 
 pecially a child, as quietness in another. Gertie 
 and Hilda began at the first and told her, help- 
 ing each other along, that they had come to the 
 room early, and why they had done so, about 
 their playing together, and the appearance of 
 the boys just in time to represent Indians at-
 
 266 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 tacking the fort. They left nothing out; but 
 toward the conclusion of the account, Gertie 
 had to do all the talking. Hilda struggled 
 awhile with her emotion. She turned her 
 head aside, and opened and shut her eyes to 
 scare the tears away. But it was of no avail ; 
 they would come. She laid her head on her 
 cousin's shoulder, and cried with all the bitter- 
 ness of real sorrow. 
 
 " My dear little Hilda," said Esther, pitying 
 her very much, "don't cry; you have done 
 nothing which should make you ashamed. I 
 am quite certain that neither you nor Gertie 
 was to blame." 
 
 But Hilda did not lift her head, nor did her 
 weeping cease. Esther tried again. 
 
 " Is it because I was angry with you at first? 
 I am very sorry for it. You do not want to 
 make me feel badly because I made a mistake?" 
 
 Still no answer. Hilda really wanted to 
 speak ; to tell Miss Esther that she loved her, 
 and thought her very kind. But the poor child 
 was so miserable that she could only go on 
 crying. 
 
 Her two companions looked at each other 
 anxiously. Gertie's eyes dilated ; she believed 
 that she understood. 
 
 "I do believe her heart is broken," she mur- 
 mured. " O, Miss Esther, that bad Fred
 
 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM. 267 
 
 Tomlinson has done it. He has teased her 
 about Gilbertina until she can't bear it any 
 longer." 
 
 "About Gilbertina? What can you mean?" 
 
 "Just about her name," returned Gertie, 
 impressively. " Nothing else at all. And it 
 is n't Hilda's fault that Gilbertina's got such a 
 name. She does n't " 
 
 Hilda lifted her head from her cousin's 
 shoulder, sat straight up. and gazed at her re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 "You must n't talk so, Gertie. You don't 
 know why I cried any more than Miss Esther 
 does, and you need n't pretend you do." 
 
 The sudden change from despair to indigna- 
 tion overwhelmed Gertie with astonishment, 
 and struck Esther as so funny that she narrowly 
 escaped laughing aloud. She knew, however, 
 that the best she could do was to divert Hilda's 
 thoughts. Besides, the afternoon was slipping 
 away. She rose, and laid her hand lightly on 
 the brown ringlets. 
 
 "Are you ready for your music-lesson ? I 
 have not much time to spare." 
 
 Gertie went out before they began ! Poor 
 child! Her cousin's incomprehensible behavior 
 cut her to the heart. Hilda did not look at her 
 as she walked to the piano; she held her head 
 erect, and seemed to wish to look as if she had
 
 268 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 not been crying nor feeling the least bit badly. 
 " I do n't suppose she wants me to wait for 
 her," thought the innocent little offender, her 
 faithful heart very heavy. She went sorrow- 
 fully along the rough, frozen road, a broken 
 stream of luster from the sinking sun quivering 
 on the way before her. As she opened her 
 uncle's gate she saw Annie Tomlinson coming 
 around the neighboring house. Nobody must 
 stop her now. She started to run, and did not 
 stop until her hand was on the knob of the 
 side door.
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 
 
 A VERY unhappy Gertie crept stealthily up 
 the stairs and into the guest-chamber where 
 she and Hilda slept. She did not want to see 
 any one, for she could not bear a word. Up to 
 this time the little cousins had never quarreled 
 with each other, and the present state of affairs 
 seemed to Gertie too dreadful to be endured. 
 
 There was a deep, cushioned chair beside 
 the window, and into this she crept, alter noise- 
 lessly closing the door. The lowering daylight 
 shone on the white wall of Mr. Tomlinson's 
 house like a mantle of thin golden stuff woven 
 by the fairies. The sky was a pale, wintry 
 blue ; over the horizon rose, like a breath, a 
 green-gold luster; and the snow on every roof 
 in sight was touched with a tint of rose. 
 
 The beautiful scene caught Gertie away from 
 her grief; but she came back to it in a minute, 
 
 269
 
 270 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 and laid her head on the soft arm of the chair 
 with a long, helpless sigh. 
 
 O, she felt so lonely ! Hilda was angry 
 with her. Hilda had her parents and brothers 
 and sisters to sympathize with her and take her 
 part. Gertie's mother was far away in the South? 
 and she could see her father only once or twice 
 a week. It had never occurred to her till now 
 what a dreadful thing it is to be away from 
 home. Then, in thought, she floated away to 
 the city. How wide and bright and clean 
 looked Walnut Street, with its rows of hand- 
 some houses and lines of slender, bare-armed 
 trees ! She went through every room of her 
 dear home, pausing longest where she had so 
 often sat with her mother. She involuntarily 
 put up her hand, and it touched a tear half-way 
 down her cheek. This would not do. 
 
 "Stop crying, Gertie Winner!" she com- 
 manded, shaking herself as hard as she could. 
 " I must divert myself. Now, if I only had n't 
 written to mamma to-day, I might do that. I 
 wrote her four pagft, and told her about school 
 and Helen Bland and how Qtiillup was getting 
 along." 
 
 Quillup ! To be sure. What a shame that 
 she had not thought of that dear cat since early 
 in the morning ! Was it not likely that he was 
 as lonely as she was herself?
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 271 
 
 " For ' cats do not love people, but places,' ' 
 quoted she, getting nimbly on her feet. " I 
 read that somewhere, and it 's just about all 
 the consolation I have when I see how he 
 won't be still and let us put him where we 
 want to." 
 
 A very close watch was kept upon u Mr. 
 Quillup," as Archer called him. If, while he 
 was in the kitchen, the outside door was for a 
 moment left open, he must be tightly clasped 
 in somebody's arms, or he would be out of doors 
 like a flash; and then, coax as one might, he 
 would not come in until he chose. There was 
 great danger that he might sometime choose not 
 to return at all, for he seemed rather discon- 
 tented." 
 
 "Is Quillup all right?" called out his eager 
 little mistress, fluttering into the kitchen. 
 
 Emma was just crossing the floor with a 
 large dish of macaroni, which she was about to 
 put into the oven. Her hands were fully occu- 
 pied, and, as she did not think it worth while 
 to answer the question in words, she nodded 
 her head toward the table. Under the table 
 crouched Quillup, vigorously gnawing a lamb- 
 chop, his head so far to one side that it almost 
 lay on the floor. The favored animal had meals 
 served to him at all hours of the day. 
 
 " Now you 've had enough to eat," said Ger-
 
 2TZ A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 tie, getting down beside him. " I want you to 
 come to me." 
 
 Quillup suffered himself to be dragged from 
 his repast without protest. He hid his head 
 under her arm, and was absolutely motionless. 
 
 At this moment one of the doors opened, and 
 Gertie glanced up to meet Hilda's solemn gaze. 
 Hilda had evidently just come in ; she was still 
 hatted and cloaked, and held her silk mittens in 
 her hand. For one instant the cousins looked 
 straight into each other's eyes. Gertie began 
 to flush and tremble, but Hilda's face did not 
 change. She drew back and shut the door, and 
 her slow footsteps were heard upon the stairs. 
 
 Certainly it can not have been more than 
 three minutes after this that Blanche tried to 
 open the play-room door. It was locked, and 
 when she had shaken it a voice was heard, de- 
 manding : 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 " Blanche," replied the owner of that name- 
 " Open the door, Hilda." 
 
 " No, you can't come in," firmly replied her 
 sister. " Won't you please go and find Gertie, 
 and tell her that I want her?" 
 
 "How ridiculous!" exclaimed the older girl, 
 provoked and yet amused. " What are you 
 doing that you are n't willing for other people 
 to see ?"
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 273 
 
 " You can't come in, Blanche. Do please 
 tell Gertie." A sob swallowed the rest of the 
 sentence. 
 
 " Poor little thing ! Something really is the 
 matter," decided Blanche, running hastily down 
 stairs. She found Gertie in the kitchen with 
 Quillup. " Hilda wants you in the play-room, 
 dear," said she. 
 
 How suddenly Mr. Quillup found himself 
 upon the hard floor, and how rapidly Gertie's 
 light little feet traveled the way to the play- 
 room. The door opened before her, but the 
 figure behind it drew away at once, and threw 
 itself on the floor with its head bowed down 
 on the old wooden rocking-chair. Gertie stood 
 irresolute. 
 
 " Did you want me, Hilda?" she asked, very 
 gently. 
 
 " O, Gertie, Gertie !" sobbed the child. "What 
 made you run away from me just when I needed 
 you the most? You do n't love me a bit, and I 
 love you better than anybody else in the world 
 as young as you are." 
 
 This was Hilda's way of guarding against 
 disloyalty toward the members of her own fam- 
 ily. They were all older than Gertie. 
 
 "O, my darling dear!" cried the affectionate 
 cousin, dropping upon the floor, and beginning 
 to cry on Hilda's curls. " I love you better 
 
 18
 
 274 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 than you possibly can love me, for I have n't any 
 brothers and sisters." 
 
 " Do you love me better than Quillup?" 
 
 The question was not very distinct, because 
 it came through a mouth held close to the 
 carpet. 
 
 "If you aren't joking, you're very insult- 
 ing," wept Gertie. "Would I be so wicked as 
 to love a cat better than a real person, even if 
 it was n't a very nice person, either? I thought 
 you did n't want me to wait for you. You were 
 mad at me, Hilda, and I do n't even know what 
 I did to make you so." 
 
 Hilda turned over on her back and stared 
 tearfully up at the ceiling. 
 
 "You told Miss Esther that I didn't like 
 Gilbertina's name." 
 
 "Yes, so I did. I forgot you didn't want 
 any one to know that, and I never thought of 
 it till this minute. Won't you forgive me, pre- 
 cious?" 
 
 " O yes, I '11 forgive you !" Hilda threw her 
 arms about her cousin, and drew herself up to 
 rest against Gertie's shoulder. " I did n't want 
 to be mad at all ; but it seemed as if I could n't 
 help it. Because I really believe my heart is 
 broken now, just like you said. I do n't want 
 to see Gilbertina again, or ever speak to Fred 
 or Ernest or Percy or Helen or Miss Esther."
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 275 
 
 " O, Hilda, Miss Esther! Helen was bad, 
 but I guess she 's sorry now." 
 
 " Well, I 'm not mad at her," said Hilda, 
 desolately. " Nor at any one. But they '11 
 make me think about that dreadful name. 
 Oh-h, my !" 
 
 That piteous sigh wrung Gertie's heart. 
 
 " Poor, poor girl!" she murmured, beginning 
 to rub Hilda's forehead, in hope of soothing her 
 grief. 
 
 " What shall I do, Gertie Winner ?" cried 
 the sufferer, wildly. " O, darling Gertie Win- 
 ner, tell me what to do!" 
 
 "Tell your mother," whispered Gertie. 
 
 " You know I can't," returned Hilda, laying 
 her flushed cheek against her cousin's pale face. 
 " You know how I feel about it. It is worse 
 now than it was to begin with, because I 've let 
 it go so long." 
 
 "It is worse," admitted Gertie ; " but if you 
 do n't tell now it will be worser still. Hilda, do 
 tell Aunt Grace. If you '11 only just believe me, 
 I '11 say something, and this is it: once you tell 
 her she '11 fix it all right with your uncle, and 
 tell everybody to stop talking about it, and 
 everything will be all right, and you will be 
 happy again." 
 
 The curly head shook unbelievingly. 
 
 "But I'm sure," urged Gertie. "It isn't
 
 276 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 just as if I thought it might be so. I know, be- 
 cause I 've tried it. My mamma always makes 
 things right for me." 
 
 " I can't do it," declared Hilda, after a short 
 pause. " Even if she fixed it so Uncle Gilbert 
 would n't care, I know she could n't help feel- 
 ing bad herself; because, you see, Uncle Gilbert 
 is her brother. But, Gertie, we must fix it 
 somehow some other way. If I'm teased any 
 more, I believe I '11 jump out the window." 
 
 Fortunately Gertie was not silly enough to 
 be frightened with this foolish threat; but she 
 knew that her dear cousin felt very badly, so she 
 knitted her brows, and tried to think how mat- 
 ters could be made better. 
 
 "What if you'd put Gilbertina away, and 
 keep on saying, 'O no, I do n't want to get her 
 out now,' till people forgot all about her? But 
 you love her too much to do that, do n't you?" 
 
 "I love her," answered Hilda, wretchedly; 
 "but shutting her up would be a great deal 
 better than being tormented and tormented. 
 But I could n't ever do it. Everybody would 
 make such a fuss, and so would Blanche too. 
 She 'd say I did n't like my own doll, and that 
 would make Uncle Gilbert think I was dread- 
 fully queer." 
 
 u Well, then," and for two speechless min- 
 utes Gertie was plunged in thought. " If we
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 277 
 
 could manage to punish every one that teased 
 us. What if we should have a piece of ribbon 
 with a pin in the end of it elastic ribbon, you 
 know and throw it at them when they were n't 
 looking narrow elastic, of course and every 
 time anybody 'd say Gilbertina, they'd feel some- 
 thing sticking them in their hand. Then we 'd 
 draw it away quick, and they would n't know 
 what hurt them." 
 
 Gertie was so much interested in her project 
 that she did not observe her cousin's darken- 
 ing face. 
 
 "Don't you remember Prince Charming?'' 
 she questioned eagerly. " He learned to be good 
 by having a ring prick him whenever he was 
 bad. I just believe this is the way for us to 
 teach peeple." 
 
 " Stick a pin into my own mamma ?" ex- 
 claimed Hilda, seriously offended. 
 
 Gertie was so overwhelmed with surprise 
 that it was half a minute before she could speak. 
 
 " Not your mamma," she stammered. " Not 
 ever her ! Why, what made you think of such 
 a thing?" 
 
 " You did !" returned Hilda, fiercely. " She 
 says Gilbertina every day, almost ; and your 
 mamma would too, if she were here. Then 
 would you stick a pin into your mamma, Gertie 
 Winner?"
 
 278 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " I only meant people that said it to tease," 
 murmured poor Gertie, quite crushed by her 
 cousin's indignation. 
 
 This was the second time she had offended 
 when she was trying to be kind. 
 
 " Well, I sha' n't pin-stick anybody," an- 
 nounced Hilda, loftily. 
 
 The dinner-bell rang just then, and both 
 were glad to have their conversation inter- 
 rupted ; the longer they talked, the less good 
 talking seemed to do. They went down-stairs 
 with their arms around each other, finding it very 
 agreeable to be on pleasant, every-day terms 
 once more. It was always their custom to feed 
 Quillup as soon as their own meal was finished, 
 and this evening they went into the kitchen 
 with a large plate of scraps. Quillup's saucer 
 gleamed white under the table, but no motion- 
 less figure sat near it, with round, yellow eyes 
 glaring expectantly out. 
 
 " Is Mr. Quillup down cellar, Emma?" asked 
 Hilda. 
 
 Emma shook her head. 
 
 "Why, then where?" 
 
 " Your cat 's gone, sure enough, Miss Gertie," 
 said the colored girl. "'T was n't me opened the 
 door ; 't was Aunt Nobe, when she was here. 
 And come in he would n't, and went away down 
 through the orchard."
 
 A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. 279 
 
 " O, why didn't you call us?" cried the 
 children. 
 
 " Quick ! let 's put something around us, and 
 go down to the orchard after him !" exclaimed 
 Gertie, making a sharp turn to run up-stairs, 
 and bumping against Archer, who had just fol- 
 lowed them from the dining-room. 
 
 He said it was of no use to go ; they could 
 not find the kitten in the dark, even if he was 
 still in the orchard, and certainly he was not 
 there. If he had not wandered farther away, he 
 would have returned to the house before this. 
 But, because he pitied the distressed little girls, 
 Archer drew on his overcoat, and went down 
 with them among the black shadows of the 
 trees. They called and called, but all without 
 effect, and Gertie wiped a tear away as she came 
 silently back. Hilda slipped her hand into her 
 cousin's, to give it a long, strong squeeze. They 
 loved each other very much, these two little 
 girls, even if they were not always perfectly 
 happy together.
 
 MARGARET COMES. 
 
 IT was the second morning after Quillup's dis- 
 appearance that Gertie and Hilda overslept 
 their usual time of rising. Rose had wielded 
 the broom energetically just outside their door, 
 and Ernest had clumped past to ask down the 
 back-stairs whether Emma had seen his necktie, 
 which he thought he had left in the dining- 
 room ; but the two heads still lay motionless on 
 their pillows, and the round, white eyelids did 
 not even tremble as if they were going to lift. 
 
 Presently Blanche pounded the door until 
 Gertie started up in bed and screamed out : 
 
 " What's the matter?" 
 
 "The matter is, it's time to get up," answered 
 Blanche, turning the knob and walking in, as 
 she might have done in the first place. But it 
 does not seem proper to wake heavy sleepers in 
 any other way than by battering their door, 
 280
 
 MARGARET COMES. 281 
 
 "Why, we aren't late, are we?" inquired 
 Gertie, flashing out of bed, and beginning to 
 pull on her stockings, while Hilda sat up and 
 looked gloomy. 
 
 " Late enough for you to be glad it is Sat- 
 urday morning, so you need n't hurry to school. 
 Get up, Hilda; it makes Emma cross to keep 
 the table waiting." And Miss Craig's slim, neat 
 figure vanished through the doorway, to the great 
 contentment of those whom she had disturbed. 
 
 Hilda was so drowsy that she did not want 
 to stir. Emma might be cross if she chose ; she 
 might even clear oflf the table, and leave her 
 breakfastless. Usually, she and Gertie ran a 
 race with their dressing, but Gertie was welcome 
 to be dressed first to-day. She turned over on 
 her side, crooked her elbow under her head, and 
 stared sleepily at her cousin through partly- 
 closed eyelids. 
 
 Gertie's chattering helped to rouse her, and 
 presently she summoned energy enough to get 
 up. But she was not more than half-dressed 
 when Gertie went down to the dining-room, 
 where the two boys were the only persons left 
 at table. She worked more speedily after that, 
 for she did not like to eat alone. 
 
 Coming down the front staircase, after going 
 into her mother's room for a kiss, a faint, unu- 
 sual sound floated up to her ears, It was so low
 
 282 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 that she could scarcely be sure she had heard 
 it it seemed like only the hint of a sound. But 
 she stood still, and looked at the front door. 
 
 " Me-oo !" whispered something. 
 
 " Could Quillup be outside there, do you 
 think ?" the child asked herself half aloud. " O, 
 could he ? Would n't Gertie be glad !" 
 
 And she hastened down the few remaining 
 steps to fling open the door. There sat a meek, 
 unstirring object. Quillup's eyes were only 
 half open, and he looked at her with a weary 
 sadness, as if he were actually too tired to move 
 even a claw. 
 
 A moment later and he was entering the 
 dining-room, a silky heap of black and white, 
 cuddled against Hilda's brown dress. 
 
 Archer looked up from his egg. 
 
 " What have you got there ?" he inquired 
 suspiciously. 
 
 " O, Hilda, what have you got?" cried Ger- 
 tie, in a flutter of hope, jumping up to bring 
 her short-sighted eyes nearer to the spotted, 
 furry lump. " Quillup ! O, my Mr. Quillup ! 
 Where did you get him, you darling?" she de- 
 manded, hugging cat and cousin together. 
 
 " He was outside the front door, mewing, 
 when I came down stairs. I tell you, I was 
 glad ! He 's so tired and sleepy he can't hardly 
 move two whole nights and one whole day
 
 MARGARET COMES. 283 
 
 wandering all around the world without any 
 home. You stop laughing, boys." 
 
 "Yes, I wouldn't laugh at an unfortunate 
 dumb animal," said Gertie, collecting scraps of 
 beefsteak. 
 
 Quillup certainly showed the ill effects of an 
 unsettled life ; he was both hungry and tired. 
 After a plentiful breakfast, he went down cellar 
 and settled himself for a nap, which lasted till 
 twilight. Gertie pitied him, but hoped that he 
 would learn from his sufferings to stay with 
 those who treated him kindly. 
 
 Although this was Saturday, it was a very 
 busy day. At ten o'clock Hilda and the boys 
 had to go to the school-room, to rehearse for a 
 little entertainment, which was to be given just 
 before the Christmas holidays. It was chiefly 
 for practice in singing that they were wanted, 
 for Professor Clavel was teaching them the Mar- 
 seillaise. 
 
 Gertie did not accompany them ; she needed 
 the time for the Christmas gifts she had be- 
 gun to make. Blanche was occupied in like 
 manner, and so was Esther Madison, who had 
 come down from the city to spend Saturday and 
 Sunday with her friend. The two girls were 
 quite willing that Gertie should sit with them 
 while she sewed. Mrs. Craig completed the 
 party, and they spent a very happy morning.
 
 284 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 It was pleasure enough for Gertie to handle 
 such dainty materials as were required for her 
 work, and to this was added the delightful ex- 
 perience of receiving many compliments on her 
 skill. Blanche thought it wonderful, and de- 
 clared that Hilda must learn to sew without 
 farther delay. It was disgraceful that she was 
 so ignorant. 
 
 There was a hurry of hiding pretty things 
 when a rush of feet on the porch announced 
 the return of the children. In they came, 
 sparkling and merry, casting curious looks at 
 the stay-at-home party as they crowded around 
 the fire to warm their hands. 
 
 "You 're making Christmas gifts ; I know it," 
 sang Ernest. 
 
 They would not leave the room, although 
 Blanche gave them some plain hints to do so. 
 It was their mother's room, and no one but her- 
 self should drive them from it. But they were 
 kind enough to retire to the bay-window after a 
 while, taking Gertie with them. Then the two 
 older girls turned their backs to the daylight, 
 and went on with their work under difficulties ; 
 for the fire scorched their faces and dazzled their 
 eyes. 
 
 " Now, then, Gertie, if you like fun you ought 
 to have gone with us this morning. Ought n't 
 she, Hilda?" asked Ernest, who, in company
 
 MARGARET COMES. 285 
 
 with his brother, reclined upon the carpet while 
 the girls occupied the two hassocks. 
 
 "Everybody made mistakes, "chuckled Hilda. 
 " Why, we did ourselves, and we knew every 
 word perfect before." 
 
 "Ah, but the singing! There's where the 
 fun came in. Never saw such a lot of stupids 
 before; did you, Arch?" 
 
 " Never," replied the latter, in a manly 
 manner. 
 
 " Arch and Hilda and I knew the Marseil- 
 laise all through, but hardly anybody else did. 
 Now, that's a fact." 
 
 "Well, Miss Esther has played it a good 
 many times for you to practice," was Gertie's 
 inconvenient reminder. 
 
 "Didn't the professor get mad, though?'' 
 went on Ernest, while Archer laughed. " He 
 rumpled up his hair, and threw his arms around 
 as if he was going through the ceiling. Just a 
 few of us w 7 ould sing the verses, and then all 
 the rest came yelling in on the chorus. Squeak, 
 howl ! O, I say, Arch, let 's show Gertie how it 
 sounded!" 
 
 Accordingly the two boys began to sing, 
 " Tra la la, hum hum, la, la," they murmured, 
 then suddenly burst into a loud, coarse "Yah 
 rah, yah rah rah rah," which sent Gertie tum- 
 bling from her hassock in a spasm of laughter.
 
 286 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " Boys, boys, have pity !" screamed Blanche, 
 letting her work fall on the fender, so great was 
 her alarm. " What are you doing that for?" 
 
 "O," returned Archer, startled and rather 
 ashamed, "we're just singing the way they do 
 at school." 
 
 " Do they teach you to sing like that at your 
 school ?" asked Esther. " It must be a new and 
 original method, not likely to be popular, I 
 should say." 
 
 It was found possible to continue the sewing- 
 bee that afternoon ; for Archer went to the city 
 on the two o'clock train, and Ernest and Hilda 
 shut themselves into the library to study their 
 lessons for Monday. The house became strangely 
 quiet; Rose was sewing in her own room, and 
 Emma silently at her task in the kitchen. The 
 little students began to feel the effect of so 
 much quiet and warmth after their lively morn- 
 ing and brisk exercise in the sharp air. Ernest 
 yawned repeatedly, and Hilda's lids drooped. 
 The girl, however, managed to accomplish more 
 studying than the boy; just as he threw himself 
 on the lounge, to try whether lying on his back 
 would assist him to spell, she closed her last 
 book and laid it aside. 
 
 " Now, Hilda," grumbled Ernest, " you 
 haven't gone and got all your lessons? It's 
 real mean. I do n't believe you know your
 
 MARGARET COMES. 287 
 
 spelling a bit better than I do. Let 's hear each 
 other." 
 
 Hilda was willing. But the result proved 
 that while she knew all the words, he had but 
 an imperfect acquaintance with two-thirds of 
 them. He would not ask her to stay in the 
 room while he studied, but she was sure that 
 he wished her to do so ; therefore, she quietly 
 got out her box of crayons, and began to color 
 the pictures in her geography. 
 
 "You'll have to make the water yellow," 
 observed her brother, glancing at the pretty 
 lake scene about to masquerade as a tea-store 
 chromo, " because we have n't any white 
 crayons." 
 
 " But I do n't believe water is white, Ernie." 
 
 "White? Of course it is. What is it then, 
 if it is n't white?" 
 
 " Blue I think," and Hilda looked at him 
 timidly. " It says so in poetry : 
 
 'The blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.'" 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Ernest. "Poetry is n't pic- 
 tures. Pictures have to look like real things, 
 and poetry does n't. But I do n't care ; you can 
 make it blue if you want to. I 've got to study, 
 and you must n't bother." 
 
 The next interruption was the ringing of 
 the door-bell, which sent a sudden, clanging
 
 288 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 noise through the silent house. Both children 
 jumped, then were very still to listen, while 
 the color was coming back to their cheeks. 
 They heard Rose going up-stairs, and then the 
 soft sweep of their mother's cashmere robe as 
 she came down. What surprised them was her 
 exclamation at the parlor door. She was evi- 
 dently greeting some one whom she was sur- 
 prised to see, and an animated dialogue began 
 at once ; the voices, but not the words, were 
 audible to the listening children. 
 
 Ernest pulled the door cautiously ajar, and 
 peeped through the crack. He could thus ob- 
 tain a limited view of the opposite apartment. 
 
 " It's a lady and a little girl," he murmured, 
 drawing back. " They 've got their hats off, 
 and they look real comfortable. What if they 
 stay all night?" 
 
 Hilda's curiosity was aroused, and she was 
 accustomed to take straightforward measures for 
 its gratification. If the lady had taken off her 
 bonnet, she must certainly be something more 
 than an ordinary caller. Besides, a little girl 
 was an interesting mystery. Who could she 
 be ? And why was not Hilda summoned to 
 make her acquaintance ? 
 
 Ernest heard the crayons rattling back into 
 their box while he was still trying to make up 
 his mind to return to his study.
 
 MARGARET COMES. 289 
 
 u What are you going to do?" he demanded. 
 
 " I 'm going into the parlor. I should think 
 mamma would want me when there is a little 
 girl there." 
 
 "Well, say then, Hilda, won't you come 
 and tell me who they are?" coaxed the boy. 
 " I want to know as much as you do." 
 
 His sister did not promise. She was twist- 
 ing her neck to see whether her apron-strings 
 were nicely tied. Then she opened the door 
 and walked quickly across the hall. 
 
 " Come in, Hilda," her mother said, seeing 
 the hesitating figure on the threshold. "This 
 is my old friend, Mrs. Milman, whom I have 
 not seen for years, and this little girl is Mar- 
 garet." 
 
 Mrs. Milman was a large, fresh-faced woman, 
 in a tight, dark-green traveling-dress. She held 
 Hilda's hand, and exclaimed over her likeness 
 to her mother, taking the opportunity to make 
 signs to Mrs. Craig, which the child was sup- 
 posed not to see, expressive of her opinion that 
 the delicately-tinted face and dark, rich curls 
 were captivatingly pretty. 
 
 But what a funny creature the other visitor 
 was! She was a very little girl, indeed a mere 
 mite and she was sitting in the largest chair 
 in the room, her tiny feet sticking over the edge 
 of the blue plush cushion ; a delicate, sallow 
 
 19
 
 290 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 child, about three years old, with dark hair 
 clipped close to her diminutive head. She gave 
 a queer, quick smile when she was addressed, 
 and said., "How do?" in a soft, melodious voice ; 
 but when Hilda attempted to give her a kiss she 
 squealed sharply, slipped from her chair, and 
 ran to her mother. There she stood, with one 
 hand on Mrs. Milman's knee, looking up at 
 Hilda with sullen eyes and prominent lips. 
 
 " Never mind," said Mrs. Craig, for Hilda 
 looked mortified and embarrassed. " She does 
 not feel acquainted with you yet. Wait awhile. 
 It is all strange to Margaret now, you know. 
 Will you ask Blanche and Esther to come 
 down ?" 
 
 Blanche felt confident that she, at any rate, 
 would meet with no difficulty in making friends 
 with Margaret ; but she found out her mistake. 
 The little lady would not allow herself to be 
 touched, and scarcely a syllable could be wrung 
 from her tongue, in spite of sugary compliments 
 and the most alluring display of interest in her 
 clothes. 
 
 " O, I know what Margaret would like !" 
 Blanche exclaimed, at last. " Such a pretty, 
 pretty doll ! Would n't you like that, darling ? 
 A doll 'most as big as Margaret is, with O, such 
 pretty hair!" 
 
 Margaret began to look interested, and when
 
 MARGARET COMES. 291 
 
 Blanche suggested that she should go with her 
 to " find the pretty baby," she pulled her moth- 
 er's sleeve, and looked up in her face as if for 
 advice. Mrs. Mil man set the little feet upon 
 the floor, and recommended Margaret to let the 
 lady take her hand. After this she was led tri- 
 umphantly away, her steps slow and tottering, 
 owing to a tendency to crook her foot and walk 
 upon the side of it, which tendency threatened 
 the breaking of the ankle. 
 
 The owner of Gilbertina heard her sister's 
 suggestion with some alarm. Notwithstanding 
 the trouble which that insubordinate doll had 
 occasioned, she was not willing to yield it to 
 the self-willed infant. Therefore she went after 
 her with all speed, arriving in the library in 
 time to witness Margaret's first sight of the doll, 
 and Ernest's first near view of Margaret. 
 
 It was much too near to please him. When 
 a boy is lying placidly on his back, swinging 
 his feet aloft, it is startling to have a tiny 
 maiden toddle into the room and stop short to 
 stare at him with eyes as black as beads. 
 Blanche lifted Gilbertina from the pile of news- 
 papers upon which Ernest had laid her, and held 
 the fascinating figure before the little guest. 
 
 " Have !" remarked Margaret, concisely, mak- 
 ing a dive forward. 
 
 The small hands were strong and determined.
 
 292 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 It would have required more force to resist 
 them than Blanche could bring herself to ex- 
 ert ; so she reluctantly yielded her clasp, giving 
 Hilda a conscience-stricken glance as she did 
 so. Margaret immediately made a short turn, 
 and trotted off to the parlor ; she held Gilber- 
 tina by both her hands, dragging her draperies 
 over the floor and frequently stepping upon 
 them. 
 
 --_ " O, go after her !" Blanche called out, start- 
 ing to run. " She '11 trip she '11 fall" 
 
 And fall she did, just as she was entering 
 the parlor ; she fell over Gilbertina, and if that 
 much-enduring member of society uttered a cry, 
 either of fright or pain, it was drowned in the 
 terrific screams which the throat of Margaret 
 sent forth. Mrs. Mil man reached the spot just 
 as Blanche was trying to lift her up. 
 
 " Mamma's poor, poor, precious baby ! No, 
 there should n't anybody but mamma pick her 
 up; all the bad, big girls should go away," 
 whimpered she. " Let 's go back to mamma's 
 chair, and sit on mamma's lap till we feel real 
 well again." 
 
 Margaret tried to keep on crying, but found 
 it hard work, and gave it up. The lady nodded 
 and smiled at Blanche and Hilda over her 
 shoulder, and made signs to the latter to bring 
 the doll.
 
 MARGARET COMES. 293 
 
 " Now," said she, " watch mamma whip the 
 bad doll-baby that threw her darling little girlie 
 down. There, there, there ! Now, will she ever 
 do that any more?" 
 
 Hilda was disgusted at what she mentally 
 called the babyishness of Margaret's mother, 
 and very indignant"at her for venturing to strike 
 Gilbertina. So was Gertie, whom the shrieks 
 had brought down-stairs. The large, ringed 
 hand beat the airy dress until it fluttered, al- 
 though the violence of the strokes was largely 
 pretense. Margaret smiled in a glimmering 
 way ; then she wriggled herself free from her 
 mother's encircling arm. 
 
 " Want ze baby !" said she. 
 
 " O, the darling, good girl! She isn't mad 
 at the bad dolly for throwing her down? Well, 
 she should have the dolly, so she should. 
 Shall we ask the little girl what the dolly's 
 name is?" 
 
 Margaret nodded, looking at Hilda over the 
 flaxen curls which were unpleasantly near her 
 open mouth. Hilda had to struggle to speak, 
 for a multitude of disagreeable feelings seemed 
 to be swelling her throat. 
 
 "Gilbertina." 
 
 " Well, did^we ever hear such a great, long, 
 ugly name ?" commented Mrs. Milman, still ad- 
 dressing her child. " Shall we name it anothei
 
 294 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 name a pretty name, dearie ? Something that 
 mamma's little Margaret can say ?" 
 
 Gertie and Hilda glanced at each other, si- 
 lently expressing what they did not dare to ar- 
 ticulate that this was decidedly cool. Indeed, 
 Hilda was so angry that she ought to have felt 
 ashamed. Mrs. Milman never dreamed that she 
 could offend any one by the nonsense which it 
 was her custom to talk to trie baby. The habit 
 was foolish, indeed ; and a clear-headed child is 
 a very sensible critic ; but Hilda need not have 
 considered her rights in danger because it was 
 proposed to exchange the name of Gilbertina 
 for one more easily pronounced. The sugges- 
 tion did not meet with Margaret's approval. 
 She patted the doll's eyebrows, and said affec- 
 tionately : 
 
 " Tiltina." 
 
 As her voice was musical, this sounded very 
 sweet, and won a chorus of applause. " Tiltina " 
 came rapidly into vogue, as a substitue for the 
 longer and statelier name, because, as Gertie ex- 
 plained, with curling lip : 
 
 " Everybody else thought they could say it 
 just as.sweet."
 
 Chapter* ]VJ. 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 
 
 you like Margaret?" Hilda asked her 
 cousin, while they were getting ready to 
 start for the music-room the next Monday af- 
 ternoon. 
 
 Hilda was by this time pretty sure that she 
 herself did not like Margaret at all, and she had 
 not been without opportunity for deciding. Ev- 
 erybody seemed to be willing that she should 
 have a great deal of the child's society, and to 
 labor under the delusion that this was what she 
 especially desired. " Hilda wants to take you 
 walking, lovey," Mrs. Milman would say ; or, 
 " Hilda is going to build you a pretty house out 
 of books, and make some paper dollies to live in 
 it." There seemed to be no limit to this lady's 
 imagination ; she could devise the most-charming 
 things to be accomplished by somebody else, and 
 Hilda was her favorite agent. This sort of 
 
 295
 
 296 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 treatment was quite new to the little girl, who, 
 as the youngest of the family, had always been 
 accustomed to be served rather than to serve 
 others ; and she found it very hard to have her 
 playtime curtailed and her amusements embit- 
 tered for the sake of a child whom she disliked 
 more with each succeeding day. 
 
 Mrs. Milman wanted all her time for her dear 
 old friend ; she thought Hilda might be willing 
 to give up her own pleasure for her mother's 
 sake, even if Margaret were not the most capti- 
 vating child in all the land. And for all Hilda 
 knew, Mrs. Craig thought the same. She was 
 placid and gentle as ever. It was not her cus- 
 tom to interfere unless there was good reason 
 for such action ; and I have no doubt she saw 
 that a little self-sacrifice and quiet submission to 
 annoyance would help Hilda to learn the lesson of 
 life. Still, she was not willing to have her tried 
 too severely. Several times an apparently care- 
 less word from her lips saved the little girl from 
 a strain upon her patience, and sent her joyfully 
 away into freedom just as she trembled in her 
 captor's clutch. 
 
 You see that Mrs. Craig understood the situ- 
 ation better than was likely to be suspected. 
 It did not take her long to discover that the 
 friend who had been a companionable girl had 
 grown away from her as she grew older. If she
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 297 
 
 had considered only her own happiness, she 
 would have wished Margaret left with her 
 mother. 
 
 Gertie considered for a moment before she 
 replied to Hilda's question. 
 
 " Well, do you know, I think I 'd like her 
 better if her mother didn't like her so well." 
 
 " If her mother likes her, I wish she 'd build 
 houses for her," said Hilda, turning with a 
 roughened brow toward Blanche, who just then 
 appeared at the door. 
 
 "Hilda," said the latter, "Mrs. Milman has 
 been asking for you." 
 
 Hilda made a dash for her hat, which was 
 lying upon the bed, and seized it in such haste 
 that she drew it up by the feather. 
 
 " But I 'm all ready to go out. I 'm later 
 for my music-lesson now than I generally am. 
 Gertie, are you ready ?" 
 
 " I forgot about your music-lesson." Blanche 
 heaved a sigh and looked discontented. "Well, 
 are you willing to let Margaret hold Gilbertina ? 
 It's a shame, I know it is; but it seems as if 
 none of us can have our own way any more." 
 
 The fair Gilbertina had removed from the 
 library, and found a refuge in Blanche's room, 
 which, since the arrival of the visitors, she 
 shared with the two younger girls. It was 
 Blanche who had hidden her away, because of
 
 298 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Margaret's too persistent attentions. But the 
 precaution had been taken too late. Out of 
 sight was not out of mind with Margaret ; and 
 when she asked for anything, she was apt to 
 keep on asking until she obtained it. 
 
 "Yes, she can have her," was the unexpect- 
 edly prompt answer, as Hilda pushed past. Her 
 wary ear had heard a door open, and if Marga- 
 ret and her mother were coming she was cow- 
 ardly enough to wish Blanche to meet them 
 alone. 
 
 But she did not escape. An ample figure 
 swept down the hall, with a tiny form seesaw- 
 ing along at its side. 
 
 " O, there's Hilda," cried the cheery voice of 
 Mrs. Milman. "Good Hilda! She's got her 
 hat and cloak on, all ready to take Margaret out 
 walking." 
 
 " No, Mrs. Milman, I can't," declared Hilda, 
 tremulous but determined. " I 've got to hurry 
 right off to my music-lesson." 
 
 " O, pshaw !" exclaimed Mrs. Milrnan, as if 
 she thought that a very lame excuse. " Poor 
 little Margaret is so lonely. Well, your lesson 
 will be over in half an hour, I suppose." 
 
 "It lasts three-quarters sometimes, and once 
 it lasted an hour." 
 
 " O, but to-day you mustn't let it last so long. 
 Your mamma is going to take me to Mrs.Wrax-
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 299 
 
 all's, and I shall have to leave Margaret in your 
 care. Now, do hurry back, Hilda, or it will be 
 too late for us to go. I did want to start at once." 
 
 " Well," snapped Hilda, running angrily 
 down-stairs. 
 
 She opened the door and rushed out at the 
 same furious pace, and Gertie had to hurry to 
 catch up with her. It is very unpleasant to be 
 talked to in Mrs. Milman's way; yet I wish that 
 Hilda had kept her temper. 
 
 " Now, there 's no going to Helen's to-day. 
 I wish Mrs. Milman and Margaret were sent to 
 the Sandwich Islands. I do wish that!" 
 
 "I do n't see why Margaret could n't go 
 to Mrs. Wraxall's along with her mother," said 
 Gertie, giving Hilda's mitten a sympathiz- 
 ing pat. 
 
 " Yes. Who ought to take care of her, I 'd 
 like to know, if it is n't her own mother, that 
 belongs to her? She isn't my little sister." 
 
 Either Helen Bland or Annie Tomlinson 
 would probably have seen a clear way out of 
 this trouble. They would simply have neglected 
 to return to the house until the dinner-hour 
 drew near. But I am happy to say that such a 
 means of escape never occurred to either of 
 these dear little girls. They were both accus- 
 tomed to act honestly and straightforwardly. 
 Little as Hilda wished to go home on this par-
 
 300 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 ticular afternoon, she made not the slightest ef- 
 fort to lengthen her lesson ; it was over in very 
 good time. 
 
 The first sound which they heard on entering 
 the house was Margaret's familiar squeal. She 
 squealed much more frequently than she spoke, 
 probably because squealing answered the pur- 
 pose better than words. If mamma declined 
 to let her wear her favorite apron, or insisted 
 upon washing her face, this accomplishment 
 was pressed into service. Many a time had this 
 effective weapon been wielded against the two 
 little cousins. 
 
 Like one who feels that there is no escape 
 from misery, and determines to face it as a hero 
 should, Hilda walked straight into the room 
 whence the sound proceeded. Margaret sat 
 upon the hearth-rug, surrounded by a collection 
 of articles which were all, for the time, to be 
 looked upon as playthings newspapers, ribbons, 
 brushes, balls of yarn, and various ornaments. 
 At either hand was a large pincushion one 
 brought from her mother's bureau, and one from 
 Mrs. Craig's. It was so cunning of her, Mrs. 
 Milman thought, to insist upon having two. 
 Gilbertina was undergoing the process of dis- 
 robing, and the pins, as they were one by one 
 drawn from her garments, were distributed im- 
 partially to right and left.
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 301 
 
 " O, here you are !" said Mrs. Milman to 
 Hilda. "Now, I'll go and get ready, Grace. 
 Margaret must n't come with mamma ; she must 
 stay where she is." 
 
 Margaret would willingly have staid had it 
 not been for this command, which she regarded 
 as a pressing invitation to accompany her 
 mother. Dropping Gilbertina, she got upon her 
 unsteady little legs, fell down a moment later, 
 and had to be consoled with a stray lime-drop, 
 discovered in the deep of Gertie's pocket. 
 
 "Now," said Hilda, established in her 
 mother's rocking-chair, "we're going to have 
 the horridest kind of a time till dinner, so it 's 
 no use trying to do anything. Let 's count the 
 ticks of the clock." 
 
 "I think I'll get my work-basket, if you 
 do n't care," Gertie replied. " Maybe I can 
 finish the handkerchief-case for Uncle Edward. 
 I want to see what it looks like when it is fin- 
 ished, do n't you?" 
 
 "Yes; and, Gertie, won't you tell me a 
 story ? Please do ; you tell such splendid ones." 
 
 " All right." Gertie seldom waited to be 
 coaxed, and she began as soon as she had put her 
 thimble on. " In a deep, deep valley stood a 
 beautiful crystal palace. The valley was full of 
 ice all the year round ; it never melted. There 
 was n't any grass, of course, nor any flowers ;
 
 302 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 but the trees grew straight up with the ice 
 frozen over their roots, and they had n't any 
 leaves never." 
 
 u Ee-ee-ee-ee !" floated disapprovingly up 
 from the rug. Gertie's eyes did not wander 
 from her work, but Hilda turned her head and 
 lifted her face toward the ceiling. 
 
 "Do you know, Hilda, I dreamed that val- 
 ley. O, three or four years ago it was, but I 
 never forgot it. I was riding along in a sleigh, 
 and somebody was running after, and trying to 
 climb up behind to set fire to us. We went 
 faster and faster, but he got up. Just as he 
 was trying to strike a match, the sleigh shook 
 him off and tipped right over, miles down into 
 the valley. The Queen of the Fairies lived there, 
 and all the fairies got around us, and said I could 
 have a wish granted. What do you think I 
 wished for?" 
 
 "What?" asked the listener, breathlessly. 
 
 " Ice-cream." And they both laughed out 
 at this modest wish. 
 
 "That was a nice dream. I wish I could 
 have that kind," said Hilda, enviously. " I 
 never dream about fairies, hardly at all." 
 
 "No, it wasn't nice," objected the other. 
 " Why, we thought we were going to be burned 
 up in the sleigh, and then we s'posed we 'd get 
 killed tipping down off the road. And they
 
 A. MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 303 
 
 brought me the ice-cream in a gilt saucer, but 
 it was the worst I ever tasted. All the fairies 
 stood around with wings on their shoulders, and 
 said, ' Is n't that nice? Is n't that just splendid 
 ice-cream?' And it made me sick to eat it?" 
 
 " Ee-ee-ee !" remarked Margaret, louder 
 than before. 
 
 Gertie fastened her gaze upon the infant 
 with an expression of stern reproof. 
 
 "Look here," said she, "I don't like little 
 girls that behave as you do; I do n't like them 
 at all." 
 
 The round baby eyes stared at her a moment 
 in astonishment. Then Margaret put her hand 
 on Gilbertina's face to push herself upward, and 
 approached the silent Hilda. 
 
 " I want to go walking." 
 
 She could speak very distinctly for a child 
 of her age. Hilda looked helpless. 
 
 " No, we 're not going," said Gertie, sternly. 
 
 "I want to go walking," repeated Margaret, 
 beginning to cry. 
 
 " O, I '11 have to take her, Gertie ! She gets 
 a fever when she cries. Won't you come, too, 
 you dear, good, darling girl? It's just awful to 
 go with her alone." 
 
 "Of course I'll come," answered Gertie, 
 wrapping her work in tissue-paper and laying 
 it in the work-basket.
 
 304 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Margaret, in her scarlet cloak and bonnet, 
 was a modern representation of Red Riding- 
 hood, and looked so cunning that Hilda kissed 
 her, notwithstanding she dreaded the walk. 
 For Margaret never, under any circumstances, 
 was willing to return. She would sit down on 
 some doorstep, where the wind seemed especially 
 sharp, and refuse to rise until her guardian, wild 
 with anxiety, lest the willful mite should take 
 cold and become seriously ill, put forth all her 
 slender strength to drag her away. The air al- 
 ways tingled with shrieks after such ungentle 
 treatment was applied, but the trouble generally 
 ended therewith. Finding the rest of the world 
 so cruel, Margaret hastened to the arms of her 
 mother. 
 
 This afternoon she turned her steps in the 
 direction of the village store. She had been 
 there on the previous Saturday evening, and 
 again this very forenoon. She knew to a cer- 
 tainty that candy could be bought there. 
 
 "I haven't any money," said Hilda, when 
 they had given up trying to influence the tyrant, 
 and sorrowfully followed her along the side- 
 walk. They were not permitted to clasp her 
 hand. 
 
 " Well, I have, and I '11 treat. What would 
 you like, Hilda? Cinnamon-drops?" 
 
 " No ; Margaret screams at them. But at
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 305 
 
 any rate do n't let her have any stick-candy, 
 Gertie. She likes that best ; but she gets so 
 dauby it spoils her cloak." 
 
 So they purchased gum-drops and pepper- 
 mint lozenges. Margaret plunged her hand 
 into the paper-bag, and secured as many sugar- 
 plums as her small fist would hold. Then she 
 trotted off contentedly enough, and they had 
 nothing to do but watch her steps. Arrived at 
 the gate of home, another conflict of will oc- 
 curred. Margaret walked unhesitatingly on- 
 ward. 
 
 " Here 's the place to go in* dear," said 
 Hilda, sweetly. " Come in and get the great 
 big cloak off; then you can have a nice time 
 eating candy." 
 
 " No," replied Margaret, and began to run 
 in her tottering fashion. 
 
 Of course they had to hurry after her. 
 
 " I expect your mamma has come home, and 
 wonders where you are," insinuated Hilda ; but 
 Margaret's speed did not slacken. 
 
 "Never mind," said Gertie, philosophically; 
 "we thought we 'd have a horrid time anyhow, 
 you know, and we might as well have it here as 
 at home." 
 
 "O, I'm afraid it's getting dark !" and Hilda 
 glanced anxiously at the shadowing sky. 
 
 It was half-past five ; late enough for a De-
 
 306 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 cember night to be setting in, even if its ap- 
 proach had not been hastened by clouds which 
 threatened snow. Hilda's anxiety grew every 
 minute. Her natural timidity was increased 
 by a sense of responsibility ; if anything hap- 
 pened to the baby, she would have to bear the 
 blame. Margaret trotted steadily on, serene so 
 long as she was neither spoken to nor touched. 
 
 " We had better go back," Gertie admitted. 
 
 "Come, Margaret," said Hilda, firmly grasp- 
 ing the arm under the scarlet cloak, " we must 
 go home this very minute." 
 
 " Ee-ee-e-ee !" vehemently protested Mar- 
 garet, struggling to tear herself away. Despair 
 made Hilda hold on in spite of that terrifying 
 noise ; but when a prolonged howl ensued, rap- 
 idly turning the baby's face purple, she loosened 
 her clutch in alarm. Margaret immediately 
 dropped upon a stone, and wept a storm of 
 tears. 
 
 " O, stop that! O, do stop, darling!" im- 
 plored Hilda, so nervous that she hardly knew 
 what she said. " Do something, Gertie. What 
 can we do?" 
 
 "Give her some more candy," was the 
 prompt reply. " Here, Margaret, look what 
 Gertie 's got." 
 
 This had the effect of stopping the tears, 
 and Margaret devoured gum-drops with aston-
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 307 
 
 ishing speed. But she would not leave her seat. 
 She shook her head at every entreaty, and 
 screamed at every touch. 
 
 " Will you go if I tell you a story ?" Gertie 
 suggested. "All about little Red Riding-hood, 
 and how the wolf did n't eat her up?" 
 
 " Hear the story now," said Margaret, gra- 
 ciously. 
 
 "No, indeed; I won't tell it unless we are 
 walking home just as fast as ever we can. Will 
 you come now, and hear about the ugly wolf 
 with the sharp, sharp teeth ?" 
 
 " Ee-ee-ee-ee !" was the only response. 
 
 I can not tell how it would have ended if 
 an amateur street orchestra had not just then 
 become audible. The sound of a drum and two 
 tin trumpets, coming around a bend of the road, 
 flashed a thought into Gertie's mind. She 
 caught the obstinate child by the hand and 
 drew her up, so suddenly that surprise would 
 not let her scream. 
 
 "O, Margaret, run, run!" cried Gertie, in 
 pretended fear. " What is that coming along 
 behind us? O, what is it? Run, Hilda? Let 
 us all hurry, quick, quick, before it catches us!" 
 
 Margaret took fright at once, and ran as fast 
 as her legs would carry her. Delighted with 
 the success of Gertie's stratagem, Hilda seized 
 her other hand, and all three sped breathlessly
 
 308 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 over the homeward way. The house looked 
 very brilliant to their approaching eyes. Lights 
 were shining up-stairs and down, and a tall, 
 dark figure stood in the doorway, straining 
 troubled eyes to see through the thickening 
 gloom. 
 
 " Hilda !" sternly exclaimed her father's 
 voice, "what do yon mean by staying out so 
 late? Your mother has been very much fright- 
 ened." 
 
 " O, papa, I'm ever so sorry! Indeed I 
 could n't help it !" was all poor Hilda could 
 reply, before she stepped out of Mrs. Milman's 
 way. That agitated woman was rushing toward 
 Margaret without seeming to care whom she 
 knocked down. 
 
 There had been much excitement in the 
 house when the ladies returned at dusk and 
 found the children still absent. Mr. Craig came 
 in soon after, and was just starting out to search 
 for them, when he saw them enter the gate. 
 Hilda's eyes filled with tears at the reproof, 
 which she felt to be undeserved, and Gertie pre- 
 pared herself to explain the whole affair, clear 
 the innocent, and bring scorn upon the guilty. 
 If she had carried out her intention she would 
 have made an enemy of Margaret's mother ; but 
 she never did so. A glance from Mrs. Craig's 
 quiet eyes changed her husband's view of Hilda's
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 309 
 
 conduct, and her loving arms encircled her little 
 daughter, holding her away from the angry 
 thoughts beginning to attack her wounded spirit. 
 After that Hilda could bear Mrs. Milman's com- 
 plaints. 
 
 At the dinner-table, Margaret was cross; her 
 cheeks were flushed and her eyes heavy. Her 
 mother had not the least doubt that she was 
 going to be ill. 
 
 " I hope you have a good doctor in the vil- 
 lage," said she. u What should I do if she 
 should grow worse in the night?" 
 
 " I hope that you have no cause for uneasi- 
 ness," said Mrs. Craig. "A night's rest will 
 probably make her well again." 
 
 "Ah, she is very delicate ! What did you do 
 to her, you children ? What did you give her 
 to eat?" 
 
 " Some candy," Hilda answered, briefly. 
 
 " Much ? I hope you did n't give her very 
 much!" 
 
 "Well, I guess she had a good deal," con- 
 fessed Gertie. "She snatched the bag out of 
 my hand, and would n't give it back. I only 
 had three pieces, and I do n't believe Hilda had 
 many. Did you ?" 
 
 " Two," replied her cousin. 
 
 Mr. Craig smiled into his coffee-cup, and 
 Mrs. Milman looked offended ; but the children
 
 310 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 had not meant to give either offense or amuse- 
 ment. They had made a plain and simple state- 
 ment. 
 
 "If you will excuse me, Grace, I will take 
 her to my room," said the visitor, rising. "Per- 
 haps I may get her to sleep, but I doubt it ; she 
 is always wakeful when she is n't well." 
 
 Margaret did not appear again that evening, 
 and for some time Mrs. Milman remained with 
 her. Twice she sent down a request that the 
 children should be as quiet as possible, once 
 suggesting that the boys had better put on their 
 slippers. Fred and Annie Tomlinson came in, 
 and had to be quietly entertained in a corner 
 of the library. They were tired of dominoes 
 and Messenger-boy and the other games which 
 had been played so often. Gertie told a story, 
 and was unanimously requested to tell another; 
 but Hilda was afraid to let her try it, because 
 the boys laughed so loudly at the funny parts. 
 So they began to talk about the approaching 
 school-entertainment. 
 
 "Fred's going to speak a piece; did you 
 know that ?" asked his sister, proudly. 
 
 "What is it? Say it, Fred." 
 
 "No, I won't," returned Fred, in an easy 
 way, which seemed to rob this blunt refusal of 
 its rudeness. "'T is n't worth listening to 
 just a soft thing; it's poetry."
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 311 
 
 "Say, Hilda, did n't Mr. Peterson want you 
 to say a speech about Gilbertina?" 
 
 "He said a doll," returned Hilda, flushing, 
 "and hold a doll in my arms. That was all." 
 
 "Where's Gilbertina?" demanded Fred, his 
 sharp, black eyes searching the corners of the 
 room. 
 
 "She 's up-stairs," Hilda answered, hurriedly. 
 "We put her away because that little girl that's 
 here handles her too much." 
 
 "Say, Ernest," cried Fred, sitting upright 
 he had been lolling over the sofa-cushion " let's 
 throw bouquets to Gilbertina that night. She 's 
 the star actress ; going to make her first ap- 
 pearance, and ought to have a flattering recep- 
 tion." 
 
 "No, you mustn't!" Hilda protested. 
 
 It was so easy to annoy her with teasing, 
 that Fred found especial pleasure in selecting 
 her for his victim. 
 
 " Cabbages and turnips, tied together with 
 green ribbons ; that 's the stuff, is n't it, Er- 
 nest?" 
 
 "Now you're talking!" replied the latter, 
 approvingly. " Green 's the color for a green- 
 horn." 
 
 And the two boys laughed as if their silly 
 and slangy speeches had been full of wit. 
 
 " If you do, I just won't stand it !" Hilda
 
 312 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 broke out excitedly. Of course she was taunt- 
 ingly requested to inform them how she was go- 
 ing to help it ; but before she could reply, Mrs. 
 Milman came into the room, closing the door 
 softly behind her. 
 
 " Hilda," she began, " are you willing to 
 trust Gilbertina to Margaret? I would n't ask 
 you if it was n't that the poor little thing is 
 restless, and begs for it so hard." 
 
 " O, yes 'in !" answered Hilda, without a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, so glad of the interruption 
 that she felt really grateful. "She's up in 
 Blanche's room, Mrs. Milman. I '11 get her in 
 just a minute." 
 
 " Hilda is perfectly lovely about that doll," 
 observed Blanche, who seldom paid a compli- 
 ment. "I can't help being a little surprised. 
 She is so careful of her things, that sometimes 
 she really is selfish." 
 
 " It is easy to be kind to Margaret," sighed 
 Margaret's mother. 
 
 Blanche bit her lip and made no reply. She 
 knew that Hilda had found it far from easy. 
 
 Up in Blanche's room all was dim and quiet. 
 The shutters were open, and the moon cast a 
 faint, frequently cloud-veiled radiance through 
 the window. 
 
 Gilbertina sat on the bureau, leaning against 
 the mirror. She seemed to have grown less
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 313 
 
 careful of her appearance in the last few days ; 
 but it was not her fault that her costume was 
 tumbled and her hair in disorder. Hilda viewed 
 her sorrowfully for a few moments, then caught 
 her by the head and lifted her up. Think of 
 Hilda catching Gilbertina by the head ! She 
 did it very carefully, to be sure, but not ten- 
 derly. At that moment she did not love her 
 doll in the least. All her mind was disturbed 
 by Fred's threat. Must she be publicly morti- 
 fied because of that unfortunate name? What 
 could she do to avert the disgrace ? 
 
 " Maybe I '11 get sick before then," thought 
 she, slowly descending the staircase. " Would 
 I like that? It would be horrid to miss all the 
 fun; but if I have to take Gilbertina there won't 
 be any fun," and she actually shook the inno- 
 cent cause of her trouble. 
 
 Mrs. Milman took the doll with one hand, 
 while with the other she turned over the leaves 
 of a magazine. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, absently. 
 
 " Do n't stay up-stairs all evening," said Mrs. 
 Craig. "When Margaret goes to sleep you may 
 venture to leave her." 
 
 " If she goes to sleep I will. I do want to 
 have a talk with you, since I have to leave to- 
 morrow afternoon," replied Mrs. Milman, gazing 
 discontentedly at the group of children beside
 
 314 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 the window. They were just as silent and 
 motionless at that moment as the most exacting 
 woman could have demanded. Fred happened 
 to be looking into her face, and read there un- 
 mistakably the opinion that he had better be at 
 home. This was doubtless the reason why he 
 attempted, a moment later, to pick Archer's 
 pocket of his silver watch. 
 
 " Hello there ! What are you doing ?" cried 
 Archer, indignantly, so loudly that his mother 
 had to say, " Be careful, dear." 
 
 "Guess it's time to go home," remarked 
 Fred, a little embarrassed. " Come on, Annie. 
 Where did somebody put my hat?" 
 
 " O, you don't want to go !" 
 
 But Ernest did not speak very heartily. He 
 found it rather tiresome to have company, since 
 he was obliged to keep so still. 
 
 " Yes, I do, too. That 's all you know 
 about it." 
 
 
 
 There was a very short leave-taking, because 
 it was too cold to stand in the doorway. The 
 boys returned to the library at once, but the 
 girls waited to look inquiringly at each other. 
 
 " Let 's go to bed," suggested Hilda. 
 
 Gertie was a little surprised. 
 
 "Why," said she, "is it late enough?" 
 
 At that very moment the clock began to 
 strike eight.
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 315 
 
 " It 's late enough if we want to go," re- 
 turned Hilda, peevishly. " I 'in tired, and I 'm 
 going. You need n't if you do n't want to, but 
 I think you might." 
 
 " All right; I will," said the obliging Gertie. 
 
 Everybody was surprised that they should 
 retire so early, and Mrs. Craig looked at her 
 daughter anxiously. She did not seem to be ill, 
 but tired and discontented. To be sure there 
 was reason enough why Hilda should be tired. 
 Days spent in Margaret's company were fatiguing. 
 
 "Good-night, darling," said the mother. 
 "You have had too much to do to-day. To- 
 morrow will be better, I hope." 
 
 Hilda's spirits rose at once, but they fell 
 again a moment later ; because, when she was 
 half-way up the stairs, Rose opened the dining- 
 room door and called eagerly, " O, Gertie, come 
 here." She did not say, " Hilda, come too," and 
 Hilda was tired enough to be foolishly sensitive, 
 and fancy herself slighted. Gertie ran down at 
 once, and the door closed behind her. No one 
 meant to hurt Hilda's feelings; indeed any- 
 body who called one of these inseparable com- 
 panions, expected them to answer the summons 
 together. 
 
 But Hilda was not going to do anything of 
 the sort. If Rose meant her to come, she ought 
 to have said so. With angry tears in her eyes
 
 316 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 she went on to the top of the stairs. There she 
 paused with her hand on the balustrade. 
 
 Why did n't Gertie come ? O, how mean of 
 her to have secrets with somebody else, and not 
 tell her own cousin ! To make matters worse, 
 Gertie's silvery laugh floated merrily through 
 a crack in the door, and up to the jealous little 
 ears. 
 
 Gertie was laughing at Quillup. It was to 
 see him that Rose had called her. One of the 
 boys had been looking out a word in the diction- 
 ary, when Fred Tomlinson rang the bell, and 
 had left the book open upon the table. There 
 Mr. Quillup had found it, and concluded that it 
 would make an excellent bed. He was stretched 
 at ease upon the printed cushion, his amber 
 eyes blinking a drowsy recognition of his little 
 mistress. 
 
 "Maybe his bed down cellar isn't soft 
 enough," said Gertie. " It is only a piece of 
 carpet in a box. Is there anything else that I 
 could put there, Rose ?" 
 
 "There's a little old rug you might have," 
 Rose answered, and, good-natured girl that she 
 was, went at once to get it. 
 
 They went down into the cellar, Gertie 
 carrying the kitten, and Rose the rug and can- 
 dle. It did not take long to make a bed which no 
 cat could with reason despise ; but they lingered
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 317 
 
 a few minutes to stroke his fur, and watch him 
 settle into a comfortable position. They were 
 just emerging into the brightly-lighted dining- 
 room when they heard a loud scream. It was 
 Margaret's voice (there was no mistaking that), 
 but it frightened them to hear an answering 
 scream from her mother. There was a sound 
 of hurrying up-stairs, and, of course, they ran 
 as fast as possible to see what could be the 
 matter. 
 
 Margaret had fallen asleep almost as soon as 
 Gilbertina was laid in her arms, and Mrs. Mil- 
 man had left her. The library was immediately 
 under her room, and she knew that she could 
 hear the child if she stirred. Margaret fretted 
 a little, but in a drowsy way ; the ladies listen- 
 ing anxiously down-stairs, thought that if left 
 alone she would soon be quiet again. But just 
 as they were congratulating themselves that her 
 slumbers were sounder, there came a great 
 thump on the floor, and a piercing scream an- 
 nounced that it was Margaret who had fallen. 
 
 u O, my baby !" Mrs. Milman cried, in a voice 
 as shrill as her daughter's. 
 
 Mrs. Craig was scarcely less frightened, and 
 when Archer and Ernest saw them both hurry- 
 ing out of the room, they ran excitedly after. 
 It was a throng which rushed into Mrs. Milman's 
 room, for Rose and Gertie were there almost as
 
 31 8 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 soon as the others. None of Margaret's bones 
 were broken, that was certain ; for she had 
 climbed into a rocking-chair, and was beating 
 time to her outcries with all four of her limbs. 
 The unexpected entrance of such a multitude 
 insulted her deeply. She testified her sense of 
 injury in a manner so unmistakable that Mrs. 
 Craig sent the children away at once, and only 
 lingered to ask whether she could be of any as- 
 sistance. 
 
 " O no, thank you," Mrs. Milman replied. 
 "I don't think she struck her head; there 
 does n't seem to be any bump. I won't leave 
 her alone any more. Good-night. Please let 
 Rose bring up a pitcher of drinking-water, and 
 O, suppose you take the doll with you." 
 
 But where was the doll ? No trace of Gil- 
 bertina could be found, either on the bed or un- 
 der the furniture. This surprised Mrs. Milman 
 so much that she laid Margaret on the bed 
 while she helped her friend to make a thorough 
 search. 
 
 "Why, nobody can have taken it!" she ex- 
 claimed, looking very much puzzled and a little 
 alarmed. " Nobody was in the room. I was not 
 out of it more than ten minutes, was I?" 
 
 " But who could have taken it, anyhow ?" 
 Mrs. Craig wondered. " There was no one in 
 the house to do such a thing, and one could
 
 A MYSTERIOUS THEFT. 319 
 
 hardly imagine a burglar breaking through a 
 window only to steal a doll." 
 
 "Are you sure that cook of yours is honest?" 
 suggested Mrs. Milman ; for it seemed to her 
 that she must find a way of unraveling the mys- 
 tery. " I met her on the stairs as I was going 
 down. She has such a queer, soft way of steal- 
 ing about the house, and I 've noticed that she 
 always drops her eyes when you look at her."
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 
 
 WHERE was Gilbertina? At the farthest 
 end of the orchard grew a line of currant- 
 bushes, behind which the ground sloped ab- 
 ruptly to the fence ; and down by the fence, 
 sunk among brown, dead leaves, lay the unfor- 
 tunate doll. 
 
 The moon glanced out from the clouds which 
 its own radiance had silvered, and sent down a 
 swift-gliding beam to discover what that bit of 
 white behind the bushes could be. It was 
 only the corner of a newspaper, on the edge 
 of which the least bit of scarlet could be dis- 
 cerned. The moonbeam was not strong enough 
 to lift the paper or brush aside the heap of 
 leaves, so the mystery remained unexplained. 
 
 In all the house that evening there was only 
 one person who could explain it. That one was 
 a little girl who, with hot, red cheeks and trem- 
 
 320
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 321 
 
 ulous fingers, was hurriedly unbuttoning her 
 shoes in Blanche's room. 
 
 When Hilda, waiting in the dim light at the 
 head of the stairs, heard Gertie's merry laugh, 
 she let herself drop down upon the floor, a bright- 
 colored heap of misery. It was so dreadful to 
 be all alone up there when something funny 
 was happening in the dining-room. What made 
 it worse was that she need not have been alone. 
 If it were to do over again, she would make 
 haste to follow Gertie when she answered Rose's 
 call. But of course that was impossible now ; 
 pride would not let her stir. 
 
 Then she began to feel very angry at Fred 
 Tomlinson. If he had not teased her so much, 
 she would not have wanted to hurry off to bed 
 without talking to any one. How long was she 
 to be worried about Gilbertina's name ? 
 
 " I just can't stand it any longer," murmured 
 Hilda, with a sick little sigh. 
 
 Some one came noiselessly along the hall 
 and began to ascend the stairs. It was Emma, 
 with a pile of freshly-ironed clothes upon' her 
 arm. It would not do for Hilda to be discov- 
 ered crouching there in the dark. She slipped 
 softly into the shelter of a doorway, to wait 
 until the girl had gone past. 
 
 Just then it was that Mrs. Milman, having 
 seen Margaret's peacefully-closed eyes and list-
 
 322 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 ened to her quiet breathing, decided to go down 
 to the library. She met Emma at the head of 
 the stairs, and paused slightly as the girl squeezed 
 herself against the wall to give her plenty of 
 room to pass. Emma stood in awe of Mrs. Mil- 
 man, who had such a domineering manner and 
 required so many small services. 
 
 When the library door had closed, and Emma 
 had disappeared on the stairway .which led to 
 the third story, Hilda came out from the shadow 
 into the dim twilight of the hall-lamp. The 
 little shock of escape seemed to have sharpened 
 her mind. Something had suggested a new 
 thought which had taken strong hold upon her 
 will. 
 
 Margaret must be asleep or her mother would 
 not have left her alone, and it was equally cer- 
 tain that the doll was still with her. 
 
 "If I should go in there and take Gilbertina 
 away, nobody would ever know who did it," 
 thought Hilda. " They think I 've gone to bed." 
 
 She pressed her hand tightly against her 
 heart ; it was beating so that it shook her, and 
 she was trying to hold it still. 
 
 She would take Gilbertina away. But what 
 would she do with her? O, she did not know! 
 She would hide her away somewhere ; maybe 
 in a bureau drawer, or in the box with her new 
 hat. There were some old trunks up-stairs that
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 323 
 
 people did not often look into, and some piece- 
 bags, crowded with scraps of silk and wool. O, 
 there were a great many excellent hiding-places, 
 more than she had ever dreamed of before ! How 
 easy it was to think ! 
 
 One thing was certain Gilbertina must be 
 put out of sight. Now was the opportunity to 
 do it, and now she felt, more strongly than at 
 any previous time, that it was not possible to 
 bear the worry and mortification which the doll 
 occasioned. Does it seem strange to yon that 
 Hilda should have become so resolute in a few 
 moments of time? To me it does not seem 
 strange at all. She had been fretting so long in 
 secret, hating the name of the doll until she al- 
 most hated the doll itself; admitting wicked 
 feelings to her heart, anger against her play- 
 mates, and a foolish sense of injury. All this 
 time she had seemed as sweet and gentle as 
 ever, but the poison was working within her. 
 It is a sad thing to admit, but the truth is that 
 Hilda was not as pure and innocent as she had 
 been a few months before, when she was not bury- 
 ing a secret away from her own mother's sight. 
 Perhaps you do not see anything wrong in her 
 behavior, because she had uttered no falsehood. 
 Truth is white ; it is neither cream-color nor 
 pearl-color. If you let the faintest tint mix 
 with its glorious brightness, the color may at
 
 324 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 first be scarcely perceptible, but it will deepen 
 and darken until it is lost in the blackness of 
 deceit. 
 
 Close to the wall, her hand pressed against 
 it to steady her steps, Hilda tiptoed along to the 
 door of Mrs. Milman's room. There she paused 
 and looked in. The fire blazed high, and she 
 saw everything at a glance. Margaret lay on 
 the edge of the bed, her lips still pouting in her 
 uneasy slumber, and Gilbertina's head rested on 
 the pillow, close beside her own. One arm lay 
 heavily over the doll's body, and the thin 
 fingers were clasped about a bit of the bright- 
 red frock. 
 
 " It is n't stealing to take your own doll 
 away." 
 
 Why did these words repeat themselves in 
 the excited little brain ? Was it because Hilda 
 felt like a thief, and was trying to defend herself 
 from her own conscience ? 
 
 Gently she unbent the child's clinging fingers 
 and lifted her arm aside. Margaret's sleep was 
 not very sound ; the touch disturbed her ; she 
 moaned impatiently and half unclosed her eyes. 
 With the doll in her arms Hilda fled into the 
 hall, and softly on to her own room. 
 
 All her quick thoughts had' deserted her. 
 Gilbertina could not remain in her arms, and 
 where should she go? None of the places
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 325 
 
 which had seemed so suitable for her purpose 
 would answer at all. The hat-box would not 
 hold her, and there was no room in the bureau 
 drawers. It was the veriest nonsense to dream 
 of stuffing her head-first into a crowded piece- 
 bag, and what would her mother think if some 
 day she went to one of her trunks and found 
 Gilbertina there ? 
 
 O, what should she do ! Gertie would be 
 coming up in a minute. There was no place 
 for Gilbertina in the house ; might there possibly 
 be a place out-of-doors ? She went to a window, 
 and the solemn shadow of" the night filled her 
 with dread. There were gray and pearly clouds 
 over the sky ; only one luminous spot showed 
 the trailing of the moon's silver robe. 
 
 " I could n't hide her in a tree," said Hilda, 
 rapidly. "Could I dig a hole in the ground? 
 
 no, there is n't anything to dig with, except 
 
 1 get a kitchen-knife, and Emma would see, or 
 Rose perhaps, and Rose would ask what I wanted 
 it for." 
 
 Hark, what was that ? It was Margaret 
 screaming. O, was Margaret killed ! Her mother 
 was screaming too, and crowds of people 
 were rushing up-stairs. Surely there were not 
 enough people in the house to make such a 
 tramp of feet ; the neighbors must be coming 
 in, and maybe a policeman too, " Well, I can
 
 326 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 get down the back stairs," thought Hilda, cun- 
 ning again in a moment, and away she went. 
 
 She could not have told what she feared. Of 
 course she knew that, guilty as she felt, there 
 was no danger of being marched away to jail. 
 She could not be responsible for Margaret's 
 hurt (if hurt there were), for she had touched 
 her only in the tenderest manner, and left her 
 lying upon the bed. But Hilda was so nervous, 
 and so conscious of wrong-doing, that it did not 
 take much to alarm her. As she neared the 
 bottom of the steep, walled-in staircase, her foot 
 caught in the carpet. She clutched at the rail, 
 but missed it, rolled down the two or three re- 
 maining steps, and heard a sharp, snapping 
 noise. 
 
 " Gilbertina 's spoiled!" groaned Hilda, sit- 
 ting up and dragging the poor doll from beneath 
 her knee. It was too dark there to see what 
 the injury was ; she cautiously pushed open the 
 kitchen door and entered. Her hand had already 
 found a rough spot on the smooth face, and the 
 lamplight showed her what it meant. Gilber- 
 tina's nose was gone ; her beauty was marred 
 forever. 
 
 It would not do to give way to sorrow here. 
 The bolt was drawn aside, and she slipped out 
 into the night, too unhappy now to feel afraid. 
 Besides, the moon had pushed its way through
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 327 
 
 the clouds, and made everything too lovely for 
 fear. She went slowly down among the trees, 
 shaking with sobs, and covering Gilbertina's 
 face with tears and kisses. Poor doll ! Poor dar- 
 ling! Precious Gilbertina ! Was this the end of 
 her? The handsomest doll in Hawthorn very 
 likely the handsomest doll this side of New 
 York to be suddenly made ugly by the break- 
 ing off of her nose! There was no doubt now 
 that Hilda loved her. She would have given 
 all the money she had saved for Christmas to 
 have that sweet face whole again. 
 
 Presently she remembered that it did not 
 matter what happened to Gilbertina, since she 
 had fully made up her mind to part with her. How 
 very bare the orchard looked ! There seemed 
 to be no place where anything could be con- 
 cealed. 
 
 She was near the back fence now, and the 
 line of currant-bushes caught her eye. When 
 she had stopped beside them and peered through 
 their frail, brown branches, she decided that she 
 would leave- Gilbertina there; the leaves could 
 be heaped upon her, and an old newspaper, 
 which the wind had blown over the fence, might 
 be wrapped around her dress and curls. It was 
 all done in a few minutes. The shaking little 
 figure pressed through the prickly bushes, and 
 hastily scraped a nest in the mass of wet leaves.
 
 328 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 The paper was wrapped tightly about the doll, 
 and twisted at the ends to hold it together. 
 Then the bundle which was Gilbertina was 
 crushed into the hole, and the leaves brushed 
 hurriedly over it. 
 
 Now that it was done, Hilda was both cold 
 and afraid, and it seemed as if nothing bad 
 could happen were she once more in the safe, 
 warm house. As she softly stole through the 
 kitchen, she heard voices in the dining-room. 
 Gertie was there, and Archer and Rose ; they 
 were talking eagerly, as if something very 
 strange had happened. Well, she did n't care 
 what it was ; she felt too tired and cold. Ger- 
 tie might stay down and talk all night, if she 
 wanted to ; Hilda wished she would. It would 
 be so nice to go to sleep without saying a word 
 to anybody, or even looking into anybody's face. 
 
 This is what was going on in the dining- 
 room : 
 
 " Has Gilbertina really gone ?" cried Gertie, 
 catching the arm of Archer, who had brought 
 the news. " Why, how could she ? Who took 
 her away ?" 
 
 " I do n't know; but she is gone, that 's cer- 
 tain ; for mamma said so. Mamma came down 
 into the library, and papa had just come in, and 
 they both think it's one of the queerest things 
 that ever happened, $Q it is queer! They've
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 329 
 
 looked all through the room, and nothing's 
 touched ; but Gilbertina isn't there, and nobody 
 in the room but Margaret." 
 
 " Maybe Margaret pitched her out of the 
 window," suggested Gertie, with shining eyes. 
 
 " Why, the window 's locked, Gertie, and the 
 shutters are shut. Such a baby could n't open 
 them." 
 
 " I just think we ought to have a gun in 
 this house," put in Ernest, with an aggrieved 
 look. " How are we going to keep thieves away 
 when we have n't even a pistol ? I wish Uncle 
 Gilbert would come home. He has a revolver." 
 
 " O, that poor Hilda!" exclaimed Gertie. 
 " She 's gone to bed just as happy, and never 
 knew what was becoming of her darling doll! 
 Is n't it dreadful, Rose ?" 
 
 Rose thought it was. She felt very badly 
 when anything disagreeable happened to the 
 children. The boys also looked quite heart- 
 broken for a few minutes. 
 
 " Thieves are getting terrible !" said Ernest's 
 excited tones. "They broke into Percy Mer- 
 rill's house week before last, but the baby woke 
 up and screamed them away. They did n't get 
 anything but Jim Merrill's collar-button ; and 
 that is n't good gold, Percy says." 
 
 "And here they did n't get anything but a 
 doll. Pretty slow getting rich, at that rate. If
 
 330 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 I were a thief, I 'd go into some other busi- 
 ness," remarked Archer, winking at Gertie, to 
 make her laugh. 
 
 Mrs. Craig came in just then. 
 
 " It is growing late, my dears," she said, 
 "and I would like the house to be quiet as soon 
 as possible. Every little noise disturbs Mrs. Mil- 
 man, because she is nervous about Margaret." 
 
 " O, auntie," said Gertie, her sad face lifted 
 upward, " I 'in just afraid to see poor Hilda. 
 What shall I do ? Shall I tell her about Gil- 
 bertina to-night?" 
 
 " Perhaps she is asleep by this time. Surely, 
 if she were awake, the noise would have dis- 
 turbed her. But if she should ask any ques- 
 tions, you will have to tell her, dear. It makes 
 very little difference whether she finds it out 
 now or in the morning." 
 
 Nevertheless, Gertie hoped that Hilda was 
 asleep. In the morning some one else could 
 tell her. This loving little creature dreaded to 
 be the bearer of ill-tidings. But when she cau- 
 tiously opened the door she saw Hilda standing 
 by the bed in her long white night-gown. Ger- 
 tie's first thought was that she had been excited 
 by the noise, had sprung up, and waited impa- 
 tiently for some one to come. But that could 
 not be the case, for Hilda asked no questions. 
 She hurriedly lay down and closed her eyes.
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 331 
 
 "Are you asleep, darling?" This was ob- 
 viously an unnecessary question ; but Gertie 
 wanted to make the dear girl feel her love and 
 tenderness, and she could think of nothing else 
 to say. There was a great deal of sweet pity in 
 her voice. 
 
 "No," answered Hilda, quietly. " I 've just 
 got into bed." 
 
 Gertie laid a cold little hand upon her 
 cousin's forehead. 
 
 "Your face is hot," said she, in caressing 
 accents. 
 
 "Your hand is cold," returned Hilda, jerk- 
 ing her head away. 
 
 A mere trifle was sufficient to annoy Hilda 
 at that moment. Gertie was not offended ; she 
 was only sorry, and she could not go away until 
 she had pressed her cheek lovingly against the 
 flushed cheek upon the pillow, and whispered : 
 
 " Dear, dear Hilda, I love you." 
 
 The affectionate sympathetic tone pleased 
 Hilda so much that she reached out both her 
 arms, and put them around Gertie's neck. She 
 supposed she was pitied on account of Fred's 
 teasing, and it was very nice to be kissed and 
 caressed. 
 
 A few minutes later, when Gertie was tak- 
 ing the ribbon from her hair, Blanche came 
 into the room.
 
 332 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Is Hilda asleep?" she asked; and though 
 Blanche never spoke in a loud voice, it sounded 
 as if she did so then. 
 
 " No," answered Gertie, " she is n't ; but she 
 is in bed." 
 
 She was afraid that Blanche was going to 
 tell about Gilbertina, and she wanted to prevent 
 it if she could. 
 
 " I can see that," retorted the young lady. 
 " Hilda, I 've something to tell you. What do 
 you think has happened ?" 
 
 " What ?" inquired a smothered voice. " I 
 do n't care. I want to go to sleep." 
 
 " O, you cross little thing ! But you '11 care 
 enough when I tell you. Gilbertina is stolen. 
 Now, what do you think ?" 
 
 Two frightened eyes glared suddenly out 
 from the pillow. Hilda's face looked so pale 
 and wild that it startled both the others. They 
 could see she tried to speak, but her lips were 
 stiff. 
 
 "O, darling, don't look so!" cried the re- 
 pentant Blanche, running around the foot of the 
 bed to take her sister in her arms. " I wish I 
 had n't told you. She is gone, you poor child ; 
 but I have n't any doubt we '11 find her again. 
 I should n't wonder if you would be the very one 
 to find her yourself." 
 
 "Why!" screamed Hilda, pushing Blanche
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 333 
 
 away with both hands. "Why should I find 
 Gilbertina? I did n't take her and lose her!" 
 
 Do you see what it had led to the long 
 course of deceit which began when Hilda re- 
 fused her mother's suggestion to change the 
 name of the doll ? It had led to a lie. For the 
 first time an undeniable falsehood had stained 
 the purity of this precious young soul. She 
 had not even the excuse that she was forced to 
 answer a question. The first mention of Gil- 
 bertina had shaken her with a storm of fear, 
 and forced the wicked words from her lips. 
 Poor Hilda ! Almost before she knew it they 
 had fluttered forth into the world, and they 
 could never be recalled. 
 
 " My precious little sister," said Blanche, al- 
 most sobbing with remorse, " did you suppose 
 I thought you did ? I feel so very, very sorry 
 for you ! We all knew you were here in bed 
 the whole time. It is a shame that you had to 
 lend Gilbertina to Margaret ; that wretched baby 
 has made all the trouble." 
 
 Hilda leaned against her sister, feeling so 
 weak and helpless that she wanted somebody to 
 'hold her up. The weight of the falsehood she 
 had uttered was too great to bear alone. 
 
 "Shall I tell mamma to come?" whispered 
 Blanche. Hilda lifted herself away at once, and 
 lay down again.
 
 334 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "No," she said, fretfully. "Don't talk to 
 me, Blanche ; I want to go to sleep." 
 
 They left her to herself, and went quietly 
 about the room, the light reduced to a tiny flame, 
 that its brightness might not keep her from 
 sleeping. O, how Hilda longed to fall asleep ! 
 But after Gertie, at her side, and Blanche on the 
 cot at the foot of the bed, had passed into the 
 happy country of dreams, she was still lying 
 there with wide, distressed eyes, watching the 
 moon-gleams on the wall. 
 
 The dreadful words she had uttered refused 
 to leave her mind. She could not keep from 
 saying them over and over to herself, moving 
 her lips as if she were speaking aloud. " I 
 did n't take her and lose her. I did n't take her 
 and lose her." 
 
 " Do you s'pose I '11 never think of anything 
 else?" she asked of her own heart, and the tears 
 began to steal down her cheeks. 
 
 It is pretty hard for a little girl to lie awake 
 at any time. But how much worse if it is the 
 memory of sin which banishes sleep! The lie 
 on Hilda's lips seemed to burn her mouth ; she 
 felt that she must wash it away with a retrac- 
 tion. So she sat up and fixed her eyes on her 
 sister's unconscious face. 
 
 " Blanche," she said, in low but distinct 
 tones, " it was n't the truth that I told you
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 335 
 
 about Gilbertina. I did take her and lose 
 her." 
 
 Then she lay down again, chills running up 
 her back, and her teeth chattering. What if 
 Blanche should not be asleep after all ? Sup- 
 pose she and Gertie were both lying awake ! 
 Yes, they must be. They had only been keep- 
 ing so still for fear of disturbing her. Now they 
 were too angry to say a word. But they would 
 speak pretty soon, and say what a horrid, wicked 
 girl she was, and Gertie's mother would send 
 word for her to come home right away. 
 
 So this wretched, guilty Hilda went on tor- 
 menting herself until the soft hand of sleep was 
 laid pityingly upon her eyelids. 
 
 But they had to open again in the morning 
 and let in a flood of painful recollections. She 
 did not want to talk, but she wanted to be 
 talked to ; she wanted somebody to tell her 
 something which would make her forget yes- 
 terday. This is just what they could not do. 
 The sight of Hilda made them remember her 
 doll, and before they started down to breakfast, 
 both Blanche and Gertie had said more than 
 once that they did wonder where Gilbertina 
 could be. 
 
 At the breakfast-table there were two people 
 who were looked upon as invalids. Margaret 
 was as cross as a spoiled lapdog ; but she was
 
 33^ A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 pale, and so was Hilda. Rose made them some 
 cream-toast, but Margaret ate it nearly all. 
 Hilda was tired; her back ached, and her eye- 
 lids did not seem strong enough to hold them- 
 selves up. 
 
 The pleasantest thing to do was to lie on the 
 lounge in her mother's room, and keep perfectly 
 silent. She could watch her mother there, and 
 see the tender smile so frequently turned upon 
 her. Gertie did not go to school. Anxious as 
 she was to amuse her cousin, she found Hilda 
 so unresponsive that she soon turned her atten- 
 tion to Margaret, whom nothing could keep 
 from fretting. 
 
 "I want Tiltina," wailed the child. " I want 
 the pretty doll-baby." 
 
 "I do n't suppose Hilda will dare to let you 
 touch another of her dolls," said Mrs. Milman, 
 bitterly. " It seems to be unfortunate to let 
 them come into your hands. I would send out 
 and buy you some kind of a doll, if we were 
 not going away this afternoon." 
 
 "Why, she can have my Rosalind, just. as 
 well as not," said Gertie, eagerly; but Hilda 
 glided from the lounge and went swiftly through 
 the doorway. She was back in a moment, laid 
 a doll in Margaret's hands, and turned away with- 
 out speaking. It was her very best Susy. Mar- 
 garet was bidden to speak her thanks, and she
 
 THE CURRANT-BUSHES. 337 
 
 delightedly obeyed, while she nearly pulled Su- 
 sy's flaxen braid from her head in attempting to 
 take off her hair-ribbon. 
 
 "Uncle Gilbert 's come !" the voice of Ernest 
 shouted up the stairs. " He 's come in Mrs. Wrax- 
 all's buggy, mamma. Mamma, look out of the 
 window and see !"
 
 GILBER TINA'S NOSE. 
 
 YES, it is Uncle Gilbert!" declared Hilda, 
 her face against the window, while Gertie 
 fell over her shoulder, and Margaret pushed Su- 
 sy's head under her arm. " He 's all bundled 
 up in a silk handkerchief, mamma. Do you sup- 
 pose he is sick ?" 
 
 It was only his neck which was enveloped 
 in a silvery blue muffler. He did not walk so 
 briskly as was his wont, and his sister's solicit- 
 ous eye saw at once that he was not well. 
 
 "Just a little cold; better than it was," he 
 said, as she drew him into the library. 
 
 The room had filled with children in an in- 
 stant. Archer was poking the fire, while Er- 
 nest beat a great lump of coal with the shovel. 
 
 Mr. Pitcher's voice seemed to come from his 
 boots. It frightened Hilda to hear him speak 
 338
 
 GILBERTINA'S NOSE. 339 
 
 in tones so harsh and rasping. She caught his 
 hand, and began to stroke his fingers. 
 
 "Why, here is my girl," growled her uncle, 
 affectionately, drawing Hilda to his knee, with- 
 out stopping to take off his overcoat. 
 
 "Is your throat sore?" asked Mrs. Craig, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, it is a little. O, you must n't be wor- 
 ried. I 'm going to be all right, now I 've got 
 home again. Guess I do n't know how to take 
 care of myself. Hilda will take care of me now, 
 won't she?" he asked, wrapping his shaggy 
 coat-sleeves around her until she was almost 
 hidden. 
 
 "O, I will, Uncle Gilbert! Shall I make 
 you some butter-scotch? I made some once," 
 returned Hilda, shaking herself free to sit up 
 and look into his face. 
 
 Half an hour later, Uncle Gilbert was estab- 
 lished on the lounge in the library, feeling re- 
 markably cheerful and comfortable. His bad 
 cold was a very bad one, indeed, and he had 
 done a wise thing in coming home to be cared 
 for. It was so pleasant to rest in the warm, 
 cozy library, with loving faces all about him, 
 that he almost forgot his aching limbs and 
 throbbing head. Everybody moved gently, care- 
 ful that they did not slam doors, nor speak 
 loudly nor suddenly ; and absolute quiet he did
 
 34 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 not desire. Mrs. Craig brought her knitting, 
 Blanche her embroidery, and Mrs. Milman a 
 dress of Margaret's which needed mending. 
 Hilda kept close to her uncle at first, but after 
 a while she began to grow restless. He was 
 holding her hand, and she tried to draw it gently 
 away. 
 
 "Are you going to leave me?" he asked. "Is 
 it time for school ?" 
 
 "O, it's away past time. Archer and Ernest 
 have gone ; but Gertie and I are n't going. I '11 
 be back pretty soon, Uncle Gilbert." 
 
 " Hilda was our invalid before you came," 
 said Mrs. Craig, and Hilda waited to hear no 
 more. 
 
 She beckoned frantically to the amazed Ger- 
 tie, and went out of the room. Gertie followed 
 her into the parlor, and they sat down together 
 upon the hearth-rug. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Gertie, who 
 saw that something was wrong. 
 
 " I got to thinking about Gilbertina. Some- 
 body will tell him, or else he will ask me. But 
 I just know somebody will tell. O Gertie, what 
 will he say ?" 
 
 " He will be sorry for you, just like every- 
 body else," answered Gertie, affectionately. 
 
 " O," breathed Hilda, " won't he be mad at 
 me, do n't you think ? It was such a lovely
 
 GILBERTINA 'S NOSE. 341 
 
 doll, and cost O, I do 'nt know how much 
 money!" 
 
 " But it is n't your fault ; you feel worse 
 than anybody else. Nobody could be mad at 
 you. But he '11 be awfully mad at the thief. 
 Ernest says he has a revolver," and Gertie 
 looked horrified. 
 
 " He would n't shoot anybody," returned 
 Hilda, quickly. " How would he know the 
 right person?" Then she jumped up. u What 
 if I should make Uncle Gilbert some butter- 
 scotch ? It is good for colds ; my papa always 
 wants it." 
 
 " So is vinegar-candy. Let me make it, and 
 you make butter-scotch. Shall we ?" 
 
 " O yes," was the delighted assent. 
 
 While the candy-making went on in the 
 kitchen, Uncle Gilbert, never dreaming of the 
 treat in store for him, lay on the lounge and 
 read one of the Waverley Novels. The vine- 
 gar-candy was pulled, cut into bits, and dropped 
 into pulverized sugar. Prettier sweetmeats 
 than these silver-white morsels are seldom seen, 
 and they crumbled away in the mouth like the 
 finest cream-candy ever bought. 
 
 " Now your butter-scotch must be cool," 
 Gertie said. " O, let's hurry up and break it, 
 so Uncle Gilbert can see !" 
 
 Gertie already called him Uncle Gilbert.
 
 342 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 The two saw at first glance that they would 
 undoubtedly be friends. Each liked the other 
 for loving Hilda. 
 
 " Do n't you hope it's good?" asked Hilda, 
 bringing in the pan from the frosty ground. 
 She could not help feeling doubtful, because it 
 had stuck to the sauce-pan while boiling. The 
 little cooks tasted a bit, and Hilda looked 
 straight at her cousin while they ate. 
 
 "It isn't very bad, is it?" she questioned, 
 plaintively. 
 
 " No, indeed ; I made some once that was 
 worse than this. This is just a little bitter ; 
 that 's all. Uncle Gilbert won't mind it, be- 
 cause it will do his cough such a great deal of 
 good." 
 
 "Why, I could eat it all up myself, without 
 a speck of trouble," and Hilda choked down a 
 second bit of the dubious luxury. Gertie did 
 not care for any more just then. 
 
 "What dear, good girls you are!" 
 
 This is what Mr. Pitcher said when two 
 short figures in long gingham aprons presented 
 him with two plates, the burden of one being 
 frosty white, and of the other black-brown 
 candy. He was positive at first that the latter 
 was very much the best, and he remained of 
 that opinion as long as he could. That, how- 
 ever, was not a great while. He resolved that
 
 GILBER TINA 'S NOSE. 343 
 
 he would take a bit from each plate in turn. 
 Every melting white confection should be paid 
 for with a dose of dark-colored medicine. He 
 heroically kept to his resolution. If Hilda's 
 sensitive heart was grieved, it should not be her 
 uncle who caused the pain. 
 
 Nobody felt very sorry when Margaret and 
 her mother drove away. It seemed as if there 
 had been a cloud on the sky for some days. 
 Not a very heavy one, of course just a thin 
 gray haze, which let the sun shine through, but 
 made it pale and chilly. Now the air was 
 bright again. 
 
 " You girls come into the dining-room," said 
 Archer, importantly. " I 've got something to 
 say to you. Now," he went on, when the door 
 was closed, and an expectant audience of two 
 was before him, " you know we must try to en- 
 tertain Uncle Gilbert, because he is sick. If he 
 were real sick, we would n't have to do any- 
 thing ; he 'd stay in bed, and be still and dark. 
 But this is worse. He 's just sick enough to be 
 worried, because he can't go out of doors and 
 work like other men. Do n't I know ? It was 
 horrid when I had the chicken-pox last year a 
 big fellow like me, with all the boys making 
 fun. I felt just as well as I ever did ; but if I 
 took cold, something awful would happen, and 
 if I read or used my fret-saw, my eyes would
 
 344 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 turn in or out. So I know how Uncle Gilbert 
 feels." 
 
 The orator had to pause here for lack of 
 breath, and one of his audience inopportunely 
 remarked : 
 
 " But Uncle Gilbert can use his eyes. He 's 
 reading so hard that he did n't hear me when I 
 went into the room." 
 
 " He ought n't to do it," rejoined Archer, 
 with a shake of his head. " You can't blame 
 him. It must have been dull when the boys of 
 us were at school, and the rest of you had to 
 help Mrs. Mihnan get ready to go away. But 
 he must not read at night. So we 've got a 
 plan." 
 
 " O, Archer, have you !" 
 
 " Yes. Barn Simeral and I are going to 
 give a shadow pantomime, and then we '11 all 
 play games. Here 's Ern. He 's been to tell 
 Fred and Annie to come over this evening." 
 
 Enter Ernest, stamping his feet to warm 
 them. 
 
 " Well, old chap, are they coming?" inquired 
 his brother. 
 
 " 'Course they 're coming ; they know when 
 they 're well off," replied Ernest, holding two 
 stiff red hands before the fire. "Say, Hilda, 
 rim into Tomlinson's for my mitten, will you? 
 I 've dropped it somewhere."
 
 GILBER TINA 'S NOSE. 345 
 
 This was said merely because it had a smart 
 sound. Ernest had no idea that Hilda would 
 brave the cold air to search for his mitten ; nor 
 was there the least necessity that any one should 
 do so, for the next moment Gertie picked it up 
 from the floor. 
 
 " Now we ought to make up a program," 
 said the methodical Archer, producing a pocket 
 note-book, and with difficulty discovering a 
 blank page. " First, shadow pantomime Messrs. 
 Simeral and Craig. Now, it 's your turn, Er- 
 nest. What shall we do next?" 
 
 " Do n't know a thing. We 've. played all 
 there is till it 's worn as thin as get out," was 
 the utterly incomprehensible reply. 
 
 "If Blanche will play, we might have cha- 
 rades; but generally she won't." 
 
 " Characters," faintly suggested Hilda ; but 
 Archer shut up his book as if he had not heard 
 her speak. If the family should play Characters 
 every time she wished it, they would never play 
 anything else. 
 
 Great was the surprise of Uncle Gilbert 
 when, as he sat quietly reading that evening, a 
 surprise party marched in, and announced that 
 they had come to entertain him. He was too 
 considerate to let them see that they were unwel- 
 come, so he closed the charming little green 
 volume with a beaming smile.
 
 346 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " Well, young people, this is kind indeed. 
 What are your plans ? Had we better go some- 
 where else ? We may disturb your father and 
 mother." 
 
 " No ; they '11 like to see the pantomime. 
 Won't you, papa and mamma?" 
 
 Mrs. Craig replied, as she produced her ever- 
 ready knitting- work that she certainly would, 
 and her husband murmured abstractedly: 
 
 " Let me know when you 're ready, and I '11 
 look." 
 
 "Uncle Gilbert, this is my friend, Barnard 
 Simeral ; this is Fred Tomlinson, and this is 
 Annie Tomlinson." 
 
 Barnard, who was never bashful, stepped 
 promptly forward and shook hands. His boots 
 were shining with polish, his coat was well 
 brushed, and a crimson necktie gave the last 
 touch of elegance to his costume. Fred's shoes 
 were rusty, as usual, and one of them had a 
 small hole in the toe. But Barnard was the only 
 one who noticed this. Fred himself had no sus- 
 picion that it was there. 
 
 " Do you mind if we ask you to move to the 
 other side of the room?" demanded Archer, of 
 his elders. " We must hang the sheet on this 
 side, you know, because we 've got to come in 
 behind it, and there is n't any other door." 
 
 They did not mind, although Mr. Craig had
 
 GILBERTINAIS NOSE. 347 
 
 to abandon his book. The three patient grown- 
 people sat in a line, close against the bookcase, 
 and the children knocked chairs against their 
 knees until they had settled themselves to their 
 satisfaction in front. Barnard and Archer hung 
 a sheet so as to hide one corner of the room, 
 and were ready to begin the performance when 
 Blanche requested admission. 
 
 "All right ; thought you were in there al- 
 ready. Please lift the curtain carefully, Blanche ; 
 the tacks pull out pretty easy." 
 
 " Now, ladies and gentlemen, you will see 
 the new and original pantomime 'The Dentist 
 and the Man with the Toothache.' " 
 
 " Thrilling subject," commented Mr. Craig. 
 But attention was riveted upon the curtain, 
 for the pantomime began with praiseworthy 
 promptness. A shadow appeared upon the 
 tightly-stretched white linen ; a man in a long 
 dressing-gown, who marched back and forth 
 like an ogre with a victim in view. His hair 
 was thick and curly, and he thrust his hands 
 through it until it looked like a clump of bushes. 
 
 "That's Archer" observed a self-satisfied 
 voice. 
 
 Then another figure appeared, wearing a 
 mantle easily reognized as Blanche's mackin- 
 tosh. A bandage was bound around the head, 
 which was wonderfully large and smooth; he
 
 348 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 moved slowly, and kept both hands pressed 
 upon his cheeks. 
 
 The dentist pointed eagerly to his mouth, 
 and the visitor nodded, whereupon the former 
 quickly rolled forward a chair, and the latter 
 got into it with timid and cautious movements. 
 When the forceps were produced a laugh con- 
 vulsed the throng of spectators, for they were 
 as long as the arms which wielded them. More 
 than one pair of eyes turned toward the hearth, 
 and saw, as was expected, that the tongs were 
 missing. 
 
 The suffering patient threw out his hand in 
 protest, but he was too late ; the instrument of 
 torture was close upon him. A long, violent 
 pull the dentist staggered back and O, horror 
 of horrors ! the man's head dropped from his 
 shoulders and rolled over the floor. 
 
 Before the spectators could give expression 
 to their alarm, the decapitated victim leaped 
 nimbly to his feet, picked up his head, and 
 threw it at his tormentor, who rushed away, af- 
 frighted. A moment later two laughing, red- 
 faced boys emerged from behind the curtain, 
 one with a cloak over his head and a football in 
 his hand. 
 
 " Well done, Archer !" cried the proud father, 
 applauding with an enthusiasm which seemed 
 to give the children license for all manner of
 
 GILBER TINA 'S NOSE. 349 
 
 noise. Blanche assisted Barnard to lay aside 
 his cloak, and the ball which had served as a 
 head was kicked merrily into the hall by the 
 active feet of Ernest and Fred. 
 
 Quiet being secured, the room was restored 
 to its usual appearance, and Uncle Gilbert joy- 
 fully resumed his comfortable arm-chair. Then 
 arose a discussion as to what game would best 
 please the whole party. Charades were not to 
 be thought of, for Blanche positively refused 
 to act. 
 
 A spirit of dissent prevailed. Many games 
 were suggested, but not one met with universal 
 approval. The suggestions were received with 
 loud objections or gloomy and contemptuous si- 
 lence. At length Mr. Craig looked at his watch, 
 and Archer was roused to a decision. 
 
 " If nobody else wants anything, I s'pose 
 we 'd better play Characters ; that 's what Hilda 
 likes." 
 
 This unexpected deference to her wishes 
 filled his sister's heart with gratitude. Uncle 
 Gilbert's voice was at once raised in favor of the 
 proposed game, and Fred Tomlinson was or- 
 dered to leave the room. 
 
 " Do you know how to play, Uncle Gilbert?" 
 questioned Archer, lowering his voice mysteri- 
 ously. 
 
 "I don't believe I do."
 
 350 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Well, we must agree on a character for Fred 
 to represent. It may be in history, or in a 
 story, or somebody we know. Then, when he 
 comes in, we begin to talk to him as if he were 
 that person, and when he thinks he knows who 
 it is he talks like it himself. Do you under- 
 stand ?" 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 "Then whom shall we take ?" 
 
 " Charlemagne," suggested Gertie. 
 
 Annie Tomlinson stared at her disapprov- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Fred don't know who that is." 
 
 " Neither do I," confessed Barnard. 
 
 Gertie did not dare to mention Alexander 
 the Great, whose name was on her tongue, for 
 fear that he, too, might be unknown. 
 
 " We might give him Mr. Peterson," said 
 Barnard. "We all know him." 
 
 "All but Uncle Gilbert. O, and he does, too! 
 Mr. Peterson was here once for dinner. Come 
 in, Fred," bawled Archer ; and Fred answered 
 the summons at once. 
 
 " Late as usual," was his sister's scornful 
 greeting. 
 
 He looked as if he did not know whether 
 this was or was not a part of the play. 
 
 " O, he forgot the key, and had to go back 
 for it," giggled Hilda.
 
 GILBER TINA *S NOSE. 3 5 1 
 
 Archer gave her a warning glance. Fred's 
 eyes began to sparkle. Mr. Peterson had 
 dropped the school-house key in the hall of his 
 boarding-house only a few days before. It was 
 some little time before he found it, and the 
 children had waited in the cold air, ignorant of 
 the cause of his delay. 
 
 "Who's your best scholar?" recklessly de- 
 manded Barnard. 
 
 Fred dropped his chin upon his neck, and 
 put on an anxious expression. 
 
 " I have n't any best scholars, young man," 
 he replied, in a voice which was not a bad imi- 
 tation of his teacher's, " but I can tell you who 
 is the worst. If Barn Simeral was n't my forty- 
 second cousin, I 'd expel him for being such a 
 dunce; but I '11 stand by my relations, no mat- 
 ter if they steal my bell every day and send idi- 
 ots up to bear the blame." 
 
 The silence which followed made Mr. Pitcher 
 look from one to another of the children, seek- 
 ing an explanation in their faces. Barnard's 
 cheeks were burning and his eyes full of a sul- 
 len glow. Hare-brained Fred regretted his im- 
 prudent words in an instant ; he did not want 
 to make anybody angry, but his unappeasable 
 love of teasing was always hurrying him into 
 foolish and unkind conduct. Barnard was not 
 a dunce, by any means. He was slower to learn
 
 352 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 than some of his companions, but studied with 
 a faithfulness which did him credit. The epi- 
 sode of the bell had long been regarded as an 
 unsafe subject of conversation; but it was just 
 like Fred to make the wildest mistakes in con- 
 versation, without the least intention of doing 
 wrong. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Craig had left the room before 
 the game began, so Archer cast an appealing 
 glance at his elder sister. 
 
 "O," said Blanche, quickly, "you know who 
 you are ! Now, whom did you find it out on ?" 
 
 " Hilda." And Fred sank upon a hassock, 
 as far as possible from his offended schoolmate. 
 
 Hilda was not sorry to leave the room. She 
 was so very much frightened by Fred's unlucky 
 speech that she felt safer to be away from the 
 scene of disturbance. She would not linger 
 close to the door ; there was a possibility that 
 she might overhear what was not intended for 
 her ears. Therefore, she withdrew to the twi- 
 light and solitude of the back staircase. 
 
 It was not until she was established upon 
 the lowest step that she recollected what had 
 had happened there the evening before. All 
 day long she had tried to forget Gilbertina 
 lying under the brown leaves. Archer's panto- 
 mime had driven the trouble away for a short 
 time, but it was all back again now. What a
 
 GILBERTINA'S NOSE. 353 
 
 tiresome, aching trouble it was ; and O, how 
 wicked she felt ! 
 
 Something sparkled on the carpet. Hilda 
 stooped and picked it up. Poor little sharp- 
 edged fragment ! It did not look as if it had 
 ever been an important part of a beautiful face, 
 but Hilda could not be deceived. She knew it 
 was Gilbertina's nose. 
 
 "Hilda, Hilda!" shouted an impatient voice, 
 "wherein the world have you gone to?" de- 
 manded Archer, appearing at the dining-room 
 door. "Why didn't you step over into West 
 Virginia, and wait until you were called for?" 
 he added, humorously. 
 
 " I wanted to get far away, so that I could n't 
 possibly hear," she answered, humbly. 
 
 The hot little hand closed tightly over the 
 tiny white fragment, and she had to stop out- 
 side the library door to rub a tear from her 
 cheek. 
 
 " Good evening, madam." Fred made her 
 an elaborate bow. He seemed to have recovered 
 his spirits. 
 
 Hilda noticed that Uncle Gilbert was smil- 
 ing. They could not be going to make fun of 
 her, or he certainly would not look pleased. 
 
 " I sorrow that all fair things must decay," 
 quoted Blanche, in mournful accents. 
 
 " You 're just as pretty as you can be," de- 
 23
 
 354 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 clared Gertie. " Why, you 're lovely ! I 've 
 seen lots of of people like you, but you 're the 
 prettiest of all." 
 
 The sharp, white thing in Hilda's hand was 
 cutting her fingers. She was afraid she knew 
 what they were talking about. 
 
 "You're fond of nuts, are n't you?" asked 
 Fred. 
 
 " Nuts ?" repeated Hilda, blankly. 
 
 "Yes, nuts, ma'am; filberts, for example." 
 
 There was an uproarious laugh from four jo- 
 vial boys. But Mr. Pitcher looked puzzled. 
 
 "Ah me!" sighed Blanche, "where are you 
 now ? Have you disappeared from our sight for- 
 ever?" 
 
 " Tell the truth," urged Archer. " Did Mar- 
 garet Milman swallow you, shoes and all ?" 
 
 The chair next to Uncle Gilbert's was vacant, 
 and Hilda walked over and took it. He was 
 very glad that she did so, and clasped his hand 
 around the fist which held the bit of porcelain. 
 Hilda did not speak ; she laid her head against 
 his shoulder and was still so long that be began 
 to be afraid she was crying. 
 
 "Is anything the matter, darling?" 
 
 " I don't want to play any longer." 
 
 " O, that isn't fair!" shouted two or three 
 voices. " If you know who *you are, you 've 
 got to tell. Make her tell, Mr. Pitcher."
 
 GILBERTINA'S NOSE. 355 
 
 " Do you know, Hilda?" he asked, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes, I do. They mean my doll ; and they 
 have n't got any right to mean her. I do n't 
 think you 're very nice at all not any of you." 
 
 This sweeping denunciation made one or 
 two of the children laugh ; but it cut Gertie to 
 the heart. She had not approved of letting 
 Hilda represent Gilbertina, but had been power- 
 less against an overwhelming majority. How- 
 ever, Hilda was too sure of her kindness really 
 to believe her guilty ; and, when Gertie came to 
 stand beside her chair, she smiled faintly, and 
 asked her to tell Uncle Gilbert about the doll; 
 for he, poor man, was quite in the dark. When 
 the name of Gilbertina was suggested, it was 
 decided upon so quickly that he heard nothing 
 of her disappearance. Gertie told all that 
 anybody (with one exception) knew of the oc- 
 currence ; and he pitied Hilda, and silently re- 
 solved that she should have another and still 
 more beautiful doll. 
 
 Blanche exerted herself to restore a good 
 state of feeling, and Hilda recovered far enough 
 to join in the games. The little guests de- 
 parted, saying that they had had a splendid 
 time and wished they could stay two hours 
 longer. 
 
 After they had gone, an unhappy little
 
 356 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 girl looked out of her bedroom-window at the 
 indistinct line of the currant-bushes. When she 
 turned away, she opened a bureau-drawer. 
 There was a little box, covered with dark-blue 
 velvet, wherein, sunk in pink cotton, lay the 
 trinkets which Hilda called her jewelry. Among 
 them she laid the worthless white fragment so 
 long hidden in her palm. Why did she put it 
 there? Why did she not open the window 
 and drop it forever from her sight?
 
 Chapter* 
 
 THE T-RIALS OF AN EDITOR. 
 
 A RCHER CRAIG had an active mind and 
 /i dextrous fingers. The first time he saw a 
 kaleidoscope, it occurred to him that he would 
 like to have one for his own, and might as well 
 make it himself; and his success in this under- 
 taking encouraged him to other mechanical 
 efforts. 
 
 When the children went to a concert, they 
 always prolonged the pleasure it gave them by 
 repeating the entertainment under his leader- 
 ship. Rose was their audience. She had also 
 to look at their tableaux, and guess the cha- 
 rades they acted. Craig and Simeral's Museum 
 was famous throughout Hawthorn. Many were 
 the pins received at the door of this remarkable 
 institution, wherein could be seen broken- 
 winged butterflies, a stuffed bluejay, and min- 
 
 357
 
 35 8 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 erals ranging in value from a rhinestone to a 
 lump of bituminous coal. 
 
 u I declare, Archer," Hilda said, one day, 
 " I never saw a boy who could do so many 
 things as you can. Why, you can do anything 
 at all." 
 
 The immediate cause of this compliment 
 was his skill in pen-and-ink drawing. His 
 mother had requested some labels for goose- 
 berry jelly, and Archer had drawn a goose, 
 with open mouth and outspread wings. 
 
 "Yes," returned the genius, modestly, u a 
 little of everything, and not enough of any- 
 thing to make a man of me." 
 
 Hilda had a high opinion of her brother's 
 talents. She firmly believed that another boy 
 so richly gifted did not exist. If it had not 
 been for his work, her doll-house would have 
 lacked several pretty and useful articles of fur- 
 niture ; for Archer was a carpenter at times, 
 and had a shop in the woodshed. 
 
 But he liked nothing so well as journalism. 
 His earliest efforts in that direction had been 
 made before he could write. His mother treas- 
 ured certain tiny sheets of paper, covered with 
 printed characters copies of a Lilliputian peri- 
 odical entitled the Craig Weekly. Archer 
 would have scorned this work of the child he 
 once had been ; but it was precious to his mother.
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 359 
 
 The Craig Weekly was succeeded by the 
 Union Journal, and that by the Rural Jour- 
 nal, which was in course of publication at 
 the time of which I write. Every Thurs- 
 day it was seen upon the library-table; for 
 nothing was allowed to interfere with the 
 regularity of its appearance. Contributions 
 were requested from all the editor's friends; 
 yet he frequently had a great deal of trouble 
 in filling his four foolscap pages. Blanche oc- 
 casionally handed in a story, rich with silk 
 robes, costly jewels, and marble mansions ; and 
 Ernest wrote a tale almost every week. Once 
 it was "Robbie and the Tiger," and the next 
 time "Frankie and the Bear." His fancy 
 reveled in small boys who met with wild 
 beasts, produced a convenient weapon from 
 somewhere, and shot or stabbed their furry 
 enemies. Hilda was always going to write, and 
 putting it off until another time. 
 
 For the last few weeks, Gertie had been a 
 valuable assistant. But in spite of her aid, ed- 
 itorials had to be lengthened too much for their 
 own good, and an undesirably large number of 
 clippings were required to "fill up." 
 
 On a certain Thursday morning, very near 
 to the Christmas holidays, Editor Craig awoke 
 with a depressing sense of responsibility. Only 
 three-fourths of the first page were ready, that
 
 360 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 space being filled by an editorial on "Dudes." 
 Archer was so afraid of becoming a dude that 
 he was careful not to keep his hair smooth. 
 
 As soon as breakfast was over, he rushed 
 away to the writing-table in the second-story 
 hall. One of its drawers was used as a depos- 
 itory for contributions. 
 
 "Not a thing here!" exclaimed the irate 
 journalist. " Do they expect me to write the 
 whole paper myself? It's a burning shame! 
 I wonder where Gertie is!" 
 
 For he could not believe that Gertie would 
 leave him in the lurch. He found her watching 
 Quillup eat his breakfast. Her story was all 
 ready, and put away in her handkerchief-box. 
 
 "I hope you '11 like it, Arch," she said, when 
 she brought it to his table. "It is named 'Self- 
 sacrifice; or, Noble Jessie Norton.' Jessie's a 
 girl that has two bad brothers and five bad sis- 
 ters. They all treat her horribly. They take 
 away everything that her father and mother give 
 her, and then say she lost it or threw it away 
 on purpose. So the consequence is, everybody 
 just hates Jessie, and she cries all night. Then 
 her fairy godmother rides in on a broomstick 
 no, I mean a butterfly. What am I thinking 
 01? She is n't a witch! 'Come with me, Jessie, 
 to the Cave of Rubies.' So they go, and Jessie 
 gets thousands and thousands of rubies, maybe
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 361 
 
 a billion she does n't know, for she does n't 
 count. And she comes back, and gives nearly 
 all those invaluable rubies to her brothers and 
 sisters. But still they treat her so that she goes 
 away, and lives in Paris, and " 
 
 "All right! all right!" interrupted the editor, 
 impatiently. " I have n't time to hear any more. 
 You know I '11 find out all about the story when 
 I read it, and you never saw anybody as busy 
 as I am. Now, let 's see how much space it 
 will take up. A whole page, I should n't won- 
 der. Gertie, you're a dear!" 
 
 He went to work at the copying without de- 
 lay ; for, as he had scarcely half an hour before 
 school-time, every minute rmist be utilized. Be- 
 fore he had written twenty words, Blanche 
 called him. 
 
 "If you want to see me, you'll have to 
 come up here," he shouted, in reply. " I 'in 
 busy writing." 
 
 Blanche came reluctantly up the stairs. He 
 heard her murmuring something which had an 
 impatient sound, but he did not look up until 
 she was close at his side. 
 
 "Arch, I want you to go to the store. You 
 will, won't you?" 
 
 "No, I can not. You mustn't ask me. 
 The Rural Journal 's got to come out this even- 
 ing, and there is n't a page written yet."
 
 362 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " O, you '11 have lots of time this afternoon. 
 Do go, like a dear good brother. I 'm going to 
 make a chocolate-cake." 
 
 Archer was very fond of chocolate-cake. He 
 leaned back in his chair, and looked irresolute. 
 
 "Send Ernest," was his advice. 
 
 "I can't find him. He is never around when 
 he is wanted." 
 
 "Well, Blanche, I 'd like to oblige you, but 
 it is no use talking. We '11 have to go without 
 cake to-day." 
 
 " We can't, Archer. What do you mean by 
 saying such things?" demanded Blanche, almost 
 crying. "Mr. and Mrs. Wraxall will be here for 
 dinner. I never saw such disobliging brothers 
 as mine. What shall I do?" 
 
 "There 's no reason why you should n't go 
 yourself," grumbled Archer, laying the unfin- 
 ished paper in his blotting-book. " Give me 
 the money," he said, gruffly, looking under the 
 chair for his hat. 
 
 The Rural Journal must be abandoned until 
 afternoon. He rushed to the store for a pack- 
 age of Baker's chocolate, home again, and then 
 up the hill to the school-house. Mr. Peterson 
 was just ringing the bell when he entered, and 
 Archer sank, breathless and irritated, into his 
 seat. 
 
 He tried to coax some help from Barnard
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 363 
 
 Simeral, as they walked home together that 
 afternoon. He offered him the position of as- 
 sociate editor not for the first time, by any 
 means but the magnificent offer was firmly de- 
 clined. 
 
 "I haven't got half your brains you know 
 that; and I should n't be any help at all." 
 
 "Yes, you would. Do come, Barn. It would 
 be jolly to run the thing together. There 
 would n't be any trouble filling up if we had 
 two editors." 
 
 "Honestly, Craig, I 'd do more for you than 
 for any other fellow I know ; but if there 's a thing 
 I hate, it 's writing," and Barnard made a wry 
 face. 
 
 The sight of the frozen stream below, glint- 
 ing in the pale sunlight, changed the current of 
 his thoughts. 
 
 " There 's first-rate skating on the creek, 
 down near the river. Let 's run home and get 
 our skates." 
 
 Archer smiled sadly. 
 
 " No fun for me till the Rural Journal is 
 written, and that it won't be till nearly dinner- 
 time nor then either, if I do n't get at it in a 
 hurry." 
 
 " Bother your paper ! You need n't write it 
 at all, if you do n't choose." 
 
 " Well, maybe I need n't," rejoined Archer,
 
 364 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 straightening himself, with an air of manly dig- 
 nity, "but when I do choose to do a thing, I'm 
 not going to drop it just because I want to have 
 a good time." 
 
 " Hurrah for Arch !" shouted Ernest, moved 
 with admiration. Barnard took off his hat, and 
 joined in the cheering ; then, as they were now 
 at the foot of the hill, he said: 
 
 " Well, good-bye, fellows ; I '11 see what the 
 ice is like. You coming, Era?" 
 
 " Skate-strap 's broken. Good-bye." 
 
 "Barn's a first-class fellow," remarked 
 Archer, as the brothers walked along together; 
 "but I wish he was just a little more intellect- 
 ual. Ernest, where is your story?" 
 
 " Lost in the snow," answered Ernest, poet- 
 ically. "Not here; it isn't deep enough. Guess 
 it must be at the north pole." 
 
 " You mean you have n't any," said Archer, 
 looking grim. " Well, do you know what a fix 
 I'm in? 'Most two o'clock, not one page of 
 the Journal finished, and only copy enough for 
 one page more." 
 
 " Maybe Blanche will give you something." 
 
 Ernest rather wished she would, but he did 
 not greatly care. He looked upon the Rural 
 Journal as a needless luxury. 
 
 But when Blanche was appealed to, she 
 shook her head.
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 365 
 
 " No, indeed ! When have I had time to 
 write anything? I owe half a dozen letters, 
 child. Are you aware that it is less than a week 
 until Christmas ?" 
 
 "You said you 'd give me something for this 
 number," returned Archer, scowling. 
 
 "I said I would try to, my friend. So I did, 
 but I could n't find time. Do n't have way Jour- 
 nal this week. Now, that is a good idea. Take 
 a vacation during the holidays." 
 
 "Nice ideas of business you have," said the 
 editor, walking away in disgust. 
 
 As soon as he began to copy Gertie's story, 
 a new trouble arose. She knew how to spell as 
 well as he did. The orthography of her tale 
 was perfect, except when the name of her hero- 
 ine was mentioned. Did she intend it to be 
 written J-e-s-s-i-e, or J-e-s-s-y ? The impar- 
 tiality with which she used these two forms 
 was surprising. Although by this time Archer's 
 head was aching, and his life seemed darkened 
 by the shadow of an editorial chair, he felt that 
 his duty toward the chief of his staff required 
 that he should ask her how " noble Jessie Nor- 
 ton " spelled her name. 
 
 " Both ways," answered Gertie, calmly. She 
 was standing on a chair before the book-case, 
 with the glass doors spread out beside her like 
 wings. " I saw it spelled both ways in a story
 
 366 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 I read once, and I think it makes a nice variety. 
 If I could, I 'd have it another way still ; but 
 there is n't any that I know of, except J-e-s-s-e, 
 and the people might think that was a boy." 
 
 " I can't have it spelled more than one way 
 in my paper," declared the editor, with a reso- 
 lute countenance. 
 
 Kind and considerate as he wished to be, 
 there were times when his authority must be 
 exercised. Gertie was disappointed, but she 
 took his interference in good part ; and even 
 said, when he mentioned the desperate condi- 
 tion of journalism, that she would be very glad 
 to help him if she could. 
 
 " Well, but we must n't have two stories to- 
 gether by the same person," he said, doubtfully. 
 
 " O, I Ml write a letter and sign an assumed 
 name, Arch what do you say ?" cried Gertie, 
 with sparkling eyes. " I know just how to do 
 it, for I Ve often read them. I must say your 
 paper is ever so much better than the others, 
 and I lend it to all my neighbors, and here 's 
 money to send copies to poor people. Shall I ? 
 I '11 make it as long as ever I can." 
 
 "Just the thing!" replied Archer, delighted. 
 
 This friend in need was allowed to draw her 
 chair up to one end of the editor's own table, 
 and there she wrote two complimentary letters, 
 signing one Sarah Stella Snowball, and the
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 367 
 
 other Winifred Wentworth. Then she went 
 away with Hilda, who was going to take her 
 music-lesson, and the editor's thanks were show- 
 ered upon her as she left. 
 
 All the time that the girls were absent, he 
 worked with unremitting diligence, scarcely 
 lifting his eyes from his paper. No one came 
 to disturb him, for all were too busy. Gertie's 
 letters were so long that they almost filled the 
 third page, and he followed them with an ex- 
 hortation to the public : 
 
 " Subscribe for the Rural Journal, or consider 
 yourself a blighted being." 
 
 There was still some blank space, and abso- 
 lutely nothing to put in it. The voices of Ger- 
 tie and Hilda sounded below, and it occurred to 
 him that he had not yet called upon the latter 
 for assistance. His opinion of her gifts as a 
 writer was not high ; but of one thing he felt 
 pretty certain she was not likely to refuse to 
 oblige him. . 
 
 So he waited, like a tired spider, until the 
 fly came within his easy reach. She appeared 
 around the bend of the staircase, her hat in 
 her hand, and her long, unfastened cloak flap- 
 ping negligently about her ankles. Her music- 
 lesson had not encouraged either herself or Miss 
 Madison ; and Hilda was thinking that every- 
 thing seemed to go wrong. Of course, she was
 
 368 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 unhappy about Gilbertina ; but why could n't 
 she be so happy about something else that she 
 would forget her miserable secret? 
 
 " Hilda, I want you," said Archer, peremp- 
 torily. " You must give me a story for the 
 paper, right away." 
 
 " O, Archer, I can 't !" 
 
 It was a dismayed little face which looked at 
 him from its frame of tangled ringlets. 
 
 " Nonsense ! You can make one up in a 
 minute. I hear you telling Gertie long strings 
 of stuff." 
 
 " But it takes me so long to write it," she 
 pleaded. 
 
 " Well, returned her brother, thoughtfully, 
 " suppose we do it a new way. If you '11 sit 
 down and tell me the story, I '11 write it in the 
 paper just as you tell it. That will save us both 
 trouble, and save time too. It 's getting very 
 late." 
 
 Hilda sighed, but felt that no further ob- 
 jection could be offered. She must have time 
 to put away her wraps ; and Archer busied 
 himself with lighting the lamp and pulling 
 down the blind ; for it was five o'clock, and the 
 day, despite its cloudlessness, was growing 
 dim. 
 
 The journalistic pen had been clasped some 
 minutes by the scribe's inky fingers before any
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 369 
 
 inspiration entered the brain of the curly- 
 headed author. 
 
 " Hurry up, please," he mildly suggested, 
 opening his arithmetic, and drawing elegantly- 
 shaded lines of beauty upon the fly-leaf. 
 
 "Well," said Hilda, desperately, "don't you 
 think it would be nice for it to begin with 
 talking?" 
 
 "Yes; all right." 
 
 " 'Come on, sister, come on, said I, throwing 
 down the toys.' That 's the way it begins," 
 explained Hilda. " It 's a little boy that says it." 
 
 "O, but we must put the name of the story 
 first. I nearly forgot that, and how it would 
 have looked. Give me the name, Hilda, as 
 quick as you can." 
 
 "Will 'Sister and I' do?" 
 
 " First rate." Archer began to write, pro- 
 nouncing each word as he put it down, and 
 drawling, because his tongue could move faster 
 than his pen. "'Sister and I, by Hilda Bar- 
 rett Craig.' Now you say over again what you 
 did say." 
 
 Hilda obeyed. Then followed a pause so 
 long that he shook his pen in her face, and a 
 drop of ink fell upon one of his neat pages. 
 Greatly alarmed, he seized a piece of blotting- 
 paper. 
 
 " When it 's dry, I guess may be, I can 
 24
 
 370 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 scratch it clean," he said, hopefully. " Hurry 
 up, Hilda ; I 've got ever so little time." 
 
 "Let me see. O yes. 'Where?' said 
 she." 
 
 This was written with increased rapidity, 
 and another and more painful pause ensued. 
 Hilda gazed steadily at the ceiling, as if she ex- 
 pected to find a thrilling tale written there. 
 
 "Are you going on, or not?" demanded her 
 brother, whose patience was nearly exhausted. 
 
 "Archer," said Hilda, solemnly, letting her 
 eyes leave the ceiling to look hopelessly into 
 his face, " I can 't think of another thing to say." 
 
 The boy felt that he was losing his temper, 
 and he wished very much to keep it. His little 
 sister looked so timid and helpless, crouched in 
 the big arm-chair at his elbow ; and her soft, 
 gray eyes were so wide and imploring. 
 
 " But, Hilda Craig," he exclaimed, with an 
 emphasis which made her jump, " I can 't leave 
 it that way. That is no story at all." 
 
 "You can say, 'To be continued,' " suggested 
 the culprit, faintly. 
 
 "Not such a tiny speck of a thing as that. 
 Do try and think, Hilda ; there 's a good girl," 
 he coaxed. 
 
 "O Archer, I don't know a bit more," she 
 wailed. " If you '11 just let it go, I think I can 
 finish it for next week. I 'm 'most sure I can."
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 371 
 
 In despair, Archer wrote " To be continued " 
 at the close of this very brief installment of a 
 tale ; then angrily threw the unfinished journal 
 aside, and stood up. 
 
 " I suppose I can fill up with some jokes, but 
 I '11 have to go and hunt the oldest paper there 
 is, or people will know where they come from. 
 Expect they will anyhow. O, I never, never 
 will put anything of yours in the paper again, 
 Hilda Craig, unless you write it all out first. 
 The Rural Journal is just spoiled this week, 
 and I think you ought to be sorry." 
 
 Hilda was sorry. It did not seem to her 
 that anybody in the whole wide world could 
 possibly be so unhappy as she. Archer made 
 more noise than was absolutely necessary as he 
 tramped away. He was much provoked, and 
 thought he had reason to be so ; yet he was 
 ashamed of himself, and tried to choke down 
 his angry feelings. The victory was not won 
 immediately. Jokes were hard to find. It was 
 cold in the room where the papers were stored, 
 and he was tired with so much writing. 
 
 The poor little cause of all this trouble shut 
 herself into the guest-chamber, and stood by the 
 window with her eyes fixed upon the distant 
 currant-bushes. She did not care a bit about 
 the roast turkey they were going to have for 
 dinner, nor whether she had any dinner at all.
 
 372 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 She was not glad that next Wednesday would 
 be Christmas-day. It was not worth while to 
 go down-stairs that evening, nor to go to bed 
 that night. She had half a mind to sit down in 
 the arm-chair, and stay there all night perhaps 
 a great deal longer. 
 
 "But I do n't want Archer to be mad at me," 
 she found herself saying aloud. Then she be- 
 gan to cry, and cried until she grew cold, and 
 had to go to the fire to get warm. By this time 
 she remembered Gertie, and was perfectly sure 
 what she was doing. She was working hard to 
 finish her Christmas gifts. 
 
 Hilda was not making any. It was easier to 
 buy them. Mamma bought a good many for 
 her to give, and helped her to select the others. 
 Even the book-mark was still unfinished. She 
 had forgotten it until she happened to find it in 
 her portfolio that morning. 
 
 Now a sudden thought flashed into her mind, 
 bringing with it a gleam of hope. Suppose she 
 finished the book-mark, and gave it to Archer. 
 It would not take so very long, and perhaps he 
 would be pleased and forgive her. 
 
 "I '11 get it!" she cried, her face bright with 
 eagerness. "Then I can go and sew where 
 Gertie is." 
 
 Blanche and Gertie and Esther Madison 
 were all in Blanche's room. They were grouped
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 373 
 
 about a table which was drawn near to the fire, 
 and the table was heaped with silk and paste- 
 board and gold and silver thread. 
 
 "May I come in?" asked Hilda. 
 
 "O yes," answered Blanche. "You won't 
 tell what you see, I 'in sure. But is it possible? 
 Are you going to sew?" 
 
 "I'm going to finish my book-mark," ex- 
 plained Hilda, drawing up a chair. 
 
 "I'm so glad you've come," said Gertie, 
 with a welcoming kiss. "The only thing I 
 have n't liked about making Christmas gifts is 
 that it kept me away from you." 
 
 "If Hilda had been like any other girl, she 
 would have wanted you to teach her how to 
 make things," grumbled Blanche. "Such nice 
 presents as you have made! She can't make 
 anything. You ought to be ashamed of your- 
 self, Hilda. Tell her about the little girls that 
 you saw when you were in Germany, Esther." 
 
 "They learn to knit and sew very early," 
 Esther said. "There was one at the place 
 where I boarded that was only four years old, 
 and she had knit herself a pair of stockings. 
 What do you think of that?" 
 
 "I think she would ruin her eyes forever," 
 murmured Gertie, abstractedly, her own trouble- 
 some eyes fastened closely upon a bit of work 
 which required careful attention.
 
 374 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Esther laughed. 
 
 "She looked so cunning at her work! She 
 would hold up her stocking every now and then 
 to ask me if it looked any longer." 
 
 "She did n't talk plain, did she?" 
 
 "No, not quite." 
 
 "Miss Esther," said Hilda, gazing sorrow- 
 fully at a drop of blood upon her finger, which 
 a needle-prick had caused, "won't you please 
 tell us just the way she said it?" 
 
 "My dear child, she spoke in German." 
 
 "Yes, and Miss Esther can't talk baby Ger- 
 man, of course, Hilda," said Gertie. 
 
 The company was so pleasant and diligent 
 that Hilda soon found herself working away 
 with more ease than she had supposed possible. 
 The dinner-bell interrupted them soon, but they 
 returned when dinner was over. The last stitch 
 in the book-mark was taken just as Blanche 
 yawned, and said that she would not sew any 
 more that evening. 
 
 " And you must n't either, Gertie. Let me 
 look at your eyes. What are you thinking of, 
 child? They 're full of mist." 
 
 " They do n't see as well when I look at you 
 as when I look at my work," returned Gertie. 
 
 But Esther now proposed that they should 
 go down to the parlor, and sing all the Christmas 
 songs they could find.
 
 THE TRIALS OF AN EDITOR. 375 
 
 "I '11 come down in a few minutes," said 
 Hilda, slipping away as fast as possible, for 
 fear some one should ask her where she was 
 
 going- 
 Archer had forgotten that he had any ground 
 for complaint against his little sister. The 
 Rural Journal was in its accustomed place be- 
 fore dinner, and he felt so gay and lively that 
 he had a race around the house with Ernest 
 and Fred. He was in his own room, looking 
 at the list of names which represented the 
 number of Christmas presents he had to buy, 
 when something touched him on his shoulder. 
 It was Hilda's soft, little hand, and Hilda's sor- 
 rowful eyes looked into his as he raised his head. 
 " I made this for you, Archer," said she, 
 putting the book-mark into his hand. 
 
 "Did you? Thank you ever so much." 
 Then he noticed that she was almost at the 
 door. "Why, come back, Hilda! What's the 
 matter? Did you make it all yourself?" 
 "Yes; I 'm sorry I was so bad." 
 There came a great sob. Not till then did 
 the boy remember that the last time he spoke 
 to her he had been very angry. He sprang 
 from his chair and ran to her, to keep her from 
 going away. Poor Hilda was crying, and he 
 felt so badly that he was afraid he might cry 
 himself.
 
 376 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "You 're a dear, sweet little sister! I 'm a 
 reprobate! This is the nicest book-mark I ever 
 had. It 's in different colors, is n't it?" he added, 
 admiringly. 
 
 "All one color, going off into shades. There 
 are a good many blends to it," answered Hilda, 
 drying her eyes. 
 
 "I LOVE YOU," were the golden-red words 
 that stared up into the eyes of the brother and 
 sister. They were not perfectly made, in two 
 or three places a stitch had been skipped, and 
 loose ends of zephyr stuck up here and there ; 
 but their message was plain. The two chil- 
 dren put their arms around each other, and 
 stood thus for a whole silent minute.
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. 
 
 THE school entertainment which Professor 
 Clavel had proposed was indefinitely post- 
 poned. He was going to spend Christmas in 
 New Orleans. 
 
 " He does n't have it just because he does n't 
 choose," said Helen Bland. " That 's the way 
 grown people act ; but when children act so, 
 they scold." 
 
 Adela Williams said that Helen was "mad" 
 at the professor. She had asked him to teach 
 her to write back-hand, and he had said, "Only 
 grocers write back-hand." Helen had immedi- 
 ately informed him that he was mistaken. Her 
 cousin Cecil wrote the most beautiful back-hand 
 she had ever seen, and he was studying law. 
 Professor Clavel paid no attention to this bit of 
 information, but Mr. Peterson looked up and said : 
 
 "Attend to your writing, Helen." 
 
 377
 
 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 When Hilda heard that the entertainment 
 was not to be, she thought : " If I had known 
 that, I would n't have lost Gilbertina." It was 
 odd that she always called the doll lost when she 
 spoke of it to herself. She knew exactly where 
 Gilbertina was. Nobody had been near the spot 
 except Hilda herself, who had two or three 
 times gone close enough to see the corner of the 
 newspaper and wish that she had covered it all. 
 
 The last day of school looked down on Haw- 
 thorn with a gray veil drawn over its face. 
 When Blanche opened the window, a few little 
 round snowflakes rushed in, as if they had been 
 cold outside. The snow continued to fall until 
 Gertie and Hilda were ready to start to school. 
 Then it became a storm. Great, soft flakes hur- 
 ried down ; and others of lesser size, some so 
 small that they could scarcely be seen, crowded 
 along with them, and filled the air. Blanche 
 was sitting by the fire in her mother's room, 
 looking very comfortable in her tea-gown and 
 slippers, and it really did seem to her a pity 
 that anybody had to go out in such weather. 
 Her school had closed two days before. 
 
 " Mamma," said she, " do n't you think the 
 children had better stay at home to-day ? The 
 last day of school is n't of any account. Their 
 examinations are nearly all over." 
 
 Gertie stopped buttoning her coat, and stared
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. 379 
 
 at the speaker, her eyes growing wide with dis- 
 may ; and Hilda felt as if she were going to 
 cry. Is n't the last day of school of any ac- 
 count? What if you are going to give your 
 teacher a present? Blanche had forgotten the 
 important donation, but Mrs. Craig had not. 
 
 " I have no doubt they will like the walk all 
 the better for the snow ; and of course they 
 want to see how Mr. Peterson likes his chair." 
 
 She was quite right in thinking that the 
 snow would add to the pleasure of the walk. It 
 made everything look fresh and distant and 
 beautiful. The blackest roofs in the village 
 were seizing the fleecy whiteness, and slowly 
 patching for themselves pure and spotless robes- 
 
 The cousins were half-way up the hill when 
 screams of laughter began to float down to them, 
 growing louder each moment. Then several 
 whirling figures came into sight, rushing down 
 the rough, narrow road at a rate of speed which 
 was really alarming. Their many wraps, and 
 the ceaseless fall of snow, prevented Gertie and 
 Hilda from recognizing their schoolmates until 
 they were all around them, talking as fast as 
 their gasping breath would permit. 
 
 u O, why didn't you come sooner?" asked 
 Helen, seizing Hilda's arm. " It 's 'most time 
 for school to begin, and you 've lost all the fun. 
 Everybody 's there, and so 's Mr. Peterson ; and
 
 380 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Arch said his speech to us all before he came. 
 Doesn't he do it splendid?" 
 
 " Yes ; we 've heard it lots of times," replied 
 Hilda. 
 
 What a pity that they had not come sooner, 
 when they could just as well as not ! 
 
 The school-room was delightfully warm and 
 cheerful. The heat of the fire had given Mr. 
 Peterson's cheeks an unwonted color, and his 
 smile was brighter than usual. He was not sit- 
 ting at his desk, but standing beside the win- 
 dow with a group of boys, among whom was 
 neither Barnard Simeral nor Archer Craig. 
 These two, supposed to be the teacher's favor- 
 ites, were whispering together in a remote cor- 
 ner of the room. 
 
 " Helen, O Helen," whispered Cecie Phillips, 
 as the girls were hanging up their hoods, " do 
 look at the blackboard." 
 
 Helen looked, and immediately every one 
 else in the room looked at her ; for such a shriek 
 of laughter came from her mouth as only Helen 
 was ever known to give. The eyes of the other 
 girls turned at once to the blackboard, at which 
 she was staring with her face dimpled and puck- 
 ered with merriment. This is what they saw, 
 written in an irregular, boyish hand which was 
 not hard to recognize : 
 
 " H. Bland, Dealer in Groceries and Provis-
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. 381 
 
 ions. Call and examine our stock before pur- 
 chasing elsewhere." 
 
 " Well, I declare !" began Adela Williams, 
 loudly. "What will that -Fred Tomlinson be up 
 to next? He 's the worst " 
 
 " Boy in the township," is what she was 
 going to say. That expression was frequently 
 heard. Adela and Annie Tomlinson were not 
 on good terms. A coolness had arisen between 
 them because Annie had said that the plume in 
 Adela's best hat looked like a turkey's wing ; 
 and it was for Annie's ears that the remark 
 about her brother was intended. But it was 
 never finished. Helen's plump little hand fell 
 suddenly upon Adela's lips, pressing them to- 
 gether with a firmness which displayed consid- 
 erable muscular strength. 
 
 "Hush, Adela, that's a love. I'm afraid 
 Mr. Peterson will hear." 
 
 "Well, what if he does?" inquired Adela, 
 in mufned accents, trying to push away the hand. 
 
 "I'm afraid he'll rub it off, and I don't 
 want him to. I think it is just too cunning for 
 anything. Do n't look at the board, girls." 
 
 And Helen turned away, humming, with a 
 glance at her teacher which would have awak- 
 ened suspicion in a more suspicious nature. It 
 was really wonderful how seldom Mr. Peterson 
 suspected anything. He had not noticed the
 
 382 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 handwriting on the board, notwithstanding the 
 enormous quantity of white chalk which had 
 been expended thereupon. 
 
 Going to her seat at the tinkle of the bell, 
 Helen bestowed upon Fred a nod and a beam- 
 ing smile. He got out his copy-book, tore out 
 a page, and scribbled a note. This he handed to 
 Cecie, making signs that it was to be passed to 
 Helen. When Helen had opened it, she read as 
 follows : 
 
 " F. Tomlinson, Sign Painter. No charge 
 for work on the last day of school." 
 
 This delighted Helen almost as much as the 
 announcement upon the blackboard. It was 
 no use trying to tease such a girl. 
 
 The discipline which Mr. Peterson main- 
 tained was at no time very robust ; this morn- 
 ing it faded away until it made no pretense of 
 existing. The scholars whispered to each other, 
 and wrote conversations upon gritty slates with 
 squeaking pencils, directly under his spectacled 
 gaze. There are some people who, no matter 
 how sad and careworn the heavy years have 
 made them, never draw near the blessed Christ- 
 mas-time without feeling like one of the little 
 ones whom the season makes wild with joy. 
 Mr. Peterson had this feeling ; and it is better 
 to have it than to be among those whom the 
 world calls successful.
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. 383 
 
 School was dismissed at twelve o'clock ; but 
 there was not as usual an unmannerly rush for 
 hats. Two of the scholars arose, and walked 
 bareheaded to the door. Something had been 
 placed outside by somebody who had come and 
 gone unseen. A jolting and banging ensued, 
 and then a large white object was assisted over 
 the threshold. Once upon the level, it glided 
 smoothly up the aisle, propelled by two radiant, 
 red-faced boys. The white mantle which gave 
 the object so strange an appearance was a sheet, 
 lent by the neighbor under whose roof it had 
 spent the last two days. 
 
 Long before this ungainly apparition paused 
 in front of his desk, Mr. Peterson could not 
 help knowing that it was a gift to him ; and 
 he was pretty certain what sort of a gift it 
 was. But up to the moment when he rang 
 the bell for dismissal he had not the slightest 
 expectation of being thus remembered. This, 
 of course, only goes to show what a queer, un- 
 observant person he was. Another man would 
 have known all about it a week before, so nu- 
 merous were the hints thrown out, and so many 
 the remarks not intended for his hearing, which 
 came, nevertheless, within its range. No one 
 knew better than he that his school was not 
 a success. To no one did his imperfections as 
 a teacher appear more glaring than to himself.
 
 384 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 The boys paused before him, on either side 
 of their veiled companion, each with a hand 
 laid upon it. Both fixed their gaze upon their 
 teacher's face, while Archer began to make the 
 presentation speech. Now, whether it was the 
 rapid beating of their hearts which made their 
 eyes dim, or whether it was the look on the 
 faded, many-lined countenance bending above 
 them so patient and quiet it was ! the mist 
 through which Mr. Peterson was looking began 
 to hang over them. They dropped their eyes, 
 and, when they raised them again, his ex- 
 pression had changed ; it was no less tender, 
 but it was very bright. Then they could see 
 plainly once more. Archer finished his little 
 speech, and, in behalf of the school, made the 
 teacher a present of an easy-chair. 
 
 A few hours before, Adela Williams had 
 asked, "What will that Fred Tomlinson be up 
 to next?" As the white covering was with- 
 drawn from the chair, her question was an- 
 swered. Upon the cushioned back appeared a 
 large pink card, and on this was painted in water- 
 colors the copy of a well-known business adver- 
 tisement, " Softer seats than this at J. G. 
 Schermerhorn's, 75 Fifth Street." 
 
 Archer and Barnard were very angry at 
 first ; but Mr. Peterson looked so merry and 
 happy that their wrath soon died away. He
 
 THE LAST DA Y OF SCHOOL. 385 
 
 replied to the presentation speech in a truly 
 eloquent manner, and ended by asking all of 
 his pupils to come forward and shake hands. 
 They were all about him in a moment. Every- 
 body enjoyed being thanked for his share in the 
 present. Not a few thought Mr. Peterson a 
 very fine man after all, and hoped that their 
 parents would not send them to another school 
 next year. 
 
 Such happy half-hours do not pass by and 
 leave no trace behind. 
 
 Mr. Peterson was often grave and sad after 
 this; but the brightness of look and manner 
 would occasionally return, making the teacher 
 and pupils again feel that they were intimate 
 friends. It was Archer Craig who received the 
 warmest clasp of his hand, and who looked 
 deepest into his eyes. The friendship between 
 the man and the boy was a blessing to both. 
 
 U O O O!" cried Helen, as she started 
 down the hill. " I do n't want to go home 
 the least bit." She was in such a state of ex- 
 citement that she had to scream. " I do n't 
 want to do anything but stay with you girls 
 and talk about Christmas." 
 
 "Don't you want your luncheon?" Gertie 
 asked. "Giving Mr. Peterson a chair has made 
 me terribly hungry." 
 
 On second thought Helen decided that she 
 25
 
 386 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 wanted something to eat more than she wanted 
 anything else, and Hilda and Annie both felt 
 the pangs of hunger. So they went their differ- 
 ent ways, so fast that the chill breezes gave up 
 the attempt to chill them, and fanned them till 
 their pulses leaped and the blood ran warm 
 through their veins. 
 
 Gertie and Hilda had just finished luncheon 
 when Annie Tgmlinson paid them a visit. 
 They took her at once to their playroom. 
 This was a tiny apartment; but it had two 
 windows, and was full of pretty things. In one 
 corner was a beautiful set of book-shelves, at 
 which Annie was proudly requested to look. It 
 was quite new, having been bought by Uncle 
 Gilbert during his late absence. His partiality 
 for his little niece was so glaringly displayed 
 that it was useless to make excuses for it, yet 
 he frequently tried to do so. "She 's the young- 
 est, you know," he would say, smiling anxiously 
 at Ernest. 
 
 "They are lovely," said Annie, "and what a 
 lot of books you 've got! But, of course, they 
 are n't all yours." 
 
 "Yes, they are," returned Hilda, grandly. 
 " Why, this is n't all I 've got it 's only all the 
 shelves will hold. There 's more in the dining- 
 room. How many books have you?" 
 
 "O, I do n't know! I do n't read every day,
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. 387 
 
 like you girls. I had Grimm's 'Fairy Tales '- 
 a great big book and I did n't get a chance to 
 read it through ; but I liked the stories ever so 
 much. Have you got it?" 
 
 "Down-stairs. Here's Andersen's 'Fairy 
 Tales,' and Miss Mulock's, and ' Puss Cat Mew.' 
 Why could n't you read it through, when it was 
 your very own book?" 
 
 "Well, you see, I left it on the library table, 
 and they tore the leaves out to light the gas." 
 
 "Who did?" demanded Gertie and Hilda in 
 concert. 
 
 Annie had made her statement calmly. She 
 saw nothing remarkable in it; but those who 
 heard it could scarcely believe their ears. 
 
 "O, papa and Ellen and everybody." 
 
 "Your nice new book! O, I think that was 
 awful! Did n't you feel dreadfully?" 
 
 But Annie was tired of the subject. She 
 answered, "Yes, of course," and sat down on 
 the floor to arrange a dissected map. That was 
 not the end of the conversation, however. It 
 was abruptly renewed after Annie had put on 
 her hat and cloak, and was waiting for Gertie to 
 see what time it was. 
 
 "Hilda," she said, "will you lend me that 
 black fairy-book of yours?" 
 
 If somebody had pointed a pistol at Hilda's 
 head, and threatened to shoot her, I think she
 
 388 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 could scarcely have felt more dismay. The 
 book referred to was one of her oldest and dear- 
 est treasures, and it must be confessed that 
 Hilda did not willingly lend any of her books. 
 She handled them very carefully herself, and 
 had seen enough to know that most of her 
 young acquaintances gave books rougher treat- 
 ment. Lend her "big black fairy-book" to 
 Annie Tomlinson! She did not like to refuse, 
 yet she could not bear to consent; so she pre- 
 tended that she had not heard the question. 
 
 "Hilda, will you?" repeated Annie. 
 
 She had the volume in her hand, and was 
 gazing with deep interest at the picture of the 
 "sleeping beauty," with the "prince" bending 
 above her. Still there was silence. Hilda had 
 discovered that one of her shoes had lost a but- 
 ton, and was hard at work pulling out the ends 
 of thread which were left behind. 
 
 "Hilda," said Annie, facing about, "why 
 do n't you answer me? I know you hear." 
 
 "O I what?" replied Hilda, confusedly. 
 "I can't, unless mamma says so, Annie. I '11 go 
 and ask her." 
 
 And into the hall she went, with slow, re- 
 luctant steps. Half-way between the door of 
 the room and the head of the staircase she met 
 Gertie. 
 
 "O Gertie," she cried, seizing her cousin's
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. 389 
 
 arm, "one of the most awful things has hap- 
 pened!" 
 
 "What?" asked Gertie, aghast. 
 
 "Annie Tomlinson wants to borrow my big 
 black fairy-book. Just think of that!" 
 
 "Well, I don't see what the matter is," re- 
 joined Gertie, looking at her rather contemptu- 
 ously. "You 've read it, and I 've read it, and 
 Ernest has read it. Who has n't that wants 
 to?" 
 
 "I don't know," answered Hilda, letting her 
 arms drop at her side with a crestfallen air. 
 "I don't know that anybody hasn't. But 
 would you like to lend her one of your books, 
 Gertie Winner, when you know how she 'd 
 treat it?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean what she told us about her. 
 Grimm's 'Fairy Tales,'" and Hilda sat down 
 on the carpet as if anxiety had exhausted her 
 strength. 
 
 "O!" Gertie was somewhat troubled. "But 
 that was her own book," she added, with reviv- 
 ing cheerfulness. " Do n't you always take 
 better care of other people's things than your 
 own?" 
 
 "Yes; but I don't know whether Annie 
 does," responded the still hopeless Hilda. 
 
 Gertie was silent. The situation was a per-
 
 39 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 plexing one, and she bent her entire brain to its 
 consideration. 
 
 "What did you tell her?" she asked at 
 length. 
 
 " I said I 'd go and ask mamma. That 's 
 where I 'in going now." 
 
 "Well, maybe your mamma won't let you 
 lend it." 
 
 "Yes, I know she will," sighed the limp lit- 
 tle figure at Gertie's feet. 
 
 u Get up, Hilda!" exclaimed Gertie, with a 
 flash of resolution. "Go and ask Aunt Grace 
 if you may lend Annie your fairy-book, and 
 while you 're gone I '11 tell Annie that she '11 
 have to promise to take good care of it, and not 
 leave it on the library table." 
 
 She grasped her cousin's arm as she spoke, 
 and assisted her to rise by means of a vigorous 
 pull. They went their way in opposite direc- 
 tions, and when Hilda returned to the play- 
 room she found Gertie and Annie standing 
 silently beside the window, their faces very 
 grave. 
 
 "Does Aunt Grace say Annie may take the 
 book?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Hilda, soberly, looking 
 hard at the carpet, because she did not want to 
 see the dingy black volume in Annie's hands. 
 She remembered that those hands were not quite
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SCHOOL. 391 
 
 clean, and the remembrance was hurting her 
 feelings very much. 
 
 "Hilda," said Annie, earnestly, " I '11 take 
 the very, very best care of it, and I '11 bring it 
 back as soon as I 've read it through." 
 
 "And you won't leave it on the library table?" 
 entreated Hilda. 
 
 "No, indeed, I won't. I '11 put it away in 
 my own drawer. You needn't be a bit afraid; 
 and I won't keep it long, because now I '11 have 
 such a great deal of time to read."
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 
 
 OF course, the Craig children thought the 
 Christmas holidays the pleasantest season 
 of the year. Their mother thought so, too. 
 She was as happy as a child in preparing for 
 Christmas-day indeed, she was happier; for 
 she understood better than her children did how 
 much reason there is to be glad. 
 
 Accordingly she never wearied of hearing 
 them talk about it, of helping them select pres- 
 ents for each other, and of spending hours in 
 going about with them. They went, not only 
 to buy, but to see the many beautiful things 
 which were not to be theirs, but were to brighten 
 the lives of others. Her children will never 
 forget how happy the coming of Christmas made 
 their mother. 
 
 This year she was both surprised* and sorry 
 
 392
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 393 
 
 to see how little interest one of the children 
 took in the holiday preparations. What made 
 it more surprising was that this one was the 
 youngest of the family little Hilda who had 
 been so eager and delighted at every Christmas 
 time since she had learned to speak. I do not 
 mean that Hilda never wanted to talk about it, 
 or was not more than willing to make shopping 
 excursions with her mother and Gertie; only 
 that she grew listless in the midst of the excite- 
 ment, and complained of being tired when her 
 companions felt as fresh as ever. 
 
 Mr. Craig asked his wife one evening if she 
 thought Hilda was quite well. The doubt oc- 
 curred to him because he noticed how little the 
 child ate at dinner, and that her face was pale 
 paler than Gertie's, who, indeed, was so alive 
 with anticipation that everything about her 
 seemed to sparkle. Mrs. Craig had asked her- 
 self the same question many times of late. 
 Hilda's behavior suggested that she had some- 
 thing on her mind. Her mother watched her 
 anxiously, afraid that she was hiding a secret, 
 but unable to conjecture what it could be. 
 
 It was a secret which was growing every 
 day more burdensome and painful. Hilda never 
 went near the currant-bushes now. Sometimes 
 she found herself wondering what Gilbertina 
 looked like whether the rain and snow had
 
 394 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 washed away all likeness to herself. She was 
 rather inclined to hope so; because then, if the 
 doll should be found, she might escape recog- 
 nition. But when this hope had begun to make 
 her more cheerful, she remembered how dread- 
 ful it would be if the secret were never found 
 out, and she never had the courage to tell it. 
 Think of living all your life with a wicked se- 
 cret standing between you and your mother! 
 
 The people who loved her best, and were 
 most careful of her feelings, soon learned that 
 she did not like to talk about Gilbertina, and 
 seldom mentioned the doll's name. Blanche 
 worried a good deal for awhile. She had been 
 planning some pretty things for Gilbertina to be 
 among Hilda's Christmas presents, and it was 
 hard to give them up. But for the last few 
 days she had not complained at all. 
 
 Toward evening of the day before Christmas 
 snow began to fall, and it continued falling far 
 into the night. The family under Mr. Craig's 
 roof were astir before the sun rose, wishing 
 each other all possible gladness in low, happy 
 tones, while they fastened their cloaks and drew 
 on their gloves. There was to be a six-o'clock 
 service in the little church on the hill, and they 
 were all going thither. 
 
 The snow was deep and feathery, and lay 
 smooth and untrodden on level and slope. Mr.
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 395 
 
 Craig and Archer carried lanterns. Walking 
 was not very easy, but they enjoyed it never- 
 theless. 
 
 U O, I am so happy, happy, happy!" Gertie 
 kept saying to herself. She did not want to 
 speak; but she wanted to look at every one of 
 her friends, and smile upon them in turn. 
 When she looked at Mrs. Craig's face she saw 
 that her aunt was smiling at her, but she spoke 
 no word. "She feels just as I do," Gertie 
 whispered. 
 
 Hilda thought the way long. She was tired 
 and discouraged when they reached the church. 
 O, what a pity that any weight should He upon 
 the conscience, to keep the heart from bound- 
 ing at the sound of Christmas bells! 
 
 Then lights gleamed on them from the 
 church, and here and there gleamed lanterns 
 through the peaceful darkness. The service 
 was not long, but it was full of praise ; and they 
 who entered the church with happy hearts went 
 away happier still. It was growing light when 
 they started homeward. A thin snow was still 
 falling, and from the polished gray sky poured 
 suddenly a white glory of sunshine. 
 
 Before nine o'clock Gertie's father arrived, 
 having taken an early train from the city. 
 After he had been well kissed and hugged by 
 his jubilant daughter, he went into the library
 
 396 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 with the rest of the grown people. The young 
 ones waited impatiently until the), too, should 
 be admitted. 
 
 When the time came, they saw a sight worth 
 seeing. The room was like a forest bower. 
 Festoons of ground-pine waved over the cur- 
 tains and drooped about the pictures ; branches 
 of spruce filled the corners, and all Mrs. Craig's 
 house-plants stood in the windows. 
 
 The center-table was gone ; in its place 
 stood the Christmas pie. It was in a tub the 
 largest to be found. Brown paper, cut to imi- 
 tate an upper-crust, covered the top, and a curl- 
 ing wreath of ground-pine hid the rough edges 
 and made it look like a veritable pie. There 
 were a good many presents in the pie, and there 
 were also a good many outside, as was signified 
 by various unsightly humps covered with shawls. 
 Ernest, in the character of little Jack Horner, 
 prepared to draw out and distribute the plums. 
 
 The first packet bore Gertie's name. It was 
 not large, but it was very precious ; for it was a 
 letter from her mother. Several other parcels 
 came to light in the course of the distribution, 
 on which the same hand had traced the same 
 name, and every one held something which was 
 exactly what Gertie wanted. 
 
 Everybody had been several times remem- 
 bered. The air was full of rejoicings, and the
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 397 
 
 floor was covered with paper wrappings and 
 pieces of string, when Ernest advanced toward 
 a chair in a distant part of the room. A great 
 many eyes followed him. Something was on the 
 chair, carefully veiled with Blanche's white 
 shawl. 
 
 It was a magnificent doll, fully as large as 
 Gilbertina, and quite as handsome. She wore 
 a street-dress of ruby velvet, with trimmings of 
 white fur, which matched her hat and muff. 
 
 " Hilda, from Uncle Gilbert," announced Er- 
 nest, in stentorian tones. 
 
 Hilda was bewildered. It was usual for her 
 to receive more than one doll on Christmas-day ; 
 but not such a doll as this. It was like having 
 another Gilbertina. Her uncle looked at her 
 with a perfectly happy face. 
 
 "Isn't it lovely?" broke forth Blanche. 
 " There is n't such another in the whole city, 
 and I do n't believe there ever was. Uncle Gil- 
 bert told me to look for a doll, and I saw this in 
 Blaustein's window the very day they put it 
 there." 
 
 Then Hilda remembered that she had not 
 thanked her uncle. She went to him and put 
 her arms about his neck, laying her soft cheek 
 against his. Her voice was so low that he 
 scarcely heard her words, but he had no doubt 
 that she was greatly pleased.
 
 398 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 " She 's brought you a note," he said chuck- 
 ling. "A note, Hilda did n't you see it?" 
 
 Sure enough, a tiny cream-white envelope 
 was pinned into the doll's hand. It inclosed a 
 fairy-like sheet of paper, on which was written 
 a single line: 
 
 "My name is Susy." 
 
 The kind uncle would have been dismayed 
 if he had known how much Hilda wanted to 
 cry. He had never forgotten what had occurred 
 when Gilbertina was named, and had determined 
 that nobody should tease his favorite this time. 
 Of course, he did not know how much sorrow 
 and mortification she had felt ; he only knew 
 that she liked to call her dolls Susy, and that he 
 wanted her to do what she liked. 
 
 "O, Uncle Gilbert!" cried Hilda. 
 
 "All right, all right," returned Uncle Gilbert, 
 hastily. "Hullo, what's this?" as Ernest was 
 just dumping a package upon his knee. 
 
 Hilda was happy " on top," as she would 
 have expressed it, but under her happiness lay 
 an acfre which would not cease. 
 
 All through the long, bright day it lasted, 
 making her dull when Gertie was lively, and 
 cross when Ernest tried to make fun. And when, 
 late in the afternoon, something really unpleas- 
 ant happened, that sore pain had made her so 
 irritable that she lost her temper at once.
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. .399 
 
 Rose came into Mrs. Craig's room with a 
 shawl thrown over her head and shoulders. 
 Only Hilda and her mother were there. The 
 little girl was putting on a new apron which she 
 wanted to wear before the day passed by. 
 
 " Why, Hilda, look what I found on the 
 fence," said Rose. "It is your book, for it has 
 your name in it. Did you leave it there?" 
 
 " My book !" screamed Hilda, dashing at 
 her and seizing the volume. T-he cover was 
 soaked through, and the leaves were stained and 
 warped with wet. Without a moment's warn- 
 ing she burst into tears, and it was some time 
 before she could obey her mother and tell her 
 what she was crying about. 
 
 " It was buried in the snow," explained Rose. 
 " I just happened to see a corner sticking out, 
 and stopped to see what it was." 
 
 "O, that wicked, wicked, wicked Annie Tom- 
 linson !" scolded Hilda, in a voice broken by 
 sobs. "I shan't ever associate with her any 
 more, and Gertie must n't either. I '11 be mad 
 at Gertie if she does, when anybody treats her 
 cousin like that. She 'd better not come to this 
 house very soon. I 'd let her know what I think 
 of her; I just would!" 
 
 "You must not talk so, Hilda." Mrs. 
 Craig's voice was as gentle as the sweetest 
 sound of summer, but its firmness was unmis-
 
 400 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 takable. " It makes me very sad and ashamed 
 to see you in such a passion, and hear you say 
 such foolish things." 
 
 Hilda's tears broke forth afresh. 
 
 " O, mamma, if you don't like me I can't 
 bear it! I know I'm not a bit good! I guess 
 I '11 have to go away from everybody, and there 
 isn't any place to go to!" Then the poor, 
 silly, unhappy little creature threw herself upon 
 the lounge, and covered her eyes. 
 
 She had never behaved so before. No 
 matter how troubled or angry she might be, 
 she hastened to her mother's arms. And so 
 she did to-day, after a few minutes had slipped 
 away in silence. A soft footfall sounded be- 
 side Mrs. Craig's chair; a small figure stood at her 
 elbow, and a sorrowful, subdued voice murmured : 
 
 " Please, mamma, I want you to kiss me." 
 
 " I 'm truly sorry," whispered Hilda, a mo- 
 ment later, with her lips close to her mother's 
 ear ; and not a word more on the subject was 
 spoken that evening. 
 
 Christmas was a beautiful day, but the day 
 after Christmas was more beautiful still. It 
 snowed again in the night and covered up the 
 tracks which had been everywhere made. The 
 morning was cloudless and brilliantly blue. 
 Every tree-bole wore a white stripe on one side, 
 and every branch was softly cushioned.
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 401 
 
 In the afternoon there were nimble, dark 
 figures rushing here and there in the apple- 
 orchard, and loud young voices shouting, unre- 
 strained. Every boy in Hawthorn desired his 
 friends to know how well he had fared the day 
 before ; and many of them had been journeying 
 from house to house since breakfast-time. The 
 Craig children, however, had remained at home ; 
 and their visitors, finding a good place for 
 racing and snow-balling, were in no haste to de- 
 part. A considerable company were assembled 
 before Barnard Simeral arrived. He had been 
 waiting for Archer to come to him, and was a 
 little out of humor because he had not done so. 
 
 "Look here, Craig," said he, "if you want 
 to cut a fellow's acquaintance, why do n't you 
 say so ? I 've been looking for you ever since 
 nine o'clock." 
 
 "And I 've been looking for you," responded 
 Archer, promptly. " I thought you knew 
 enough to come here. We waited a good 
 while before we began our fort; but it's nearly 
 finished now. You '11 be commander, won't 
 you?" 
 
 " Well, then, you must be chief of the staff," 
 returned Barnard, his good humor quite re- 
 stored by the proffer of such an honor. 
 
 But a difficulty arose. Fred Tomlinson re- 
 fused to serve under the new general, and 
 
 26
 
 402 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 Ernest joined the rebellion. Barnard looked 
 furious. He glared at his two opponents, with- 
 out offering a reply. 
 
 " Come, now, fellows," remonstrated their 
 host, " what 's the use of not having a good 
 time when you could have it as well as not? 
 You Ve been mad 'most two weeks or more, 
 and it 's time to make up." 
 
 "So I was trying to," declared Barnard, 
 magnificently. " You would n't have heard a 
 word from me if Fred had behaved well. If 
 he doesn't want to have anything to do with 
 me, so much the better; I shall let him alone." 
 
 "Will you shake hands if he will?" eagerly 
 demanded Archer? 
 
 " Certainly," responded Barnard, with in- 
 creased elegance of manner. 
 
 " Now, then, Fred, you are n't going to 
 hang back, I know." 
 
 But Fred, instead of complying, took off his 
 cap > turned it inside out, and replaced it upon 
 his head, the red satin lining glaring fiercely 
 in the strong light. 
 
 "What are you going to do with a fort full 
 of soldiers, and nobody to fight them?" he in- 
 quired, with twinkling eyes. " I 'in Rowdy- 
 dowdy, chief of the Iroquois, and Ernest is the 
 Last of the Mohicans. We '11 scalp the whole 
 lot of you, and not half try."
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM, 403 
 
 Of course, Archer had arranged for an at- 
 tacking party ; but Fred's plan would serve 
 quite as well, and had the merit of being un- 
 expected. A noble general, gallantly defend- 
 ing the frontier against an active and cunning 
 Indian chief, is very different from an insulted 
 school-boy, cherishing anger against one of his 
 playmates. While snow-balls flew thick and 
 fast, resentment and unkindness fled. The 
 boys forgot that they had ever been enemies, 
 except in play. 
 
 Blanche came into her mother's room, 
 dressed for a hurried trip to the city. " I 
 won't be gone more than two hours," she said. 
 
 "Could you bring down some oysters, dear? 
 Archer has the orchard full of boys ; suppose 
 we ask them to stay and spend the evening." 
 
 " O, and mamma, can't I ask Helen, too?" 
 asked Hilda, springing up from the corner 
 where she had been playing bagatelle with 
 Gertie. " I haven't seen her since day before 
 yesterday, and, if she comes, there '11 be ever so 
 much fun for everybody." 
 
 "Certainly, Hilda; you may ask Helen and 
 Annie." 
 
 The brown head suddenly sank, and Hilda 
 eyed her mother through her drooping ringlets. 
 
 " Not both of them; I just said Helen." 
 
 "But will you not ask Annie, too? How
 
 404 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 should you feel if she asked Helen and slighted 
 you?" 
 
 " Well, she hurt my feelings," returned 
 Hilda, resentfully. " She spoiled my darling 
 book. O, you just ought to see it, mamma ! 
 Rose dried it the best she could; but it's all 
 yellow and pimpled. I '11 go and get it." 
 
 "Never mind; it is not necessary for you 
 to show it to me. I am sorry, Hilda, that you 
 are still in such a state of feeling. Annie was 
 careless, certainly ; but our friends often try 
 our patience. Are you certain that you never 
 did anything as bad ? If not, you have no 
 right to complain of Annie." 
 
 Hilda's guilty heart took fright. For a mo- 
 ment she was afraid to meet her mother's eye ; 
 but when she did look up, she saw no look of 
 reproach, only a sweet smile. 
 
 " Good-bye, mamma," said Hilda, in sub- 
 dued tones. "If you don't care, we'll go for 
 Helen first, and take her along to Annie's." 
 
 Greatly to the disappointment of the cousins, 
 they did not find Helen at home. She had gone 
 on an errand. 
 
 " Soon as she comes home, I '11 tell fier you 
 want her," promised Mrs. Snider. " I should n't 
 wonder if she 'd be at your house as soon as 
 you. If anybody knows a faster child than 
 that Helen, I 'd like them to point her out."
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 405 
 
 Mrs. Snider was right. Helen met the three 
 girls as they passed out of Mr. Tomlinson's 
 gate. She came in uncommonly splendid array, 
 being dressed in as many Christmas presents as 
 she could conveniently wear. Her fur-trimmed 
 cloak was very pretty ; so was her muff, and so 
 were the delicate kid-gloves which she had in- 
 sisted upon exhibiting. So much elegance was 
 unusual- with Helen, and excited the respectful 
 admiration of her friends. 
 
 " Hurry up and show me your presents. I 
 can't wait a minute," she asserted. And never 
 was there a girl who made it more delightful 
 for others to show her their gifts. She thought 
 everything the most beautiful of its kind. 
 
 "Did you have a nice Christmas?" chattered 
 she. " I did ; only I was just suffering for 
 sleep, because something would n't let me go to 
 sleep 'most all night. I lay there, and lay 
 there, and it never was time to get up. So at 
 last I had a plan to hang Mrs. Snider's stock- 
 ing, and put her present in it ; and then I stole 
 into papa's room, and hung his. Both of them 
 were very much surprised. Papa's was a paper- 
 knife, and, I am sorry to say, the point went 
 through the toe, so he could n't wear it. But 
 the funniest was Mrs. Snider. You see, her 
 present was a gold hair-pin, and she did n't 
 know it was there till she put it on. Then
 
 406 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 you ought to have heard her yell. She thought 
 it was a pinching-bug, I guess." 
 
 Helen laughed heartily, but stopped to in- 
 quire : 
 
 "Who's that shouting?" 
 
 "All the boys that are going to stay to n 
 oyster-supper. They 're in the orchard, build- 
 ing a fort." 
 
 "O girls, let us go too!" cried Helen, 
 eagerly. 
 
 They were quite willing ; but Gertie re- 
 minded her that she was not dressed for such 
 rough play. 
 
 "I wish I hadn't worn these things," said 
 Helen, regretfully. u It might spoil them ; 
 that 's a fact. Well, I do n't care. I '11 leave 
 my cloak in the house, and go bareheaded too. 
 I won't give up my fun to please my clothes." 
 
 "I can lend you mittens and a hood," said 
 Hilda. "And here's Blanche's old jacket, if 
 you can wear that. The sleeves are too long, 
 I 'm afraid." 
 
 "Turn them up;" and Gertie proceeded, in 
 a business-like manner, to do it for her. 
 
 Helen presented rather an odd appearance 
 when she sallied forth ; but she was comfortable, 
 and that was the main thing. 
 
 The boys looked at them at first as if they 
 thought it much better for girls to stay in
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 407 
 
 the house. The battle between the regular 
 army and the Indians had reached a thrilling 
 point. It was very hard to keep the savages 
 out of the fort. 
 
 " You can be a squaw if you want to," said 
 Fred to Helen. She clapped her hands, and 
 screamed with delight. 
 
 " I 'd rather be that than anything else. 
 Shall I attack the fort ?" 
 
 "I should rather think not. Squaws don't 
 go on the war-path. No, you 've got to make 
 ammunition for us ; and you '11 have to work hard, 
 for it takes a tremendous lot." 
 
 There really must have been a touch of the 
 red man's nature in Fred. His hands were 
 growing sore from making snowballs, and he 
 seized the opportunity to put the disagreeable 
 work upon a girl. Commander Simeral and his 
 army looked wistful. 
 
 "Of course we'd be glad to have you do 
 that for us," Barnard said ; "but you need n't 
 if you do n't want to. It 's the worst part of 
 the whole thing." 
 
 " Well, it 's better than nothing," replied 
 Gertie, cheerfully, and she and Hilda and Annie 
 immediately attached themselves to the regular 
 army. Helen was the only girl who preferred 
 the wild and lawless life of the savages. 
 
 While the warriors fought, the girls rushed
 
 408 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 hither and thither, rapidly rolling handfuls of 
 snow. Not tmfrequently a shot struck them. 
 Annie shed a few tears because a ball which 
 came with force against her head had been 
 dipped in water. The general waved a flag of 
 truce, and a parley was proclaimed. The result 
 of this was a prohibition against ice snowballs. 
 
 "Where's Helen?" queried Fred, impa- 
 tiently, resting apart from a skirmish, because 
 his ammunition had given out. He chanced to 
 be standing beside some bushes, and, as he 
 spoke, she crept out from behind them. " What 
 have you got there ?" he asked. " What did you 
 mean by going off and leaving us without any 
 shot? If I was some Indian chiefs, I'd tie you 
 to a tree and tomahawk you." 
 
 " O, Fred," began Helen, " I 've found an 
 old doll back there. It had some hair left, but 
 I pulled it all off, so it could be a victim that 
 you 've scalped. Show her to the fort and tell 
 them you '11 kill her dead if they do n't sur- 
 render." 
 
 Fred eyed the prisoner thoughtfully. She 
 was a most unpleasant object. Her baldness 
 was a glaring deformity, and her dress, which 
 had once been bright red, was horrible with mud 
 and damp. But he recognized her, in spite of 
 her altered condition. 
 
 "Why, Helen Bland, that's Gilbertina!"
 
 INDIAN'S VICTIM. 409 
 
 " O no ! Gilbertina ? It is !" 
 
 Forgetting all about the play, Helen ran 
 frantically toward the fort, which Ernest was 
 attacking single-handed. Hostilities ceased, as 
 if at the word of magic. An excited crowd 
 surrounded Helen in an instant. Hilda made 
 one of the crowd, and, in the general confusion, 
 no one noticed that her voice alone was silent. 
 
 " Mamma must know right away," declared 
 Archer. "Mustn't she, Hilda?" He did not 
 wait to hear his sister's answer, but went on : 
 " She 's in the library with Uncle Gilbert. I 
 saw them at the window not ten minutes ago." 
 
 " Hurrah, hurrah for the flag that made us 
 free !" sang Ernest, lustily, as a procession hast- 
 ily formed into line. Helen carried the doll, and 
 all joined vigorously in the martial strains. The 
 approaching uproar made Uncle Gilbert lay aside 
 his book. 
 
 " The children seem to be coining this way," 
 he remarked. 
 
 They came straight through the front door 
 and into the room, bringing with them so much 
 snow that it threatened to wash the pattern from 
 the carpet They all talked at once, and the 
 noise gave Mrs. Craig a headache which lasted 
 all day. By degrees, all was told ; the miser- 
 able Gilbertina was exhibited, and the grown 
 people found it possible to be heard.
 
 410 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 "Where is Hilda?" 
 
 That was her mother's first question after 
 her eye had searched through the company 
 without seeing her. 
 
 "O, she isn't here!" cried Gertie, with a 
 start. " She was when we came ; why, yes, she 
 was. I '11 go and find her." 
 
 " No, dear," said Mrs. Craig, " I will go. If 
 you children mean to stay in the house, hurry 
 and take off your wraps." 
 
 In a short space of time a great deal had be- 
 come clear to Mrs. Craig. She felt certain that 
 Hilda's recent languor and irritability were in 
 some way connected with Gilbertina's mysteri- 
 ous burial behind the currant-bushes ; and, 
 though she did not perfectly understand what 
 had happened, she knew exactly how to act. It 
 was the love in her heart which taught her. 
 She glanced into Hilda's room in passing, but 
 did not expect to see her there. The child had 
 taken refuge on her mother's lounge. There she 
 lay, still in her hood and overshoes, her face hid- 
 den on her arm. 
 
 "Hilda," said Mrs. Craig, "I thought you 
 had something to tell me, and so I came to 
 hear." 
 
 "Yes'm, I want to tell you," answered a 
 tired voice. "Did you know they'd found Gil- 
 bertina ?"
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 411 
 
 " Poor Gilbertina ! what a strange place to 
 find her in ! Do you know who put her there, 
 my daughter?" 
 
 " I did, mamma," and Hilda sat up and 
 stretched out her arms. " I did n't suppose that 
 I was ever going to tell you." 
 
 A long, fluttering sigh of relief, as she laid 
 her head on her mother's shoulder, told how 
 good a thing confession was. Neither spoke 
 for a few minutes ; both were sorry, and yet 
 both were glad. After a little while, Mrs. Craig 
 asked Hilda a great many questions, and learned 
 the whole story of the trouble about Gilbertina, 
 which surprised her very much. The talk which 
 followed made Hilda cry, for it showed her how 
 wrong she had been from the first. The falsehood 
 that had sprung from her lips so quickly that it 
 seemed impossible to stop it would never have 
 been spoken if she had not gone deliberately 
 so far from the right path. Hilda felt certain 
 that she could never make the same mistake 
 again ; and her mother hoped that she would 
 not, for her punishment had been long and 
 severe. 
 
 " Now, my darling," said Mrs. Craig, when 
 their talk, sad though it could not help being, 
 had yet become wonderfully sweet, " your little 
 friends must think it strange that I have kept 
 you from them so long. Who will tell them
 
 412 A TROUBLESOME NAME. 
 
 the reason? Can you do it yourself, or would 
 you rather I should do it for you?" 
 
 Hilda looked frightened. 
 
 "Need they know it, mamma? O, why need 
 they ? I have n't done them any harm, and 
 they '11 think I 'm so very bad." 
 
 " One reason why they must know is that 
 they may be sure not to suspect any one else. 
 But for your own sake it is better to conceal 
 nothing. I want your life to be cleared from 
 every shadow. Will it not be pleasant to feel 
 that there is nothing in your heart which you 
 wish to hide?" 
 
 "O yes," answered Hilda. "I'm so tired 
 of getting frightened when people talk. But 
 what will the girls say? And O, mamma! Fred 
 is dreadful when he teases." 
 
 " But sometimes the only way to do right is 
 a hard way. What then?" 
 
 Hilda gave her mother a sudden, quick hug 
 before she answered. 
 
 "Please hurry and tell them, mamma. Do 
 you care if I don't want to do it myself? Is 
 that wrong?" 
 
 " No," answered her mother, very tenderly ; 
 "it is right that I should spare your feelings 
 when I can. But I want you to be willing to 
 go down with me. It is better to face them at 
 once."
 
 THE INDIAN'S VICTIM. 413 
 
 It was a hard thing to do ; but the pain was 
 soon over, and such a load was gone from Hil- 
 da's heart that even Fred's teasing was no longer 
 unbearable. Hilda was a happy little girl again, 
 and she had learned to love the truth. 
 
 THE END.
 
 A 000129291 1